Barely got bread to butter this morning when we were off on a radar contact. Wheels up before seven and to the contact point fifteen minutes later. Ran into a flight of 111's at 14,000 feet taking some vertical pot-shots at our shipping and I winged in after the third one and got him with some none-too-accurate fire. As we were circling around the area, we were attacked by either the recalcitrant escorts or another flight of 109's. For some reason, I couldn't tell the Huns from me mums and one got behind me and got a few shots into me, chipping the paint on both craft and pilot. Despite a stinging pain in arm and leg, I was able to get clear thanks to the intercedence of others in my flight, but I had to bail out a few miles off of shore after I had used up all the petrol. After a week in the hospital, I am able to write this report and should be back in the "game" in a few more days... Here's the surprisingly clear and in color and cockpit-centric gun camera footage:
Seriously, I can't tell the difference between the hurris and BF's until quite close. Can't wait for those big elliptical wings to show up!
The older I get, the more I realize I don't need to be Han, Luke or Leia. I'm just happy to be rebel scum...
