Lt. Pete Crawley breathed a sigh of relief. That had been close. Too close. He’d been caught out in the open whilst on a routine patrol in his P-40 Warhawk by a trio of Messerschmitt fighters that had appeared out of the sunset as he swept low over the German forests. Crawley had fought in many battles and skirmishes and knew that the advantage lay with the enemy so he had fled. He had jinked and dodged the German fighters as they chased him over the Rhine Valley whilst night fell, pushing his Warhawk to its limit to escape from them. In the dark, he had managed to lose them and now, low on fuel, he was heading back home to the landing strip that was his base of operations.
During his return flight, Crawley constantly scanned the horizon, looking for any signs that the German fighters had caught sight of him again and resumed their pursuit. As he glanced over his left shoulder, he caught sight of a line of glowing fiery red lights about 20 metres wide following close behind his left-wing. The lights couldn’t have been more than 400 metres from him and they appeared to be gaining on him. Crawley didn’t know of any enemy aircraft that could move that fast with such a large wingspan but it didn’t matter, he had to escape. He opened the Warhawk’s throttle and his fighter leapt forward as he jinked its wings to make himself harder to target. When he looked over his shoulder again, he saw that the enemy fighter was still gaining on him; it had halved the distance despite his acceleration.
Crawley wondered why it wasn’t shooting at him as it had him in his sights and he was well within machine gun range. He suddenly banked his plane to the left, the sudden change of direction, throwing him back into his chair as he strained against the G-force of the turn. His Warhawk turned rapidly, the deadly machine easily able to handle such extreme manoeuvres. Crawley glanced behind him expecting to see the lights of the enemy plane continuing to soar forward before it could adjust its path to follow him but it was right behind him. Crawley shook his head in disbelief at the reaction times of the pilot and at the unbelievable ability of the large enemy aircraft to handle such a sharp turn.
Crawley, in desperation, pulled the plane up, aiming to perform a loop which would bring him behind the fighter. He still had enough rounds left to pepper the enemy craft and hopefully bring it down – Crawley knew he couldn’t get involved in another chase as he had to get back to base quickly before his fuel ran out. Again, Crawley felt the G-Force pushing against him as his craft leapt upward as it looped around and over. He placed his finger on the trigger, readying to fire when the Warhawk levelled off behind the enemy but it had gone. Crawley, in disbelief, turned his head to see that the lights had followed him and were still behind him. Then the lights began to move, each light becoming a separate orb as they formed a circle surrounding a central light. Crawley stared at the glowing orbs in amazement, all thoughts of piloting his own craft forgotten.
The outer lights began to spin anti-clockwise around the central orb, spinning faster and faster whilst the central light glowed brighter and brighter. Without warning, it flashed red with a blinding light that leapt towards him and engulfed him and his aircraft. Crawley felt a searing pain in his head, his vision disappeared as the crimson light filled his eyes. Eventually, Crawley’s vision began to clear and he realised he was lying down on a metal surface. He could see shadows looming over him. He tried to move but he had been strapped down. The shadows loomed closer, looking down on him, almost as if they were studying him. Suddenly, he heard the whine of a drill begin near his head. Crawley screamed and fought wildly against his restraints as he thrashed impotently on the table as the drill moved closer and closer…
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