Pilotlogs Page 7
Seahawk's pilotlog entry:
Somewhere in England:
The parachute pack hit the ground with a thump and a rattle. The
sound of metal cooling pinged in the background and the heat
coming from the engine distorted and rippled the air around it.
Seahawk sighed, wishing for a cigarette, but instead pulled air
into his lungs. Tasted sweet after breathing coolant fumes, gas
fumes, and freshly burned cordite. It had been a good, if
exhausting day.
Earlier, right before his weekend leave he had gone to
the hanger to see if his friend and mechanic Joe had wanted to go to the pub. He came into the
hanger and Lo and Behold! Joe wasn't working on his bird, but
this newly minted, pimply faced,
prepubescent Andy Gump! This kid had his arms up to his elbows in
the bowels of Seahawks favorite mount.
They were covered in grease and glucose and his tongue was
sticking out of one side of his mouth! He grunted as he pulled
and when the part finally came lose in his hands he looked at it
a moment, not recognizing it for anything that he needed and
threw it over his shoulder. Seahawk followed the part as it
sailed through the air to land in a pile of other parts. Other
parts?? They were his parts! From his beloved Spit! That Bastard
was taking apart his plane piece, by ever loving piece, and for
all outward appearences didn't know his ass from his elbow! Let
alone his way around an airplane!
" WHAT THE F$%K ARE YOU DOING!!!!!!" Seahawk bellowed
at the top of his lungs.
The walking pimple jumped, banged his arms, slipped on the grease
at his feet and fell on his ass. His eyes looked dazed and
unfocused for a moment until a pair of bright, shiny boots came
into his line of sight. He followed the boots up until they
turned into creased greens, past the shiny buckle, up past shirt
buttons, to a row of imposing medals and campaign ribbons. He
swallowed, loudly. Slowly his eyes traveled higher until they
came to rest on Captains bars.
He tried jumping to his feet but slipped again and fell back onto
his sorely abused butt.
Seahawk looked at the prone pimple. He looked at the pile of
parts. He looked back at the pimple.
" Shit." Seahawk swore. " Kid, I don't know who
you are, but you run and find Joe. Tell him to get here and help
me clean up this mess you have so expertly made."
" S...S...Sir!" he stammered. " Joe he ain't here,
Sir. He's been called away, Sir. Family emergency, Sir." He
flinched when he saw the captains reaction. Or lack of one.
Seahawk got cold, then hot. Blood drained from his face as he
clenched his jaw. Visions of mayhem filled his head. He wished he
had Thog's axe.
He didn't say anything for 60 seconds. It felt much longer and by
the end of it the Pimple was visibly shaking.
" Get your sorry ass out of my sight." Seahawk said,
barely above a whisper. The Pimple looked at him for a second,
then heels scrabbling along the slick concrete made a hasty, if
not very graceful exit. Seahawk watched him go, then sighed and
loosened his tie. It was going to be a long weekend.
5 days later, all of his mounts gleaming from the work he had put
in to them, Seahawk was able to fly the match he'd been hoping to
relax before.
Match 1: Seahawk Spit 14, Puma Tempest V
Seahawk shook his head when Puma tried turning with the spit. He
went with it though and finally watched Puma spin into the drink.
Seahawk-1, Puma-0
Match 2: Seahawk FW190D-9, Puma Spit 14
This was the classic B&Z. Protracted long and very nervy.
Seahawk had more than a few moments when he realized he could
lose this one. Puma was cagey and hung with him like glue, but it
finally came down to a lucky head-on shot. Seahawk put one in
Puma's engine and pulled away as Puma's mount lost the battle
with gravity.
Seahawk-2, Puma-0
Match 3: Seahawk FW 190D-9, Puma Spit 14
Ended quick and dirty: Head on collision.
Draw
Seahawk-2, Puma-0
Match 4: Seahawk Spit 14, Puma P-51
No contest. Puma got impatient and tried to turn back too fast.
Seahawk had height on him and split-s'd on his tail. Boom! No
more mustang.
Seahawk-3, Puma-0
Seahawk rolled his shoulders to ease the tension and prepared to
gather his 'chute and go to bed. There was a noise that drew his
attention before he could do that though.
" You Bloody Pimple on a Rats Ass! What the hell you think
yer doin??!! Put that rifle back over your head! Tired are ya!
Wait till I finish wi' ya!!!"
The Sergeant-Major was screaming at the Pimple as he ran. In full
pack and gear, with his M-1 held high over his head he was
running around the flagpole. Sweat poured off his face as he ran.
He had been running when Seahawk went up to start the match and
would probably be running till long after light out.
" You know squat! You are crap! Keep runnin' you bloody
Pimple!!" The Sergeant Major caught Seahawk's glance,
saluted crisply, and began berating the Pimple more.
A good day indeed!
Great match, Sir!
RoadRunner's pilotlog entry:
Congrats on yet another victory.
BTW: I saw pimple this morning, appears Koko got a hold of him
late last night and connected all those puss bag's with a grease
pencil. Freakin kid looked like a star chart.
"RR"
Yentl's pilotlog entry:
After a long day of hunting I found him. There he was comin at me like he was going to kill me or something!! His first pass we fought a little and he ended up in the river. The second time he ran into my rear and damged my tail, I mean, rear a bit but I think he lost his will to fight cause he was on fire so he went into the water. I thought thats weird for a dog!
I tried to tell him that this wasnt bumper cars but
he's only a mean dog after all!! Here it was time to see who
would go home with either dog meat or a lesbian in a man's body.
We started at 10000 yards and ran at each other at full speed it
was scary cause neither one of us was going to blink on this pass
I could feel it! As far as I could tell I hit him with my fiddle
before he could bare his teeth because his wing fell off hmmm I
mean his leg fell off!!
Yentl 3, Wolf 0
Wolf is a great pilot and watch your six cause his bite is hard
and exact!!
Fox1's pilotlog entry:
Fox1=3
Snowman=2
Draw=1
Wow what an enjoyable fight(thats if you win) for the Fox! I have
to take my hat to Snowman, he responded right away to my
challenge.
Round 1
Flying the P-47D.....Fox1 got the kill.
At the merge I was lucky to get around and sit on Snowmans tail,
he tried everything to shake me but the old Fox stayed right on
his 6 and picked him apart, he was smoking and a few more shots
into his P-47D,
BOOMMMMMMMMMMM it was over. 1-0-0 Fox
Round 2
Flying the Tempest it was a Draw.
This match was a long one...gezzzzzzzz Snowman and Fox1 came at
each other head on and we did this throughout the
match...until...Fox ran out of ammo oh..oh..I decided to extend
and out manouver him....well Snowman had damage to his Tempest
and couldn't catch the old Fox....I turned into him a couple of
times and whizzed by...cant shoot no ammo left lol so I extended
again and he couldn't catch me, so we agreed to call it a
draw....hmmmmmm maybe I should have waited a little longer and
hopefully he would blow up...lol
Score is 1-0-1 for Fox1
Round 3
Flying the Hurricane Snowman did a good job and killed the Fox.
He was on my tail all the time and I couldn't shake him, after
many bullets in my Hurricane I went on fire......end of story, :)
Score is 1-1-1
Round 4
Flying the 190A-8 Snowman Lawn Darted.....he just couldn't
control the a/c. He was on my tail a couple of times but couldn't
get a good shot off. Now the old Fox went high and banked left,
right on Snowman 6......I think when he saw me there he tried to
do fancy flying....it didn't do any good because oh..oh....Lawn
Darted....or should I say Water Darted? lol
Score is 2-1-1 for Fox1
Round 5
Flying the BF-110G Snowman just ripped me up......didn't last too
long.
Score is 2-2-1
Round 6 Final Round
Flying the 190A-8 (again) because I was hoping Snowman would
loose control, as he did before in round 4......yep it worked
Snowman "Water Darted" SPLASH! Score is 3-2-1 for Fox1
Thanks Snowman for giving me a win....you are a gentleman and a
good pilot.
Salute
Sabre's pilotlog entry:
Pilots Log:Flt.
Lt.Charles Sabre Gardner
Jan 21st
Orientation Flight: Acquaint our American Allies(RoadRunner) with
our Equipment
HQ reports a lot of fog over the channel, I dread flying but we
do what we must. I have to fly with a new recruit, goes by the
name "RoadRunner"..Americans. Well I get to the flight
line and see my Tempest sitting there
in the fog.. sinster as that beast looks, she is a powerful
fighter: fast, strong and heavily armed with (4) 20 mm cannon. I
'm leaning on 1 of the barrels..when my challenger walks up
wanting to know, where in the "hell had I been".
"Oh enjoying a cup of tea" I replied.
Well I'm ready now, lets see what ya can do with a proper English fighter! We climb into our mounts and roll down the aerodrome and climb to 5000 feet like home sick angels. The beautiful english countyside glistens where the sun breaks through the fog. We seperate and the fight is on.
We both dive down to
gain speed....RR pulls up and I follow his lead and head for the
vertical. I half roll and pull and as I fall through the horizon,
I'm sitting right at his 4.. I keep my speed and pull up again
half rolling at the top this time I'm at his six and let the lead
fly... he explodes and I pull around to see where he splashed
into cold English channel. I see a plane in the distance I fly
toward it... damn he fired at me!!... I must have not blown him
up..I forget how tough a bird the Temp is.. luckly he did not
have the speed to really pull up and get a good shot on me. I
chuckle at how close I had come to losing it. I tell RR to RTB
and lets try some other plane...I even told him he could pick.
NOTE: had over 19% hit ratio......spun Temp once low level..must
be careful with controls at high angles and slow speed.
RR eyed me and said I was pretty good for a "old chap",
I smiled and nodded and agreed not to count him out until he was
swimming in the channel. RR looks down the flight line and walks
by Sir Billy Mitchells thoroughbred the Spitfire XlV. I say"
sure we can fly these"..the crew prepares the planes ..while
we make small talk...the weather and the beautiful lines of the
Spit vs the brute that is the Tempest. To me they both have much
to commend..but truely the Spit is the pure fighter and the most
elegant plane to grace the air. The air caresses, embracing the
Spit as it flows through it.. whereas the Tempest plows through
it, daring the air to slow it down.
The crew reports that all is ready, we climb aboard and head for
the heavens. The sky is much clearer..the morning fog having
burnt off and given way to a light haze. Climbing to 5000 we turn
and face each other..I'm reminded of my ancestors dueling for
honor, to my mind this is much like that. We both dive to gain
energy, we merge and I rack the Spit into a hard turn.. he's
going vertical.. I transition to the vertical taking an angle I
hope will put me at his six. I pull it off......but can't pull
any lead..I just settle down and start working him. I melt away
his lead, till I have the energy to pull lead. I let fly with the
lead. But this time RR half rolls and pulls and spoils my shot
before I can finish him. Now I have to go back to work and find
the formula to get back into a shooting position. Finally I work
my way into a good position and fire.. I pull a little to hard
the Spit shudders and bucks and starts spinning like a leaf
falling from a tree. I'm low and sweating.. I pull out just feet
above the channel.... but I see RR is already enjoying the surf.
Air and Sea rescue return in short order with RR...soaking wet he
throws down his gauntlet and points to 2 old Spit MK1s... I
grin.. sure, we can fly those... I have more Spit 1A time than
just about anyone in the RAF.. having flown it as a cadet as well
as at Boscombe Down as a test pilot. RR hurriedly climbs into his
spit and takes off.... I follow and we prepare for what I hope
will be the final time. As before we both dive for speed and play
the verticle like a soprano hitting high "C". I pull
hard to get the lead on him.. I fall over the top and see him
right below me. A few times around and I get his plane to
smoking. His merlin belches and he goes swimming again.
NOTE:Air gunnery was in high 19's again....Sir Mitchell got it
right with this one.
My challenger though valiant left England cold and wet.
England 3 (God save the King)
America 0 (Glad they're on our side)
Wolf's pilotlog entry:
... Just as I was leaving the O-Club my crew chief, Reginald,
called me aside.
"Sir, your going to have to stop flying those practice rounds with Ninja and CO".
"Why, what's wrong?", I asked.
"Well Sir,I'm running out of spare parts to fix your planes", he replied.
"Can you get one more ready? I was about to go post a challenge", I asked.
"The fitters and I might be able to rummage up the parts,as long as you don't ask any questions."
I knew better than to
ask! Ever since he was assigned to the Eagle Squadron I'd noticed
that our "English
Gentleman" had started to develop a shady side. After going
to the bulletin board outside the CO's door and posting the
challenge, Goshawk and I went to Picadilly for a pleasant evening
of debauchery. The next morning... or the morning after that...
I'm not sure which, I went down to B-flight dispersal to check on
Reggie's progress. There in the blast pen sat the most beautiful
Mk IX I'd ever seen. The low luster paint had been freashly waxed
and didn't have a spot on it, the canopy was perfect and the
windscreen so clean you would almost swear that there wasn't any
glass there. About that time, Reg and the fitters showed up.
"Reg, she's beautiful! When did that shipment of replacment planes show up?" I inquired.
With something of a sheepish look Reg said "they didn't... I borrowed some parts".
"That was very generous of them to let you have the parts like that. What did they say?"
With some foot shuffeling and an averted gaze he said, "They don't know about it yet!"
"WHAT?? Look, Reg , I know I said I wouldn't ask any questions... but I've got to know".
"Look Sir,the way that they've been kicking your arse here of late I thought it fitting that I borrow the parts from them. The tailplane I got from Seahawk, the wings and canopy came from Yentl and the rest I just sort of picked up here and there..."
"Where did you get the engine, Reg? You told me that there wasn't a decent engine in our spares."
Reg refused to tell me
where it came from, period. Neither threats nor promises would
get him to own up. Giving
up in frustration, I turned to leave. When I had only gotten a
few steps away I heard him say under his breath,"I hope
Enforcer doesn't try to start his plane..."
Enforcer, send me a message as to when would be a good time for
you.
Catch you later.
MadDog's pilotlog entry:
Well flown, FT!!
Close match, could have gone either way at the end.
It would seem that I learned a little about "similar"
matches . . . he who gets first advantage runs the show from
there on out. The trick is to somehow get an advantage over your
opponent on the pass . . . which may be more luck than anything
else, guessing correctly which way he will go!
Round 1 FT picked the 38J. After much dodging and parrying, I
tried to test the amphibious aspects of the craft. Regretably, it
has none.
Round 2 I picked the Tempest. Was able to hit him on one of the
passes, didn't do much damage but at that point I noticed he was
having a harder time keeping up with me as I ran away and climbed
for another pass. Eventually he stalled out and crashed.
Round 3 He picked the 51D. I only remember one detail: I won.
Round 4 He picked the 38J with much the same results as round 1.
Round 5 I picked the Tempest again, was a LONG round, with both
of us having to nurse our throttles to keep the engine from
overheating. Whether I hit his cooling system on an earlier pass
or he just overdid it on the throttle, I don't know. But as I
came in for a pass I saw smoke, so I pulled up and circled around
him at a safe distance and watched his alt/speed. Both slowly
diminished until the Freight Train made it's final stop.
Fun flyin' with ya FT, bet I'll be seein' you again soon!
Xsplat's pilotlog entry:
Wow, this match was AWESOME. Here's the run-down on how it
happened.
Round 1
I pick the Spit IX, since it was similar planes and Vapors
challenged me. Vapors dives and then tries to out climb me. I was
able to catch up and get behind him for the kill. Xsplat-1
Vapors-0
Round 2
This was one was great and weird. Initially it starts off like
round 1. But somehow I can't get my aim and I run out of ammo. So
I just stayed on his tail for at least 15 minutes, give or take a
few. He finally realizes that I'm out of ammo so he tries to out
run me. I chased him and caught up to him. He slowed down but I
stayed full throttle and
was going to collide with him but, I passed right above him. He
just exploded into pieces. Somehow my plane did not sustain any
damage, I was still flying with engines running. Go figure. Maybe
just pure luck. By the way, he picked the spit IX for this match.
Xsplat-2 Vapors-0
Round 3
Vapors goes with the P47. We go for the head-on shoot-out. A few
pings here and there for me. A little flying around and I finally
get behind Vapors. He decides to do "S" turns and
totally gets me disoriented. I stalled at low altitude and by the
time I recovered I hit the drink.
Xsplat-2 Vapors-1
Round 4
We go back to the Spit IX. This one was pretty similar to round
3. We were doing some low altitude flying and I forget to watch
my altitude and hit the drink once again. Xsplat-2 Vapors-2
Round 5
We stay with the Spit IX. Vapors tries to evade me but I get
behind him and shred his plane with my bullets. Xsplat-3 Vapors-2
Great match Vapors. This was my first match with the new patch.
Controls were a little sensitive, and planes stall easily. Over
all it was great. Had lots of fun. I know there will be a
re-match to this flight. By the way, great flying on those low
altitude manuevers. A few times you were flying under 100ft.
That's what got me to crash. Thanx again and cya later.
Seahawk's pilotlog entry:
Somewhere off the
English coast:
The sea was bright and calm. It was a perfect day for an outing
with the family by the seaside. Seagulls banked and soared above
the calm swells searching for a bite to eat. Even their cries
were somehow muted by the suns golden rays.
The trawler, "DRUNKEN WITCH", made it’s slow way
south through the channel. Out of Clacton-on-Sea, she was
chugging along, dragging her nets, not a care in the world. Her
skipper on the other hand had many a care, and would gladly bend
your ear with them if you bought him a pint. He’d been
plying his trade on the channel his whole life. Son of a son of a
sailor, his face and hands were worn with work and sun and salt
air. At this moment he had one eye on the nets dragging behind
the “Witch” and one eye on the air above, hoping that
Jerry would leave this poor workin’ man alone.
He remembered the 1st war and shuddered. He’d been a
gunner’s mate on the "LION" with Admiral Beatty at
Jutland. He didn’t see the battle, but he remembered the
smells of powder in the turret, and the thudding of the guns on
his eardrums. The sweat and the stink of fear, ad the dreadful
clanging when German rounds struck the ship close by. He and his
ship survived the battle, but he’d lost mates on the
"IDEFATIGABLE" and
"WARRIOR". Their ship had sustained substantial damage
and spent awhile in dock for repairs. Fortunately the Germans had
never again tried to seriously contest Britain’s dominance
at sea, except with the U-boats.
“Damn
things!” he thought to himself.
Fortunately for him in this war the U-boats left trawlers pretty
much alone. It was the planes he had to worry about. The planes
that appeared out of the sun, the only warning a far off drone
then the hammering of cannon and machine gun as it tried to
pepper ship and crew. Friends he’d lost in the last war,
good men and true. But they’d been Navy men. Signed on to be
put in harms way. In this war it was the common folk that bore
the brunt. Other fisherman like himself braved the waters day
after day, some coming back, and some not. And even home in your
beds it wasn’t safe. Bombers and buzz bombs and the like.
Enough to make a man religious.
Although things were finally getting better after 5 long years he
still looked to the sky and squinted into the sun, searching for
that plane that would try and sink him.
Today was fine, and he set course sou’east. For another hour
he’d stay on course then turn for home. He sat with his feet
on the wheel, corrected his heading and lit his pipe. Net’s
felt heavy already. If nothing untoward happened he’d make
enough to by his mates a round or two at the local pub.
The drone of aircraft engines brought him to his feet. They were
far off enough were he could make it away. He’d have to cut
his nets loose, but he’d make it with his life. He screamed
at his youngest, asleep on the deck; “Jerry’s! Man the
cleats and prepare to cut nets!”
His son leaped to his
feet and went aft to the rigging. They both searched the sky and
finally the boy cried, “There!”, and pointed Northwest.
Two Jerry’s! Both 109’s by the look of them. But what
were they doing? Fighting each other? What the bloody hell?
Match 1
Seahawk 109G6, Goshawk 109G6
The two fighters met head on and passed each other, cannon’s
blazing as they came. They pulled up and turned in again and
again. Lower and lower they turned till they were almost kissing
the water as the passed. The fisherman and his son watched as one
finally got in behind the other as he ran. They could see the
flash of cannon before they heard the sound. The one running
seemed to explode, but the old fisherman realized the cannon
round itself had exploded on the tail section of the lead plane.
It’s nose dipped lower and headed in to kiss the sea. The
other barrel rolled over his victim’s grave and headed west
toward England.
Seahawk-1, Goshawk-0
After realizing that he’d witnessed something truly strange
the old fisherman made his heading Northwest. He didn’t want
to tempt the fates too much and decided it was time to head back
home. They’d gone no more than a mile when the drone of
engines was heard again. But this time he knew the sound was a
comfort, not a fear. Soon his eyes told him that his ears were
right. Two RAF birds, flying high. But they were of an older
type, one that hadn’t been around much in 2 or three years.
And damned if they didn’t turn into each other as the
previous pair had!
Match 2
Seahawk Hurricane 1, Goshawk Hurricane 1
The retort from the old 303 was much quicker and longer this
time. They passed and one, smoking fell into the sea.
Seahawk-2, Goshawk-0
“ To hell with this, boy! Cut the net’s we’re
headed for home!” The boy cut the nets free and the old
fisherman pushed the throttle as far forward as it would go. The
engine roared to life as the little trawler, free from the weight
of the full nets fairly leapt forward. The sea was choppier now,
seemingly as disturbed by the unnatural acts in the sky above as
the old fisherman and his son.
They missed the last match high above till almost the last
moment…….
Match 3
Seahawk Hurricane 1, Goshawk Hurricane 1
The old planes turned and turned. Scissoring and rolling. Air
speeds dropped below 100 mph as the two pilots tried to wrestle
their mounts around. Finally, after expending copious amounts of
ammunition one bird finally smokes and gently glides into the
sea.
Seahawk-3, Goshawk-0
The old fisherman was worried by the sounds his abused engine was
making. Full throttle for as long as he’d held it was
shaking the old engine apart. He was just about to cut back when
his son pounded him on the arm and pointed forward. Over the bow
of the ship a smoking hurricane was flying. He stared at the
plane as it swung gently to port, flame licking the fuselage as
it slowly glided into the sea. Then with a whoosh of spray it
belly-flopped not 100 feet from the ship. Quickly the old
fisherman cut power and turned toward the downed bird.
He saw the pilot drag himself from the sinking plane and dive
into the sea towards his ship. He cut power completely and threw
a life preserver towards the swimming pilot.
Finally, after much pulling and swearing the pilot was aboard the
trawler. Drenched and shaking he mumbled his thanks to the
fisherman and his son. After putting a blanket over the poor mans
shoulders he turned towards the wheel and made for home.
“ They’ll never believe me”, he thought to
himself.
Great Match Gos!