Sterling Richmond

RAF fighter pilot


Born in 1919 the son of retired lieutenant-colonel Robert Richmond of her majesties household cavalry. Sterling lived a martially focused life before entering pilot training at RAF Uxbridge in 1938, upon graduation Sterling was recruited into Group Two of the RAF fighting with distinction over the skies of Dover during the Battle of Britain piloting the legendary spitfire to eventual victory over the Luftwaffe, one of the few veterans to survive this bloody and devastating campaign. Sterling was subsequently transferred to bomber command to fly fighter support for the mainland bombing operations, as part of no.23 Squadron in a lease-lent Douglas A-20 Havoc night fighter with rear gunner Edward Dawkins.

The night of June 5th 1944 featured the greatest number of sorties of the war to be flown so far by the RAF and allied forces. Sterling Richmond and his Gunner Edward Dawkins set off to support the squadron no.100 sortie the first of the night, considered one of the most experienced squadrons in the allied forces, squadron no.23 set off at 22.50. The squadron was never made it back, the few survivors of Squadron no.100 returned with stories of nightmarish shadows, rambling tales of monsters and death…

Journal of Sterling Richmond

June 5th 1944
17:24 Hours
It’s busy today, the planes are being fitted out again, looks like a large scale bombing run, feels like something big, maybe the invasion that has been rumoured. More and more troops are pouring in to the surrounding camps.

Just got word down from command, we’re gearing up to fly a sortie, supporting the boys over in 100 squadron, worked with them before good lads, if a little up themselves in their heavy bombers, they boast about being the best in the RAF, that stands to be proven.

gears up in twenty, time to start pre-flight checks, I’ve flown a few flights in these new Havocs, American birds, not a scratch on the old spitfire but they’re growing on me, I guess they will prove themselves in time.

June 6th 1944
I don’t know what time it is, right now I don’t give a damn, Dawkins is gone, God, the whole squadron is gone, those things… I don’t understand, one minute there was nothing, no flak, no fighters, nothing. Next thing Charlies bird at the front of the formation, it just disappeared, right out of the sky, over the radio, there was screeching, a heart stopping noise, not static or anything i’ve ever heard before, just a deafening screeching. Then it all went to hell, I could see explosions everywhere, not the enemy, our planes, engines blowing out and fuselage ripped open. I heard Dawkins scream, through the body I heard him scream, more terrifying than anything I have ever heard before. That’s when “It” found me, black as night and big as any man, it scraped down the cab and into the starboard engine, blowing it and the wing off, I pulled the cab open climbed out and jumped, I left it till the last minute to pull the chute, these… beasts, I don’t know why they didn’t attack me, I guess i’m just lucky. I don’t know where I am now but I know that someone must hear of this, they probably won’t believe me but I have to try, there must be some sort of resistance somewhere, I must find them, contact HQ, tell them something…

Some time around dawn
Got picked up by a unit that came through town, I told them of the creatures, they didn’t seem surprised. One of them, a corporal by his pins told me the unit was special operations, OSI unit 12 he said. Seems to be a mixed unit, Irish, Welsh, polish, Prussian even. He said the unit was a countermeasure to these things, he said there were much worse things than the flying monsters that got me. Guess I’ll have to see how far this thing goes

Linked up with a yank group, 4th Squad, 3rd Platoon, C company, 29th Division, 115th Regiment. Haven’t really talked to them, they don’t seem to be taking us seriously, a babysitting job.
Were moving out now, taking a mansion somewhere in the bocage an SS stronghold; apparently locals have been whispering of inhuman wailing and people disappearing in the night.

We’ve stopped for the night it’s getting dark and it’s too dangerous to be patrolling, things roam the forests so the guys in OSI say. We ran into a patrol at about midday, single German squad, we lost a man, one of the yanks, not to the enemy though. The Pole, a biologist so he says, his “device” some sort of gun, it backfired, took the head and shoulders off the unfortunate yank beside him, don’t know if the americans will trust us after that debacle.
Picked up a kraut weapon, MG42 a beast of a machine, a suitable replacement for the Enfield MK2 I was issued with, couldn’t even kill one of the bastards. That Prussian, one of the old breed, fought in the great war, single handedly took out over half of the krauts.

The bastards attacked during the night, they threw some grenades at us, luckily they have the aim of a yank bomber, missed by a good eight meters. Riddled one of them with the 42 before it took a shot to the chest which took it down, tough beasts. That idiotic pole took the opportunity to start dissecting the thing there and then, worst thing was that there was another of the things in a brawl with the corporal until it too was taken down, not before it beat the man pretty severely. Corporal’s fine now, patched him up; that pole though, took one of their hearts for research, keeps it in a jar, a bit odd if you ask me. Mind you that was after the incident with the priest. Irish bugger got drunk and charged the pole, thinking him a beast, hit him with a whisky bottle, no harm done though.

Found two resistance fighters, three monstrosities too mind you, I took one of the things down, a patchwork of dead flesh and metal plate, claws grafted to stumps, a good burst to the chest took one of the things down. The welsh fellow took a good few shots before i could spray the thing, once again the Prussian showed some of his marshal skill, riddling the things with Bren fire.
The frenchies must have bolted when the fight started, because they definitely weren’t there at the end.

About to charge the Kraut stronghold, an old mansion commandeered during the SS forces in the area. I can only see a couple of the guards, there has to be more, you can hear mumbling from the other side of the wall…

We’re inside the house now, there must be at least forty dead germans outside, SS by the looks of the uniforms, the pole took out a fair few of them too. Gethin, the Welshman broke his ankle trying to kick in a door, imbecile, he had a perfectly good gun he could have used instead, he’s been splinted now. We found a dog, unfortunately the kraut gunned it down, he seems to be fairly jumpy. There’s a Dane and a Russki now, found them with the dog; they seem to be on our side for now.

I think the house is clear now, we’ve cleared the loft, I nearly had my head removed by what looks like a gargoyle, luckily the team we’re in the next room and beat the beast down along with its companion. Some sort of leader controlled them, he had some bloody massive wolves as guards, something doesn’t seem quite right about them, hell nothing seems quite right now. The Dane was bitten by one of the wolves before being punched through the floor by some sort of assassin, luckily I managed to chase off the leader, he looked like a doctor, necromancer by his handiwork. everything dropped once he ran, very odd…

Sterling Richmond

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