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#3710591 - 01/02/13 04:03 PM Re: Red band of courage [Re: HeinKill]  
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Should've had the Heinkel in Red Cross colors.

Inline advert (2nd and 3rd post)

#3710596 - 01/02/13 04:19 PM DFC [Re: HeinKill]  
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August 16 1940

Erprobungsgruppe?

Before today, I'd have guessed that word was German for some sort of bath plug.

I know different now.

We were scrambled to intercept some Jabos coastal command spotted heading in our general direction.



It was a full squadron scramble and I was leading the second section in Vick's flight.



Aldridge had taken me aside as we were heading out of the ready room...warning me about 'Erpro 210'. They were a particularly nasty bunch, he said. They were headed up by some Swiss uber-nazi who'd learned his trade in Spain and had recently been given command of a mixed gruppe of 109s and 110s whose tactics were to hit hard and run away fast. Pinpoint attacks.



As we climbed out, I was thinking about that. Pinpoint? More like 'pin-prick' if you asked me. How much damage could a few 250lb bombs really do?





We didn't know if we would be hitting the 109s or the 110s, or the whole bunch together, but we didn't have long to wait. We spotted them just East of the Isle of Wight. They came at us out of the haze and my guns were firing before I even realised I was in combat!







I called the section to target freely. The 109s dumped their ordnance, and I followed one of them as he zoomed up trying to get some height.







My 8 Brownings were still hammering away - had I even taken my finger of the trigger since the merge? I couldn't remember. I walked the tracer into him as he hung at the top of his climb.

He stalled and then nosed over and plunged toward the deck. I took my finger off the trigger.



Whether he'd been badly hit, or just panicked, it didn't matter. His canopy blew off and he jumped for it.





Back at Tangmere, they were finding out just how much pain a few well aimed 250lbers could cause. The 110C7s of Erpro 210 had slipped past us while we were dancing with the Emils, and were giving Tangmere a beating.









We heard the Sector controller talking with Vick and then his voice came over the R/T, "Luton leader to Luton squadon, disengage and RTB! Tangmere is under attack! Buster, buster!"

We all broke off and pushed our throttles through the gate.



I think it caught the remaining Emils by surprise. A couple of them started to chase us, but we were diving away with a good headstart and they gave up the chase after a short while.



I was approaching Tangmere, wondering if we were too late, when an excited cry came over the R/T..."Tallyho! 110s 12 o'clock!"



I knew I couldn't have much ammo left. Maybe a few seconds worth at best. But at very least I could scare the strafing 110s away. I rounded on one that was crossing my beam.



He was low on energy and trying to climb away, and his rear gunner had me nicely parked in his sights and started banging away. A few rounds whanged into my Merlin, but I gave him a three second burst before my guns went dry.







The range was darned near perfect, right in my convergence zone. The .303s went through the 110 from top to tail. I was pretty sure no one could have survived a punch like that.



They didn't.



As he dropped and I peeled off, I could smell oil, and looking behind I saw a thin stream of dirty smoke. The 110 gunner must have hit an oil line before he checked out.



I wasn't too worried, but I scanned the skies and turned toward the field - no ammo, and a holed crate, my fight was over.

So was O'Halloran's. I heard his strangled cry on the R/T and one of the others confirmed he'd bought it. Right at that moment, something vital in my engine blew out.



More urgently now, I called an emergency and turned toward Tangmere.



Tangmere tower came over the blower, "Luton Red Leader, this is Tangmere, do not approach, repeat, do not approach! The field is cratered and it is not safe to land!"

I keyed the mike, "My Hurricane is one dead hoofer Tangmere, I've got to put down somewhere!"

"Can you make Westhampnett Luton Red Leader?"

I was already banking to make Tangmere, so I tightened the turn and pointed my nose at Westhampnett. I was low, but the Merlin was still stuttering...maybe...





"Give it a try, Tangmere, let them know I'm coming will you?"

"Roger Luton Red Leader."

"We'll follow you down Sir," I heard over my R/T. Looking over my shoulder I saw Red 2 and Red 3 keeping station with me.



Not much they could do, but the moral support was welcome.

I came in with the prop still turning in fits and starts, wheels and flaps down, but too much airspeed. I'd been worried I wouldn't make it to the field, so I'd kept my airspeed up and hit the grass at over 100 mph.

The wheels kissed, and I bounced. Over my port wing I saw Tangmere, burning.





It wasn't pretty. The nose heavy Hurricane slammed down again, the cart folded, and nose down I ploughed through the landing field perimeter and into the high grass.



As the dust settled, I heard the sound of the engine ticking as it cooled. The air was thick with the pungent odour of overheated oil, but thankfully, not fuel. As I sat back in the cockpit, I heard the bells of fire trucks getting closer.

I reached for the R/T a last time, "I'm down at Westhampnett Tangmere, but the kite is a write off, send a cab over for me will you?"

There was some muffled conversation at the other end, then a dry voice came on the line. It was Vick. I cringed, and waited for him to chew me out, "Perhaps you'd like us to pick you up in a limousine Mr McColpin?"

I snapped my cap. "Oh for goodness sake Sir!" I said through gritted teeth, "The damn machine was a wreck before I even hit the turf. I'm lucky to have got it down at all."

There was a frosty silence at the other end.

"I'll overlook that outburst McColpin," Vick said, "Because I was about to let you know, that after your double kill in the last mission, I proposed you for a DFC and it has just come through."



Vick continued, "DFC or no, I suggest you make your own way back here Flight Lieutenant. We have dead and wounded to attend to."




_________________________________________

More reading:

Erpro 210

http://bobgamehub.blogspot.dk/2013/01/focus-unit-erprobungsgruppe-210.html


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#3712037 - 01/04/13 07:13 PM Re: DFC [Re: HeinKill]  
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jack72 Offline
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Enjoying your posts with pics and story...

Just curious. Are these missions part of the game missions, or are these from Desastersof


- I know those voices in my head are not real, but man they have some good ideas.

- I never killed anyone, but I have read a large number of obituaries with great satisfaction.

- If I cannot make it to your funeral, I will certainly send a message indicating my approval.

- Most of my Friends are Imaginary

- Time is money, so I decided to sell my watch.
#3712172 - 01/04/13 10:25 PM Re: DFC [Re: HeinKill]  
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Jack72,

They are from REDUX

Sokol1

#3712352 - 01/05/13 05:10 AM Re: DFC [Re: HeinKill]  
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thumbsupGood Reading.

#3712490 - 01/05/13 03:30 PM Never a dull day [Re: HeinKill]  
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August 17 1940

There are 50,000 men in the observer corps.

Today, one of them saved my life. But more on that later.

Seems Vick had had enough of me. Park's office gave him a call and asked him to nominate a flight leader to send to 602 Squadron at Manston who are, as the Limeys say, 'under the pump' at the moment, and he nominated me!



And just to make sure I went, he flew my wing on the trip over! Made some excuse about wanting to talk to the CO of 602, Sandy Johnstone, but I'm sure it was just to hurry me on my way.

And we did have to hurry.



"We'll take the coast road McColpin," he said as we pulled away from Tangmere. "I have to get there and back this afternoon, so there is no time for detours."



It was going to be a hairy flight - flying through the thick of the battle. It wasn't a matter of whether we would encounter the Luftwaffe, but where. I guess that was why Vick was flying my wing, and not the other way around. He had a better chance of looking after me, than I did of looking after him.

As we flew out I wondered would I ever see Tangmere again from the ground? They were a good bunch at 607 Sq, and I gave a couple of them a last wave as we turned east toward Dover.



As we hit Eastbourne, the radio crackled to life. "607 Squadron Rabbit Flight, this is Tangmere. We have a report of a pair of 109s circling in the Eastbourne area looking for business. Suggest you keep a weather eye open."

I acknowledged, and began scanning the sky even more carefully than I already was. I would have to develop hypervigilance if I was going to live, my combat instructor had taught me. Use the corners of your eyes, your peripherals. Don't fix your gaze on anything for more than a millisecond. Sweep right rear high, low, abeam high, low, forward quarters high and low and then to port. Then check instruments and repeat.

That's what I was doing when I caught it. A small shadow crossing the sun.



I squinted, tightened my grip on the stick with one hand, grabbed the R/T with the other. THERE!



"Bandits, bandits!!" I called, "2 oclock, coming down!! Break right, break, break!"

The 109s swooped on us like eagles on sparrows, guns chattering.



They had the advantage of us, could have used their diving airspeed to pull up and away and leave us floundering, but they didn't. They pulled around and tried to get on our six, and that was their fatal mistake. Not only were our Hurricanes tighter in the turn, we were moving slower than them. We turned inside their circle and it was suddenly us, on their six.



But they were no novices. They realised immediately we had turned the tables on them, and they dived for the deck, hugging the ground, diving and weaving around hills and through dales. It was a case of who would slip up first, and whoever made the first mistake, would probably also make the last.



We zoomed down on a golfcourse. I could see golfers down there, looking up at us with their hands shading their eyes

s.

Then they were running for cover, as the Emil I was chasing caught a wingtip on a small rise, and ploughed the earth, leaving a fresh new bunker for the golfers to negotiate.



I swung back toward Vick, who was busy with the other 109, "I have your six Sir!" I told him.

"Worry...about...yourself," Vick grunted. "I've got this one."

"His wingman bit the dust Sir," I told him. "You're all clear."

It took barely thirty more seconds for Vick to close on and then nail the remaining 109.



We formed up again and turned east once more.



I pulled off my flight helmet and wiped my face. It was wet with sweat. My hands were jittering on the stick. If we hadn't got that warning, would we have seen those 109s? They had us dead to rights and came at us from up sun, a perfect ambush.

Somewhere down there was an observer corpsman - man, boy, woman, I would never know - who I probably had to thank for my life.

I started seeing 109s everywhere. A barrage balloon.



A coastal command Walrus.



I nearly jumped out of my skin when the radio crackled again, "Kenley control to all aircraft in the Dover area, be on the lookout for 6 plus Dorniers, 15,000 feet, heading East."

I peered ahead. Dover was approaching, and I could see flak. I didn't envy the bombers trying a daylight raid on Dover in bright sunlight. There were more flak guns concentrated down there than any other spot in the world, I'd wager. They'd be lucky to get out of there in one piece, let alone get close enough to drop any bombs.









"How is your fuel after that dogfight, McColpin?" Vick asked.

I checked the gauge, "About one third full Sir." I reported.



"Throttle it back a little, we want to make it all the way," he ordered.

I pulled the throttle back a notch or two and trimmed up again. I didn't like it. We were on the front line and cruising like we were on a sightseeing jaunt.

But we soon put Dover behind us, and Manston was only about ten minutes flying away. I started to breathe a little easier.



I should have known.

"This is Dover radar to all aircraft in Sector S9, repeat S9. 602 Squadron reports it is in pursuit of 3 Ju88s heading SE over Ramsgate at 5,000 feet. Repeat 3 Junkers, heading SE over Ramsgate."

I reached for the R/T, "This is 607 Sq Rabbit flight, we are inbound to Manston, and in position to engage. What do you want us to do Dover?"

The radar operator at Dover began to speak, but with a loud hiss, another voice broke in, "This is 602 Squadron Red Flight in pursuit of Junkers over Manston, is that you Vick?!"

"Aye Sandy!" Vick replied to the 602 Sq CO, "We've just crossed Dover."

"We could use a hand," came the other voice. "Only two of us. The more the merrier eh?"



I looked across at Vick and he nodded to me, pointing his finger at a heading that would give us an intercept vector. I banked gently, pushed the throttle forward, and he followed.



Nervously I looked down at my fuel again. Not enough for a long chase, but more than enough if we got the intercept right.



We saw the Junkers before we saw the 602 Sq Spits that were chasing them.



"I see them," said Vick, "You take the ones on the left, I'll take the right."

As he spoke, a shadow flashed overhead and I ducked. An escort? But then I saw the beautiful silhouette of a Spit Mk 1, closing on the enemy.



"Welcome to the party 607!" I heard on the radio, but that was the last bit of banter as together we went to work on the Ju88s.











I took some return fire in my wings and a few rounds in the engine, but she kept purring, and soon, the Ju88s were finished.







We all turned back for the coast.

"Nice job 607. The last to land puts the kettle on!" Came a voice in a Scottish brogue. That must have been Johnstone, I decided. We flew side by side for Manston.





Over Manston we joined the circuit and got permission to land.

And then, after all that...I reached for the gear lever and...





Nothing.

"Rabbit 2 this is Rabbit 1, can you check my undercarriage state? I'm not seeing or hearing anything here."

Vick dropped back and beneath, then popped back up beside me.

"You gear is still up, and you've got a few holes in your underbelly," he said, "Try it again."

I did, but it was no dice.

"I'll have to belly land," I told him. "Manston tower, pls have fire and ambulance handy, I have a problem with my undercart."

Manston loomed larger.



I had too much speed up to go straight in, and did a lazy circle of the field, delaying the inevitable. I could see ambulances scurrying across the field. I checked the windsock.



At the end of the landing strip I saw a fire engine. It calmed me a little. I pointed my nose between it, and a line of Tiger Moths.



I bellied in at about 80 mph, right in front of the Tiger Moths. At that speed, the machine pulled up sharply, the propeller shattered and the engine clattered to a noisy stop, but thankfully it didn't ground loop.



Once again I was down, but once again I'd need a new machine.



"Nice job McColpin," Vick said as he made a perfect three-point landing, "Anyone would think you had been practicing."



The fire truck gave me a ride back to the mess.

I'd made it to my new squadron.

I still had the image in my head of Johnstone's Spitfire flashing overhead. Those beautiful lines.

What a machine she was.

===================

More reading:

The Royal Observer Corps
http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/16/a4282616.shtml

602 Squadron history
http://www.raf.mod.uk/history/602squadron.cfm

CO Sandy Johnstone
http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/2000/dec/22/guardianobituaries1









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#3712950 - 01/06/13 02:26 PM Re: Never a dull day [Re: HeinKill]  
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oldgrognard Online content
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Lifer

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Really marvelous AARs. You have some real talent for it.

Please continue.


Good people sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.

Someday your life will flash in front of your eyes. Make sure it is worth watching.
#3713072 - 01/06/13 07:00 PM Re: Never a dull day [Re: HeinKill]  
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wave Nice Job

#3713097 - 01/06/13 07:43 PM Re: Never a dull day [Re: HeinKill]  
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Really a beautiful telling of story. Very much enjoying this.

#3713417 - 01/07/13 02:10 PM Re: Never a dull day [Re: HeinKill]  
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Aye, loving Heinkill's AARs.

And this looks like a nice campaign.

#3713497 - 01/07/13 04:34 PM Re: Never a dull day [Re: HeinKill]  
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Will McCoplin ever bring a machine back in one piece is the real question.

Great stuff and a wonderful read this Monday morning! Eagerly awaiting more.

popcorn

#3713568 - 01/07/13 07:33 PM Re: Never a dull day [Re: HeinKill]  
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Hey, I blame Bolox and his evil scripting for that hydraulics failure!

H


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#3717608 - 01/14/13 02:56 PM Re: CoD REDUX Mission 9 - 'Check Flight' [Re: HeinKill]  
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10 days later
August 29 1940


I met Winnie! The British Prime Minister! And here's something I never knew - he's an American. Or as near as a limey can get...

"My, my, an American? Did you know I am half American by blood?" he said, pumping my hand enthusiastically while chomping on his cigar. "Yes, my association with that great country goes back nearly 70 years, when my mother Jennie deigned to marry my father. She stood by him, just as we must stand together now, eh?"

He doffed his hat to me, and moved on. His wife Clementine was there too.

I got a copy of this photograph from his adjutant - that's me on the far right.



Never one to miss a trick, 'Sandy' Johnstone, the CO, used the visit to persuade the PM not to take 602 Squadron out of the line, despite their losses.

"Give us 10 days," he pleaded. "If we aren't back to operational strength by then, you can send us north."

"Well, well, it isn't my decision. It lies with Sir Vice Marshall Park you know. But certainly, I will discuss it with him."

He was good to his word. The next day, came word Park had approved us to rebuild in place. Today we were declared Cat A again, and Johnstone pulled me out of the ready room just after dawn.



I put that ten days to very good use, getting to know my Spitfire.


My first impression? “It’s darned small!” Slender fuselage and curvy elliptical wings tapering to nothing at the tips. Next to the Hurricane it looks downright petite. Even the slim, tightly cowled engine hides the 1,310 HP it can belt out. A real wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Step up on the wing, ease yourself in the seat and you find the cockpit snug in a most comforting way. There is room enough to move your hands and feet, but no more. You feel not that you are sitting in an airplane, but that you have “put it on” like your well worn flight jacket.

Starting is typical Merlin, not much to learn there. Manually prime with the Ki-gas pump – too little and it won’t start; too much and you will have an exhaust stack fire, much to the entertainment of onlookers, but guaranteed to raise your own pulse rate. Once the engine is running, I like to remember Sandy Johnstone's first warning to me: “Once you start a Merlin, your IQ drops by half.” So the checklist, securely strapped to my left leg, becomes my best friend.

Taxi with great care. The brakes, applied with a light tap tap on the bicycle-like brake lever at the top of the stick, are feather light and very effective. Since the Spitfire is extremely light on the tail – only 7 inches separates its centre of gravity from the main wheels, compared to nearly 50 inches on a Hurricane – she is just waiting to give the unwary a very expensive trip to the workshop for a new prop.

This was all cycling through my mind as Johnstone and I moved up to take off.



Along with his challenge "If you can stay with me, you're ready for combat!"

You have to ease the power in sloooowly. All that horsepower means you get some decent asymmetric forces on the take off roll and, with a max power take-off, you need full right deflection of both aileron and rudder to keep it straight. Keep the tail low and it will fly off uneventfully. Yes, the gear retraction is a bit clunky and you do need to change hands to do it, but that’s part of the Spitfire’s personality and it won’t get you into any trouble.

In the air, that's where you feel the magic. Controls are so light and responsive that the airplane seems to go where you want just by wishing it. (Did I really move that stick?) I have never felt so seamlessly blended into an airplane before. Surprisingly the controls are not harmonized. Stick forces for aileron are closer to being normal, but the elevator forces are extraordinarily light and demand the gentlest touch.



Considering all the power and performance packed into this little airplane, the stall characteristics are benign. With flaps and gear down and with guns dry, stall speed is around 60 knots. There is lots of warning, little tendency for a wing drop, and recovery is routine and immediate.

The only challenges on landing are poor forward visibility but not much different to the Hurri. A gently curving approach to the runway threshold still solves the visibility problem. Over the fence at 90 knots and a last look speed of 80 knots and you will be well set up. Take a good look at the cross wind as you come short on final and set your mind for how much side slip you want to feed in on the flare, because it is not easy to judge the drift once that long nose starts to come up. Flare to a tail low or three point attitude, remembering again how light and responsive the elevator is, and enjoy the arrival. It higgles around a bit on that ridiculously narrow undercart, but there is no mean streak in this airplane. Although the tail wheel is free castoring, the big rudder is very effective as long as you are reasonable fast with your feet.

Oh, and easy, very easy, on the brakes. First thing I learned....

Taxi to dispersal but waste no time since, on a warm day, that Merlin will heat up to the red line in a very short time. Shut down just like in the Hurri...

All this was going through my mind as I clung to Johnstone's wing, getting ready for him to break suddenly and start our practice.

But fate had practice of a different kind planned.



"Tally ho! Ju88s at 1 o'clock! Attack scheme 1 by 1. Red 2, You go for number two of the third element."

The Junkers were spread out in echelon right formation. Number 2 of the third element? I pulled around on the right hand trailing machine...



This time I was in my favourite positiong, a slashing frontal attack. I aimed ahead of the bomber and let him fly into my guns.





He didn't break, so I began to wonder if I had even hit him. I pulled in tight behind for a quick burst. It wasn't a comfortable place to be, so I didn't plan to spend too long on his six. I concentrated fire on his starboard engine.





The rear attack would have put me right in the crossfire of the bomber on his right if it had been a Heinkel, but the Ju88 relied more on speed than defensive guns, and there were no broadsides from that direction.



The second burst did the trick. As I pulled level with him I saw his right wheel fall out of the wheel well, a sure sign I had hit hydraulics.



His flight leader was ahead of me now. I knew I should have pulled up and away from all those rearward facing MGs, but I had one and half tons of Merlin between myself and the Ju88 gunners and a big fat target in my sights. I gave the next Junkers in line a big squirt too.



He slewed right, as thought the weight of my fire was dragging on his starboard wing. It must have felt like being hit by Thor's hammer.





Looking over my should as I finally pulled up and away, I saw my first target go spearing into the sea.

"Good show McColpin," Johnstone said over the R/T, "That's a kill."



I extended away in front of the Ju88s, and below, I saw what was probably their target. The RDF station north of Ramsgate, with its small collection of huts and masts.



But luckily our attack had taken its toll, and the Junkers lost their nerve. They broke, bombs falling from their bombays to fall harmlessly into the sea and they turned tail and fled for France.

"How's your ammunition McColpin?" Johnston called and I saw him swim into view in my mirror. I thumbed my gun button, but there was no response.

"I'm dry Sir," I told him.

"Suggest you head back to Manston," he replied. "I've got a couple of rounds left, I'll see if there are any stragglers."

He broke right, and I broke left for Manston.

I touched down carefully, tapping lightly on the brake handle to pull myself up.



We he came back in, Johnstone told me he'd found the second of my targets skimming the water over the Channel, and had finished it off.

"Your kill," he told me, "He was a goner anyway. I can't claim that one. I got another one meself, that's enough for me."



As we walked back from dispersal he patted me on the back, "Not bad for a training flight eh? Hope you have a taste for combat McColpin. I don't know what life was like at Tangmere, but I'll warrant it was a holiday compared to what you'll be up for here."


______________________________________________

More reading

602 Sq CO Sandy Johnstone
http://www.602squadronmuseum.org.uk/CA/pawtucket/index.php/Detail/Entity/Show/entity_id/1

Photo
http://www.gettyimages.dk/detail/news-ph...?Language=en-US

Commands
http://www.602squadronmuseum.org.uk/CA/pawtucket/index.php/Detail/Entity/Show/entity_id/1








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#3718822 - 01/16/13 05:27 AM Re: CoD REDUX Mission 9 - 'Check Flight' [Re: HeinKill]  
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Lifer
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Good stuff Heinkill. smile


Wheels


Cheers wave
Wheelsup_cavu

Mission4Today (Campaigns, Missions, and Skins for IL-2)
Planes of Fame Air Museum | March Field Air Museum | Palm Springs Air Museum
#3718854 - 01/16/13 07:39 AM Re: CoD REDUX Mission 9 - 'Check Flight' [Re: HeinKill]  
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Wodin Offline
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Just wondered did it turn out the pilots head where the right size but to big in other sims or are they small? Always bugs me for some reason.

Last edited by Wodin; 01/16/13 01:59 PM.
#3718929 - 01/16/13 01:29 PM CoD REDUX Mission 10 - 'Teutonic Knight' [Re: HeinKill]  
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HeinKill Offline
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HeinKill  Offline
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Me too.

The next mission was inspired by the events of August 24 1940, when more than 100 Luftwaffe aircraft in several raids targeted Manston and put it temporarily out of action. This was the beginning of the hardest two weeks for the RAF in the entire Battle of Britain. See links at the end of the AAR for more info.

But the way the mission played out was quite unexpected and shows that no matter how much you might criticise the CoD AI, it sometimes delivers some fantastic suprises.

After Action Report
Flt Lt 'Red' McColpin, 602 Squadron


The CO told us as we were mustered for briefing, that multiple raids were building up over Calais and LeHavre, and every available squadron was being brought to readiness to take them on. There would be no reserves left to watch over our airfields if they got through.

There were at least four other squadrons assigned to intercept the same raid as us, and our job was to tie up the escorts so that the Hurricanes could wear away at the bombers.



Manston had been hit in raids nearly every day in the past few weeks, and as I took off, I couldn't help glance over at the field hospital that had sprung up on the Eastern Boundary. I had no plans to pay it a visit.



But I knew what we were about to fly into, and it was a regular 'brew-up' as the Limeys say. At least 100 bombers, with escort, were heading at Manston from Calais.









Against them would be the Hurricanes of my old unit, 602 Sq, and 111 Sq, plus our Spits and the Spits of 54 Squadron - odds of at least 2-1 against...







As we climbed out from Manston with throttles through the gate, it was the Hurricanes of 111 that were the first to engage, and they went straight at the bombers. The Luftwaffe escort fell on them like a sack of bricks.







The radio rang with the cries of RAF pilots in trouble, and within no time the 109s were taking a serious toll.



We made the coast and turned onto an intercept vector.



Over my shoulder I could see the ruins of the previous week's bombing.



We were among the raiders in no time.

"Ignore the bombers, take the escorts!" Johnstone ordered and I passed the word along to my flight.



"Red flight, one by one, pick your own targets, engage, engage," I called.

Spearing through the bombers, I looked for a likely target.



The Hurricanes were outnumbered, and spinning and turning for their lives.



But down low I spotted a single 109 chasing a Hurricane and it was clear the RAF pilot couldn't shake him. I had, for once, the advantage of both height, and I hoped, surprise.



I fell on him, Merlin screaming, airframe straining, at more than 350 mph.



His silhouette ballooned in my sights, and I fired.



The Hurricane jinked right, and the 109 hesitated, then broke off, more worried about his own life than his prey.





I thought.

He tried to use the 109s strong climb to pull away but I had the advantage of the energy I'd built up in the dive, and I stayed with him, peppering him with short bursts.





He corkscrewed vertical, and I followed. The two of us clawing at the sky, one straining to escape, the other straining to kill.







We both stalled at the same time and began our plummet to earth, but I was gratified to see him streaming glycol. I knew his Daimler Benz was crippled, and it was just a matter of reeling him in now.





Except...

I had severely underestimated this German.

He must have known his machine was doomed. That he had a Spitfire on his tail, and an engine about to boil over. That he had little chance of escaping with his life, let alone of making it back across the Channel.

He should have run. Or jumped. He should at the very least have gone defensive.

Instead, he attacked.

A luckless Hurricane swept across in front of him and he turned the dive I thought was a desperate ploy to escape, into a swooping climb, and went after the Hurricane.





I couldn't believe my eyes. He had caught me flat footed, already counting my kill.

I doubt the Hurricane even saw him until he opened up with MG and cannons and scared the wits out of the Hurricane pilot. I couldn't see if he hit.



Energy spent, he dropped away again. The Hurricane also peeled off and dived away. I lost the 109 in the sun as it fell. Then spotted it again.





Now I was more grimly determined that ever to knock him down. I closed to gun harmonisation range, 200 yards, before firing this time. He pulled a tight turn, I nearly blacked out, but I stayed with him.







Once again, my eyes popped. He was still on the offensive, hunting the Hurricane! Even with me in his wake, knocking hunks out of his machine.





The Hurricane skidded and banked across the sky in desperation. My wingman joined, letting me know he had my back. I kept hammering away with short, close range bursts, but still the 109 pilot stuck with his prey.





We were so close, flying so tightly, I had to hold my fire for fear of hitting the Hurricane. But finally, the Hurricane rolled and pulled away, the 109 overshot, and I had a clear line of fire.







This time I gave him a long, decisive burst.





He put his nose down and tried to pull away.



But not for France.

I realised he was trying to make for the British coast!

I pulled in behind him.



I could have ended his life right there. His prop was spinning erratically. His rudder was pushed hard left, either jammed by gunfire, or by the pilot trying to keep his machine from sliding. It was all he could do to hold a heading that would get him closer to land.



But I knew what it was to go down into that unforgiving sea. Dead or alive, I wished it on no man, and this was an enemy who was already out of the fight.

I watched him as he fought his machine, balancing with crippled controls on the edge of stall, teasing every last mile out of his airspeed.









Finally, about two miles from the coast though, he gave up the fight. Maybe his legs buckled under the strain of keeping the rudder hard left, maybe his arms cramped, or maybe the machine betrayed him. In any case, he seemed to stall, and dropped into a tight left turn.





At the last second he straightened up, and hit the water nose heavy, but with wings level. It was masterful flying.



He speared into the waves, but the machine held together. As he threw open his canopy, the nose dropped under.





As we circled, I saw him pop up from the boiling mass of bubbles and oil and hold fast onto the tail of his machine that was still floating, suspended, momentarily, by the air caught in the tail section.



We formed up and turned for Manston.

"Manston, this is Luton Red Flight," I said over the R/T.

"Manston here, go ahead Red Flight."

"Requesting permission to land. Oh, and pls tell Coast Rescue there is a Jerry pilot bobbing around in the sea about 2 miles S.SW of Ramsgate who wants fetching."

"Roger that Red Flight Leader, we will pass your message on to Coast Rescue, out. You are cleared to land."



My wingman came onto the R/T, "Why bother Sir? Let the beggar drown, I say!"

"Park it Wilson," I barked back at him, "I hope they find him. I want to meet that guy."


__________________________________________

More reading:

Events of August 24
http://battleofbritainblog.com/2010/08/24/day-46-%E2%80%93-august-24th-1940/

Goerings Directives of August 1940
http://www.battleofbritain1940.net/0029.html





[Linked Image]
#3718942 - 01/16/13 01:55 PM Re: CoD REDUX Mission 9 - 'Check Flight' [Re: HeinKill]  
Joined: Apr 2004
Posts: 2,426
Wodin Offline
Member
Wodin  Offline
Member

Joined: Apr 2004
Posts: 2,426
Liverpool
WOW I felt for the German pilot then..

#3719506 - 01/17/13 06:27 AM Re: CoD REDUX Mission 10 - 'Teutonic Knight' [Re: HeinKill]  
Joined: Dec 2008
Posts: 26,556
wheelsup_cavu Offline
Lifer
wheelsup_cavu  Offline
Lifer

Joined: Dec 2008
Posts: 26,556
Corona, California
Nice engagement Heinkill.

The more I read your AAR's the more I see what could have been with just a few breaks going Maddox Games way.


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