While it's still fresh in my mind...
Wow. That was one BUSY frame!
In the absence of the Stab, operational command fell to me. Never a good beginning.
In the few minutes I spent in the MA before the FSO, I managed to screw up my joystick settings, so on the runway, I had no throttle and no rudder. Himmel! I logged off to repair the self-inflicted damage. Good old Frodo, reliable Frodo, got JG11 off on time. A few choice offline curses, and I rolled from CENSORED, heading CENSORED. At full throttle, I pulled my 109G-2 up into a shallow climb, keeping the airspeed at CENSORED.
I passed right through the formation of the JU-88s we were charged with protecting just as they reached CENSORED feet and leveled off. When the bombers reached map reference CENSORED, they turned to course CENSORED, direct for their first target, CENSORED.
Soon after, the rest of JG11 came circling back to regroup with the bombers, so I joined up with the group. We were in one large gaggle, out in front of, and slightly above, our bombers.
The sweep fighters, a few miles out in front, called out Typhoons at 18,000 feet over CENSORED. We were only minutes away, heading straight for them.
And then all Hell broke loose: Hurricanes and Typhoons, Focke-Wulfs and Messerschmitts looped crazily through the sky, blazing away at each other. There! A Typhoon is going after one of our JU-88s! I dive on him, but he is focused on his attack on our bombers, and does not see me get closer, closer, closer... I get to point-blank range and fire. My cannon shells cut off his wing, and he goes tumbling earthward. I pull my nose up and desperately search behind me, rocking my wings and kicking the rudder, but somehow I am not under attack.
Fires rage all over the enemy air base, and our JU-88 bombers fly straight on to their next target, CENSORED. About half of JG11 is engaged low over the enemy base, twisting and dodging among the Hurricanes, Typhoons, and now, Spitfires who are keen for revenge. About half of us continue on with the bombers. A brief respite occurs as we climb back up over the bombers while they approach the next target, and then pandemonium breaks out again: many Spitfires were waiting over CENSORED, and they pounced when our Ju-88s appeared. I go diving in among the RAF defenders trailing our bombers, spraying my light 7mm guns at any Spitfire that is even close, hoping to scare him into diving out of the fight. My headlong rush through our bomber stream carries me to the leaders, and I finally latch onto a Spitfire who is too focused on his attack. Again, I close to point-blank range. My guns carve his plane in two, and he falls like a brick.
The bombers have just turned CENSORED, toward their final target, CENSORED. One by one, we are temped into dogfights, just one more pass, just that one more kill... I hear curses and howls of protest over the radio: He *rammed* me! I lost my tail! There goes my engine! Where did *he* come from? JG11 is now down to about half strength. I have failed to keep broadcasting Stampf's mantra: stay above them, push them down, control the fight - stay above them, push them down, control the fight...
The bombers lay waste to CENSORED and keep on heading CENSORED, running CENSORED. JG11 is down to me and Frodo and Wrek, and somewhere out there Boingg is still flying, Boingg, our top sharpshooter. And then somehow, he drops off the radio. Only three of us left. We finally manage to get clear of the gaggle of vengeful Spitfires over CENSORED, when we run into yet *more* Spitfires out over der Kanal, between us and home. We blast through them just as fast as we can, each of us blazing away with our pitiful 7mm pop-guns, in what we hope is a fearsome show of force. They do dance up on their wingtips to give chase, but we continue our shallow dive, to home and safety.
The three of us land at CENSORED with no major damage, yet each of our planes is full of holes. I turn off my motor and climb out of the plane. Genug!
