"What's the "Gee" in the GC's name mean anyway?" Johnny asked as we walked back toward the flightline. At 07:30 it was already hot. We were both talking our flight jackets off and loosening our ties and buttons now that the cool of the night was gone.

"Um, 'Son Of'" I answered, "Like a 'Mac' or an 'O'. It's a Welsh thing I think... not positive though."

"Huh," was all Johnny had to say on the subject. We walked quietly for a few moments, as we headed for our aircraft and ground crew stations.

"So how's your bird looking?" he asked, eventually breaking the silence. I was so deep in my own thoughts it actually startled me a bit.

"Tillie says it's as good as new. There should be no reason to miss the takeoff." I grinned while Johnny pursed his lips in thought.

"I am going to make ten today," he said after a short pause.

He scratched the stubble on his chin and went on. "The BF109 I got this morning makes it eight fighters. If it gets as crazy out there today as I expect, then I should be able to bag two more, don't you think?" He looked at me with an odd, cold smile. I could imagine that smile on his face when he was in a dogfight. It would well match the cold precision of his attacks. He and his wingmen were becoming local heroes; they had the highest kill-board score of any wing.

"No doubt," I replied. If there was any Hurricane pilot who could do it, it was Johnny. I looked at the various types of aircraft on the flight line then looked back at Johnny. "I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a little concerned about these new tanks."

"The Tiger?"

I nodded. "How are we going to stop them?" I asked, sounding a bit more earnest than I wanted, but not more than I felt. "If 75s bounce off what are our lousy 40s going to do?"

The smile left Johnny's face, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"I dunno," he said grimly. "You probably won't even dent 'em." He stopped mid-stride and looked at me intently. "You know I got your back? I'll try to keep your topside clear." He paused a moment, looking intently up toward the sky with a bright fire in his eyes. Then, as fast as it came, the look was gone. It was the oddest thing.

"Everything has a weakness," he continued calmly a moment later. "Find theirs then kill the bastards. But if you can't, well, just try to stay alive."

With that he turned and walked toward his own plane's spot on the flightline. Strange boy, I thought to myself as I watched his receding back. Try to stay alive? Heh. That was a given.

* * *

I found Tillie buried in the access panel behind the cockpit of my Hurricane, which was, much to my chagrin, still in the makeshift hangar.

"What's going on?" I asked, trying hard not to make it sound like an accusation. "I thought you said it would be fixed by now."

"Looks like a stray bit of shrapnel caught the radio sir. We're replacing some parts. Should be good as new shortly," Tillie answered, his voice partially echoed by the radio compartment.

Tillie is an Aussie. He is also one of the better mechanics around. He has managed to keep this and many other planes flying on nothing but spit and bailing wire. He has found ways to improve the performance and cooling of the Merlin engine and given all of us an added edge in combat. I'm sure a regular Hurricane would not have survived the trip home yesterday, and even after my abuse there was less damage to my engine than one might have thought.

"Come 'ere a sec sir, I want to show you something," he said as he finished fastening the access panel back onto the fuselage. Leading me toward the Vickers gun pod under the port wing of the plane, he bent down and shuffled under the wing.

"See this here panel sir?" he asked, pointing to an area beside the pod on the wings under-surface. I nodded and he continued. "Well, just to the other side of that is the ammo for the gun. Me and my lads was taking a look at it and we realized, with a couple of modifications, we might be able to give you a few more rounds for your cannons."

He suddenly stopped. "What the...?" Reaching down he picked a wrench out of the dirt near the wheel.

"Oye!" He yelled under the wing to where the other mechanics were working on the damaged cargo door of a Curtis C-46 transport. "What did I tell you boys about leaving the tools laying around? S'truth! Someone is gonna get killed if a prop throws this on runup!" A runup is when they tie the tail down and run the engines at full throttle for a test. Tillie tossed the wrench over the tail of the Hurricane and it landed back on the workbench to a chorus of "Sorry Tillie!" from the men.

"Crikey," he said in exasperation, shaking his head sadly.