All,

One good thing resulted when I couldn't join the MP party Saturday. I had time put aside so I got in a good long session of SP BoB. Here's what happened.

11 July 1940
610 squadron
Biggin Hill Field

The mud is ankle deep in spots as we make our way to the line of Spitfires. The rain of the morning has given way to party cloudy skies by noon. And the mud, well it will soon be the very least of our troubles. The gear retract into the wings soon after the wheels leave the wet grass and in minutes we have left the field far behind. Our assigned patrol area is over a convoy sailing on Dover. The sky seems full of Hurricanes and Spitfires. What ever we are to encounter it would appear it is significant in size. The trip to our patrol area is swift and leaves little time to enjoy the scenery. There is a rather thin layer of lovely white clouds today. The squadron streams through them repeatedly disappearing for a moment before becoming visible again. The layers float by quickly, increasing the sense of speed.

The convoy appears below us, 10 or 12 ships in all. As suddenly as we arrive, we spot Germans coming in from our port side. Squadron Leader Johnson orders safety catches off and takes us up and then toward the enemy mass. Three or four planes almost immediately begin smoking although which side they are from his not possible to tell at this distance. In a flash, two dark grey 109's pass by me on either side at high speed. Tracers belching from their nose cannons head in my direction. None of the fire hits their mark and I pull up and hard left to try latching onto the tail of one of the aggressors. In this I am successful. I fall in behind one of the 109's and gain close range in short order. I firmly press the fire button and am rewarded with several hits to his tail section and left wing. The German pilot dives and begins a loose turn to starboard. Following closely I am able to land more hits although none seem to be fatal. His dive however gains momentum, he looses controlled flight and slams into the ground, aircraft parts mixed with flame and smoke mark the location. After pulling up and gaining altitude I assess the situation to determine my next move. A flight of Stukas begin their dive toward the ships of the convoy. A few Hurricanes trail closely behind them and manage to take several out but the dive bombers continue their course as if unaware of the disaster that creeps closer to them each second. Before I can react to the matter, the Stukas release their loads and pull out of their deadly dives. Explosions erupt from one of the ships. Seagulls are visable scrambling from the masts of the ship in every direction as the vessel begins to sink. Another ship is struck but it will be the last as the bulk of our response has now arrived and is taking a heavy toll on the raiders. A spitfire fills my windscreen as it passes closely chasing a defiant 109. The German is banking, diving and climbing, seemingly all at the same time and provides little for his pursuer to aim at. I decide to join the fight and follow the Spitfire. I await developments allowing the fellow an oppurtunity to gain his victory. But the German is clever and does not give in to the determined efforts. The German pilot makes another amazing turn that completely throws the spitfire off his tail. It is my turn now. I push the stick forward and hurl toward the streaking 109. the angle is favorable and I gain a position above and behind him. I fire a deflection burst but miss. Despite his efforts to shake me, I continue to stay close and in good position. A second burst brings more success and a few portions of wing fall away from the target. As in the earlier encounter, the German does not seem to be too badly damaged but begins a twisting turn downward. As I follow he seems to be pulling out of the steep dive. The Mes is almost level but then noses down and hits the dark water generating a huge spray as he disappears beneath the waves. Did the pilot expire, possibly something on the aircraft gave way causing loss of control. He seemed clearly to be out of danger and in control right up until he went in.

The battle ebbs as I regain altitude. Johnson orders us to break off and reform. Ten of our orignal twelve line up for the ride home. One of them is smoking and breaks formation to land at a closer field. The rest of us try to relax a bit before reaching BH and relative sanctuary. I drop flaps and gear and approach the field. Touching down with a slight bounce I steer to the far end of the field and stop off the left wing of a severly damaged Spit. Near the end of the wing a gaping hole. Another large piece of fusalage is missing behind the cockpit. The pilot climbs down onto the wing and collapses in a heap below.

Since the main battle was joined with the initial raids of 10 July more than eighty German aircraft have been downed. We however have lost seventy five. Two planes from our squadron were lost today. One was shot down (the pilot survived) while the other was the chap who broke away from us as we headed home. He crash landed and tore the plane apart in the process though he climbed from the wreck with little damage. My victories I reasoned were well earned though they felt a bit less so because of the strange manner in which the two went in despite the apparent limited damage I inflicted on them. I thought much about this as I went to quarters, bathed and settled in for some sleep. With the victories confirmed, I lay down and fall asleep as darkness covers the scene of the days bloody events.

[This message has been edited by SNAFU (edited 02-10-2002).]

[This message has been edited by SNAFU (edited 02-10-2002).]


TALLY HO!