RAF Base-Manchester, England-1941, August 14th
Subject: Capt. Alfred Harrington: pilot of the experimental Spider-class bomber, Vanguard
The base's alert sirens screamed as loud as they could as I rushed from the barracks and onto the air strip. All around was nothing but madness. Mechaniks dashing to get the fleet airborne and pilots scrambling to their planes, every bit of it eerily lit by the full moon and the watch towers on the garrison. I grabbed a panicked mechanik as he ran by me and yelled over the siren at him, "Mechie! What in the bloody blue blazes of hell is going on?!" The mechanik stammered something but most of it was drowned out by the alarm. All I understood was, "Paris... gone... nuclear explosion... German armada inbound... get to Aberdeen before them..." and with that he ran off. I wan't the sharpest spoon in the knife drawer, but I could put two and two together and get that something was wrong. As base commander it was my responsibility to ensure the safety of Albion's skies in and around Manchester, so I quickly made my way to the communication center in the main hangar. Here I got the full story via radio broadcast from Churchill himself.
"In the early hours of the morning of August the 14th of 1941, the German Imperial Air Force launched a continent-wide campaign against Europe with the help of Russia, Italy, and Austria. Within the first two hours of this assault, the had dropped nuclear bombs upon the cities of Paris, Athens, and Bratislava. They have already subdued Sweden, Switzerland, France, Crete, Czechoslovakia, Belgium, Norway, and Finland. Their armada of 10,000 warplanes is en-route to England and is expected to arrive within the hour. Aberdeen is their first target. All RAF forces are to make their way there. It is unknown as to whether or not America will intervene, but..."
I smashed the radio in fury and roared. I'd been telling everyone for the last two years that the Jerries were planning another World War, but no one had listened. I grabbed the receiver for the base's comm system and gave the order to prepare all warplanes for take off. The throb of steam pistons and the hiss of boiling water filled the air as I made my way to the Vanguard. Climbing aboard, I found my crew already waiting for me. I prepped the engines and shoved the throttle to 'Balls Out'. The experimental fighter-bomber lurched forth and heaved it's way down the base runway. We were airborne in seconds and being closely followed by the other fifty or so planes stationed in the Manchester base. Turning on the radio, I informed the fleet that we were to make our way to Aberdeen. As I turned the device off, my co-pilot, Manfred Heinkel, leaned towards me and yelled over the beating of the plane's steam pistons, "Sir, what does the Prime Minister expect us to do against an armada of the size headed our way?" I laughed at this question and replied, "I have not the slightest inkling as to what Mr. Churchill intends for us to do, but I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to go out there, and I'm going to slaughter those warmongering Jerries, and I'm going to die in a furious blaze of glory." I turned to look at my companion only to find him intently working the controls on the radar. I returned my gaze to the forward view port of the cockpit and spent the rest of the flight to Aberdeen silently contemplating what it was like to die.