Towards noon, the Mediterranean was still sunny, with only a few thin clouds in the sky, and the scorching midsummer sun shone unobstructedly on a lone sparrowhawk, a medium bomber painted in green striped camouflage, flying from south to north along the rugged coast of Italy at an altitude of two thousand meters, following a regular patrol route.

Robert. Ensign Fabrizio examined the gyrocompass and glanced out of the cabin.

"We're five minutes away from the turnaround point, Bennett, and you can start getting your camera ready." Fabrizio flipped the visor on the windshield and glanced left and right at the sky obliquely above.

"It's a great weather for a picnic, and I have a friend in Fogriano who can get some French cheese and German beer." The co-pilot was a Campanian named Galeazzo, who was holding a flight planner on which he recorded the current flight parameters.

"Don't be like last time, Calaiszo, you still owe me fifteen hundred lire." The captain had no other opinion of the Campanian than that he was a good pilot, and if the guy had put his passion for the black market into flying, he might have gotten a little more credit.

"Captain, the latest order from the command, we have us turn to Sardinia at once now." Sitting at the rear left of the cockpit, facing two bulky radios, Bennett, the communicator, handed Fabrizio a piece of record paper with the contents of the order and the latest course and coordinates.

"Hell, Calais Azo, do the math, we don't have enough fuel." The captain read the telegram and handed it to the co-pilot.

"Reply to the command, we will immediately carry out the order."

Sparrowhawks climbed some heights. Then he gently turned to the depths of the sea.

"It must be some kind of "emergency transport mission". It seems that the business of the bigwigs is too busy, and there is a shortage of goods. These high-flying idiots never think about our feelings. Calais Azzo held the slide rule and calculated the range and fuel needed, muttering and grumbling. The captain was dismissive of this, and he clearly knew that the co-pilot's resentment was more due to the fact that the change of mission affected his private business.

"We had enough fuel to get to Sardinia. Captain. Hopefully I'll be in time for lunch when I get to Sardinia. ”

"It's less than an hour's flight, so you should have enough time, maybe you still have time to get something new there." The captain teased his lieutenant that the Campanian could find business opportunities wherever he went.

"Let's not talk about that, let's continue with what happened last night, a friend of mine lives in Turin, and I made an appointment with him to be a guest in October, and now I don't know if he escaped this bombardment, poor fellow. His child was just a full moon. Galeazzo changed the subject, as if he was concerned about the disaster that happened last night, he just didn't want to be teased by the captain anymore, who knew if his so-called friend who lived in Turin really existed.

"I never imagined that the French Air Force would still be so strong and capable of launching night attacks. I don't know what the exact situation is, but the radio has been complaining about the cruel crimes of the French, and according to my estimation, the damage must have been very serious. Ensign Fabrizio gently adjusted the throttle. He expressed his opinion as he looked out the side window at the sea.

"It was said that there were a hundred bombers, and the whole city was on fire. Even the cathedral was affected. The mechanic had just finished checking the equipment in the rear compartment when he joined the discussion with a worried expression.

"This is blasphemy, these damned Frenchmen, God will punish them, and they will surely pay for these crimes." The correspondent was a devout Catholic who almost entered the seminary that year.

"A hundred bombers? Tell you. Last night the French flew a full 200 planes, all of them the latest high-speed bombers, and our fighters couldn't catch up with them even with full power, so in the end the French got their way. The co-pilot proudly showed off exclusive information that the bombing launched by France had just taken place in the early hours of this morning. Rumours were raging in Italy at this time, and no one believed what was published in the Roman newspapers anyway because everyone claimed to have accurate sources.

"My brother is serving on the border, I don't know what the situation is like there, if the French can cross the border to bomb, then they will definitely attack on the ground as well." Mechanic Mario sat in his seat and said with a sad face.

"Who knows, hoping that the Germans will continue the offensive in accordance with the agreement, their new Führer, who does not know what to think, will suddenly stop when he has the upper hand in all his hands, and it is because the Germans are holding their troops on the French front that the French have the opportunity to mobilize their forces to attack us." The captain patted the steering wheel hard, he was increasingly dissatisfied with the performance of the Germans in recent months, didn't he say that the steel allies were like a family? Watching allies under attack like this.

Perhaps the depth of the captain's thoughts was beyond the capacity of the crew members, and the topic came to an abrupt halt, and everyone found that the conversation had been lost, and there was an eerie silence in the cabin, only the engines outside the cabin continued to roar rhythmically.

The dreary flight continued, and the Sparrowhawk, a famous airliner with excellent flying qualities, was the backbone of the Italian Air Force, which was brutally regarded as a universal bomber, and was given various tasks beyond her capabilities.

Fabrizio's Sparrowhawk was the most standard base model, and the flight team made some rudimentary modifications on its own, the plane was used as a long-range reconnaissance aircraft and transport aircraft, and in order to increase cargo space, they even removed the original magazine, but the bomber pod protruding from the bottom was still retained, in order to avoid the inspection of the superiors, and also to have an extra machine gun for self-defense.

They are well acquainted with the route to Sardinia, and they have travelled countless times between the island and the mainland in the past. They often arrive in Sardinia at noon and take off in the evening, where the local airport personnel load the plane with a pile of tightly packed cargo, and the crew never asks what is inside, including high-ranking military officers and some of the most prominent figures in the government, who are too curious to lose their lives. This huge island far from the mainland. It has a long coastline and has always been used as a transit point for smuggling ships to and from the African coast.

"Soon we will be able to see Sardinia and now we can contact the airport and let them have our parking spaces ready. By the way, don't forget to order us lunch, I want creamy seafood pasta. Fabrizio said to the correspondent.

"I want fried rice with snail meat and mushrooms." The co-pilot also accosted.

The mood in the cockpit returned to normal. The mechanic and two Heavy then joined the ordering process, talking about the food, and smiles reappeared on the Italians' faces.

"No problem." The correspondent carefully recorded everyone's requests on a piece of paper, then adjusted the frequency and began the first contact with the Costa Sammeralda base.

"It can't be!" The correspondent suddenly pressed the headset hard, and he quickly recorded the received code on the recording paper.

"Costa is sending a message in plain code, they are calling for help, they have been bombed by the French Air Force......" Corporal Bennett said loudly to the captain with a horrified expression on his face.

"How is this possible? Someone must be playing a prank. The co-pilot exclaimed. He did not believe that the flames of war would spread so quickly to the Mediterranean, and that the French would attack on two fronts.

"God, this is the frequency of the Sardinian Air Force Command, and they are also sending out the news. The French had already destroyed the Costa airfield, and the 148 fighter squadron was all annihilated. Now they demanded that all Italian planes that received the call immediately rush to support. The guys are crazy, the Italian Air Force has lost air supremacy, we will be shot down by the French like a duck. ”

"What can we do? We even dismantled the magazine. I knew those bastards were going to kill us sooner or later, damn it. We are now flying to the theater of operations, in case of encountering French fighters. We simply don't have any chance to resist. Galeazzo was a little out of control, and he shouted loudly.

"We don't have any other options, we don't have enough fuel left to fly back home, so we'll have to fly to that damn island and find an airfield to land, if any of them haven't been blown up." Fabrizio showed the calmness and bravery of a commander at this time. He expressed the fact in a calm tone that they were trapped and could not turn back.

"Damn! Damn it! Damn it! The co-pilot slapped the steering wheel in his hand hard, he never thought he would be in such a precarious situation, and the fear of death made him extremely manic.

"Calm down. Calaiszo, if you can't stay calm, get out of my cockpit. The situation is not at worst yet, and we still have time to figure out how to solve the problem at hand. Bennett, can you contact the Fertilia base, and if they are also attacked by the French? I don't think the French have yet been able to bomb all our bases, there must be a place where we can land.

If that doesn't work, we can go to Osgilli, where there's enough flat ground for us to make a forced landing. If you don't have any other advice, then all listen to me. No matter what happens, I swear I'll bring you home safely. Now, Caleazo, descend altitude, let's go low, which should reduce our probability of being spotted. "The captain's calm performance gave everyone confidence, and the crew began to move separately according to the commander's orders.

The Sparrowhawk began to press the nose of the plane and swoop towards the sea, the engine let out a shrill screech, and the fuselage began to tremble like crazy, and the Italian pilots took the plane's performance to the extreme, pulling the control wheel to smooth out the flight attitude almost before it disintegrated. At this time, the bomber had reached its maximum speed, and the plane was heading towards Sardinia at an ultra-low altitude of more than 200 meters.

"The French also attacked Fertilia, they attacked all the air bases, I contacted the base at Delmas, the signal corps told me that they had begun to prepare for a retreat, the army came with the news that the French had begun to land in Sardinia, and the air command ordered them all to retreat to the mountains and join up with the army units to build a new line of defense."

"These armies are simply unreliable, we can only rely on ourselves now, and when we cross the coastline, I will immediately find a level ground to land. Then we have to find a way to get a boat, and if we don't want to be prisoners, we have to find a way to get out of this island. ”

"We can go to Teras Quinn, where I have a friend Julian, who has a boat."

"Where is that village?"

"We should be where we are now...... About seventy kilometers further south. The co-pilot pointed out the general direction, and everyone began to feel hope, and the cabin began to be filled with lightness again, and the mechanic even began to make fun of the communicator's previous performance.

Sparrowhawks fly lightly over the rugged shoreline, grey rocks and green fields speeding under the belly of the aircraft. The captain began to slowly turn his head, and the plane began to move along the coast towards the south.

Sensing victory in sight, Fabrizio turned his face to look at the wings and engine nacelles on one side with a relaxed expression, and just as he was about to turn his gaze back when he saw that everything was okay, a string of crimson fireballs smashed into the wings in front of his eyes.

The violent explosion tore open the skin of the wing, aluminum flakes and broken spar structures flew all over the air, and the hood of the engine compartment was lifted off in front of my eyes, and the engine first spit out a large cloud of dark smoke, and then saw the orange-yellow tongue of fire begin to sweep along the shell.

"Oh God!" The captain only had time to let out a desperate exclamation before the Sparrowhawk lost control and rolled into the ground. A huge fireball rushed into the sky carrying the fragments of the plane, and in the next second, two blue-gray figures passed through the black smoke column one after the other, and the two-plane formation made a barrel roll lightly, and swept over the crash.

The two fighters, painted with the French Air Force insignia, circled around the smoke column for two weeks before beginning to rise in altitude and fly inland to the island.

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