I'm flying for 64 Sq in a Spit East of Manston, intercepting a raid on the airfield.
I make a few passes at the Heinkels, but those old buses can take a beating. Tangle with the escorts...
...take a hit to the engine and the Merlin throws in the towel. I dive for home. The airframe is swiss cheese, I'm getting 10 pc power from the engine and to top it off, the left wheel strut (sans tyre) is jammed down.
AND this bugger of a 109 who has obviously never heard of chivalry, stalks me all the way in.
I hug the trees. I've only got one elevator (did I mention that?) so it's mushy on the stick, but the Spit floats in sweetly. Oh, and flaps. No flaps.
Then the swine behind me opens fire, so I bunt, the rounds go over my head and kick up dirt in front of me, and he has to pull up. I'm hoping the AAA will nail him, but no such luck.
I scrape the treetops, driving the Spit down so it doesn't stall, and flare at the last minute.
Left wheel strut bites the turf, and collapses, right wheel drops out of the wheel well. Left wing torn away.
Spit thumps down onto its belly, prop shattering, right wing ripping free.
And now it gets
really ugly. Fuselage starting to roll to the left. I pull the joystick hard right. Full right rudder. Close my eyes, wait for the end.
She wobbles back the other way and slams down on her guts.
The dust settles. I look out the cockpit and see this... '
Not to be stepped on'.
Riiiight...