"Never before in the field of human conflict was so much
owed by so many to so few."
Winston Churchill 1940
Siren scrambles spitfire squadron
Young pilots most in late teens
Run and clamber into cockpits
Engines roar, planes race down the runway
Rise skyward in battle formation.
Fear grips, some pilots want to vomit
Flying upwards seeking advantage of height
Above slow droning German bombers
Targeting England's cities and ports
Guarded by darting M109 Messerschmitt fighters.
"Here we go, " radios Aussie squadron leader
"Let's give the blighters hell."
Out of the sun with cannons roaring
Spitfires attack like deadly hawks
Twisting and turning as savage dogfight ensues.
Sergeant-pilot Peter Duncan trapped
Tries frantically freeing jammed cockpit cover
Flames engulf him melting hands and face
Spitfire spirals to the ground
Exploding in a fireball ending his suffering.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem