More on the mod here:
http://simhq.com/forum/ubbthreads.php/topics/3654577/Modded_stock_RAF_campaign_rele.html#Post3654577The campaign is based on Carroll 'Red' McColpin, one of the first US pilots to serve in the RAF in WWII. McColpin was the only American to fly combat in all three RAF American Eagle Squadrons. His total missions in these Squadrons exceeded three hundred. He was a double ace before Pearl Harbor and was the first American to be decorated, in Buckingham Palace by King George during World War II. McColpin was credited with 12 kills, 5 probable, and 12 damaged and finished the war as a General of the USAAF commanding the 29th Tac Air Command.
Enjoy!
Heiny
(& scripters Bolox and Gabuzomeu and beta testers Slot, EAF92_Splash, and W1ndy!)COMBAT REPORT, 'RED' McCOLPIN, 607 Sq RAF, AUG 30 1940
My first mission as a flight leader! I'd be happier if it wasn't because one of the other guys bought it, but that's war. The CO laid out the mission for us...
Intercepting a raid, to drive off the escort. We were detailed to fly out over Ramsgate, and back over Dover, if the mission followed the track that the RDF indicated it would.
I was learning it was never that simple. But as we lined up on the turf, I looked over to my wingmen...
MY wingmen! What a thought. As we lifted into the sky I hoped I lived long enough to enjoy the feeling of leading men into battle.
I hoped they lived through it too. I used the time over the channel to trim my kite. Four notches of nose down trim and three of left elevator to keep her steady in the fight.
As we got to 5,000 feet, northeast of Deal, we heard some Hurricanes, 111 Sq I think, the first ones to hit the raid.
"Dorniers!" I heard one of them say, "Dozens of the buggers!"
"Cut the chatter," I heard another break in, probably his CO, "Watch for snappers!"
By the sound of it, the snappers came down hard soon after, and the radio was choked with warnings and cries. We couldn't get there quick enough.
As we neared the furball, I saw one Do17 unload a stick of bombs and dive out of the fight.
Suddenly my windscreen was filled with falling bombs! I sheered away...
As I recovered I heard two Hurricane pilots claim Dorniers over the radio...
But I was concerned about the fighters. I'd lost my CO and the rest of the flight. I had no idea if my wingmen were still with me or not. I searched the sky desperately. Then I saw a Hurricane, getting hammered by a Bf109. I set off in pursuit.
"Rabbit 2, Rabbit 3, are you with me?" I called. I heard no reply. Luckily the Hurricane was able to roll off the top of a zoom and lose the 109, who also slowed at the top of his climb, then fell away.
I followed him down and as he pulled out at the bottom of his dive, I let him have it. Flashes from my DeWilde sparkled across his fuselage.
It wasn't enough to stop him. He used the energy of his dive and pulled up and away.
I stayed with him into a left banking turn trying to get him into my sights again. But just as my finger closed on the firing button, another Emil came piling down on me like lightning from a blue sky, I winced as he opened fire, then the sun blanked him out. I lost vision...
Around me I could hear the jumbled confused cries over the RT of men in battle. Our organised attack had turned into a frenzy of individual machines, each fighting for their lives.
As I blinked my eyes and vision returned my machine bucked like it had been kicked, and I looked over my shoulder to see tracer spiralling over my wing!
The darned Jerry's wingman had got up behind me and let me have a bellyfull.
I bunted and he flashed overhead, but immediately I smelled coolant. My radiator was holed.
I knew I had about two minutes at full power before the engine seized. The coast was about five miles away...
"I can swim that!" I told myself. I had winged that Jerry rotte leader, I wasn't going to let him go just because of a few holes in my radiator and a 109 on my tail!
I'd seen him disappear under my nose, so I followed him down again.
He used his superior diving speed, but then he zoomed up when he should have stayed low and extended away, and I caught him on the climb. My guns hammered in my ears. Or was it the cannons of the 109 behind me? It was impossible to tell...
Smoke started to stream from the Messer ahead of me. And as I rolled inverted to follow him down for a third time, I heard a shout behind me. "Got your back McColpin, finish him off!"
I saw two Spits in the corner of my vision, chase off the 109 who had latched himself on my tail. It was enough. I gave the fleeing 109 a long burst and the cockpit shattered, the German pilot falling away.
Both machine and man fell into the sea with barely a splash. I felt nothing.
I had problems of my own. My engine was starting to cough, and I was still miles from the coast.
Oil temp was off the dial. Radiator temp was climbing. I opened the radiator fully and experimentally dropped the revs, but it was no good, the needle kept climbing.
"Red 2 to Red 1, you are starting to smoke Red 1," I heard a voice say, as my wingman dropped back in behind me. "Perhaps you should bail out."
"Bail out hell," I told him, "I could glide it home from here!" I sounded more confident than I felt, and as if the gods of hubris were listening, at that moment a spray of oil covered the windshield and the engine began a gurgling death rattle.
But the prop kept turning in fits and starts, and first the coastline passed under me, and then Manston airfield appeared in front of me. Silently I thanked Mr Rolls and Mrs Royce, or whoever it was that had built this beauty of an engine. Prop spinning, smoke pouring from under me, I pointed the nose down at the grass and hit the undercarriage lever and...
Nothing. There should have been the reassuring rumble of wheels dropping out of the chassis but instead, there was just the whistling of air over the fairing. I didn't have height or speed for a go-around. I grabbed desperately for the emergency undercart release.
Gas shot out of the emergency cylinder and into the hydraulics. With a bang, the landing gear fell out of the wings and locked into place.
Never had that little green light looked so good!
I was gliding in at around 90 mph, just above a stall. I waited until I was 50ft above the grass before I dropped the flaps.
On the maintenance line, I could see the erks stop what they were doing and look up. "Don't screw this up Red," I said out loud, "Or they'll never let you live it down."
But I put her down just over the strip markers, and ran it to a slow trundle with that marvellous Merlin still coughing and spitting with life.
As I brought it to a halt, I could still hear voices on the RT, men out over the Channel, fighting for their lives. Among the voices, the dreaded call, "Fallon has bought it!"
Fallon. That made two RAF machines that wouldn't be coming back, and one of them was 602 Squadron's Fallon.
Two of ours traded for 11 of theirs? It seemed we had won this fight, but the Battle? That seemed never-ending, and we few, were getting fewer by the day.
![[Linked Image]](https://i.imgur.com/LJoJejst.jpg)
I SAY, Spot on Heinkill, Bloodly Marvelous Reading. Good Show Old Boy. 
Say it not so