Seelöwe krankheit...

That can happen to you when you fly though a cloud of flaming aviation fuel!

Or eat too much. Right, Fritz?

Sept 29, S-tag +6
The Diary of Corporal (formerly Oberlt) Fritz Bauch

Dear diary,

It isn’t like I asked to be in this war. Sitting in a crummy tent in French rain, last time I had a decent Sauerbraten was what…December ’39?

But not that I had many options. The army, with my feet? Not bad enough to get disqualified for service, just bad enough to make marching hell. Kriegsmarine? Can’t swim. But I learned to fly in the '30s from a circus flyer, so I joined the Luftwaffe.

Then there was the unfortunate incident with the CO’s girlfriend, I got busted, but from that came a nice job riding around in the back seat of a Zerstorer. Mostly hit and run jobs where we were in and out before the Tommies knew we were there. Suddenly we are in England and I am really in the dreck. That crazy Leutnant from JG53 had me flying again, which is hell on my bunions, and the sky is full of Tommies trying to kill me. Well, mostly they were trying to kill him, but sometimes I had to get in the way.

Hawkinge was not my kind of barrio (good word, I learned that word in the Condor Legion).

So diary, you can imagine I was not so unhappy to be saying goodbye to Hawkinge, at last. Even if we were fleeing under fire!



Good riddance, I thought. Stupid idea, invading England. Cold, grey, miserable country with warm pilsner and cold pies. The British wanted it back? Let them have it!

So when we got the word the Tommy tanks were coming, and we should get our tails back to France, I ran to the Crazy Leutnant’s tent and tried to get him up. But he was lying on his bunk, babbling like a hasenhirn. “Fritz!” he said, grabbing my shirt, “Fritz! Fire! Everywhere! Put on some sausages! We’ll have a grill party!” Then he just kept laughing. I left him there. Outside, everyone was running around and packing their stuff. I went over to the gulaschkanon to see about second breakfast.



“You two!,” Mayer called to me and this other fool pilot, “Come with me, we have three operational fighters, let’s get them up.”

Why me?!

We followed him out to where three 109s were turning over, behind a bulldozed wall of smashed aircraft and vehicles. The airfield was a mess. And the Tommies had arrived. As we ran, crouching, from bomb crater to bomb crater, I saw Tommy armoured cars run through a gap in our lines and start hammering away at anything that moved.







Our flak 88s levelled their barrels and started firing back, and soon several of the thin skinned British armoured cars were boiling up.





The 109s were parked behind a protective wall of smashed Heinkels, Condors and transport trucks. Whether it was deliberate, or accidental, I didn’t care, I was grateful for the cover.





There were no fancy protocols this time. As soon as he was in, Mayer shoved his throttle forward. I did the same, trying to manage the machine and get my damned straps over my gut at the same time. Heavy MG fire smashed into the ground around us, and I saw a line of British tanks coming straight at us.







I can tell you, a takeoff like that is enough to make a man friedhofsblond! The entire airfield was ablaze as I pulled the gear up and looked behind me. We hadn’t got out a minute too soon.





The Crazy Leutnant was down there somewhere. Probably end up in a nice cosy prison camp eating canned ham and not getting shot at again for the rest of the war. Good luck to him.



I formed up on Mayer.

“Well, that was fun Herr Gruppenkommandeur,” I said, “I wonder what the weather is like in France?”



But he threw his machine onto its wing and I hurried to follow, “France be damned,” Mayer said, “Let’s make the Tommies pay for kicking us out of bed.”



Trouble was not hard to find. Just off the coast, a dogfight was already underway. And we didn’t have to go to meet it, it came to us.



“Fly my wing,” Mayer called, “Watch your fuel. We only have enough for about 5 minutes, then we’ll head for Peuplingues.”

He was still talking when a Hurricane flashed across my nose, and I fired.



But seriously. I have the reflexes of a sloth. I wasn’t even close. I forgot all about Mayer and went after the Hurricane. After all, Mayer was a big boy.

Luckily the Tommy was an even worse flyer than me, and he turned in front of me, so I got in behind him. This one was a real novice.



I fired again. I thought I had him lined up nicely.



Not a sausage. My rounds fell uselessly behind.



It was pathetic really. Here I was, virtually an ace, and I couldn’t even bring down a Hurricane piloted by a British halfwit?

I flipped, he flopped, he rolled, I fired. Bang. Something flashed on his wing. I must have hit his ammunition.



“Dammit katschmarek!” I heard Mayer yell, “I…need…some…help here. What are you doing man?”



I looked around, and sure enough, the Gruppenkommandeur had a Hurricane on his tail, banging away. It’s funny, isn’t it, how when your boss gets himself in trouble, suddenly it’s the minion’s problem? I mean, here I was having a lovely little dogfight of my own, but no, I had to break off and help him out as well. Oh well, that’s the job of a katschmarek, to make his boss look good. I broke off and nosed down after him.



They were too low and too fast for me to catch them quick enough, and the Hurricane got some hits on Mayer. Luckily, one of them must have knocked out his radio, because he stopped yelling at me.



The two of them were rolling and diving and turning. It made me quite sick. I actually felt the oatmeal from breakfast come up in my mouth a little. It was quite unpleasant. It was pointless trying to shoot.



But then the Hurricane wandered into my sights and I let him have it.



That should have hurt. But he kept flying. What were those things made of?





He should have quit. I would have. I would have jumped. Sure. You have a big ugly German fighter on your tail, throwing cannon shells at you, your machine is all chewed up, you should run for it, I say.





Finally, he showed what a dullie he was. He nosed up, maybe trying to loop me, and I nailed him right through the cockpit.



Should have quit when he had the chance.

I saw Mayer heading away from the fight. His machine was kaput. Thick white vapour trailing behind, no way he was getting back to France in that wreck. Oh well, spam and thin blankets in a POW camp for him too. That’s war.



Speaking of which… I looked quickly down at my fuel.



Not good. Time to head east.

No one bothered me on the way out. Looking down at the beach, I sure was glad I wasn’t in the Wehrmacht. Huddled in little wet holes being shot at from up on the Cliffs, and from destroyers out to sea at the same time, and waiting for what?







…for the navy we didn’t have anymore to rescue them? They should be giving up as well. Why don’t more people take the obvious route to survival? “We surrender!” How hard is that?

Like those SS lunatics in Canterbury. Last night, all night, we could hear the bombing in the North. The whole horizon was red, from east to west, and it wasn’t London. It was a firestorm in Canterbury. The British were carpet bombing their own city. At night, it burned...



In the morning, a recon pilot in a captured Tiger Moth had reported a pall of smoke hanging over smashed and still burning houses, nothing moved.











Who could do something like that to their own city? To their own people? It was like burning your house down to get rid of mice. Let the Germans camp there a few more weeks, what difference would it make? Eventually they would run out of ammunition, food and whiskey and start dreaming of canned ham and Red Cross packages. What was the rush? We could see the horizon dark with smoke this morning when we woke. If there was anyone left alive there now, British or German, they would be deaf and mad.





But I had problems of my own. My next problem was, which airfield was Peuplingues? Erpro 210 flew out of Calais Marck. I had never been on this side of Calais.

All these French fields looked the same! And there were three airfields right next to each other. Nightmare.





And my stomach was starting to growl. I looked at my map, and worked out I should be heading for the left hand airfield.



I had no idea what the Peuplingues radio frequency was, so I just circled a couple of times to give them time to get out of the way, and went in.



Another landing that reminded me why I hated Emils. Do you know how many good pilots those things have killed because they have this little narrow, proppy undercarriage that, if it doesn’t fling you into the air, will fold underneath you if you put the least bit of strain on it?

I took it in as gently as I could…



And bounced.



And settled.



The prop died almost as soon as I cleared the grass strip.



Fuel tank was bone dry.



When they saw it was one of their machines from England, the ground crew and some pilots from JG53 crowded around. They wanted to know how it was all going. The invasion and all that. Great! I told them. We’ll be in London by the weekend.

They didn’t fall for that. They started asking after all these guys, groundcrew, pilots that were over there - I didn’t know any of them - had they made it out? Was there anyone left behind? Maybe they landed at other airfields? It took me a while to realise I was the only 109 that had made it back from Hawkinge.

That was completely verrückt. 30 JG53 pilots go to England, and the only guy who makes it back, is a gunner from Erpro 210? What a war.

I asked if anyone had a sandwich.





THE END?

"Drahtfresse". Yeah, no.

One last name I was confronted with during my army days "Bauch" (belly). The guy having it was also perfectly Fritz-like in appearance. So why not honor Fritz with a new...more suitable...last name?



No bomber intercept mission at dusk, by the way?

Sept 30, S-tag +6 afternoon
The Diary of Corporal (formerly Oberlt) Fritz Bauch

Dear Diary

I finished lunch with a strange feeling in my stomach. I think it was guilt. I haven't felt this way since I shot the family dog, Pippi, for stealing chicken off the dining table. I loved that dog, but stealing some else's food is a capital offence in the Bauch family.

I thought through the morning's action trying to work out why I was feeling this way? Take off under fire from Hawkinge leaving five cases of wine, three cured hams and a pork pie behind? Regrettable, but no. Losing Gruppenkommandeur Mayer to Hurricanes over Dover? Well, not my greatest moment, but guilt? No. Leaving the Crazy Leutnant babbling in his tent instead of saving him from the Tommies...

Ah, yes. That was it.

I decided the best way I could clear my conscience was to make one last sortie back to England and blow something up.



So, I joined a flight of 109s going on a free jagt up the Folkestone to Canterbury corridor.



The whole of JG53 was in a state, getting ready for a move east, relocating to Poland. I guessed we were going to be going into Russia soon, or preparing for an attack from them - one or the other. It made perfect sense - we had failed to overcome a tiny island like Britain, so of course we should take on a huge power like Russia next.





There was no question of whether we would see action. At our preflight briefing we were warned that we were certain to encounter RAF over Folkestone or Dover...







And we did...





"Spitfires!" 2 o'clock, high, coming down!" The schwarm leader called.



I stuck with him for the merge. No sense doing anything silly, just to salve my conscience...I wanted to get out of this alive after all!





He was good, and got onto the tail of one of the Spits in a flash.



It tried to climb away and we followed it up.



He nailed it at the top of its climb.



And as they both fell away, I was waiting below.









"Nice shooting Meteor 4," the flight leader called as we pulled away. "Spitfire to port, shall we stay in the hunt?"





"Jawohl, flight leader," I called.

We eased in behind the RAF fighter. One kill had felt good...two would feel even better.



To be continued...

Yay, thanks for the namechange!

We could see the Spit pilot looking frantically over his shoulder.



"If he breaks right, I'll take him, left, you take him" the staffel commander called.

"Jawohl Meteor 1."

He broke left.







I was down to just guns, no cannon shells left, but I saw the tracer flash and spark around his cockpit.






He went down in a flat dive toward the sea. Pilot slumped at the stick.



We reformed and headed toward Folkestone again. One shared, and one clean. Now I was an ace! But there was none I knew, left alive, to brag about it with.



Ufortunately, the fight had carried us directly over the top of a British destroyer flotilla, and when they saw their Spitfire go down, they opened up with all guns.



"Scheisse!" the flight leader called, "I'm hit. Bailing out." His entire left wing tip had been blown away.





But his machine started spinning wildly and dropped like an arrow toward the sea. He had no chance. At least he wasn't burning, I thought. That was one thing.



By the time he had hit, my track had carried me toward Hawkinge. Our former home. Where I had left the Crazy Leutnant.

I guessed he must have been shipped off to a camp somewhere by now, but in case he was watching from a lunatic cage somewhere on the field, I decided to go in and give him a show. It looked like the RAF had well and truly moved in. A Hurricane was taking off.



And a line of British water and fire trucks was parked nicely in a line by the side of the takeoff strip, surrounded by livestock.



I went down and gave the Hurricanes, lined up to take off, a quick squirt.





It had some effect. One of the Hurricanes swerved, and tipped into a bomb crater.



Did that count as a kill? I doubted it.

But then I pulled up and around to line up on the vehicles. With just MG ammunition left, I needed nice soft targets that would go 'boom'.



Down to my left though, I saw a British camp and medical tent. Aha. The Crazy Leutnant was probably in there, being treated for either rabies, or insanity. Good, he should be able to at least hear the show.



Ironically, as I walked the guns across the line of trucks, it was a fire truck, that caught fire.





There, Crazy Leutnant, that show was for you, I thought. But there was still lead in my guns...so, I continued looking for things that would go 'boom'.

A little tickle in my stomach however, told me it would soon be time to be thinking about getting back for dinner...

To be continued

From the Diary of Leutnant Hein Kill, Hawkinge Infirmary, Sept 30

"Air raid!!!" one of the warders yelled, "Get to the trenches!"

Inside the infirmary, chaos erupted, British wounded were wheeled out in a frenzy, nurses ran for their gasmasks and disappeared out of the long tent, jammed with beds. I could hear aircraft wheeling above, the familiar whine of German Daimlers, and the hammer of AAA guns.

Ah, war. Such a familiar and comforting sound.

I lay back on my bed and put my hands up behind my head on my pillow. More guns. An explosion. Lovely, lovely, war.

The tent was empty though. For the first time since we had been captured this morning, I was alone. I decided to get up and find one of the nurses. After all, I was a prisoner. They should tie me up.

When I opened the tent, I saw a strange sight.



Aircraft were wheeling above. I thought I recognised them. Ah yes, from my old unit. Good old JG53. And was that the aircraft of Fat Fritz, there, coming in for a strafing run on some Hurricanes? I watched as he zoomed down, guns chattering, and pulled up into the sky again. Funny, funny Fritz. Always thinking of himself.

He left me here, you know. Naughty Fritz. Bad Fritz.

I shoed the livestock away from the fire.

Tommies were running everywhere, no one paid me any mind.

A line of bullets stitched the earth beside me. Ha, you missed! I called at the 109 as it swept overhead. Rotten Germans. Oh, wait. No, good shooting, men!

Ah. A hangar.



I walked over to the door. Peeked through the window.



Ooooh. One of those sporty little Italian machines! I had seen them in action a couple of times. Wondered what it was like to dogfight with the slipstream in your hair... well, why not?!

I went inside. It was sitting where the British had parked it after taking over the airfield, facing the hangar doors.



I jumped up on the wing and climbed into the cockpit. Just to sit in you know, I wasn't going to steal it or anything. Mutti told me only bad boys steal.

But then the hangar doors slid open, and a lot of Tommies ran into the hangar yelling, "Get those machines out of here! You there, get moving!" Then a cannon round hit an oil drum and they scattered.



Fire! I don't like fire. I pulled a few levers, pushed a few buttons, and the engine started up!









The thing jumped forward like a bottle rocket, straight at some trees. I kicked the rudder and pointed it toward the airfield, but then a AAA gun somewhere opened up on me!



Very rude. Didn't they know it was against the Geneva convention to shoot prisoners?

I decided the best idea was to get up into the air, and then land somewhere safe, maybe Lympne, where I could give them their machine back and ask for a ride to the nearest hospital. The nice British doctor had told me I needed to stay in hospital for a while, until my mutti and pappi could come and get me.



I had to swerve around some holes in the ground, but soon I was up.



It was a nice bird. Very nose heavy, but that made it fun to push around the sky. The roar of the engine in the open cockpit was wonderful.

I pulled the wheels up and began a slow turn toward Lympne. It looked like my friends from JG53 had moved on, which was a bit sad. I would have like to see them again, just to wave goodbye. Except for Fritz. I don't like him anymore.





There was just one problem.



Three Tommy fighters came screaming down from out of the blue, straight at me!

I yelled at them, "It's alright! I've already surrendered!"



But they didn't seem to hear me, and settled in on my tail like they were going to attack.



Bother. Oh well, it seemed I would just have to shoot them down, and then go to Lympne. I hoped the doctor wouldn't mind me shooting down the three Hurricanes before I came back to hospital. Maybe I shouldn't mention it.

First I had to get some speed up. I sped low across the trees, to build up some airspeed.





One of the Hurricanes stayed with me, so it looked like he would have to be first. Shame.



I chopped the throttle and he overshot.





Then I pushed the throttle forward again, and the G50 leapt ahead like a rabbit chasing a fox. Ha! Come here little fox!



I got up behind him. I think the Italian machine had just two guns, and they didn't make much noise, but it scared the Tommy pilot, or my shadow did, or something, because he stuck his nose down, too far, and hit the ground.







His friend got very angry, and started shooting at me.



But they were very easy to turn inside. I didn't like him shooting at me, so I shot back at him and boom...he exploded.





They must make very dangerous bullets, those Italians.

The last Hurricane should have left me alone, but he didn't. I don't like bullies.

He came straight at me and tried to punch me in the nose.



I punched him first.



Then he dropped away and I got behind him too.





Nasty! English! Pilot! I yelled. I already surrendered!











There! No more nasty English boys bothering me. I had to get back down somewhere safe so I could meet with Mutti and Pappi at the hospital...

But then I had a thought!

I could surprise them!

I could fly back to Germany and visit them at home!



We could have coffee and a little Teilchen Teller and then they could drive me off to the hospital.

What a good idea! I headed for France.



They would be so happy to see me!



I would tell them all about that awful Fritz. Leaving me behind. And then coming back and shooting at the good Tommies, the ones who were being nice to me.





First, I would fly across France and Belgium. That would take an hour or so. Then I would land somewhere in the west, near Cologne, and ask for some fuel...



Then I would fly to the airfield near Mutti and Pappi's house, Kaufbeuren it was called, and land there. They could keep the G50 or give it back to the Italians.



And I would take a bus home. I didn't have any German money, but perhaps the driver would...

Oh. The enginge coughed, and died. The prop started windmilling.



No fuel.



Luckily, ditching was something I was good at. I settled in to have a nice soft water landing.



The G50 glided quite nicely. And I put her down tail first, sliding across the water on her belly.



But she did have a heavy nose, and it dug in and flipped the machine on its back.







Luckily it was an open cockpit, so I punched my straps and swam out, popping up just behind the tail, which had trapped some air, so I had something to hang on to while I revised my plan.

The French coast was just a short swim away.



So. I made a plan.

First I would swim to France.

Then I would catch a ride to Calais and go to the airfield where JG53 was now, wherever that was.

And I would find Fritz.

And I would kick him in the pants.

Then I would buy a ticket on a train to Kaufbeuren, and have Teilchen Teller with Mutti and Pappi.


THE END

After reading through these excellent AAR's (including the one you wrote earlier and released as a .PDF later on) and this prompted me to pick up CLOD finally get TF up and running and download both your campaign's, 10 hours later and i am sold. I played this game at a friends when it was released and the stock content and bugs\performance issues made it unplayable now it has taken the place of my old il-2 plus UP and it my world war 2 counterpart to ROF.

Thanks to you and the other people responsible for making this game GOOD. You guys should be getting paid as your selling this game to many people who have held off because of the initial release.

Good Job, and thank you!

What a dramatic AAR! A most enjoyable read indeed.

Amazing AAR, loved it!

Thx for the very kind words, but credit for the campaigns goes also to Bolox and gabuzomeu and the testing crews, they did the hard work, I just made stuff up...

h

Luftwaffe Sealion REDUX campaign by dhillr

Missions given in excerpts
01


02


03


04 -> 06


07



I have only taken a look at the beginning of each video to avoid spoiling the campaign.
Vids look good to me.

Luftwaffe Sealion REDUX campaign by dhillr (continuation)

08


09-10


11A


12


13


14


15


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