Folks,

Du-x:

I look forward to those combat reports with great interest.

Next to the 900,000 page HWH Handbook you are the next best inexhaustible storehouse of knowledge about all things airworthy with guns. There must me quite a few Spit and Hurri 'mock-ups' laying about that were made for movies like the BoB and so many others. At least some should be sprinkled across the UK.

Do you recall those clever engineering types that were building a Spitfire mock-up from scratch to use with the Rowan/Empire/BDG version of BoB? They used to post mouth-watering photos of their progress on the original BoB forum. They were even machining the 100s of unique metal bits. I wonder what the outcome of that costly venture was? My guess is that it got far too big for the parlor and garage and someone's wife finally put her foot down ending the whole project.....

I flew a Hurricane last night. I usually don't. The Hurri is a wonderful bird and a steady gun platform. If one aircraft must be singled out as the winner of the BoB I would have to vote for the Hurri as it was easier to mass produce and far more of them were available... when the pilots could be found to fly them that is. Living here in eastern North Carolina where those powerful Atlantic storms can make you sit up in the middle of the night and break into a cold sweat, it may simply be the name that puts me off. I'll flirt with the other ships modeled in BoB but I am always happier flying the Spitfire than any other craft.

We expect temps up around 100 F./ 38 C./311 K. today and tomorrow. There has been one class 1 hurricane and a tropical depression off our coast for the past 2 weeks. It makes me a little nervous just thinking about it. The coast of NC is truly beautiful and it has now been over-developed. A storm half the size of Catrina could be devastating. No, Hurricanes may be a natural force of nature but I do not really care for them.

A personal note:

Dux, my dear friend, do not forget (as if you would) that special day coming up this week. May I be one of the first to offer to you and to Lady J. my heartiest and most sincere congratulations upon the occasion of your lucky 13th wedding anniversary. SALUTE!

As you know, my bride, Lady T., and I will be celebrating our own 37th wedding anniversary on Thursday July 25th as well. I have already alerted the fellows down at the Lizard Lick convenience store, bingo parlor and 24-hour motorcycle garage that we will be stopping by for a cold beverage, a bag of chips and a toasted sandwich to celebrate... Yes, I do spoil the lass.

JRT,

Thanks for your most considerate congratulations! You have reminded me of this important date more than once... On that day you can bet we will be sporting our four-leaved clovers and stroking a rabbit's foot as we hope to get through the day without mishap! It falls on a Friday too.

We herewith return our sincere compliments to you and Lady T!

Regarding the Hurricane BoB mock-ups; I saw one of these, or what was left of it at Coventry airport in the eighties. It hardly stood up to close scrutiny but was never meant to! Looked convincing in the film though, which was all that mattered.

Gentlemen,

We were feeling despondent later that day after losing three of our chaps. Even more so when we heard that 1 Squadron had intercepted unescorted Stukas over the Medway and really carved them up. That would have been a measure of revenge for us and we felt cheated out of the chance to rack up a good day's score to offset our earlier losses.

On the 11th we were scrambled to challenge another convoy attack of some thirty plus somewhere north of Margate. Our flight of six Hurricanes couldn't find the convoy let alone the Stukas and after a lengthy search we were about to return.
Control came through again...
'They are there alright! Should be above you and heading back eastward'
Too late then. Either they too had failed to find the convoy or had already bombed. Once again we scanned the skies but again with no result.
'Where the hell are they? We have clear skies and no sign of anything above'
'You must see them! The plots have almost merged!'
In exasperation we scoured the skies...and then we saw them! About thirty Ju87s in three flights of ten and well above. About 6,000 feet above in fact and well above the reported height.

With as much boost as we could spare we hung on our props and started out to make up the vast distance between us and the enemy. The steeper we climbed the less progress we seemed to make as the dive-bombers pulled away steadily. The minutes ticked away as we burned more and more of our precious fuel. But then after leaving the Kentish coast far behind we were at a height which was approximate to theirs and began to draw up to the enemy although slightly below.
They were unescorted and had obviously not learned thier lesson of the previous day - or had chosen to ignore it. I doubt if they saw us coming in this far from classic interception.

'O.K. chaps! Take the centre formation and I'll have a squirt at the left one!'
As the day before, the rest of the flight surged ahead and waded into the targets. Within seconds they had sent five plummeting out of the formation with the ferocity of their attack and before I had chance to open up, 'Squiffy' Carstairs had rolled out of his zoom climb and flamed another.

The ten Stukas ahead of me hung in the sky like ripe plums and my speed had almost dropped to match theirs when I opened up and sprayed one after the other while bits and pieces flew back. One exploded with such force that I concluded that he must have still had a bomb slung underneath and my kite bucked and wallowed under the blast. Now I was out of ammo and upside down, fighting to control the Hurricane.
'Anyone left with ammo? Take on the other formation'.
No reply. They had already waded in and I was proud of 'em. Several columns of smoke tapered off towards the sea in the wake of the battles progress.
Another minute and we had broken off and regrouped for the flight back to Manston. A Hurricane was missing.

Our mood that afternoon was in complete contrast to the previous day and the Squadron was credited with five of the enemy although I think we got a few more. Certainly many more damaged.

Sergeant Boghouse was lucky. He chose to ditch rather than bale out and was duly picked up by a Walrus, the crew of which had watched the battle from a safe distance before closing in to pick him up - and a couple of the enemy for good measure. Our replacements had gained valuable experience and we felt confident that the Squadron would benefit operationally from the contrasting fortunes of the two days fighting.

Folks,

Dux:

Excellent report Old Man. I could visualize you standing by the wing of your Hurricane as you told of your exciting mission. Your worn face was somehow partially obscured by shadow but it was clear by the way you leaned back upon the fuselage that you were bone tired as the rigger helped you off with your Mae West and chute.

So well written was it that I could clearly picture the events in my feeble mind as your story unfolded. It helps of course to have seen something similar myself. Coming up on JU87s from behind knowing they have no escort is a bit like training your 12 bore shotgun at NAZI quail stuck in a brier bush....right up until they start shooting back and you get a face full. It ain't a piece of cake after all.

Those Stukas were dreadfully slow and truly obsolete by 1940 but they were damn good at dive bombing as Rudel or any Russian tank driver would later attest. They did well in Spain and across Europe but by the time of the BoB it was clear even to Goring that, when attacked, they were no match for modern fighters.

And thank you sincerely for your own kind, good wishes. We will, my bride and I, as has become our custom for these past 7 years, raise a glass of Château Thames Embankment (Vin. this morning) in your honor. I drank to your health no less than 12 times last year and I would slug down 13 this year but for the fact that our libation of choice has become so beastly expensive. Even on sale, a full gallon costs almost a dollar down at the Seven-Eleven.

You are familiar with both BoB 1 and now also with BoB 2 WOV. Is there some way that you can contrast the two without going to too much trouble? As the Captain of the doomed Bismark said to the fire control officer who was bragging about the Stringbags they had managed to hit...."I am more interested at the moment in what we are missing"....

From the screenies that Bader posted it is evident that the graphics are much better, however I am wondering is that due more to Bader's high end system or to the game itself? Or perhaps it is both?

As predicted, it has been a scorcher here today, 97F. Tomorrow looks to be even hotter with temps expected to climb to 101 F./ 38 C./311 K. I would do some hot weather hammock testing tomorrow if I weren't afraid the thing would catch fire in the shade.

At least the big storm and its wind have tired of toying with us and they are now moving away. I took all the precautions I could think of just in case. OK. It would now seem that my tying my Mother in Law to a stout tree was a bit premature. From the sounds of all the shouting, you do not want me to tell you what she thinks about it.

Folks,

It has been some time now since even the erudite and learned Dux has even alluded to a poem much less quoted poetry. He hasn't even posted a bawdy Limerick in a very long spell. So I thought that it might benefit us all to add a bit of culture to these otherwise somewhat Philistine goings on. I'm afraid however that even the most beautifully composed poetry can not make up for my own literary short comings. Bear with us as we plod along in search of a bit of culture.

Through The Boundless Sky
By JRT
HWH Continued WOW
Page 557
7.23.08

There was so much rain on the windscreen that JRT wondered if he was IN the Channel and not over it. It was getting terribly bumpy too and there were flashes of lightning that blinded him and made the instruments jump about. This is too much he thought to himself and so, watching the instruments carefully, he poured on more power to see if he could rise above the storm. The altimeter dial passed 1 and then 2 thousand feet before he popped out between two layers of cloud.

Should he climb higher? He reckoned he was passing over those famous chalk cliffs by now. Should he descend to try to get his bearings? Then he saw some white specks against the darker lower layer of cloud. Several gulls were rising into the marginally calmer air. Somehow seeing them calmed his nerves. What was that poem by Bryant? He was trying to remember.

That was the precise instant that the Spit's mighty engine began running rough again, coughed, popped and then quit... JRT's heart was in his throat and the lines from "To a Waterfowl” by William Cullen Bryant were on his lips as he feverishly began his emergency procedures.

"He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright."

Down he went. Down into the belly of the storm. He was being tossed about now by the powerful updrafts then sent crashing down again and shaken mercilessly. The thunder and the lightning reached a terrifying crescendo and just as his whole miserable life including a brief intermission had just about passed across his mind, suddenly the mighty storm spewed him right out into brilliant sunshine.

He was still piloting a glider of course...but a damn good one at that and just over to the left he could see there was an emergency field. He was shaken, he had a nose bleed and a slight flesh wound from his earlier combat that day but he was going to be OK.

Folks,

It seemed a good afternoon for shooting down 109s. Someone else thought so too. We were scrambled about 16:00 hours. We found the enemy and then things quickly got down and dirty. Pardon me while I spit out a clod or two of earth and pick the grass from my broken teeth.

Here is what happened:

A mixed flight of Spitfires and Hurricanes intercepted two flights of He-111s that were determined to give Kenly a big headache. We were at angels 10 and headed right into their teeth. The Hurricanes took on the bombers and soon had them dropping their eggs and trying desperately to figure out which way was home.

We in our Spitfires found ourselves suddenly in the thick of a large fur-ball that soon came down to about 1000 feet and later, for me down much lower. I bagged two and left one trailing black smoke toward the Channel while one of his yellow nosed friends fixed himself onto my tail and soon caused me to regret not taking out more life insurance.

Down we went, up we went, around we went and he stayed right there. He could not quite get his sights on me thanks to the Spit's tight turning. This went on for some time. I could not get a bead on him and he could not hit me. I did not want to seem unsociable yet I was quickly tiring of this one-sided game. I figured that we were just high enough for a split 's' and so over I rolled as pretty as pie and this time I reached into my little bag of tricks and found it empty. I discovered to my great discomfort that I couldn't quite pull out in time. I went straight over Farmer Drubbin's manure pile and plowed right into a large, grassy field.

Spitt, cough, spatooey. How can cows eat this stuff? Was that a little cartoon Mickey Mouse that I saw on the Jerry's fuselage as he roared over me and set coarse for France? If so, curse you, you yellow-nosed corpse chewing, illegitimate son of a trench rat.

JRT,

Good Show!
You help to keep the skies clear while I entertain the masses on the ground.

Last night was our second bash at a private party and our overall performance rating was better...edging up to about 7 out of ten I reckon. I spilled half of my last pint down the back of the amp which was rather upsetting - then I remembered the few cans I had left at home.

Folks,

Dux:

No praise deserved Old Man. The way you seem to so carelessly throw liquids about and stand playing an electric guitar in torrential downpours, it may well be far safer flying against those ill tempered boys in their yellow-nosed 109s?

It would seem that you are finally getting into your stride musically. You entertained at a private party you say? Must be army chaps? Does the RAF allow its privates to have parties? Who knew?

Keep it up. It only takes one big hit tune, one moment of good fortune to be discovered and then you will all have rows and rows of those shiny gold records adorning your castle walls. I can see it in my mind's eye already. In no time at all you Derbyshire lads could be better known over here than those two remaining chaps from Liverpool..... I can already see the bold headlines, "The Crypt Kicker Five Invades The US!"

OK maybe not.

JRT,

Despite my modest rating, we were paid 10 quid extra. Perhaps it was for ending our performance early to make way for the disco?

No, this wasn't a military function although bunkers are not unheard of. It was a golf club do. No scruffy attire allowed...so I sneaked in up the fire escape.

We have decide to call ourselves 'Neville and the Kneetremblers'.

Folks,

Dux:

Ten Quid! A small fortune if it weren't divided amongst so many. Perhaps that was simply a small stipend for hiring a bodyguard should you ever play there again? Here is a tip. In my own limited band playing experience, it was always a very bad sign when the band was enclosed in a wire cage.

'NATK' eh, LOL! Provided there is a Neville in the band, that is much better than 'Neville and the Aluminum Frame Drivers' which, considering the probable average age of the band members, would have been the more natural choice.

MARKETING BULLETIN! This just in from your public relations and marketing firm, Kanwee Floggem and Howe of Derbyshire. Nine out of ten attendees to that soirée who expressed a printable opinion said that they had very strong emotions particularly regarding the music played at the party. However, when asked about the name of the band, 99% said "Neville and the who?"

Analysis: Apparently there is some confusing association with 'NATK' and the slightly more famous band by the name of the 'WHO'.

Recommendation: Change band's name to one of the following: 'Neville and the What, When or Where'.