Pilotlog Page 21
Slim's Pilotlog entry:
This match ended up taking two nights to fly, but it was well worth it. I managed to defend the coveted 54th spot and get my first win on the ladder. The first round was my choice since i was defending. I chose p-38s and we ended up in match seeing who could go the lowest and slowest.. Musgrove took a dip
Second round musgrove chose Spit 1A and he was on my tail for a while.. shooting me up.. then i got on his.. punching holes in his wing... neither of us with any real damage.. going lower and slower.. and eventually Musgrove dipped again.. Not the prettiest way to win but I'll take it..
thrid round Musgrove chose 109's.. We jockey for position for a while.. eventually he got around behind me.. i was working trying to shake him.. running a snake.. trying to spit him out.. unfortunately he followed me perfectly and flew through my tail..
third round 109 again.. this was a long one.. i was on him for a while.. but couldn't hit him.. stalled.. when i came out he was on me.. he chased me around and eventually smoked my engine.. but i was still running.. so i leveled out held my altitude and speed.. started to climb a litte.. realized i could limp.. but i couldn't chased him.. he flew around above me a couple of times.. i was waiting for him to finish me off.. lucky for me.. his last bullits had already gone through my engine.. but i didn't have the power to chase him..
Next Day.. we continued again in the 109's.. made several head on passes.. then i managed to gain some angles.. and managed to fly around to the elbow... i followed and followed.. closing.. trying to shoot him.. every time i thought i was squared up.. he jinked... i kept raising my tally of jellyfish.. but that was it.. I ran out of 30mm and started thinking.. man.. I don't want to lose this one because i can't hit him.. i kept chasing and finally.. got to about 100 meters.. and managed to smoke his engine.. I leveled out.. climbed for some altitude.. and waited for him to spash.. well hhe wasn't climbing.. but he wasn't going down either... i didn't want to make another pass unless i had to.. so I circled... and finally decided.. to make another pass.. when.. spash.. man.. i'm glad i didn't have to make another pass..
Thanks for the match Mustgrove... Great Flying... Good luck with your next match
Arty_VF163's Pilotlog entry:
The gray sky drizzled down upon the sad little apron. Stretched out in neat rows stood the aircraft of Her Royal Majesty's Air Corps. It was being a neutral country, defending ones neutrality. Harder still when the Queendom had very little in the way of an industrial base. Consequently, the aircraft, were a benign mixture of captured items. Planes to shot up to make it back to their own bases, countries even, frequently diverted here. The pilots interned, but to Her Amjesty's benefit, the planes were patched, cannabalized and cobbled together into this row of somewhat airworthy aircraft. The row contained a motley assortment of Spitfires, a Hurricane or two, the odd Bf-110, even a P-47 lurked in the back ground. F/O Arty walked out onto the flightline, his butt-pack swinging and lightly striking the backs of his legs. His flight helemt already on (his goggles in his pocket, to keep them dry), Today, he would fly the newest addition to the Queens collage of aircraft. A Spitfire 1. Arty had longed dreamed of flying the legendary Spitfire and today was his chance. A Smith and Wesson .38 rested snugly in the shoulder holster (although he had only 3 rounds for it). Todays mission was a standard patrol, just to insure no incursions into Imperial Airspace by either Axis or Allied powers. Arty, frequently thought this was simpler job than the warring nations pilots had. Anyone you saw flying was 99% of the time, enemy. Surely today would be no different.
As Arty stepped lightly onto the dural
wing of the Spit, his mechanic (Clancey, formerly of the Royal
New Zealand Air Service) handed him a clip board. "She's all
signed off sir and ready for a fight"
"Thanks, Clancey, I'll try to see she does ya proud."
replied Arty.
Arty, sat rather heavily (belying his age) into the cramp confines of the Spitfire, buckled in and began the checklist. Soon enough the Merlin sprang to life, singing the eloquent tune that only a powerful internal combustion engine can sing. moments later (after correcting a nasty swing on take-off) The Spit was airborne and making the patrol rounds.
"What?" wondered Arty aloud. Off in the distance a spot was winging its way towards him. Arty guessed it was some 3 miles distant but closing. Arty, set the guns switch to arm, threw back the canopy, (always preffered fighting with the canopy open)and prepared himself. (IE double checking his parachute harness). The other plane was close enough for identification and it was also a Spitfire. "Harrummphhh, well this oughta be good." thought our winged hero.
Quickly blowing a kiss to the picture of Jenny that resided on the IP and setting the gunsight, Arty looked up just in time to see tracers appearing from the intruder. "GAHHHHHH" cried out F/O Arty, instinctivly (I know it is spelled wrong) pulling the trigger. .303 bullets went screaming from the wing mounted brownings and lanced their way to the enemy. Were there hits? Did he see fire? Soon the other plane passed to his right. Arty could see the enemy pilot hunched over his controls, further he could see the name stenciled on the side. "MAjor Kluge" Arty craned his neck in a desperate bid to keep the enemy in sight. Arty flung his control spade into the left corner and tried to get on the enemy tail. The other Spitfire had had a rough patch of it. A thick black oiley smoke was pouring from the cowl. Kluge, was pawing at the controls in a bid to get the engine working again. Flames were licking around the cockpit. Arty, circled around his opponent try to see what would happen next. He could see the other pilot steer the spitfire out into the channel, and closer to England. Kluge Stepped out onto the wing of his stricken plane (was that a salute? Arty would like to think so) and stepped off into the gray of the channel sky. Already naval assets of the Royal navy were making their way to effect a rescue.
Arty, wearily set a course for home. Today Her majesty's skys had been defended. But what about tommorow?
Match 1 Kluge chose the Spitfire 1, we
closed and started shooting from about 3000 feet out. I got in a
very lucky shot which took out his engine.
Arty 1
Kluge 0
match 2 I chose the BF-110. Again shots
rang out on the merge, a few hits scored by both sides. I climbed
and turned, was able to get behind kluge, who with masterful
flying was able to evade my desperate attempts to shoot him.
Again I got a couple lucky shots (even a broken clock is right 2x
a day)
Arty 2
Kluge 0
We flew the last match just for fun. We took BF109E's Up for a try. Again alot of shooting on the merge. I again went into a climbing turn and was able to get behind Kluge. We zigged and zagged until I was able to get a good shot when I zagged and he zigged. Just enough to finish the fight.
Super flying Kluge, I do not envy your next opponent.
Spectre's Pilotlog entry:
"Jeezuz-H, Goshawk, hand 'm
here!", complained Spectre. "How ya ever
gonna be a perfeshunal ayngler if ya dunno how t' take 'im off
thuh
hook? 'Sides, I gen'rally just leave thuh hook in 'em. It
don't matter
none."
"Come on, Spec," responded
the older vet, "gimme a break. I don't have
to know how to dehook the blighters in order to eat them, and
besides,
I said I'd almost rather be an Aynglander, not an angler!"
They had been
talking moments before about the indignities imposed upon the
Yank pilots
by some of the local womenfolk.
He handed the channel cat to the
straw-hatted figure standing next to him,
and both looked up when they heard the sound of the big Merlins
overhead.
"I heard that that SirLoin fella was wanting to fly against you again."
"Ayuh", grunted Specter in return. "That he does."
Goshawk looked at Spectre and was
sickened as he watched the country
bumpkin bite into the soft belly of the catfish and gnaw a hole
through
the tough skin. He could handle no more as the sounds of sucking
ensued
as Spectre began to feed.
"Good God, man, why don't you try
cooking it first?", he spat disgustingly
at Spectre.
[Sshshshshsshsshssst] sucked the pilot.
He stopped only long enough to
mash the fish against a nearby rock, and looking up at Goshawk,
he replied,
"Nahh, that makes the bones too tough to draw.". He
resumes draining the
pisces.
Spectre's gaze continued upward at the
airplanes passing overhead, and he
knew that the Beef fellow was in the lead craft by the suptle
moves the plane
made as it dipped gingerly in search of any approaching trade.
He flung the shrivelled carcass of the
fish aside, wiped the residue
of sushi from his chin, gave off with a loud burp, stood and
turned toward
the strip.
Goshawk shook his head in disgust,
watching the pilot walk away, and
felt glad to have the beach all to himself. He cast his line back
out
into the briny waters of the English Chanel, content to simply
cut the
line and tie a new hook on should another water-living beast
attach itself
to his hook. He then grabbed a nearby stick, poked it into the
open mouth
of the dead drained fish carcass left by Spectre, and flung the
remains
of it back into the chanel.
Several minutes later, he heard the
sound of another merlin pass close overhead,
and looking up, spotted the unmistakable straw hat and corn-cob
pipe of Spectre
inside the cockpit. "Why doesn't that guy just fly with a
silk scarf and goggles
like the rest of us, fer crying out loud?"
He continued to watch as the plane
zoom-climbed after Beef's plane, circling
gently above at about 10,000 feet.
Over the course of the next hour,
Goshawk witnessed planes from all directions
pass overhead and head in to land due to the amount of lead being
thrown around
the skies over the chanel by Spectre and Beef.
Out in the waters, Goshawk counted as
the first planes flown, a couple Spit 9's,
collided and both plots bailed to safety. A second pair of planes
fared better
for Beef than Spectre as the hillbilly came swimming up to the
beach.
"Any bites, Gos?", he asked
as he passed by on his way back to the field. He did
not wait for an answer, rather kept on walking past, wiping the
water from his
forehead and eyes. He sloshed on up the beach.
Soon, two Tempests climbed rapidly into
the afternoon sky, and the loud
takatakatakataka of cannon fire could be heard above the gentle
surf.
Beef swam ashore next, cursing about
the disrespect shown by Spectre in his
demeanor and habit. "It's ungentlemanly, Goshawk! No man
should be allowed to
fly in bare feet! It's undignified!" He also did not wait
for a reply.
Goshawk's pole did not waver from its
rocky support as Beef swam ashore a
second time, after having his 109-G6 dispatched into the brine.
"the bloke's
a cretin, he is!", complained the Canadian pilot.
"There ought to be
rules against such soddin' behaviour!", he cursed. "The
bloke spat a wad
of brownish goo onto my windscreen, he did! Couldn't bloody see a
thing,
I couldn't! It's just not proper in a bloody dogfight!", he
spat as he trudged
on up the beach, water sloshing from his boottops.
Goshawk didn't have the heart to tell
Beef that he had snagged the line as he
made his way up through the waves. Goshawk merely snipped the
strand of
line rather than bother to try and unhook the barbs from Beef's
trousers.
This bit of oversight would cost dearly
as Beef took off again in a P-38J,
a fast plane with an abundance of firepower, horsepower, and room
enough for
a good pilot to be able to smudge just a bit to each side as he
scoured the
skies for his opponent, watching and maneuvering ever so
carefully, the feel
of the thing a wonderous experience, as the trouserlegs snugged
just so from
the workings of the rudder padels, and the extra fluff of
material in the
seat of the trousers edging ever so more snugly as Beef made his
well-timed
move against that grape, Spectre. Beef was just about in a
perfect firing
position, bringing the big cannon to bear on Spectre's
"38" as the business
end of the hook met with the pliancy of rectal flesh.
The beginning hint of what was to
become the most severe pain in his ass of
his whole young life began to resonate into the soft gray matter
inside his
cranium responsible for such things. As the synapse of signals
moved through
the tissue to the core of the cerebellum where the micromotors of
responses to
such stimuli as pain and suffering become transmitted to outlying
areas
of vocal magnification, the barb wedged in snugly between the
hard cover
of his chute-bag and the third layer of flesh.
His best eye, the right one, was just
beginning to focus on Spectre's plane
inside the circular sight as it began to swell with the upcoming
flood of
saline. In another microsecond, his visual acuity was rendered
useless as
tears of painful spasm not only diverted his eyes from the sight
circle, but
the immediate response to the painful stimuli in his derriere
raised him off
the seat of his craft.
Spectre's aim was true, and his cannon
rounds tore into the wings and engines of
the screaming Beef's plane. Spectre watched with glee as Beef
climbed feet-first
out of the smoky cockpit, jumped from the plane, and grabbed at
the seat of his
trousers with great anxiety.
As he turned back to the field, another
win in his column, he was unaware
of how much torment he was becoming to the young Canadian.
Great match, Beef! As always! :)
3-1
S!
No609_Beef's Pilotlog entry:
...Yeah, so I managed to get on Spectre's
six in the P38, carefully matching his moves.. throwing out a few
pinging rounds of MG's.. watching out for the energy scrubbing
"Barrel Roll".. Wait!! There it is!!! Spectre grabs a
chunk of elevator/aileron and opposite rudder... Ok,no panic..
Chop the gas and grab the air brakes, and...
"YOWWWWEEEEEEE!!!" My right hand had clasped a 10"
muskie lure that had been fastened with fishing line to the
airbrake handle! As my body jerked is reaction to the pain,I felt
another sharp/tearing sensation as a second lure (which I had
noticed ealy in the flight snagged to the side of my pants) sank
it's two barbed treble hooks into my buttock! I looked up in
horror as Spectre completed his roll, only to see him him in
hysterics.. frothing at the mouth.. and in complete enjoyment as
he landed on my six, hosed my tail and both engines! "Bail
Beef..Bail!!!..Yuk yuk yuk" said Spectre as i descended out
of control towards the Channel... but the second lure had now
attached itself to the leather seat too as well as my hand being
"crucified" on the brake handle. Unable to bail, I was
able to slow the PJ down a bit by lowering the gear and deploying
those Fowler flaps. I hit the drink and the force threw me clear,
bouncing off the top of the water a couple of times like a tossed
flat rock. My inflatable was useless as it had seen the fangs of
that second lure too, so it was a long cold swim back to the
mainland. As I neared the beach, I noticed a couple of familliar
figures taking in some afternoon fishing. "Heyas Beef.. What
took ya so long getting back?" says the straw-hatted
Spectre. "And what you doing with a Muskie lure? That only
works on a Canadian fish.
Exerpt from Base Medical Officer's Report:
April 24--
Feel compelled to comment on continuing amazement at efficiency of visiting nurse Helga. Far exceeds my expectations and is an invaluable addition to clinic staff. At this moment she is attending to one Beef from the 609 squadron. Patient came in complaining of discomfort in the posterior region and asked if WuWu was available to make an initial examination. As WuWu was busy folding my underwear^H^H^H^H^H^H^Htyping reports, asked Helga to provide any necessary care instead. Patient's malady must not have been severe in nature, as upon nurse Helga's entry into exam room, he began to proclaim the pain totally gone and attempted to exit clinic. This is where Nurse Helga's bedside manner really shines. She doesn't take no for an answer, not even "Oh God, please NO!"
Addendum: After much noise and fuss, patient was successfully subjected to removal of one large fishing lure from the inside of the left buttock. How does this sort of thing happen? The medical community may never answer such questions. On further reflection, this is probably a good thing.
KoKo's shout from outside the medical tent:
"Poor Beef!!!"
"If you need any help just yell & I'll come!!" :)
A mournful wail from within the tent by No609_Beef:
"Get me outta here Koko!! I can't take the ridicule anymore! The nurses have confined me to lying face-down on a stretcher eating icecream cones. And the humility of hearing them conjecture on why both my right hand and my posterior are wrapped in bandages is too much! Spectre..you goona pay for this!"
KoKo's reply:
"As soon as I can sneak past Helga I'll be there!!"
Nurse WuWu gives her reply:
"Ohhhh Beef...I though you were enjoying licking up that hot fudge sauce. It's the doctor's favourite you know....I guess I'll just have to let Helga change your bandages from now on" :(
"And no, I am not going to kiss it better. You can get KoKo to do that."
*Tosses hair, stomps off*
A response from Spectre:
"Fer keeerissake, S.L.O.B., it t'were Goshawg's hook and lure, not mine! Ya'll should be aiming yer barbs (hee-hee-hee) at him! Hey, b'sides, ya should be thankful the hook caught on yer backsides, and not yer zipper! You'd a be have'n a fun time explainin' THAT one, don't cha know!!"
No609_Beef recognized as Triple Ace, Air Force Cross pinned:
It is with pleasure that I announce
that we have a new Triple-Ace pilot in our midst.
"Yes, Nurse WuWu, roll it right over here. That's the
girl!" Goshawk watches as the gurney is wobbled into place
on the stage, with Beef holding onto the rails with
white-knuckled fists. WuWu, in her first major appearance on a
stage, suffered only slightly in her cameo, and no one would have
guessed that she was actually more nervous than she appeared as
the toe of her three inch spiked heels tapped and touched
ineffectively at the wheel brake of the only braked wheel on the
British issue medical bed. This should not have been of much
concern however, since there was only a slight pitch to the
stage, damaged during the room-clearing brawl started by OzZiggy
when the much-prized bunny got loose a year earlier.
As WuWu turned to leave, she courtsied to the officer pilots in
the room, and taking in a deep breath, smiled at the catcalls and
whistles cast her way. Even the bare ass of Beef, still sticking
up from it's nest of covers did not draw a smidgeon of the
attention that WuWu's heaving bosom attracted through the new
lightweight t'shirts the good doctor was requiring the nurses to
wear of late.
Her first step onto the stairs went fine, and only the
slight sway of her hips was noticed as the cork tip of the left
heel gave way. Upon placing her left foot down onto the next
step, she was startled when she learned that her heel did not
stop at it's customary height, and the difference of 1/8" of
missing cork was just enough to cause her arms to flail, and her
bosom to flutter. The slight roll of Beef's gurney went
unnoticed, and as the pilot officers rushed to try and catch
WuWu, grappling with a free grope in the process was
significantly more important that anything else in the room, even
the increasing speed of the gurney as it began to race across the
stage. Beef began to scream and Goshawk turned in what would have
been just the right amount of time in order to place the medal on
Beef's uniform shoulder. The rolling of the gurney, however,
brought Beef's bare buttocks ("We must keep it elevated and
exposed to allow for rapid heeling", the good doctor had
said) into the reach of the sharp medal's pin. Goshawk, watching
intently for the happenings of WuWu, did not notice as the pin
was thrust deeply into Beef's right buttock, causing a louder
scream from the pilot.
Beef's gurney continued its roll to the
side of the stage, and he was thrown off the bed as it crashed
onto the floor two feet below. He picked himself up painfully,
and turned away from the throng of shouting and catcalling
pilots.
He walked from the room, pulling the Air Force Cross from his
skin.
As calm was re-established in the room, WuWu walked disheveledly from the hall, her hair mussed, and her shirt stretched beyond it's normal allowable limits. Her mind took her back to her High-School days behind the gym, when she had made her life's choice to "provide needed comfort" to the lads at the front.
Goshawk stepped back up to the microphone to announce:
"It is with pleasure that I announce that we have (looking around to find the empty gurney to the side of the stage) uh, had, a new Triple Ace in our midst."
"Beef has scored his 15th combat match victory, and has been awarded the Air Force Cross in recognition of his efforts. We congratulate him, and wish him a rapid recovery."
[Salute]
Hero's pilotlog entry:
Piloten log reads:
After konzidderible teknikle diffikulties in zer airkraft preperationz at mein homen base (zeverral W98 reinstallz following "low level" email virus attaks), zer match mitt Redt Eine wast flown today.
Redt proved to be ein gentleman fleiger who tolerated several delays due to prroblems with mine faktory "fresh" ekwipment (CRC zimply would nut cooperate). However, by un process auff deduktionz, zumm auff zoze prroblems were later traced to minor driver version konflicts mit mine network kard which had korruped zertain new downloads shhheeessshhhhhhhhh! Ven all else fails, reffern to ein "readme" filez ja!
Even zo... kopies of Redt Eine's CRC program did not kure zer fundamental kompatibility prrublemm unt more homeverk ist required Gott in Himmle! Sorties were flown at Zone with unquestioned konfidence that "tinkering" is not fur sportzmen!
3 sorties were flownen:
Spitfeur 1a (much turn fightinz and deflekshun shotingz): Hero einz
P38H (much rollink undt zoomink
inkschtedd auff turnz... Redt smokes, stays valliantly in contakt
and SHOOTZ at mine aircaft! Then stallz un swimz)
Hero salutes Redt Eine, since zer "fork-tailed devil"
nearly killt him alzo! Piloten note: gun kamerra footage may be
worth rekovery from arrmorer, as vill perforated rudder section!
BF109 Emil:) (lotz of low level scizzer verk... much wasted kannonen ammunitionz frum Hero:( before machinegunen ammunitionz unt rude gestures make Redt Eine valk bak to zer hanger mit un cinged parachutze. Piloten note: in WWI style, Redt Eine flew zis sortie mit kanopy slid back, goggles up, undt redt scarf trailing in zer slipstreamz! Have HQ Intelligence section translate shouted words... "#####zmagnet" for future RT reference :)
S! to Redt Eine who is ein gentleman flieger unt a courageous kombatant who is a credit to the "wrong side" of this war :)
Von Steinenguzzler 27 July
Entry ends
Hotshot's pilotlog entry:
Over France in June, 1944...
It wasnt five minutes ago that Tommy got it while strafing a field loaded with 109s. He didnt see that Flak Tower open up on him. I yelled a warning just as his P-51 blossomed into flame and he augered in... I was now alone on my very first flight over France. I didnt know what to do, so naturally I did nothing. For just a few minutes I flew onward staring at the burning wreckage that was my friend and flight leader... Then my world exploded as cannon shells hit the engine and right wing from God knows where......!
Try as I might I just couldnt get enough of the splattered oil off the windscreen to be able to see thru it to fly and fight... I still didnt know what had hit me........ Just a roaring flash and the sound of heavy cannons and then in the blink of an eye the jerry was gone! I had never seen anything like it! Flames coming from pods under the wings and no propeller!! It must be that new NAZI jetplane Commander Goshawk had warned us about I thought, as I tried to regain control of what was left of my badly smoking Mustang.......
Slowly nursing the complaining merlin, I enriched the mix and started looking for that Jerry Rat Bastard! I knew he wouldnt leave me out here for long! Not with a half dead cripple! Pushing back the now useless and oil covered canopy I squinted up into the sun and there was the Dirty Hun! Diving down on me like a Hawk! His Rocket plane spitting death at me in big 30mm wads!
I glanced down at the instruments and saw I wasnt going to stay up for long anyway as the oil pressure was dropping... So I shoved the throttle to max rpms and lifted the nose towards death above me as flames started shooting from the exhaust ports.....
Sweat was pouring down my face as the German filled my site, I squeezed off a burst from the six 50s and felt my Pony take more cannon fire. Still she held together somehow and I noted with some satisfaction the Jerry was forced to brake off his run and was climbing above me again. Still I didnt know how much longer "Sweet Georgia Peach" was going to last. Smoke was now filling the cockpit, but I did not dare jump while that NAZI was above me. I had heard stories of how they had machinegunned pilots in their chutes......
I slowly climbed after the Hun as he
again setup for another run... If only I could hit him again I am
sure I could hurt him enough to make him leave me...
As he rolled "over the top" and plunged back down I
dipped by wounded bird to gain as much speed as I could, then
pulled with all my might straight up into him and opened fire.
His cannons were flashing and then we slammed together! In a
split second I saw his surprised face fly past me as his wing was
sheared off and he tumbled down below me...
I couldnt follow to see the impact, I had troubles of my own. Trapped in a flat spin I struggled to get out! Flames were licking at my arms and my flight suit was coved in blood as I tried in vain to escape... The fire was just about to me, I could feel its heat... Twisting round and round I saw the ground coming closer and closer......
My arm... my arm was caught! I pulled harder and yanked it madly to free it! But something yanked it back! looking up from the flames and the rushing ground I saw...... TOMMY!
Standing over me and shaking me in my bunk! "Wake up you lazy ass! We have to get to briefing and then get something to eat. Today's your first combat mission you know! Dont worry I will be covering you! We will hit those Jerries before they even get off the ground! And dont let that lecture O'l Gos gave you on that ME-262 scare you! Those things only hunt Fortresses! Why we would eat em alive if they messed with us!" Smiling, Tommy went back to his tent and I slowly sat up wiping the cold sweat from my face and hoping he didnt see the fear in my eyes.........