Thanks Rick, and in turn, I was saddened if not entirely suprised to read of the untimely (if predictable) demise of Herr Leutnant Lowenbrau!
Meanwhile, back at that other office...
I pull up sharply after my first attack on the bombers. My sturdy fighter responds without hesitation, even though the sharp plinks of rounds hitting airframe as I went in remind me that I have not escaped entirely unscathed. Shouts of encouragement on the R/T confirm the air fight is still in full swing, so I come around for another go.
I can see that the Heinkel formation is still being harried by the squadron. The former’s three distinct, compact waves have closed up again after coming off their bombing runs – professionals who know their trade, these boys. They’ll soon be back over the Channel, headed for home. There’s no sign of an escort. As Hawkinge is practically on the coast, they didn’t have to penetrate inland and really caught us out. The best we can do now is exact payment in kind for their bombing of our base.
I come in for another pass and leave another of the rearmost Heinkels smoking, but possibly not going down, just yet.
This time, instead of coming around in another wide circle for my third attack, I keep on climbing and slide off to the left.
From here, I size up the situation before having another crack.
You will have noticed that I have completely forgotten that I'm flying as a section leader today, and have shamefully neglected my two flight-mates. Hopefully they are amongst the gaggle of Hurricanes which I can see, snapping at the Heinkels' heels.
Time to rejoin the party! I slide back over to the right, then roll in after a bomber which is already streaming a light trail of smoke - possibly the one I attacked earlier. I throttle back a tad as I go down, so as not to close at too fast a rate. This attack might see the end of my ammo and I want to make it count.
I end up levelled off behind him, still closing fast, and see the flashes as some rounds hit home. Clouds of dark smoke billow back and obscure my view of him. But I can see enough to realise he’s not going down. So instead of breaking off, I take a chance. I keep on closing and shooting. I’m basically firing into the centre of the cloud of smoke but reckon I can hardly miss, I’m so close.
Too close. Ka-bang! Suddenly, the view out the window starts rotating wildly. Then, still spinning, I can see water, where before, there was sky. Collision! One of my kite’s wings has been ripped right off, a few feet from the root.
Panic! The controls are useless. I try to open the canopy. Nothing happens! I realise I should have chopped the throttle, to reduce the torque and the speed of my fall. Throttle to idle. Canopy still won’t open. This looks like the end! Desperation fades to resignation. Finally, I try to bail out. I feel sure that I’m still going much too fast.
But suddenly, there I am, falling free from the doomed Hurricane. Below me is the steely blue-grey expanse of the North Sea. I free fall towards it. How high am I? Not high enough, very possibly. There’s a sudden movement, and I hear myself grunt as my ‘chute jerks open and breaks my fall. Saved! And hanging there under my off-white canopy of live-saving silk, I’m newly-qualified for membership of the Caterpillar Club!
Far above and to the right, I can see the retreating German formation is about to slip silently out of sight behind the clouds. All I can hear as I go down is the occasional distant snarl of a Merlin, as a Hurricane flies past somewhere out of view.
A few seconds later and the dead calm sea is rushing up to meet me. I’m distracted from the imminent prospect of a virtual cold soaking by the sight of an aircraft going straight down a mile or two away. As he rotates about his long axis, I see he is one of the Heinkels. Perhaps
my Heinkel! I didn’t see the one I inadvertently rammed go down, but I feel sure that - by one means or another - I have damaged three, two possibly fatally.
Once in the water, my chute sinks from view and my yellow dingy quickly inflates. I stand precariously upright in it as the bright marker dye spreads on the water round about. Hopefully the air sea rescue boys will drop by soon. After all, my real old man spent much of his early ‘50s RAF career on an ASR launch. Least they could do, really...
Mightily relieved that Green 1 is safe and pending pick-up, I exit the flight and find myself back in the Operations Room. I watch in 20x accelerated time as the blue and white marker for 79 Squadron returns to base and the red and blue one for the raid makes its way south to the French coast. A glance at the clock tells me it’s still early morning. At this rate – shades of Falcon 4’s intro – it’s going to be a
very busy day. Better grab a cup of tea, while I still have a chance!