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

Folks,

What a difference a week makes. So many new stories and so little time. Joy and rapture. All the tales are so well written I have put down "Finest Hour" for a long spell just to read and re-read them all.

I am also working on the design and illustration of a logo for a rock band at present. Loads of fun but that will have to wait as well. What luck it is for us to have such talented and enthusiastic people visiting SimHQ and HWH.

SNAFU: Thank you for your words of concern. My wife had a restless night last night but seems better today. I believe we will continue, at least for a time, to be counted amongst the living.

I also thank you for the useful upgrade information. I hoped you'd post some suggestions as I know that both you and Der Bader have just gone through the agony and ecstasy of upgrades. It is comforting to know you are there and willing to help.

I have allocated funds and I am now firmly in the design stage right now. Believe me, suggestions are highly appreciated. What would you/ should you have done differently with your upgrade. Second thoughts and the like, would be good. We here are much alike (no, that was not meant as a character besmirching remark) and I suspect that what favors you would also please me.

We do a lot of graphics here with PhotoShop and the like. And, as you know we love flight sims. All this is graphically intensive, CPU strangling stuff. Is 512 RAM sufficient? What problems will Win XP bring? All these questions and more ripple across my mind's projection of the perfect computer.

No "Jack already in the box" stuff for me, my friend. I am building this one from scratch, with help. I will also follow your suggestion regarding the SB cards. The Radeon 8500 is probably a better solution as well. The 7000 was an initial move to keep the total cost below an arbitrary $2000 and I see I have done that and then some. So either the 8500 or G4 will be a very good fit.

The GF4 looks exciting and will be available soon enough. Although the 3 was not altogether new technology the 4 seems to be. I worry a bit about drivers as one always does. I see that Nvidia is posting beta drivers on their site for the first time.

When I eventually fire this monster up and then find that our BOB doesn't run well or at all you will surely hear such a rumbling, caterwauling call for help as never has been heard on this forum or any other!

Ahhh, but won't it be a treat to fly MP together my friends and then compare notes on "What Happened" on our return?

Now back to those stories.



------------------
"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

Well, I am unable to join the MP fun for the moment, so I have been progressing my latest campaign (23rd July).

And I just planned and executed two Stuka parties in the same day

On the latest, I had a prompt asking whether I would like to join 242 on takeoff from Coltishall. "Thank you very much" I thought and headed out in the lead of two flights. We climbed for an age through clouds and were still climbing at 14,000 feet when I started to hear excitable radio chatter ahead. This continued for a couple of minutes before anything appeared in view (the Rowan range model is excellent- a formation of 30 aircraft faded into view. Initially a light grey, then darkening as we approached. Just right. Why can't all sims do this?)

It took a while to realise that we were gaining fairly slowly- they were running south for home, not heading north as expected. That made me smile. Demoralised Stukas are even more fun. As the neat rows became fully visible I saw a full squadron of RAF fighters swing in from clouds at my two o'clock and scatter tracer across their path. Within just a few seconds all was chaos, with twisting aircraft high and low.

We were still 30 seconds away from the fun. As we closed, one by one the Stukas peeled away from their formation leaders as the unknown squadron hacked them apart. By the time I ordered our attack there were only ten Stukas left in formation. Our coordinated burst scattered them like birds and I watched in delight as my chosen target's occupants leapt over the side in fright.

Ten minutes later, having hunted them down to 100 feet across the Fens I called a regroup and headed for home- all six of us intact. I claimed three! (I now stand at 17 claims in 76 sorties in this campaign) and as a whole we felt that we had destoyed 25 for two damaged. As counterpoint to this, I still feel a twinge of regret as to the demise of one of the crew of my last kill. I saw him jump and then no parachute.. could have sworn I heard his anguish.

Even more unfortunately, 610 were mauled near Brighton a little earlier and lost six pilots and eight aircraft, for only one gain. They were reported as having been caught on the climb by Bf109s escorting their intended target: JU88s.

I am thankful that I was in Norfolk today.










[This message has been edited by Bader (edited 02-10-2002).]

Folks,

These stories have been really enjoyable and so varied.

SNAFU:
Now that was really nice. It was well worth waiting for. Your stories are always good, yet every new story is better than the last.

As an example, you wrote:
" Explosions erupt from one of the ships. Seagulls are visible scrambling from the masts of the ship in every direction as the vessel begins to sink. Another ship is struck but it will be the last as the bulk of our response has now arrived and is taking a heavy toll on the raiders. A spitfire fills my windscreen as it passes closely chasing a defiant 109."

That reads like BOB is running through my mind. Well done.

OSRAM, Madaboutsims, you've exercised the muscles of my mind's eye thoroughly. I enjoyed every word. You both write so well I suggest you should do so even more often.

Bader:
Another page from your campaign diary. An account from you is like a shaft of extra sunshine on a cold winters day.

Now IMHO this is what this thread is all about. Let me see, what was that story idea I had in mind while flying last night? If I type something out I should be ashamed to post it now after reading this grand collection.

Your accounts are so much more true to the BOB experience than are mine. One day I solemnly promise I'll honestly try to write a straight account without all the superfluous twists, turns and extra embellishments.

Well, you better make that solemn promise just a firm commitment for a probable maybe.


------------------
"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 02-10-2002).]

It seems to me that it has been ages ago that I posted here my first and sole account. Had too little time to play BOB and flight sims in general, but I kept an eye on this thread...many many good stories, a real pleasure to read. Thanks all for posting such exciting experiences.
Finally I could play a bit today and here's what happened:


Colombert, August 12th 1940, JG 3/I

Just a few days to recover from my forced bath in the channel three days ago and I�m ready to go up in the air and fight again. My Schwarm leader says that the best thing to get confidence back is to fly as soon as possible. These last days I had time to think about what has happened, to understand my errors and to realise that the over-confidence I had in my flying skills has vanished. I know that I could pay my next error with my life.
We�ll go for a freie jagd late in the afternoon, weather in no really good today, maybe we�ll be able to catch some Blenheim on coast-guard duty. There will be a small low-altitude raid of Bf-110�s on a radar station not too far from our patrol zone, we could be able to jump on some intercepting squadron.
We�ve been patrolling for 15 minutes now along the coast�..nothing in the air today. Even the british AAA doesn�t fire at us, they know we are fighters and just don�t care about us. The sky is like a trap, puffy clouds everywhere above us, entire squadrons could be up there waiting to jump on us, I see that everyone is quite nervous, my comrades move they head all around as they scan the sky, skid their tails to watch in their dead angles�..still nothing in the air but there�s an oppressive feeling of danger. As my thoughts wander, our leader orders us to make a climbing 180 degrees startboard turn. I look at my watch, 18h45, the raid on the radar station should start within minutes and I know we are heading towards it, still gaining altitude. The 110�s will reach their target at very low altitude, below the radar surveillance. I know that these same radars have detected us since we have gained altitude over France. They won�t send fighters just for us but I�m sure that they will take off as soon as the first bombs will strike the radar station. Knowing that we are hanging around will oblige them to be careful, maybe that will save time for the 110�s and they will be able to fly back before being intercepted��.we�ll see.
Ten kilometers ahead a black smoke column and AAA explosions clearly show that something�s happenning. The Zerst�rers have already attacked, I can see them now buzzing around the target and strafing, but no britsh fighters�..and here they are, six Hurricanes diving out of a cloud, probably a patrol that was already airborne�..our leader orders Schwarms two and three to cover us as we dive on the unaware british fighters, they haven�t noticed us. As they split to chase the 110�s I place myself on the tail of their leader�s wingman, it�s an easy shot, nearly no deflection�.too concentrated on their target they didn�t look back, exactly as I did three days ago�..two short burst and the right aileron of the Hurricane breaks and he immediately dives vertically. Suddenly aware of my presence the leader breaks in a tight left turn. I do an Immelmann and find myself above him. Now the little game can start, he hasn�t enough speed to climb and he�s stuck in a defensive posture, waiting for me to dive on him, his only choice will be to turn tight to avoid me��I�m waiting the right moment to attack, dive and shoot quickly and then climb again to safety. Suddenly a 110 makes a head-on pass on him, that�s the right moment, he had to make a brutal manoeuvre to avoid the Zerst�rer and he lost some precious seconds of concentration�.when he realises that I�ve attacked it�s too late, my cannon shells have already hit the fuel tank in the nose and the Hurricane is suddenly envelopped in flames. As I climb again I can see the pilot bailing out. I take a look around me, two 109�s are climbing in a loose spiral and some 110�s are already heading to france just a few meters above the waves. I can�t see any british fighters. AAA is still firing at us. We regroup and head back to our base, but number three is apparentely missing.
After a normal landing all the pilots jump out of their machine and gather around our leader and start talking excitedly about the sweep�..all the Hurricanes were shot down, our leader got two of them, number four got one and number three nailed one just before being hit by AAA and he was seen crash landing near the radar station. Three 110�s have been shot down by flak or by the Hurricanes.
After the debriefing and a shower we enjoy the comfort of living in France, and bring a toast to our comrade that have fallen today.


[This message has been edited by Rickenbacher (edited 02-11-2002).]

Folks,

Rickenbacher:

Thanks for your continuing interest, support and renewed participation.

I've just finished reading your post and it is all too clear that it has been much too long since we've heard from you. Your well written acount went down as smoothly as the finest Swiss Chocolate and it was, for me, every bit as tasty.

I hope that you will fly and write again very soon for we get far too few stories from the perspective of those pesky chaps flying from the other side of the Channel.

------------------
"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

Nice stories everyone. I haven't posted lately because I am getting to modding now. But I got a 4 day weekand so look for stories then.

------------------
Some of my favorite quotes

" We can't be afraid of the wind" Captain Jonothin Archer Enterprise
" We will prevail" President George w. Bush
" That would be logical" Vulcans
" Right we'll do it the old fanshined way" British Destroyer Captain
" Use the force luke" Obi Wan
"Fear leads to anger,anger leads to hate,hate leads to suffering." Yoda

It's been a long time since the last time I read your stories...to much to do by my side...

here's what happend, but pleas don't notice pronounciation or style, I'me tired

A 109 in the gunsight!
______________________

The meteo has been great these days, so we've made many patrols at the 151st squadron.
We are tired and stress is increasing. If it could rain a bit, we may have some rest.

05h12. Time to go... I have a patrol with John, the leader, and Peter.
We're taking off in the screams of our merlins engines and th mornings fresh air. Immediately, we climb heading 125. Once at 15000 feets, I bank my aircraft right and left to have a final look at the land running under our wings...who knows, it may be the last time...
I forget a bit about the repeted noise of my mighty engine and have an other check around me and in the cockpit, OK, everything is in place.

"Turban Leader, Turban 3. Bandits 2 O'clock low. Heading west". Peter have seen four gerries and we are well placed...What a luck!
"Turban Leader, Safety catches off. Choose your target". we bank our planes to the left to dive on our preys. Eagles vs Falcons, Emils vs Hurricanes.
With the dive, we reach a good speed and are just slightly behind and bellow unaware germans, the perfect place...
I aim the plane to the right, John, the leader, and peter the number 3.
My target is growing in my gunsight, it's like training. I adjust my aiming and, at the moment I was going to shoot, the 109 breaks violently and dives.
His leader has just fallen from Johns fire. revealing our position. I try to keep my prey in my field of view but distance is increasing rapidly.
I reduce throttle and observe him manoevering. As he begins to climb, I engage a tight turn to the right. I'm pushed into my seat and feel the G's increasing, my breath is difficult. He's trapped, he can't escape. I restart to manoeuver and align my .303 on this yellow nose. My foot pushes opn the yaw and the Emil is like bound to the dot of light of my gunsight. "Now, shoot!". I squeeze the trigger for a short eternity and see a river of lead and fire intercepting the 109 at the end of a gracious curve.
The german plane is like a butterfly in a candle and sparkles are borning on this fuselage.
Sudently a strong explosion shakes me as the doomed plane's wing tears off."glups" some inches closer and I would have "eaten" this wing.
I half roll my plane to look at the thing that was a plane just seconds before and I see a dark dot detaching, then a chute oppening. For that gerry, the war is over.
Peter has also beaten his adverssary and the fourth runs quickly back to France.

Once returned to base, we execute a wonderful victory roll in formation...

...I'll finaly paint my first black cross on my Mighty Hurry.

Belle histoire et bien racont�e Drakho....
J'�sp�re ne pas �tre le prochain 109 � se trouver dans ton collimateur !!!

All,

Rickenbacher, Your account was first rate sir. Bravo! I was especially taken by the following line.

"skid their tails to watch in their dead angles"

That was very unique and descriptive. I pictured your crate waddling a bit in the arse end as you summed up the mood of your comrades. Very good indeed. Thank you.

Drakho, it has been too long without a story from you. In any case you brought us a good one. The line below, from your account was wonderful, really.

"I squeeze the trigger for a short eternity and see a river of lead and fire intercepting the 109 at the end of a gracious curve."

Good stuff IMHO, I suspect other readers will agree with me on that. Thanks

JR2

I hope the bug that so rudely invaded your home has been defeated. We are hearing too little from you and that is not at all to our liking.

Thanks for your kind words regards my last account. I really enjoyed writing again. Got pretty fired up because I had a great Saturday afternoon BoBing my tail end off.

On the pc front, I would say for current tech, the Radeon 8500 is a good choice from a price/performance perspective. I like it more now than when I was on the hunt for a new card. Drivers are much improved I read. The GF3TI500 is a great card but with GF4, I would have to think hard. For Nivdia I would never be concerned with drivers. They produce new ones like rabbits. In at least 2 cases Nvidia has delivered what amounts to be hardware upgrades thru effective drivers and that means more horsepower for free to Nivdia owners. Hard to ignore that. I know Sir Bader likes the ATI cards and given price considerations it may be the better choice.
Sound cards can make a big difference, not just with sound but system performance as well. I skipped Creative cards for the first time ever and went with the Hercules Fortissimo II. It was 50.00, came with game comander 2 which is voice recoginition software to control game commands by voice. The card uses less CPU power than the Audigy and SBLive cards and sound about as good to me. It seems to be a good if not fancy card. With repsect to system memory, 512 is plenty. Crucial is a good place to get it. Good memory, with warranty at fair price and free 2 day shipping.

Keep an eye on the hardware forum here at Simhq. I have found it most helpful and everyone there was helpful.

TALLY HO!


[This message has been edited by SNAFU (edited 02-14-2002).]

Folks,

SNAFU:

Now wait a moment there bud. To my certain knowledge I have written 2 or 3 to your last one. Ok, your one was better than my 3. Anyway, here is a long one. Don't complain, because you asked for it brother.

A Confirmed Kill

A large brown bird soars high in the summer sky over a sleepy British town, a town that is located quite near a RAF fighter base. He remains aloft by intermittently flapping his strong, broad wings. Still higher he effortlessly glides above the steamy patchwork fields of England. This happy bird of prey is riding the rising afternoon thermals as he easily circles higher and higher. His sharp eyes slowly scan the fields below for rodents.

Spreading his warming wings in a perfect glide, he notices a low line of cloud is drifting in from the Channel. Our feathered friend will not fly blindly into this cloud; he just swoops down under it searching for another friendly thermal. Frumpp, frumpp, frumpp, his mighty wings make a rhythmic sound as he surveys the fields below. Suddenly, a small movement catches his undivided. Only a moment later the unsuspecting bird nearly has the pinfeathers scared right out of him. His prey is forgotten as he performs an instantaneous barrel roll and a dive that would be the envy of the best fighter pilot. Good as it is, it only narrowly saves his life.

Through this lowering cloud base come deep rumblings as many large, dark shapes suddenly drift into sight, sunlight glinting on their Perspex noses and the bright red hubs on their spinning props.

This is a small but powerful gruppe of He 111 bombers, the H variant of Fliegerkorps 1 now flying out of Rosieres-en-Santerre under the overall command of Gen. Oberst Ulrich Grauert. Their respected and competent commanding officer is Obstlt. Exass.

The target for today is the RAF airfield lying just ahead. And although this flight is unescorted, confidence is very high. Shafts of bright sunlight filter through the mists as, one by one, the ominous, bullet-like shapes exit the cloud and into the clear, robins egg blue sky beyond. A good omen perhaps. Perhaps not.

Higher and into the sun, other sharp eyes have seen the bombers leave the relative safety of the cumulus. Forty goggled eyes turn in unison as the pitiless minds that control them coldly calculate range, speed and altitude. No sooner has the last black bomber�s tail plane left the cloud than they are mercilessly struck from above by a flight of twenty Spitfires. The bomber�s perfect formation and most of the confidence of those trapped within their steel bulkheads is instantly shattered.

Another flight of angry RAF fighters has now joined the melee. These brave lads are flying jolly Hurricanes. Their humped backs easily distinguish these deadly little craft. Already two lead bombers are falling in flames and several others are streaming white glycol or long, twisting curls of greasy black smoke. Like whales with their guts ripped open, sticks of black bombs issue from open bomber bellies to begin their long irreversible fall toward an undeserving population below. They are jettisoned now without thought of target or consequence. Pilots simply strive to lighten their fleeing craft in a desperate attempt to save the lives of their crew and themselves. Cut to pieces, most will not even make it back into the dissipating cloud.

One bomber actually reaches the relative safety of the cloud. Desperate to return his four-man crew alive to France the pilot expertly holds his craft within the sheltering cloud and as raindrops pelt his windscreen he calmly charts a magnetic course across the Channel. The 111�s powerful twelve cylinder Junkers Juno 211D-1 engines drone on encouragingly. The pilot now adjusts power and trim, he can easily imagine his crew�s eyes are just beginning to un-dilate somewhat as hope of survival returns. If only this cloud will hold across the Channel they will make it back. He takes in a deep breath. Before the man can exhale that hopeful breath he is almost blinded as they break out into startling, bright sunlight.

The dorsal gunner wildly swivels around in his cradle seat and screams into the R/T, �Achtung! Spitfires!� Already, and before the pilot can even react to the shouts he hears the dorsal 7.92 mm MG 15 bark into action. It is not enough. The bomber attempts to return to the cloud in a long curve to port. It is thwarted by a deadly head-on attack by a hard pressing Spitfire. The nose mounted 7.92 machine gun in it�s little Ikaria ball-and-socket gun mounting that is offset slightly to starboard was manned but could not ward off the determined attack. Bullets sprayed across the starboard wing spar, in across the outboard 220 gallon wing tank, across the engine oil cooler intake, onto the inverted v, liquid cooled engine and on into gleaming Perspex nose.

The supercharger air intake blew away from the starboard engine as flames belched out from the exhaust manifold and the nose disintegrated from the repeater compass and control yoke forward. The last thing the pilot ever saw was the bomb aimer�s folding seat and his retractable, auxiliary windscreen shatter. Just then the second and third Spitfires made their first passes. More shells poured in across the port tail plane bursting the fin�s front spar, rolling along the rear fuselage frames and stringers. Bullets ricocheted throughout the crew compartments. Not one man escaped a wound. One is mutilated beyond even his dear mother�s recognition. The remotely controlled machine gun in the bomber�s tail cone breaks loose from its mounting and falls into space.

For the terrified crew the end was near. Flames sprouted from the tangled wing above the starboard fuel tank. The metal there begins to glow a bright, cherry red. The starboard three-blade VDM propeller simply windmills for that engine is now dead and trailing thick black smoke that swirls and twirls in lengthening vortices behind them. In fact, this dense smoke is about all that hinders the aim of the three closing Spitfires that are now lining up astern of the stricken He111. One at a time they will each have a go as they mercilessly, slowly, calculatedly chew the fatally wounded behemoth to pieces.

By now, the pilotless craft begins a slow turn to port. Just as what is left of the stricken crew begins to shuffle toward their only exit with their parachutes tightly strapped on, the falling bomber is struck by hundreds of .303 shells just across the port wing root near the ventral gunner�s prone pad. Bullets strike the rear spar carry through the oil cooler and main compass. As the bomber began to roll over, the port wing begins to sag upward. As it beaks, flame envelopes the doomed craft.

Inside, before the smoke fire or fall mercifully ends their torment, the three remaining crewmembers are pressed hard against a blistering hot bulkhead. They are totally immobilized by the unimaginable centrifugal forces of the steep terminal dive. The youngest man is 18 and the eldest 24 years of age. Each man in his own way makes his peace with his maker. That is about all they have time for.

Circling just below the thinning cloud, a large bird flaps his wings alone in the sky. He sails into and then out of the long smoke trail left by the death throes of the falling bomber. Gliding for a moment, he looks down as what is left of the bomber and five young lives breaks up into a fiery tangle of burning scrap metal. He alone will witnesses the crash as it plows into the mud of a riverbank over a mile below.

Back home the Spitfire pilots, smiling breathlessly, make their reports. The result is that one more kill, a He111, is confirmed.





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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 02-14-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 02-14-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 02-15-2002).]

Folks,

Drakho:

Welcome home. Congratulations on your first kill.

Do not be at all concerned with your syntax or spelling, my friend. May I second in English what Rickenbacker says so eloquently in French. You wrote a very good story.

I too hope that, because he is a sociable fellow and fine writer, Rickenbacker will not be represented by your next painted black cross.

I understand that you are busy. Thank you for taking a moment to post. Please do not wait so long before writing again.

Tr�s bient�t maintenant vous gagnerez le titre du ACE.

------------------
"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 02-14-2002).]

To SNAFU and JR2: thank you very much for your compliments and for encouraging me to write again. Be sure that I'll do as soon as possible.
JR2, your last history was marvellous and full of astonishing details, did you have any technical book about the the He-111 with you when you wrote it ??

mmmmm double post

[This message has been edited by Rickenbacher (edited 02-15-2002).]

SNAFU, JRT and others
Thanks a lot for your support...

I own you this... discovering HWH gave me the idea to write about my flights...

I hope writing a new story here soon...

Folks,

Rickenbacher:

Thank you for the compliment and for so obligingly taking the time to read that long, poorly written piece.

Yes, there were many mechanical details specified in this particular tale. I felt extra details were absolutely essential if I wished to place the reader right in there with the doomed crew. I wanted the reader to smell the burning rubber and to picture every horrible, gory detail of the methodical and relentless destruction of that bomber just as the crew experienced it.

I failed so to do perhaps, however, I did try very hard. As for the resource of those specific details? Long years of stuffing my poor aching noggin with useless details whilst reading about all manner of military aviation always helps me.

However, for this particular piece I did also use a detailed schematic drawing of a Heinkel He 111 from one of my favorite printed sources. A source that I have often recommended here: "Hitler's Luftwaffe" a pictorial history and technical encyclopedia. ISBN 0-517-22477-1. Authors: Tony Wood and Bill Gunston. Published by: Salamander Books. Great stuff.

------------------
"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 02-17-2002).]

Folks,

SNAFU:

Ok, chum, I must be caught up or a ways ahead by now. Time for someone else to post a story.

All Aboard!

Today, there are two distinct ways to completely leave this old earth. One way is strapped to a cold slab with a Lilly grasped tightly in your stiffish fingers. The other way is strapped to a rocket as it belches flame and heads straight for outer space. I will not be risking great surprise on your part when I say that in 1940 there was only the former available.

In spite of this obvious hindrance, folks were queuing up in droves for the trip. Of coarse the war helped punch the tickets of way too many of them and to speed them on their not so merry way. Most left earth station hanging onto the spinning turnstiles, cursing loudly and totally against their will.

Every time our pal JRT lifts off the ground in his trembling Spitfire it is just like reaching into his pocket to buy a one way ticket to the Twilight Zone. How he makes it back over and over is a mystery to everyone including me. Perhaps all the trains to Paradise are already filled? There was that recent nasty business in France after which all public transportation to Never-Never land was seriously overbooked. Thanks to that ingenious idea of crossing the Channel in all those little boats many lucky tommies missed the even bigger trip.

Last night our dizzy friend was involved in a fur ball that would have made the real Bader or Galland call desperately for their mommy, yet he returned safely to base. There were dozens of 109s coming down spitting bullets everywhere. He dealt with them one by one until all were no more. Just as JRT was congratulating himself upon becoming the first three time Ace in a day he was bounced again. Too many angry 110s even to count (without taking off your shoes) broke from the puffy clouds. They also pounced upon the lonely Spitfire only to find that they were no match for this pilot's courage and skill. Each fell, several fell in a tangled bunch.

On JRT's return, not a scratch was found on that Spitfire. Well none that were not placed there by the trees at the end of the field or the wheels-up crash landing.

How does he do it? His score is now unimaginable yet to my certain knowledge, this guy cannot even pilot one of those cute and stubby winged little single seat planes you see out in front of supermarkets without a serious misshap involving a crash truck and several medics. Whatever is his secret?

What's that you're all shouting? You wonder what the BOB realism and damage settings are set on? Hmmmm. I'll have to look into that.





------------------
"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 02-16-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 02-17-2002).]

All,

JR2, I can only hope to limit the glaring weakness of my next tale when held up to the light with your excellent HE111 account. Your description of the planes interior did achieve your intended goal of putting the reader inside the bomber, spinning downward with the rest of the crew. You give a glimpse of the terror of that fate endured by so many very young men on all sides. A horrible end no doubt. You prove once more why your stories are constant favorites.

I think you sell your fighter pilot skills short. Anyone who takes off in one of those things, flies it 150 miles, wings it all over the sky in mortal combat with numerous bandits and then gets the bloody thing back on the ground (albeit with the help of tree brakes ) is indeed a good flyer. A fun romp in any case.

TALLY HO!

Drakho/Rickenbacher

We look forward to your next mission accounts. HWH is better for your perspectives and participation. Thanks.

Folks,

SNAFU:

There are days when just a few well chosen words of encouragement go quite a long way. Today is such a day. Thank you friend. You have literally been the wind in my sails far more often than you probably know.

The wife is still suffering miserably from that hateful bug and though it seems like ages ago, I have felt a lot better myself. Cough, Hack! This virus and the aftermath is a tenacious and pitiless thing.

Take special care you or your family do not get it. It starts with a sore throat that feels like someone has put a lit cigar down your throat and won't remove it. From that point on it just gets worse. And long after the virus is dead and gone (about 3 days) the after-effects linger and linger.

Have no fear whatsoever of any short comings you may imagine regarding your stories. IMHO they are as good as any posted here and better than all in some ways that are most enjoyable. I am certainly looking forward to your next one.

BTW. Get hold of "Finest Hour" if you can, it is turning out to be quite a good BOB book. I picked my copy up at the public library. One thing you notice right away is that unlike most books about the time, and BOB books in particular, this one starts off in May 1940 in France (take note Old Dux).

As for the pilot JRT, your comments are too kind. He returned to base triumphant and unscathed from a huge, mixed furball once more today. Everyone was deliriously happy to greet him. Of coarse his fitter was heard to mention to his rigger that it would have been so nice if he had returned with the Spitfire he had earlier flown away with.



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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

Well, I have just reread this page and I must say there are some excellent accounts here. SNAFU, Rickenbacher, Drakho and JRT good show.

I have just had a unique Campaign experience (another one? ) and will write it up. It had me sweating for survival (which I did, but only just...)