What the hell? That sounds like.... like... Homare engines roaring in the distance....
Throw back the blankets and lean out the window. Things are still blurry. The sake dishes clatter about as I trip on them. I see a dark blur whiz past too fast to see, leaving the scarring retinal imprint of a blazing red arrow. Don't we have that painted on the sides of our planes?
SHAZBOT! I'm late!!!
My crew chief was yelling at me in the most abusive profanity as he strapped me and and shut the canopy on my head before I was fully seated. He's been hanging out with the sailors too much, but his vocabulary has rounded out nicely.
Stomp rudder, firewall it, WEP (for which occasion my chief has reserved a few select words to honor me with) and I rush to catch up. 3000 yards or more, but I can make it!
Squadron leader Sled was flying slow, so I was fortunate to catch up. He had apparently ordered his cockpit stocked with 1000lbs of sake. It slowed him down significantly. At least, that is, until he drank it down. Those on his wing had to be careful not to sit behind or below him, for fear of glass bottles dinging our props as he tossed them (empty) out the flare chute.
Eventually he regained his full speed, but only after slobbering something about calipers, or calibrating, or something. By this time we had circled twice and climbed to patrol alt (27k). We had radio at this time and vectored in to the reports of enemy Hellcats approaching our home field (A36). Just as we enter combat all our radios start to go out. Almost everyone is without radio. We use primitive communications, but it works.
We found the enemy attempting to dive in a high speed shallow descent designed to make us overstress our airframes if we followed them. We were able to close and engage. Another squadron was in a tail chase.
I was the first to single out an enemy. I chose the rear most, as the rest were moving away at great speed. I dove on him and was joined by USMC/71 Sqn. I managed to continue diving with my prey and I threw a few lead enemas his way, but I and my wingman had to break off. The enemy was dragging us down and away from the rest of the fight. I had to break off several times it seems.
Break off, looked around, reevaluated. Picked another nearby target otherwise engaged, and did the same to him. I shot him up and saw many hits, but had to break off again, because the enemy could afford to hit the deck and flee, but I could not!
Broke off, reevaluate. Follow other F6Fs to A36, where they are attacking it with rockets. They all dive on the field. I must slowly descend. Our Hayates are lovely flying machines but do not enjoy the feeling of freefall that American craft do.
By the time I get to the deck, where the action is, I find my squadron already madly engaged. How the heck did that happen?? I was first to engage, how can I be last to the fight?! I swear on my dead relatives I won't abuse Sake again!
Regardless, I wave at a few folks to check their 6 as I come in, and latch on to American after American. The sound of the machine guns rattles my overhung brain so badly I can't keep track of how many I engage. Some I have to break off as they pull hard manuvers and reversals, others I turn inside of. Every chattering burst of cannon fire brings me one burst blood vessel in my eye to seeing red (in the literal sense).
I swear on my left.... "foot"... that I'll never abuse Sake again, at about this point.
Broke off, reevaluate...
I do recall seeing 2 planes in tandem, and I happened to come in behind both as they shot at one of my wingmen. Invecting a curse of scurvy on one and a curse of leaky bowels on the other, I shoot at them both. I'm not entirely sure it wasn't simply double vision. However, I can't rule out 2 separate planes, as first one went down, then the other. Normally drunk-duplicate-planes go down simultaneously.
We as a squadron regroup on our leader, Sled, we chase the bad guys, save the day, and land to take on more ammunition.
I know I swore I heard Sled's crew chief yelling at him about payment for the first sake before getting more. Sled took off without a reload of THAT flight-related liquid, as he was at full speed from the get-go.
We climb, orbit, clear the field of late Hellcat stragglers. They run. We follow. We have 4 fighters left (Sled, Fuzeman, SteffK, myself), and give chase. There are 3 enemy cons fleeing. We have no other contacts.
Fast forward 10 minutes of chasing, we have followed 3 cons, and killed 1 of them. Whenever we got close to one the others would swing in, but they did not wish to engage for some reason. We smelled blood in the water and wanted revenge for our shot up field (they shot the booze hut up, repeat the BOOZE HUT IS GONE), and as we near their home fleet we find another F6F helping them. Our now-sobering-up commander Sled manages to kill one he has engaged, and we break off for fuel related reasons. I am glad he sobered up in the 10 minute chase. I'd have hated to come all that way with no result because of his double vision. MY double vision was enough of a handicap!!
So we head home. Surveying my plane I curse again, taking note of 2 bullet holes in my plane. Uncle Sam will be receiving a very irate note with a repair bill from a Japanese pilot!!
We go in and land our planes. Excessive winds on landing make 2 of us damage our planes in formation almost. Fuzeman is off my wing as if in formation, but we are both sitting on the runway with dead engines. Sled and SteffK taxi to us to rub in their still-functioning engines. Right about then the field commander tells us to power down, the fight is over.
We have carried the day.
I stumble out of my cockpit, tear off my flight helmet, rub my bloodshot left eye until it feels only a little worse than the less-bloodshot right eye, and catch myself as the feeling of vertigo catches up to me.
I swear to Buddha I will never abuse Sake again!
I look at my wrecked plane, and suddenly imagine the words my crew cheif will have to learn just for my benefit.
Oi... I need a drink!
