A lone 109 pilot flew to the allied airfield 75 today, circled for a while, and waited for radar blips or some kind of enemy contact. Low on fuel and still without enemy confrontation, he expended all of his ammunition strafing the hangers, only to see a lone M16 exit the vehicle hanger. "Where are the spitfires and P51s?" he grumbled, and then landed uneventfully at his home base.
When asked why they failed to put up resistance despite allied numerical superiority (15:10), the allied wing commander could only be heard mumbling about cold toes and hot chocolate with whipped cream.