Once again we return to the fiery skies of the MW Arena! Our fearless hero, Big Mickey, is winging his way into the history books while protecting TRUTH....JUSTICE....AND THE AMERICAN WAY!!!
We join our hero as the familiar sound of gear up rings through the fuselage of his mighty P-38 Lighting.
"Gear up....Check"
"Flaps Retracted.....Check"
Another day in the MW and another patrol. Just before take off the briefing officer, Smitty, tells me that the skies are clear this Christmas Eve day. Smitty is a slender kid with slicked back dark hair and a pencil moustache. His hair could be black, or it might be brown, you just can't tell from the gallons a Fearless Fosdick hair ointment he uses in it. It's no matter though, this kid is sharp. Sharp as a stiletto blade in the hands of a 2 bit hoodlum about to knock off a liquor store in the San Frenando Valley. If he says the skies are clear, there’s a dammed good chance that this won't turn into anything more than sigh seeing flight.
Mission time +15 minutes
In route to sweep enemy airfield 42, the radio crackles to life. It's Smitty, and he sounds as nervous as a high school prom queen who’s date has just told her he’s ran out of gas.
"Hey Mick, I got some bad new for you" I hear in the headphone.
"What is it Smitty, the engineers didn't run off with all the liquor and sheep again did they?"
"No" Smitty replies "It's much worse then that!!"
Worse? How could it be worse than a night with no booze and no sheep to keep a man warn and cozy?
"Well give it to me straight kid...what’s the scoop?"
Smitty's reply let me know that this wasn't going to be that sight seeing flight I had hoped for.
"Well Mick, it seams the Krauts have pulled a fast one this time. Word on the wire is they have stolen a few of the Brits planes and are using them to bounce our boys without warning"
"What!!" I shouted into the mic "So how am I supposed to know who to shoot at now!?!?"
"It get's much worse than that Mick" replied Smitty...."We have good reason to believe that Major Kronoes is piloting one of the stolen aircraft"
Kronoes!!! a name that inspired hatred in the ranks of the glorious air service. A hatred that was whipped into a state of rage in April of 42 after the incident that became know as "The Bo Peep Deflowering!!" Kronoes and his goon squad managed a low level raid on the sheep dispensary at check point tango. Before anyone knew what happened they had loaded up a months worth of good sheep and returned back over the front lines..... One week later the sheep returned... The condition the sheep were in will forever be burned into the minds of those poor souls at the dispensary. The details are to horrific to recount, but it should suffice to say that there would be no virgin wool for the boys on front lines that spring.
Mission time +20 minutes
Back in the cockpit I was soaring high over Airfield 42. I glanced below and saw the sun glinting off the wings of a British Hurricane. I immediately dove in and opened fire...
In retrospect not the grandest of ideas as I had no idea if this truly was a commandeered Hurricane....But I will leave that to the historians, no time to waste....Kronoes is on the wing!!
My initial burst flew past the Hurricanes cockpit and the pilot pulled vertical. I zoomed back up and the fight was on. A spiraling knife fight like two hoods in the back alley of Mr. Chan’s Chinese Food and Rolled Taco Palace on the corner of Hilhurst and Los Feliz in Hollywood. A fine establishment that had recently been converted into one of the many Los Angeles area Brown Derby clubs.
This fight continued on and on, one pass after another, this guy was good. I was getting slower and slower and still this pilot evaded every attack. With my last bit of precious speed I pulled straight up and set out the rope...he took the bait!!
As the two engines of my trusty Lightning strained to keep pulling away from earth’s gravity the Hurricane was growing closer. At 800 yards he let loose with his Hispanos. The shots hit home, wounding my bird. I watched as the rudders and left aileron fluttered away. I knew I was done for. Soon I would be in hanging from the straps of my parachute clinging to the hopes that Costal Command would find me before the Krauts.
But just when all seemed lost the tide turned! I watched as the Hurricane fell off to one wing. I pulled on the yoke and quickly deployed flaps. As I came over the top my lightning was shuttering like the Magic Wand body massager that my dear Lana had purchased and the Macys after Christmas sale back January of 41.
I fell back towards the earth and the stalling Hurricane. As I opened fire smoke poured from the stricken bird. I watched as the canopy slid open and my worthy adversary leapt from his plane.
His chute opened and he began to float down. I slowly spiraled down to get a good look at the pilot. That was when the horror set in.... I saw his finely pressed RAF uniform. As I got closer my horror grew….I recognized the face. It was the face of Nigel “The Wolf” Lobos…call sign..."Lobos." He stood up in his straps and saluted as I passed by.
I decided against calling Costal Command to let them know. After all Nigel was a nice guy and all but it would be my prettythang in a sling if word ever got out about this little… shall we say…. Misunderstanding….. I’m sure he will be just fine.
Mission Time +25 Minutes
I was in bad shape. No rudders, no left aileron, it was all I could do to keep this sled in the air. I had to set her down and quick. I pulled out the mission map that I had folded and placed into my pack of Lucky Strikes. I needed to know 2 things. Where was the closest base, and how far away was it. I studied the map like a university freshman on the night before the final exam of his statistics class during the semester that he discovered the joy that is know as “The Beer Bong”
The closest friendly base was Airfield 33. I pointed my nose north and headed for it with all the speed I could muster. I wrestled with the controls the entire time. Never knowing if I would truly make it to freedom...
Mission Time +30 Minutes
As the field came into view it was like seeing the red light on at Madam Alicia’s 24 Hour Massage Parlor and Peanut Brittle Bakery back home… I knew that soon I would be wrapped on some ones arms with the exquisite sent of lightly roasted peanuts dancing through my olfactory organ…. But this was not to be.
Over the field circled a British Spitfire. Could this Spitfire be flown by an officer of the RAF? Or was it piloted by the dastardly Major Kronoes? Only time would tell. I lined up for the runway and could only leave my life in the fickle hands of fate. I was in no shape to fight this Spit even if it was piloted by an enemy.
I kept one eye on the Spit and one on the runway. Much like the majestic chameleon with his opposable eye sockets will watch a grasshopper diner with one eye, and the dangerous viper stalking him with the other.
Closer the runway came as possible death circled above me. The Spit showed no signs of engaging me. Could it be that I would make it home alive? Would I once again know the simple pleasures of a cold martini and warm wool?
The runway came closer as I pilled the throttle back. A wave of relief washed over me as the main gear touched the runway. As my Lightning came to a stop I knew I was safe!!!
That lasted for about 2 seconds and then the spit blew the watermelon out of my fork tailed devil.
I then heard the maniacal laugh of Major Kronoes as he flew off into the sunset...
And now it’s time for that Christmas wish!!!!
Santa, for Christmas, please give Kronoes a scorching case of HERPPIES!!!!!!
Have a Merry Christmas Kids!!
Big Mickey
