Good AAR mate!...

Yes and great pics too.

I happened to get a couple of snaps of a real Kittyhawk at the RAF Museum, Hendon, on a visit last month. Apparently this is a later P-40N Kittyhawk IV rebuilt from an RAAF New Guinea wreck, painted in the Desert Air Force scheme for a Kittyhawk III,

Thanks Trooper and 33lima. Thanks for posting those awesome pics of a real Kittyhawk. She is fun to fly but slow as a bus unless you are diving. It is going to take some stick time to learn to fight in her, although I guess she was more suited to ground attack. Am I right in that the Tomahawk MkII was the better fighter? Here are a few leftovers I like.

S!Blade<><





Maybe I should jump in one of these Tomahawks?


Some Blokes are very attached to their Kites! Nigel gave it one last effort to make his lass pull up before it was to late!!!

This time Nigel decided to use his head to save his Lass.

S!Blade<><

I applied a little blurring on the Kittyhawk.

S!Blade<><

The First Pass!

Good stuff... Fritz gets it in the neck again!

LOL Trooper, you always crack me up with your little comments. S!
TFS has redone the early morning lighting and I think the dusk lighting sometime a while back and they really hit the proverbial nail on the head I think. It looks stunning in sim to me.
An early morning lone wolf patrol, after downing one Bf109, my Allison shuts down on me a couple of miles from pancaking. This was a dead stick landing for me.

S!Blade<><

You made it... and you didn't even scratch your kangaroo!

H're is a vocabulary of t'rms which one needeth to becometh quaint with!

1. square or Sqaurer = a fight or fighter.
2. eft = ready
3. scrap = a fight
4. sparrow chirp = at sunrise
5. oi = hey with a slightly to heavy angry emphasis
6. cobber = a friend, sometimes with a sarcastic tone
7. dram = a little bit of something
8. chuffed = annoyed
9. coeqaul = just the same
10. mite = small or a bit
11. fain = happy, glad
12. anon = soon or now
13. base = low
14. yond = that
15. dungeon = handle
16. travelling lamp = the sun
17. wendeth = walk

S!Blade<><

I off'r up a quaint AAR of fusty!

Shakesp're Hast Been Calledeth Up!

S!Blade<><



Hencf'rth and three weeks aft'r me initial des'rt combat in the Kittyhawk, h're i sitteth in mineth owneth new Tomahawk. Those three weeks hadst been hard didst presseth to flyeth s'rties in the Kittyhawk and then traineth in the Tomahawk at which hour things w're sloweth. The Tomahawk is m're pow'rful and flies liketh a prop'r hunteth'r killeth'r. In the right hands the mistress can beest a lethal matcheth. The mistress is a stunning war machine, i meanest, the mistress simply lookeths nasty, liketh the mistress wanteth to picketh a square. With 4x wing mount'd .30 cal machine guns, 2x syncroniz'd .50 cal fuselage mount'd machine guns, heavy armament round the engine and the cockpit, this lass is eft f'r a scrap with the des'rt huns and the macaroni. I didst riseth up at sparrow chirp f'r this m'rnings section patrol and hadst mineth owneth kite's allison warmeth'd up at which hour i didst seeth mineth owneth section leadeth'r and numb'r three walking to their Tomahawks. We couldst only field three Tomahawks as of the present day and mineth owneth lass wast giving problems with the oil pressure switcheth. F'r this reasoneth i hadst mineth owneth section leadeth'r's p'rmission to taketh mineth owneth lass up early to giveth h'r a checkout and then f'rm up with the guv'n'r and his numb'r three once those gents tooketh off.


“Oi, a damneth payback f'r three weeks hence at which hour the two of thee dust'd me off on me first hopeth!” , i hath said aloud. Then as sooneth as those gents hath reached their Tomahawks i ranneth up me rpms to 2000, releas'd the bindeth'rs ant alloweth those folk to consumeth me dusteth this m'rning cobb'r! Th're is nothing liketh a dram powd'ry des'rt dusty sand settling all ov'r oneself first thing in the m'rning to chap thy chuff'd little arse now is th're mateth! I chuckl'dth to myself as I did dash off down the stripeth in mine own Tomahawk.


I can't putteth me fing'r on it, but the Tomahawk just hath felt m're rugged, sturdi'r, m'reov'r lethal than the Kittyhawk. Coequal at which hour the und'rcarriage hath raised up, the lady just clunk'd up tight liketh a square'r throwing out his chest! Me lass and I, we' did preparest for a scrap this m'rning mateth!


As i climb out of Gazla A'rodrome, a quick behold ov'r mine own starboard shouldst'r discloses the still smold'ring fires from lasteth nights raids on tobruk. Those dameth Axis #%&*$# pound tobruk day and night, and the boys on the sand art just holding on by tooth and naileth. Buttoning up mine own cockpit, i did get on with mine own owneth business of circling the airstrip and f'rming up with the section leadeth'r and his numb'r three.


Just a few moments lat'r and we art f'rming up nice and tight liketh 3 bugs in a rug. T is a mite both'rsome keeping an eye on mine own gauges, keeping an eye on mine own section leadeth'r and keeping a third eye out f'r j'rry! Once mine own lass is trimm'd out to flyeth nice and leveleth t is a piece easi'r, but the dram windeth gusts shall keepeth a chap on his toes regardless.


T is at each patroleth a mite of a tournament between numb'r three and myself to seeth who is't can flyeth in the tightest f'rmation with the gov'rn'r. This m'rning i has't the steady handeth and n'rves of steel as i clipeth the goven'r's tail while numb'r three buggars his spoteth up. A few to many to drinketh lasteth evening f'r numb'r three in the offic'r's club i bethink. Alloweth not that gent a blinking idiot to thee cousin, that gent is quite cocksure and eft to square with fusty j'rry mind thee. Three is a cracketh shot that gent is! Three hates fusty j'rry! I'm fain the blokes partial to our side!


Nay anon'r than we crosseth the front line than the goven'r is calling out, "huns ten o'clock base mates!" As each of us turns in to engage, one of the macaroni pilots passes directly ov'r mine own lass, screaming right by and hath passed liketh that gent doesn't has't a careth in the w'rld. I turneth into that gent and findeth mine own way onto his base six. I bethink not that he can spoteth me down h're as that gent flys straight ahead as i climb with haste onto his tail. The goven'r and numb'r three has't already did chase two of the macaroni pilots down base, and as i chaseth this macaroni down base'r i beginneth to spoteth m're and m're of the mafia in the vicinity. We art heavilt outnumb'r'd and this is a square to the death mateth!


As i closeth on this macaroni pilot, i alloweth mine own chatt'rboxes loose to early. Mine own trac'rs flyeth wildly by his square'r and t seemeth yond gent knoweth yond i am backeth behind him at presenteth. With a slight climbing turneth to his starboard, i feeleth sure that he gaveth a quick behold ov'r his shouldst'r and that gent knoweth f'r c'rtain yond i am h're. He pulls his controleth column m're f'rcefully to his starboard anon as i alloweth loose anoth'r burst from mine own chatt'rboxes! If 't be true that gent dives off to his starboard side i shall clobb'r that him. If 't be true he continues to climb i shall has't only a precious few moments to alloweth loose anoth'r squirt and tryeth to maketh that gent diveth.


I alloweth mine own chatt'rboxes loose with yet anoth'r volly of rounds and i hitteth the square'r on his starboard ail'ron. That gent hast given hence his speedeth and anon i am closing in to clobb'r his plane. He turns belly up to diveth hence and runneth, but i am right on himeth. Suddenly that gent completes a full rolleth, and as i followeth, with a quick behold ov'r mine own shouldst'r, i spoteth anoth'r macaroni on mine own tail! These macaroni pilots art trying to setteth me up to killeth me by pulling thy wool ov'r mine own eyes!


I pursue a harsh'r starboard turneth and the buggar on mine own tail ov'rshoots mine own lass! That gent cameth withinh a breath of having me f'r breakfast! As he hastily hath passed by mine own lass, i dove to the deck and anon wast ov'r the medit'rainian hurtling 'long at 400 mph.


As i cometh 'round to mine own p'rt wing i spoteth yet anoth'r of the mafia down base. I beginneth to climb and pursue that gent as i am momentarily mesm'riz'd by the beauty of the deep blue wat'r coloreth of the medit'rainin. T oft amazes me at the things yond capture mine own mind coequal at which hour i am hurtling 'long at 400 mph while involv'd in combat. I shaketh mine own headeth apace to cleareth mine own senses f'r this mind wand'ring is ill advise as one shall not seeth the completeth picture, and coequal in this split second i couldst beest clobb'r'd by the one i nev'r did seeeth. Liketh the macaroni pilot yond hadst his eye on me from high above at this v'ry moment. Mine own Tomahawk stoodeth out 'gainst the beauty of the blue wat'r as that gent did roll ov'r and beganeth his diving attacketh in pursuit of me!


I climbeth to 500 feet above the macaroni whom i am chasing. I believeth not that gent kneweth i wast th're and coming f'r him! I did start a sloweth diveth as we clear'd the delightful me'd coast and cameth ov'r the drab sands of the des'rt. Only a few green fields w're to beest hath found in some of the base areas 'long the coast. Oth'rwise the landeth is a vast drab and curs'd des'rt spanning as far as the eye can seeth. Just as i fir'd mine own first burst this #%&*$# did roll belly up and dove hence!


Then from out of nay wh're. Trac'rs did fly past all 'round me!

Timeth stoodeth still as i gazed upon each crisp of smoketh as t streak past mine own cockpit! I did see the hot yellow ends of the trac'r rounds as those littleth gents did speed hence forth from me!


I hath continued to unleash mine own chatt'rboxes wildly at the macaroni pilot diving hence!


Mine own en'rgy dwindl'd as i kneweth mine own pursu'r wast hastily ov'rtaking me, yet not one round hadst assault'd mine own lass!


I srtuggled'd to leveleth mine own wings as i did prepare f'r the w'rst, but the rounds ceased coming as i didst approach the top of mine own climb. F'r an instant i bethought i hadst did survive this macaroni's assault. Then a loud cracketh, a ripping soundeth, a catastrophic series of events hadst instantly been setteth in motion!


In a split second, off mine own p'rt wing, i hadst seen a macaroni square'r exchange greetings between his wingtip and mine owneth wingtip. An unfriendly exchange, liketh to f'rm'r warri'rs pitting their stance 'gainst one anoth'r. One wilt giveth way, but in a m're instant t wast apparent yond neith'r wouldst claimeth vict'ry on this day!


Owing to being only 1000 feet above the des'rt flo'r i did throw the canopy glass backeth, popp'd mine own harness and did roll out of mine own sev'rely wound'd Tomahawk. F'r just a moment i wast able to seeth yond one half of mine own p'rt wing hadst been sev'r'd in the collision. As i didst gazeth on, mineth owneth lass screameth h'r dying song as the mistress didst raceth towrds h'r death in the des'rt below!


I gaveth a grant of thanks and mercy yond i hadst the f'rethought to glueth mine own offic'rs cap to mine own headeth using contact cement the evening bef're. As i gaveth mine own parachute dudgeon a pulleth i wast snatchethed skyward and ev'rything slow'd to a crawleth.


As the ground did rush up to greeteth me, i witness'd mine own lass explodeth into the des'rt with a thund'rous moaneth!


I wast afeard f'r a moment tha i might landeth in the fi'ry fireth of mine own lass's crasheth, but this wast not to beest. I didst landeth harshly and rolledeth through the grit of the sandy des'rt flo'r as mine own chute but softly did lie ov'r.


I didst hurry to mine own feet and releas'd the harness which in turneth releas'd mine own chute fromest me. I wond'r'd how mine own mates hadst far'd as i did survey the des'rt 'round me. Placing the travelling lamp gen'rally to mine own front, i didst starteth walking and wond'r'd how far i wouldst hast't to wendeth bef're being picketh'd up.

So endeth the second s'rtie of Pilot Offic'r Shakesp're!

As thou descendeth through the heavens did thou yelleth at the hapless Macaroni that causeth thine dire predicament as he also took to the silk:
"“Thy trunk of humours, thy bolting-hutch of beastliness, swollen parcel of dropsies, huge bombard of sack, thou stuffed cloak-bag of guts, thy roasted Manningtree ox with pudding in thine belly, reverend vice, thou grey Iniquity, that fathers ruffian, with vanity in years?”

Or somesuch.....:)

And Blade_Meister's spirit, ranging for revenge
With his wingman by his side come hot from the Sergeant's Mess
Shall in these confines with a Air Vice Marshall's voice cry 'Havoc!'
And let slip the Dogs of War
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.

Well at least my little Shakespearean AAR didn't completely fall on blind eyes. Not really sure why I wanted to do that, but at least I got it off my chest. Now maybe I can get back to more serious projects which have been shelved for quite some time.
I thank you each for the Tudor Period epilogues.

S!Blade<><

Fun reading- thanks for sharing!
Spend most of my limited time on iRacing, but might need to break out the joy stick again. I have CLOD Blitz on my hard drive but haven't tried the Tobruk theater of operations yet.

A dynamic career over The Channel and Southeast England in a G50? I actually have 1 kill against a Spitty in 2 missions. It is pretty tough in this relatively slow and quite overwhelmingly under armed fighter. Ah but the fresh air! It is so worth it!;)



S!Blade<><

Combat Patrol somewhere over Southern England. Am I lost?


It is not wise to chase a Spitty over a British Aerodrome, although the AA does look incredible coming up at you and the sound sample mastering of the AA guns is positively the BEST.


Getting a few hits in on a willy RAF pilot who is looking in his mirror and trying to sort out what this strange little fighter whom is pinging away at his Spitty with two BB guns is.


The next thing I know a Bf109 crashes the party in a spectacularly reckless manner! "Hey, I had this situation under control Jerry!!!, I shouted at the egotistical hun."


As I pulled up to gain a bit of altitude to see where this fracas was headed, I suddenly see tracers scream past the starboard side of my cockpit and I know that Tommy's wing man is laboring to repay me the favor which I extended to his leader!


I roll hard to my port side and dive away over some unknown English metropolis!


Plunging away to the wave tops I make my hasty retreat while it is still possible for me to do so.

The copilot/front gunner is just about to pray for deliverance!

S!Blade<><



[size:12pt][/size]

''What's that Franz?''... ''I'm not sure Fritz, but it's pilot looks like he's going to throw up, and if Herman back there doesn't get his finger out we just might end up having some Tommy bully beef for lunch!''

LOL!
And this one? What does it say to you Trooper???

S!Blade<><