“One Ju-88 on its way to Windyedge,” I panted. “All by itself. A fishing boat spotted it and then Coastal Defense picked it up on their screens. They’re scrambling some Spitfires from Deeside, but it’s coming from the southeast, so we might get there first. Get moving, Pimms!”

High in the pearl-gray sky, with Scotland a smudge on the horizon behind us, we reached the lonely German bomber before the Spitfires. Ignacy and I went in first.

“Looks like they have a hit already,” Ignacy said. “It is trailing smoke—”

“That’s a banner,” came Chip’s voice. “Tied to their tail. Wonder what they’re advertisin’!”

The Junkers had white sheets over its Luftwaffe and Nazi markings. There wasn’t a banner, but a piece of loose webbing was trailing out behind the aircraft like a thin streamer of smoke.

Instead of shooting at us as we swooped toward them, their pilot flashed his lights and waggled his wings like billy-o.

“Hold your fire, Mazur,” I told Ignacy. “This fellow’s trying to surrender.”

I heard the Polish pilot’s groan of disappointment.

“Oh, Scotty. Excuse me, I mean Pimms Leader—not this again!”

“Flashing lights and a white flag,” I said. “You’re absolutely forbidden to shoot at him. Don’t worry, it’ll still be jolly good fun, we’ll bring him home with us! Anyone ever performed a formal interception?”

Of course no one had. I struggled to remember the international air law I’d learned in ground school.

We waggled our wings and flashed our lights back at the Jerries. Then we turned to slot into place around them, and nobody fired a shot.

“Ah, Pimms is magnificent,” Silver murmured. “If only the Old Roundhead could see us in action. He’d be proud.”

“He’d give us a bollocking because nobody knows the rules for an interception,” I said.

Ignacy and Harry lined up on either side of the German plane, and I pulled ahead to lead it in.

“Keep an eye on that Junkers, Tex, would you?” I called to Chip, in the gun turret. “It’s making my skin crawl not being able to see what they’re up to behind me.”

“I’ve got both my eyes on it,” Chip said. “If those Krauts try anything they’re going to get a faceful.”

At that point three Spitfires from Deeside found us, which made a grand total of six RAF aircraft escorting one solitary Junkers 88, so I felt a bit more secure.

We flew home the way we’d come, lining up over the Kingsleap Light.

I would have to land first. According to international protocol, the surrendering Luftwaffe bomber was supposed to follow me. The other Pimms planes would come in behind us, and the Spits probably wouldn’t land at Windyedge at all, but hare off home to Deeside.