Less than ten minutes later the squadron was in the air and climbing hard to the south-east.

The takeoff had been a perfectly choreographed ballet with A flight coming out of the hangar first and immediately turning and accelerating, closely followed by B flight. However, it was the takeoff of C flight that had really made Gwen goggle in wonder.

The two aircraft from C flight that were accompanying them on the mission, Bloodhound and Dreadnought, were very large in comparison with the aircraft of A and B flight. The eye-achingly dazzle-camouflaged Dreadnought in particular was the biggest aircraft Gwen had ever seen - the ridged fuselage of the combined bomber and gun platform made it look like a whale with wings and it almost seemed impossible that it could fly at all, let alone takeoff from an airfield that hadn’t been designed for machines of its size or extreme weight.

The solution that Wendy had found, or rather taken the inspiration from Charles’ Vulture for, was more than a little unusual; a hatch, identical to the bomb bay doors that Dreadnought had on its belly, opened along the top of the aircraft and a huge ribbed balloon, much like a Zeppelin, deployed from it, swiftly filling with hydrogen from the tanks which supplied its six hugely-powerful steam engines. The balloon wasn’t enough to lift the monstrous machine on its own, though, but Wendy had come up with a further innovation and Dreadnought’s six airscrews rotated on their axes to point directly upwards, black smoke briefly spewing from them as they spun to full power.

The thrust from the engines combined with the lift from the balloon was more than enough to get the machine into the air with plenty of lift left over for it to carry another aircraft, which was what it did - ropes from winches in the wings of Dreadnought had been attached to hard points on the uniformly light-blue Bloodhound and the two machines rose majestically into the air, gaining altitude almost as quickly as the eight, much faster, fighters.

It was certainly a strange sight, but Gwen had seen far stranger; her parents had taken her to the yearly meetings of the Société Aéronautique when she had been growing up (month-long trips to the aviation centres of the world like Stockholm, St. Petersburg, Kyoto, Paris and New York, which had doubled as their family holidays) and many of the members, who had come from all over the world, had had far more unconventionally designed aircraft. In fact Gwen still didn’t quite know how many of them even managed to fly, let alone transport their owners to meetings.

While she continued to climb with the other aircraft of A and B flights, Gwen snatched as many glances as she could at the two machines, noting how the balloon was deflating gradually over time - apparently the engines fed off the hydrogen in the balloon first, before using what it had in its tanks, so when it no longer needed the extra lift it didn’t have to be released and there was nothing wasted.

Disappointingly, she lost sight of the two machines before they had transitioned into a more normal mode of flight, something which she would have liked to see, but she was positive she’d get another chance before too long and she put them out of her mind to concentrate on the job at hand and the, hopefully, coming fight.

The two flights of aircraft, in two finger-four formations, stayed together, despite having differing rates of climb, and reached twenty-two thousand feet in a surprisingly short time.

Once there the wing commander reported in to Fighter Command. ‘Sapper, this is Badger Leader, over.’

The reply came quickly. ‘Badger Leader, Sapper here. Go ahead, over.’

‘Badger Squadron on station and awaiting orders, over.’

‘Badger Leader, we have some business for you. Thirty plus aircraft at angels twenty on heading one two zero. Forty miles out and closing fast.’

‘Acknowledged, Sapper, and thank you. Out.’

‘Happy hunting, Badger Squadron. Sapper out.’

There was a click as Abby switched over to the squadron channel and despite the fact that the Misfits would be heavily outnumbered, Gwen could hear the confidence and glee in her voice. ‘Well, you heard that, Badgers. Looks like we’re in for some fun today! Turning to heading one two zero.’

A few seconds later, once the aircraft were settled onto their new heading, she called again. ‘All Badgers, check in.’

Gwen, as Badger Two, had to answer first and a quick glance at her instruments showed that everything was perfect, as expected. ‘Badger Two, Roger.’

One by one, the rest of the squadron reported in. Badgers Three and Four were the other two aircraft in A flight, Badger’s Five to Eight were the four aircraft in B flight and they were followed by Bloodhound and Dreadnought, who were Badgers Nine and Ten, who were trailing some miles behind the fighters and still climbing steadily, but ready to render support if needed.

As soon as Wendy had finished reporting in, Abby came back over the radio. ‘Right. Same plan as always - A flight will engage the fighters while B flight goes for the bombers. Dreadnought will circle overhead at angels thirty in case we need her while Bloodhound stays back to watch for surprises.’

There was no need to say anything else and the radio fell silent, leaving each of the pilots to prepare themselves for the coming battle in their own way.

‘Wish me luck, darling.’ Gwen kissed her gloved fingers then reached out to touch the glass of an ornate frame holding the photograph of her husband on the panel in front of her. One of the fitters had kindly made it for her, engraving it with clouds along the top and rolling fields along the bottom, and she had installed it at the same time as she’d replaced the cracked instruments and changed their configuration to better suit her.

‘Badger Leader, this is Badger Nine, over.’

‘Go ahead Nine, over.’

‘I’ve got the blighters on the scope. Two formations. Ten plus at angels twenty and twenty plus at angels fifteen, over.’

‘Thank you, Badger Nine. All Badgers, A flight will climb to angels twenty-five. B flight remain angels twenty-two.’

The pilots acknowledged and Gwen followed Abby as she began climbing again, the colourful shapes of B flight dropping away beneath them.

On the ground it might have been sunny and warm, but up so high it was very cold and Gwen wriggled her toes inside her boots in an effort to keep the life in them. She was wearing thick thermals under her flightsuit and thermal socks, but she sorely missed the custom suit her parents had given her for her sixteenth birthday. Regular RAC squadrons had to wear the ones that were provided, but things were much different in Misfit Squadron and she resolved to send for hers as soon as she could; not only would the heating make life a lot more comfortable at high altitudes, but she also desperately needed the G force protection it offered.

‘Badger Leader, this is Badger Three.’ Bruce’s Australian accent was easy to recognise and Gwen glanced to her right at the brown biplane, Bandicoot, that was bobbing along on Abby’s other wing.

‘Go ahead, Three.’

‘Enemy in sight. Two groups. Nines above one-elevens, right where they should be.’

Gwen reached up to slot lenses into place over her goggles and squinted into the distance. She saw nothing except a smudge, which might have been from the exhausts of the steam-powered HO111 bomber group, but could quite equally have been a cloud. Of the MU9 fighters that she would be engaging in only a few minutes she could see neither hide nor hair and she cursed; she desperately needed her helmet as well as her suit - the lenses on it were Swiss-crafted and far superior to what the RAC supplied to its pilots (which was understandable considering how much they had cost her parents).

‘I see them, Three. Badger Five, B flight is yours. Engage as you wish. Happy hunting.’

‘Roger, Leader. Happy hunting and see you at home.’

‘A flight, check in.’

By the time she and the other two pilots had confirmed their status, the enemy aircraft had entered range of Gwen’s lenses. They were coming straight for the Misfits, blissfully unaware of the predators stalking them.

‘Badger Three, you and Four take the five on the right, I’ll take the five on the left with Badger Two. Dive on my signal.’

‘Understood, Leader.’

Gwen smiled in anticipation. It was an ideal attack situation; they would take the enemy by surprise, pass through them with impunity, then turn back to attack them again, just like the MU9’s had done to her old flight, but hopefully the Misfits would do far more damage than the Fleas had.

However, that plan went out the window when the profiles of the enemy fighters changed as they tilted their noses up and started to climb.

‘Badger Leader, Badger Three here. They’ve spotted us, boss.’

‘Roger, Badger Three.’ There was barely a pause before Abby announced what she wanted to do. ‘We’ll climb a bit more, make sure we stay above them.’

During the next minute and a half, the two opposing forces played a game of cat and mouse, jockeying for position, but it was a game that the Misfits were always going to win; not only did they have the superior aircraft, but they had also started off in a superior position.

When the Fleas saw that they weren’t going to be able to get to the same altitude before meeting the Misfits they turned and climbed away. However, this took them away from the bombers that they were supposed to be protecting and they gave up on that tactic quickly, turning back around and levelling off. It seemed they had resigned themselves to starting the fight at a positional disadvantage, an attitude which seemed curious to Gwen, until she realised that she had completely forgotten that the enemy outnumbered the Misfits by more than two to one and it was understandable that they were confident.

With the pieces now set out for the start of the game it was a matter of less than two minutes before the Misfits were over the fighters and Abby gave the signal to dive.

The enemy fighters broke their formation moments before the Misfits got within range, but that was no protection from the guns of Abby and Bruce and two of the Fleas were sent spinning away.

Gwen followed her wingman into a steep climb after passing through the enemy formation and they regained some of the altitude that they had substituted for speed, but they were never going to get back to the same height and when they turned to come back they were a scant thousand feet above the Fleas. It was still a significant advantage, but not nearly as clear a one as they’d had before and the next pass was far more dangerous as a consequence because they weren’t approaching nearly as fast or at such a steep angle and the enemy fighters were able to lift their noses and fire back, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

Going head to head with MU9’s was a less than ideal tactic; the machine guns that most of A flight’s aircraft had were enough to take down an enemy fighter if they got in a few solid hits or even a bomber with sustained fire and a hefty amount of luck, but they were no match for the MU9’s - their six machine guns were supplemented by a cannon mounted behind the spinner of the airscrew, similar in calibre to the ones that Wendy had provided Gwen with. A single shot from that gun might tear off a wing, or render the body of a pilot completely unrecognisable as having been human.

Thankfully, though, the enemy pilots were more concerned with catching back up with their bombers than trying to get a good shot at the four Misfits and after the pass Gwen saw another Flea going down, destroyed by Abby, and a fourth limping away southwards with the left half of its tailplane missing.

With the height advantage now completely spent, the fight quickly became a melee and Gwen immediately lost sight of Badgers Three and Four as her focus narrowed to Dragonfly ahead of her and the Prussian aircraft threatening them. Her job was to make sure that nothing got onto Abby’s tail, but unfortunately there was nobody doing the same for her and her neck muscles were becoming very tired, very quickly, as she swivelled her head back and forth, constantly fighting against the G forces to do so.

However, Abby’s manoeuvres were such that none of the enemy ever had a chance to come up behind them.

The wing commander didn’t fix on a single enemy for more than a second, like most pilots did, but instead took a few shots before turning and spinning away unpredictably, firing at targets as they presented themselves. It shouldn’t have worked, but time after time an enemy somehow conspired to pass through her sights and in short order another two Fleas had to break off too damaged to continue. Gwen’s every instinct was to chase them and make sure that the pilots wouldn’t be able to return and threaten more British lives, but she gritted her teeth and stayed with Abby, trusting in her wingman to know what was best.

When the enemy had split to focus on the two pairs of Misfits they had done so unevenly and there were still two Fleas left facing them when the wing commander’s calm voice came over the radio. ‘Badger Two from Badger Leader. You have the lead.’

Gwen swallowed nervously before acknowledging. ‘Roger, Leader.’

She knew that the tactics Abby had used didn’t really work when there were only two targets; they were designed for fighting when badly outnumbered, which was probably the case most times that the Misfits went up in the air, so she quickly assessed the relative positions of the remaining Fleas and selected the one that would be easiest to engage.

She banked Wasp towards it, feeling rather than seeing Dragonfly slot in behind her and instantly felt safer and more confident than she’d ever felt on a sortie, knowing that she had somebody she could rely on to protect her vulnerable back.

It was far too easy.

Now that the odds were even and they didn’t have to worry about someone sneaking up behind them, the superiority of the Misfit machines shone through. Within seconds, Gwen was able to get behind the enemy fighter and stay there, quickly lining up a shot which surgically removed one of the MU9’s wings and it spun away.

Gwen looked around for the last fighter and eventually found it diving for the deck in a desperate attempt to get away. She started to turn after it, but Abby’s voice came over the radio, the experienced wing commander reading her intentions. ‘Leave it, Badger Two. Form back up on my wing and we’ll see how B flight are doing.’

The other two fighters from A flight were above them a few miles away and they headed towards them as Gwen slid into position - it looked like they had also finished off their opponents.

‘Badger Nine, this is Badger Leader, over.’

‘Go ahead, Leader.’

‘What’s the status of B flight? Over.’

‘Bombers have jettisoned their loads and are bugging out back to France. B flight are breaking off over the coast.’

‘Roger, Badger Nine. Anything else look interesting in our area?’

‘Negative, Leader, the only other raid I have on scopes is too far away to intercept. Sapper confirms.’

‘Understood. Return to base with Badger Ten as soon as B flight is clear.’

‘Roger, Leader. Badger Nine, out.’

Abby’s voice held clear disappointment as she addressed A flight. ‘Well, Misfits, looks like there’s no more fun to be had today, so let’s go home.’

The four machines of A flight landed safely and taxied directly over to the hangar where the fitters were waiting to push them in to join Hummingbird, already back from its mission. With the larger aircraft not there they were placed to the sides out of the way to be rewound; they would be returned to their ready places when Dreadnought, Bloodhound and Vulture, Charles “Chalky” Isaacs’s long-winged reconnaissance aircraft, returned.

The four pilots briefly gathered around Monty Fletcher’s bright orange biplane, curiously named Ballerina, to inspect the only damage that the machines had taken. A neat row of semicircles marked the end of his right upper wing, which was now a foot shorter than it had been on takeoff - it had been torn off like a cinema ticket stub during the second pass that they had made at the Fleas and fitters were already rushing to remove the damaged panels ready to repair the frame underneath.

Monty had flown in a travelling show, hence the name of his machine, and was reportedly used to flying under “unusual” conditions so, despite the damage, he’d had no trouble staying on Bruce’s wing during the fight or landing afterwards.

The sound of aircraft arriving drew the pilots back outside and they looked up to see B flight on final approach.

Abby frowned and Gwen followed the direction of her gaze - an airman was sprinting across the airfield, timing it very finely before the machines landed.

That was the problem with the unconventional design of the base, usually the buildings would all be on one side of the strip, but it had been designed with secrecy in mind rather than practicality, so going from one side to the other could be perilous and it was just as well there weren’t more aircraft operating.

The airman came to a halt in front of them and breathlessly saluted the wing commander before presenting her with a piece of paper. He was young, not much older than Jimmy, and he looked at the aircraft on final approach, then at the four pilots in front of the hanger, as if debating which was worse, remaining under the gaze of the officers, one of which was the legendary pilot commanding Misfit squadron, or risking a run back across the airfield.

‘At ease, airman,’ Abby said with a grin, without looking up from the paper.

The young man nodded, relieved that the decision had been taken out of his hands, but still decidedly uncomfortable. He sidled away to stand about ten metres from them and watched B flight land, anxiously waiting for his chance to get away.

‘There’s heavy fog rolling in from the coast over France and Belgium and Whitehall don’t think it’s likely the Fleas will try anything else today, so we’ve been released.’

‘Cobblers! I was hoping we’d get another crack at them; I only bagged two.’ The Australian, Bruce, looked genuinely disappointed.

Abby chuckled. ‘So it’s not working out leading your own pair, then, Bruce? Maybe I should ground you and find a new pilot. Or swap you with Monty? Let him take the kills and the glory...’

‘No thanks, boss! On second thoughts, I’m fine with having a bit of a rest; I can catch up on my drinking.’

They laughed and there was a break in the conversation as they watched B flight settle neatly to the airstrip one by one.

The rumble of Dreadnought’s steam engines could be heard over the noise of their airscrews now, but the big machine wasn’t yet in sight.

Once the interceptors were safely on the ground, Abby turned back to Bruce. ‘So, you’re happy how things are? Seriously, now, how was it?’

‘It was bonza, skipper! Our machines are closely matched, I really don’t know why we weren’t flying together before. Whoever thought to put me on your wing must have been bonkers!’ He grinned at her, not managing to remain serious for a single second.

Abby fought to retain a straight face, but failed and grinned widely. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

The smile immediately dropped from her face, though, and she turned to Gwen with a scowl, snapping at her. ‘Aviator Sergeant Stone.’

Suddenly worried, Gwen drew herself up, trying not to frown at the change in mood. ‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘Go and get cleaned up, put your uniform on and report to the mess in thirty minutes. Dismissed.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Gwen nodded even as her heart broke and hurried away across the airfield, following in the footsteps of the airman, who had made good his escape as soon as B flight had landed.

The aircraft of B flight were being pushed into the hangar behind her, but she barely saw them, so preoccupied was she with trying to work out what she’d done to gain the wing commander’s disapproval. She’d thought that her place in the squadron had been confirmed, but she must have done something wrong on the flight and now it looked like she was going to be thrown out.

The barracks were empty when she got to them, obviously, and she was glad that nobody was there to see her misery. She stomped down the corridor to her room, shut the door, then sat on the bed, her head in her hands, fighting back tears that were as much of anger and frustration as sorrow and disappointment.

She’d begun to feel at home in Misfit Squadron. She’d made friends, which was something she hadn’t really done in 145 Squadron, and she’d been given a machine that wasn’t her own design, but which she had to admit fitted her perfectly and flew like a dream. But now it seemed that was all going to be taken away from her, just because of something she’d done on a single sortie.

And the worse thing was that she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was.

The door opened and she looked up to see Kitty standing in the doorway. She started to say something, but the American woman just sighed and shook her head, before going to her locker and starting to get changed.

Gwen slowly followed her example, stripping off her flightsuit and thermals before putting on her day uniform. Her hair was a mess, matted with sweat and plastered to her head by the helmet, but she didn’t have time to do anything with it so she just brushed it out quickly then pinned it up and stuffed it under her short uniform top hat.

Kitty finished changing and left with another sympathetic look, but without saying a word, which hurt Gwen; she needed someone to talk to and had thought that the American would be there for her, but it seemed that her loyalty to the squadron trumped any friendship that she might have developed over the past few days.

Gwen took her time, using up all of the thirty minutes that she’d been given, savouring her last moments as a pilot. She folded her flightsuit and placed her helmet, chronograph and compass on top of it, ready to be packed away, fully expecting not to have to use any of them again; when she was kicked out of Misfit Squadron she would probably go through the courts martial that had been put off and the result of that would most likely be that she wouldn’t fly again, at least not until the war was over.

Finally, she could put off facing the music no longer and she made her way outside. The short walk to the mess through the beautiful gardens felt like she was walking to the gallows, but she straightened her back and took deep, regular breaths, telling herself over and over that she wouldn’t cry.

The pilots were in the bar area, talking quietly, but when she walked in they fell silent and stared at her.

All eleven Misfits were there - Scarlet had been back from her mission for a while, but Chalky had gotten back from his only a few minutes before and was still wearing his flightsuit.

It appeared that her humiliation was going to be very public.

She walked stiffly to the middle of the room, where the wing commander was waiting for her, and came to attention.

Her arm was just coming up to salute when the woman stopped her with a low, emotionless voice. ‘At ease, Aviator Sergeant.’

Gwen flinched. If she wasn’t even being allowed to salute then things must be much worse than she had suspected and she wondered if the piece of paper that the wing commander had received had said something else than just releasing the squadron for the day - perhaps it had been an order for her detention. Or immediate expulsion from the RAC.

There was a long silence during which Gwen waited for Abby to say more, but the woman just stared at her, holding her gaze.

A gunshot rang out from behind her.

In shock, she spun in place to find Owen standing behind her, holding two flat pieces of wood and she sighed in relief when she realised that it hadn’t been a shot after all. That relief quickly turned to anger, though, and she spun back to face the wing commander, but found that, instead of just her, it was the entirety of Misfit Squadron facing her and now they were all grinning.

‘What the hell? What was that?’ She couldn’t contain herself and bawled at them, her hands curling involuntarily into fists.

‘That, Aviator Sergeant Stone,’ said Abby, ‘was the last time your back will ever be unprotected; from now on we will all be there for you. You’ve flown a mission with us which means you’re one of us now. Welcome to Misfit Squadron.’

Thank you so much for reading. ‘The Battle Over Britain’ is Simon Brading's first novel in his ‘Misfit Squadron’ series. More information on where to obtain the book as well as other information about Simon and the series can be found on his website. Also, Simon would love to hear from you about this, or any of his work — please get in touch on Bluesky. We invite you to read Chapter Eight by clicking the right-arrow down there on the right. If you missed out on Chapter Six you can go back and read in now by clicking the left-arrow below. Alternatively, you can go back to the beginning, the Prologue, with the beginning-arrow also over on the left.