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COMBAT REPORT
Name: Oberleutnant Hein Kill
Date: August 11 1940
Flight, squadron: Ju87, II/KG1, Le Havre
Number of enemy aircraft: 6
Type of enemy aircraft: Hurricane
Time attack was delivered: 0945
Place attack was delivered: Channel SE Isle of Wight
Height of enemy: 1000
Enemy casualties: 0.5
Our casualties: 4
General report:
"See, Kanonier HaSSel, I told you we are in good hands!" came the cheerful voice from the nose gunner position.
"I hope you are wrong Unteroffizier Fritz," came the grumpy reply over the intercom from the dorsal gunner, Svend HaSSel, "As you know, I have no desire to survive."
"Come now man," said Fritz, "Anyone can run up a big gambling debt. They don't all develop a death wish."
"I also have a huge bar bill," said HaSSel.
"So, wash a few dishes."
"My dog died."
"Get another."
"My girlfriend left me for a Gestapo guard."
"She was ugly anyway."
"Will you two idiots shut up!" I snapped. A month in hospital, and when I get out I find out I have been transferred to bombers. The humiliation. From fighter pilot in Erpro 210, to Stuka dive bomber pilot was bad enough. But now to be degraded to driving a glorified transport....ugh. And to top it all off, I find Fritz has once again managed to wangle his way onto my crew, which in addition to the maladorous Fritz, appears to comprise a manic-depressive Dane, and an apparently mute Bavarian ventral gunner Kanonier Fuchs, who I have, blessedly, yet to hear say a single word. The other two fools more than make up for him.
"Is he always so grumpy?" asked HaSSel.
"Ja. But he has been especially grumpy since he learned that it was me who saved his life when he was bleeding to death."
"Nice way to die. Slow, and peaceful," HaSSel said.
"Ja. His heart stopped, but I kept it going until the ambulance arrived, with mouth to mouth."
"Enough!" I barked. What a thought. Thankfully I remembered nothing between landing the Stuka and waking up in hospital two days later. Unfortunately my recovery took a lot longer, which gave Fritz time to qualify as a bombadier, meaning he now rode up front, with me, his rancid body odour filling the hot air of the glass cockpit.
For what it was worth, our target was a channel convoy. Whichever fool had ordered an unescorted level bombing attack on a convoy with medium bombers I dared not ask. By the time we reached the target area only 9 machines from the staffel were still with me. I spotted the convoy easily enough in the bright morning light, and ordered the staffel into right echelon formation.
Then the Hurricanes swooped on us.
I heard the ventral gun open up, but the dorsal gun stayed ominously quiet. "HaSSel!" I called, "Is your weapon jammed?"
"No Herr Oberleutnant!" came the reply, "The enemy is on our tail and opening fire. I hope any moment the bullets will end my worthless life."
"What?!" I ordered Fritz to take the stick and rushed back to the dorsal gun. HaSSel was sitting in his seat, smiling stupidly at the approaching Hurricane and waving. I hauled him by his feet into the body of the bomber and jumped up to the gun.
I gave the closing Hurricane a full magazine and it swerved erratically and then dove beneath us. Fuchs followed it with a long burst from his MG.
I saw the formation breaking under the onslaught of the enemy fighters, one Heinkel already spiralling toward the sea.
"Nice shooting, whoever that was!" Fritz called as the Hurricane appeared beneath our nose. "He's leaking something. That's it, he's going home."
I jumped down from the gun again, and paused long enough to kick the prone form of HaSSel in the backside, before moving back up to the cockpit. Grimly I ordered the remaining machines to press the attack. From the bombadier saddle Fritz counted down, "Drei, zwei, ein...bombentropfen!
Our salvo left the machine and I heeled it over. I could see our bombs were going to scatter over a wide area, but I cared nothing about the ships below. The real question would be whether any of us would make it back to France alive.
"Miss!" called Fritz, "Not by much though. About fifty metres dead astern. Not bad considering you were wallowing all over the sky like a panicked turkey Herr Oberleutnant."
"It's called evasive maneouvering Fritz. In case you didn't notice, we were under attack."
I used the past tense, because it seemed the enemy was breaking off. My staffel was spread over the sky, and I asked Fritz to do a quick count.
"We have lost one machine, maybe two, I can't see who yet, and...UN is flying on one engine," he said.
He continued, "NN is in pretty bad shape too by the look of it. At least one dead, I reckon."
"ON and LN are chewed up, but their engines appear to be alright. Seem to be holding course and altitude."
"AN is flying with one wing low," he said, "I'm guessing the port engine is damaged."
I quickly took stock. The pilot of NN reported one dead and one wounded. I ordered the machines with damage and wounded to make for Calais, the nearest coastline. Then I told one of the remaining undamaged machines, SN, to fly station between them in case one had to ditch, so he could report their positions to the Seenotdienst rescue crews. As for the rest, I judged we would make Le Havre, so we pressed on. The hale, the crippled and the maimed.
Memories of watching the stricken Dornier plough into the cliffs at Calais Marck rose in me again. It would not be long before my fears were realised. A brief message came from the pilot of machine ON, as he reported his engines had failed and he would have to ditch. Moments later, he went in.
Now we were seven. I radioed the location and ordered the pilot of machine SN to continue with the cripples. It was one of those no-win decisions - the chances of a rescue so far out into the channel were small for the machine that just went in, while the others still had a chance of getting close to the coast. It was not a certainty, far from it.
The pilot of LN reported his port engine completely dead.
But it was UN who went in next. He called his decent all the way into the water. Baling out was not an option, he tried to get as close to the coast as possible before he went in.
"Lucky swine," HaSSel muttered, "Drowning is also a good way to go."
"Shut it HaSSel," I said. "Ditched properly the Heinkel will float long enough for them all to get out. You should be more worried about what is going to happen to you when we land after that display up there."
AN was the next to go in. Fritz watched them through the glasses, and said it was a textbook ditching. No doubt at all they would have got out in time.
We neared Le Havre. SN was still shepherding LN like a flying lucky charm. We were a good ten minutes ahead of them, so I decided to put down quickly and ensure the emergency crews were ready.
I put the Heinkel down alright. A little too quickly. When I toed the brakes, she ground looped.
"Whoa!" puffed Fritz in the nose, "That was never fun in the Stuka, but it is a whole dimension less fun in the nose of this thing!"
We jumped from the machine and I flagged down a fire truck. In minutes we had the full complement of ambulances and fire teams lined up beside the runway. My stomach dropped as I saw LN was coming in with gear raised.
"Who is that pilot?" I asked no one in particular. Fuchs shrugged.
"Amsel," said Fritz, "Blackbird, they call him."
We watched in silent choir as Amsel brought his machine in. He kept power up and nose high, his tail wheel touching first.
The contact slammed the machine down onto its nose, but miraculously without breaking its back.
LN slid along the grass on its belly, scraping a huge gouge in the earth, until it came to rest with props bent but crew intact.
I sighed, "What was the final number Fritz?"
"Five machines back, four lost Herr Oberleutnant. Personally, I think we can claim one Hurricane, damaged."
I clapped Fuchs on his shoulder, "Your first claim Kanonier?"
He smiled.
I turned on HaSSel, "As for you..."
"I suggest a firing squad?" HaSSel said hopefully. "I waive my right to a trial."
"Oh I have something much better in mind," I told him, "Fritz, take him back to barracks and hand him your dirty laundry."