Folks,

Dux:

C51 sends word he saw a huge flock of migrating Cyanocitta Cristata flying past his classroom window this morning. Cyanoc...Cristat...Can you say that above a whisper in polite company? He tells me they may be headed our way. Perhaps they are? Our winters are mild and we do have Jays here all year 'round. Because they are notorious gluttons and selfish bullies they can be a nuisance around the feeders at times yet we forgive them. They also love to scold the cats from the safety of the branches high up in our little grove of trees. In spite of this they remain one of my favorite garden birds. OK, I heard that comment...and one of the few I can recognize on sight.

I completely agree regarding the brave pilots. And yet we do envy them, don't we? Right up until they auger in, that is. We know instinctively that what they do is a labor of genuine love. Why else would they risk all their tomorrows? Somehow, to me at least, even a full scale facsimile, no matter how true to the original blueprint, is never going to be quite the same, eh?

I could be risking all my own tomorrows by continuing to post this junk however no one is going to make anyone read it, right?

A Nasty Surprise Final Episode
By JRT
HWH Original
Page Unknown
7/26/01

Werner and his men in their agile 109s are climbing out to head triumphantly for home after delivering a surprise attack upon an unwary British airfield somewhere near the southern coast of Britain. At this precise moment, a dozen vengeful Spitfires fall mercilessly upon them. Werner is taken completely by surprise. Someone screams Spitfires! A split second later there is chaos in the sky to rival that created by the attack on the ground below. On the smoking field, several other pilots and I are finally getting a few more undamaged crates into the air.

I had been on convalescent leave recuperating from wounds received in a near fatal crash the previous week. Not yet cleared to fly again this emergency was a good excuse to ignore that minor formality. Into the raging fray we hastily climbed. Our teeth were set our duty clear. We must get there in time.

High above the swirling furball the rest of Werner’s 109s were just now beginning to drop in on the avenging Spitfires who were giving the outnumbered Werner and his five comrades a rough time. Red Three had already gone down and most of the 109s had been hit many times. Werner’s 109 was struck hard but not fatally as he desperately called to his men he knew were circling somewhere high above. His call would not go unanswered.

This was becoming a day full of surprises. Just when our Spitfires were overconfidently counting the new German hides they would be nailing so easily to the ready room door they also received a very unpleasant surprise. From high above and to their left came tracers lacing lazily past their cockpits. If there had been any smug looks of over confidence they were replaced now by fear and surprise. Our Spitfires were now outnumbered and the tables had taken a nasty turn against the British.

Into this raging melee of tracers, smoking engines and certain death my eleven Spitfires and three Hurricanes climbed. It looked as if we might be too late for as I grimly took note there were only eight Spits still in the battle against at least twice as many 109s. Four ugly dark streaks dangled across the blue sky in sorrowful evidence that four of ours had already fallen to the enemy.

Anger filled my heart and I instructed my boys to make a slow climbing turn to the West that would take time but would also bring us into battle out of the burning sun. This I hoped would surprise the Germans and place them in that awkward position that a luckless piece of ham finds itself in between two slices of bread. Taking the part of the upper slice of bread and the hungry diner as well, we were just itching to take a big ravenous bite out of the yellow-nosed invaders.

Surprise was complete and utterly devastating for the German flyers. Luck was in short supply today. It was already too late for Werner and his men by the time that they saw the new Spitfires falling out of the sun. He and his brave men were low on fuel and nearly out of ammunition. There was no hope save to flee for their very lives. Werner shouted commands to his shredded survivors as he and his trusted wingman darted into a convenient cloud and sped toward France on little more than prayer for courage and vapor for fuel.

As our flight of fourteen fell out of the sun upon the unsuspecting enemy it was all over in seconds. The outnumbered 109s were caught between the accurate blasts of our .303s and those of our angry comrades below. As two more Germans fell splintered into tattered pieces and belching great, greasy black smoke we turned to grimly finish off the stragglers who were now sprinting for the Channel. Several 109s trailed white smoke and lost altitude swiftly. These would crash or be picked off easily enough.

I noticed two 109s enter a large cloud as they fled the carnage. My wingman and I rolled over in hot pursuit. Shortly, the swirling gray mists of the great cloud surrounded us like a rolling blanket and all else was shut out from our straining eyes. Perhaps this was not such a grand idea after all? One could run blindly into big solid things in cloud, I coldly reminded myself. This was in fact how I came to be injured the week before.

On we plunged through the mist to come out the other side suddenly into bright, blinding sun. Before us and just above flew the two German fighters. They seemed totally unaware of our close pursuit. Well, let’s give them a truly nasty surprise, I thought. And we did.