Frame 1:
LW needed pilots, so I rolled with a group of Sturmbocks. We climbed heading 030 then 000 towards the suspected position of the allied bombers. My wingman discoed
. The 109s were high and behind us. Then we saw high and to the NNW a group of high dots. We closed and identified the P51s, but they were too high to catch us. Some of them ended in the 109s. Now at low 12, the bombers came into view, with another group of really high p51s pretending to cover them. I dove at the bombers, but I guess I was overeager. My comrades were about 1 minute behind me. I took some shots on a straggler then set up for the main formation. They were heading perpendicular to me -- I was making a 9-oclcok pass. I put some rounds in another then unloaded on the number two bomber in the formation, smoking his left wing badly. The Sturmbock's excellent pilot armor protected me from the concetrated fire of the entire B17 formation, but unfortunately, the same could not be said for my plane. When I noticed that I was tumbling out of control, and on fire, I decided it was time to open the canopy and hit the silk.
From my chute, I watched as the rest of the 190s slashed through the formation, finishing off the straggler and the one I damaged severely, as well as just about every other bomber. After a couple of passes, the p51s arrived, and a whirling dogfight ensued. The remaining one or two buffs escaped while the fighters took it to the deck. Soon, the skies over Germany were filled with American parachutes.
Frame 2:
This time the Allies needed pilots, so I joined them and found myself in a p51. There were something like 7 B17s and 11 P51s. The escorts consisted of a vanguard of 4 planes and a main group of the rest flying high escort. Along with my wingman, Berserkr, I flew close escort, criss-crossing the buffs' path and keeping 2-3000 feet above them.
We flew something like 60 miles south from A24 (med arena), then turned 245 towards A16 for the last 40-50 miles of the flight. 25 miles from the drop, we were sighted. At this point, the bombers were level at 23,000 feet and the escorts were at 28,000. A couple of 109s buzzed through, but the disciplined fighter escorts refrained from chasing them.
Then came the 190s from high 12. When escorting bombers, you're pretty much resigned to the fact that the fighters will get one pass on the buffs; but you damn well better make sure they don't get two. Berserkr and I charged forward, and set up a lead turn on one of the FWs. He blew his first pass and tried to turn around. I got on his six. He flopped a few times, hoping that a couple of warp rolls would make me go away, but I held on. He dove out.
Meanwhile other Sturmbocks had concentrated their fire in that first pass and managed to destroy 2 buffs.
I called back to Berserkr to climb back to the buff group, now three miles downrange. I saw one B17 separated from the group and smoking badly.
I pulled gently up and
--screee! whip whip whip! spun out. I rotated a couple times, then finally dropped the flaps and pulled out at 21k. I reached for the radio to tell Berserkr to carry on without me, only to look back and find him glued to my six not 200 yards away. Now we were below the rapidly escaping box. That damaged buff was now a dot on the horizon, smoking and heading straight down.
We firewalled it up to 62 MAP and tried to rejoin, when Berserkr called a 109 on my six. I looked back and 800 yards and closing fast was a 109. Berserkr had already broken to loop around behind him. I cut left, and next thing I saw, the 109 was on Berserkr's six firing away. I hit the wep and closed on my hard-maneuvering wingman. Two other p51s in the area responded and, rather than press his attack, the 109 dove low. We reformed and headed to an RV point to pick up the buffs after they dropped.
The return trip was smooth. three buffs managed to stay in formation (although one had a pretty bad fuel leak). A fourth (loyalist) was badly hit, had lost one engine and was losing power on two more. We were eighty miles from home. We kept our station above the bomber box until the frame was closed, then broke off (I had loaded only 50% fuel, and things were looking dicy) and flew straight back the 60 miles to A24. Berserkr and I landed, and taxiid to the hangar. My engine ran out of gas and died on the taxiway.
I sat around and watched the buffs land. Some of them must have had more damage than what appeared. One came in hot, balooned, bounced 50 feet up, touched a wing and --ouch--. Another tumbled on final.
But loyalist was still out there. Losing altitude, with only one engine working, he kept calling the distance to the field "60 Miles, 40 Miles" Finally, "20 miles and 7,000 feet". Two of the escort fighters refueled and went up to escort him.
Finally, a dot appears on the horizon. It's a little high for an approach. As it gets closer, the distinctive shape of a B-17 comes into view. Smoke is trailing from the engines, fuel from the wings. He pulls in for runway 5, but he's a little hot. Desperately the captain crosses controls and tries to blow alt and bring the crippled bird home. Ambulance crews nervously fret as they watch the big bird drop come rushing downward. Halfway down the runway, loyalist flares hard and -- Touches Down!
It was a great scenario.
