The first thing you have to understand is that I have a hard time seeing in the Combat Theater, especially in the Sicilian setup. I change colors the way some people change their television channels. And I discard colors the way you toss a pair of dirty boxer shorts into the laundry hamper (yes! I am a boxer man, but I don't like those tee-shirts without sleeves). I try reds, greens, and blues with an assortment of various hues to allow me to track my enemy, or enemies....as the case may be. And that's when the weather is clear. If the clouds roll in.....well, it's ugly. Then, there is the whole cockpit configuration issue. The axis planes have so many bars and struts that I feel like I'm looking out of a prison cell.
Also, I tend to have a dissociative identity disorder in the Combat Theater. No, not a schizophenic disorder where you have visual or auditory hallucinations. Nor do I suffer from a dissociative disorder with amnesia or fugue. I mean the Sybil problem. One mission I might throw caution to the proverbial wind and fight to the death....the next mission I might read the situation and get out with my tail between my legs. As a golf instructor once said to me, "Who am I giving lessons to today?"
Finally, I don't like to type messages on channel one unless I've had a good fight and someone sends a message directly to me. Then, I feel impelled to write a complimentary response to a skillful, brave, or admirable antagonist. The after someone shoots my sorry self down doesn't do a thing for me. Rarely do I acknowledge the gesture and I'm more likely to mutter something obscene under my breath.
Well, maybe there is one other thing....now that I'm writing. I approach each AH session as if I have been swept away, by good fortune, and placed in a situation over which I have no control, other than picking my mount for the mission. If the flak comes up like deadly confetti...deal with it....lag....deal with it....overwhelmed by numbers....deal with it....or let the last death truely be the last death. Don't get me wrong. My Aces High colleagues have made some excellent suggestions that have been implemented and the game is better off for their creativity, attention to detail, and observations. In addition, I am glad these individuals are here to improve the simulation. It's just not something I do.
Hmmm, now that I think about it, I have to conclude I'm competitive about this business. Interesting.
At any rate, Friday morning....I get an unexpected day off. Cool. What to do....shovel snow...play AH....Well, that took about a nanosecond to decide. As I expected, few people are online. And the allies outnumber the axis 5 to 3....or something in that neighborhood. I've just landed a mission when the allies swarm over A6. I'm sitting in the tower trying to decide which plane to select when I become mesmerized by the scene in front of me. Two axis pilots keep trying to get off the runway and a P-38 pilot keeps shooting them down before they can get more than 30 yards. How can he keep doing that? I can't stay in a pattern that effectively. But he just keeps coming down over the same spot along the runway. If they move to the opposite end of the runway...boom. The outcome seems ordained. He owned the field. Suddenly, my blood was up. I snap my mouse over to the Hanger. Frantically scroll down to vehicles...click....disabled. ..click...still disabled....dang!
I watch a C-47 roll in....troops run to the map room ....game over. Suddenly, I observe that we have few airfields left and the nearest is in the northeast corner....A23 as I recall.
Time passes. I try a little of this and a smidgen of that, but I'm just messing around. I take up a 205....good gun set...fairly fast and agile....seems smooth without the sudden departure I feel in the 190's and 109G2 and 4. Engage a spit....I start with an altitude advantage. Make a pass...did I tell you I can't shoot straight either? He makes a move that I've seen but cannot emulate. It looks like a barrel roll....I don't know ....maybe it is, but the pilot seems to throw his plane to the right or left...as if making a break turn...then snap roll it in the opposite direction, and complete the maneuver on his original course....usually on my six. I've tried to master this particular acm, but I usually end up struggling to keep the lift my wings need to support me. But, for the lucky soul that has this move in his shorts....it's very good.
I watch the move unfold.....opps...good (read gooder--better if you're grammar sensitive--than me) pilot in a better plane...get out now....Ahhh, so that's who is flying today. The cowardly CatsEye. OK....good to know.
A few minutes later, through squinting eyes, I think I see two dots...I make a sweep in...I'm coming down on the tail of a P47...I get closer...closer....closer.... he throws his plane to the left...it seems to jump up in front of me...here comes the roll...hard...back on pattern and on my six....I have just enough energy to escape..I pull up..over...and back. He has, I believe, reacquired the six of my countryman and shot him down....unconfirmed, but I think that is what happened because I got his six....I can barely see his icon...let alone his plane...but good fortune... a lucky shot and he went in. I see the name...note the plane...one-on-one I'd be no match for him. Sure enough, later, I tangle with a spit and make a bad move that puts me below him...I run out west, but a 47 is on my tail....I have no idea where he came from...did I mention I can't see well in the CT? I tried the move he successfully used on me earlier.....he kills me.
I get a fresh 205 and head southwest from 23. Clouds have moved in....I go to V84 at 10K, but I can't see a thing.....I can make out the darbar...barely...but an nme plane could be flying right next to me and I wouldn't see him. Finally, I give it up and head home. I'm flying back to 23 checking my rear views when I see flak burst behind me. I've just cleared the clouds and now I think I see a dot on the dar...yep...I don't know exactly where he is but he is hunting me...dang I wish I could see better. Finally, at the last possible moment...I see the plane...closing fast..a 47...I know who this is and I have a powerful urge to go shovel snow. He's coming straight at me ...maybe a little off to the side and I jink to avoid the head-on with those 8 fifties. I run into the cloud bank. He's coming again and I know enough to get turned around before he gains my 6. We pass again.....I jink...I hear the whine of his fifties....but he doesn't turn this time. Relief. But then, for some reason, I can see that he has engaged one of my countrymen...who has been a stalwart, doughty fighter throughout the morning. My cowardliness only goes so far. I turn.
My countryman is in a steep dive to the deck....I can't see anything behind him, but I assume he is being pursued. As I close I finally pick out the 47. I fire wildly to get his attention. He breaks but doesn't want to give up his prey. I keep pursuing...he closes on his next victory...I'm squinting hard through my glasses (they're new) and I can't make out the plane ....just barely, the icon. I aim to the left of it and fire blindly...I see a sprite....more manuvering...now, I have reached Aces High heaven. I am not sitting in my alcove off the bedroom...I am not sitting in front of the computer....my immersion is complete...I am totally in the simulation. I close....if he throws the plane I'll end in front of him and he'll kill me.....but now is not the time for caution. I have other business. I squeeze the trigger...the cannons and machine guns are angry...I can nearly smell the gun powder. Another sprite...another....his wing snaps....he going in...boom....Victory....but there is no joy in it. There was no honorable struggle. I succeeded against a better pilot because he was fixated on his prey. Minutes before, in the one-on-one fight, I acknowledged his superior skills. Need brought me back to the fight....nothing more. I landed...saluted my countryman and headed out to other responsibilities.
Perhaps this afternoon another identity will surface. In any case, I'll be back....with or without honor.
