homepage Forums Air Combat & Civil Aviation Battle of Britain + Battle of Britain II Here's what happened (Continued)

Folks,

Just when you thought it was safe to read a few posts.....

By Order of the Fuhrer part Deux

Deep inside the Wolf's Lair several of the Luftwaffe's finest fighter pilots have just made mental notes to have their hearing checked on Monday. Screaming at the top of his voice der Fuhrer may have caused permanent hearing loss in some and nervous breakdowns for the rest.

Herr Goering handed his Fuhrer the Luftwaffe loss totals for the "Battle of Britain" this morning and Adolph has not yet regained his normal complexion. In fact, steam popping from both his ears, the unquestioned leader of all Germany is having his third hissy fit of the day as he rants on and on about just four British aces whom he declares are the real reason Herr Goering is standing over in the darkest corner of the room holding his miserable aching head in his hands.

"These four men must... und dey vill... be shot down; do you hear!" shouted the agitated man with the Charlie Chaplain mustache. The Fuhrer listened as twenty shiny heels clicked together smartly in unison once again as they had at the end of almost every sentence so far, then he continued. "C51, JRT, Old Dux and SNAFU have caused more than enough damage to mine vunderful plans und I demand dot dey be terminated immediately or perhaps zooner!" the screaming dictator shouted looking straight at Goering who shrank back into the darkness.

"But mein Fuhrer", a meek voice from out of the shadows spoke up, "Ve haf tried zo many times now to knock dese rats down und each time dey hef escaped mit zeveral uf our boiz getin' der tails shotz offen." "Vot doo ju suggest vee do, mein Fuhrer?"

Hitler glared at the dark corner and imagined the fat man cringing there as he spoke. "Do I haf to do everythink for ju Goering? There was no answer from the corner to his admittedly rhetorical question so the Fuhrer continued. Okey dokey, den here ist mein uber plan......gather round boiz und ju vill learn somethink."

Thousands of miles away in a dark alley located in the most unfashionable area of the east-end of London, a pitiful figure tries to struggle to his feet. Completely exhausted, the RAF officer is just counting himself amazingly lucky to be even an inch on the "in pure agony but still kickin'" side of death as he tries everything and finds it is more or less working properly if painfully.

As he rises with a groan from cold cobbles swimming in a pool of foul rainwater and other more disgusting fluids, the sound of a racing engine and several SU carburetors sucking air pierces the buffer of fog that surrounds his muddled consciousness. From out of the gathering gloom two brilliant rays of light are bouncing toward the tottering wreck of a man. A less than perfect looking but brand new Jaguar sports car roars up and screeches to a halt splashing a cold shower of water over the already trembling Old Dux.

"Is that you JRT?" Dux sputters hopefully and just manages to ask with his mouth now full of sludge. "Hop in old boy there's a big flap on and we're wanted at headquarters." replies JRT racing the engine. JRT helps the ailing Dux into the passenger seat and hands him a bottle of 100 proof "Old Mule Kick" bourbon. Dux has had that once too often not to know better but takes it with a nod of sincere thanks anyway and downs a good belt. JRT guns the Jag's engine and makes a swift 180 so that they they are now headed out of the alley again. Liquid fire coursing through his esophagus is quite enough to revive Dux. He finally takes stock of his surroundings and asks. "JRT, where did you get this horribly beat up old Jag?"

"It's SNAFU's new Jag, Dux. Olga must have really mangled your mind old man, don't you recognize it?" "I was referring to the bent bonnet and those terribly beat up fenders, I don't remember SNAFU's new car having those." replied an indignant Dux. "Oh, them.....hmmmmm, ok, I see your point, well that's a long story. But first, the bad news is there's another hefty price on our heads....dead or alive this time."

"And the GOOD news is?" asked a worried Dux. "The good news chum is that it isn't our side that is after our sorry hides this time." "Oh, goodie replies a truly releaved Dux as he takes another huge swig of North Carolina bottled 100 proof courage."

JRT continues, "Anyhow as for those 'minor' blemishes to SNAFU's lovely new Jag, well, here's what happened..."

The Jag and its occupants have now reached the high street and as an attentive Dux listens with feined sympathy to JRT's sad story they turn onto the broad avenue and race off toward what may be their greatest adventure.

As we look after them, the Jag swiftly disappears into the falling darkness leaving behind a cloud of blue-black smoke, a smashed headlamp and a sparkling shower of sparks caused by a dragging muffler.

Split seconds later we hear a ding, dink, ding, rattle, rattle and from out of the dense cloud of oily smoke that is slowly settling about the shabby little shops lining the high street, a single lost hubcap comes spinning back toward several innocent pedestrians, one of which wears RAF blue and has loads of "egg" on his hat......

To be continued.