It was dawn in Europe. A cold, stiff breeze stirred the snow atop the hangers. I read the mission breifing in the dimly lit squad room. Me and my wingman were to sweep and area near a bridge that was to be bombed just behind us. We were assigned the P-51D Mustang. Grabbing our flight gear, we head out to the tarmac, covered in a light snow. After making sure the fuel wasn't frozen, I climbed aboard and fired her up. After she was running smoothly, I radioed the tower. "Citadel, taxi clearence, over" "White Flight, taxi to runway" I giver her a bit of throttle and start moving slowly. After me and White Two are OTR, we get the clearance and roll out. We clime out and head to the bridge. After 30 minutes in flight, the radio crackles "Blue Flight, proceeding to waypoint Able, 3 o'clock high" That means the bombers are up. As White Flight approches the bridge, we see them. Two Bf-109's and one FW-190. We engage. They don't see us yet, so we sneak up. Suddenly, they break. Damn, so much for surprise. "White Two, attack FW-190, 2 o'clock" "Roger" That leaves the two 109's to me. I pick one, and give chase. After some quick manuvers, I am on his six. He tries to break away, but to no avail. I fire a quick burst, and get a direct hit with all 6 .50's.
His left wing root sprouts fire, and after a bit, it seperates. I continue watching. A parachute appears. I search out the other Bf-109. And I find him, trying to run. Using the Mustang's superior speed, I catch him easily. He is frozen, he doesn't move at all. I wait, i want a challenge. But no, he is locked, probably a newbie. I fire a snapshot, to wake him. The shells strike his rear fuselage, seperating the joints leaving the tail section hanging low. He rolls it over and split-esses. I fire another burst, which does it. The engine mount comes free, sending the 109 tumbling down to the snowy landscape.
I call my wingman. "White Two, form on my wing." No answer. I begin to worry. "White Two, form on my wing." Still nothing. Then suddenly, the sound of bullets hitting metal fill my ears. Pulling a split-s, I look. Yep, it's the 190. Doing my best with an obviously crippled plane, I throw it around the sky. I get an alt advantage, and roll it over and dive on him. I manage to fire a quick snapshot into the German plane from above. The plane goes into a shallow right bank dive and never recovers. I use this time to check my damage. I am missing my wingman. My instrament panel has been hit, depriving me of some important instraments. My right wing has been torn up badly, probably severing a cable or two. The engine is running badly sputtering and coughing. My windscreen's bulletproof glass was hit, obsuring my vision somewhat. And to top it off, I'm bleeding and the canopy is jammed. Great. I beat the canopy a bit and it comes un-jammed, so I can open it. It's a bit cold out there, maybe I can ditch this thing, but not likely. I'll try it, only live once. I gently nose her down to the snowy European landscape. I can't control the throttle, because since my right arm has been hit, I am flying with my left. But it doesn't matter, the engine is too dameaged to be at full power. I look up. Uh oh, Flying 250 MPH into a building couldn't be good. I open the canopy and jump, my parachute just saving me from a face plant in the snow. I watch the plane. Only about 100 feet off the ground, the right wing drags the snow, pulling the nose after it. The engine comes free and the plane cartwheels into town, landing right side up on the main street, minus the right wing and engine.
I look up, and spot the bombers destroying the objective.
It's a long and cold walk home.
WWII Fighters, still the best in eye candy..<G>
[ 07-29-2001: Message edited by: texace ]
