After a two-week absence, I finally get the chance to enter my virtual cockpit again... Everything seems a little bit strange, my new earphones with mic sound and feel different, and my head-tracking software seems to be affected by the software of both joystick and rudder pedals, especially in my UP modded version of the game. But I hope to be able to solve these problems in a few days.
Actually, before having to leave hometown, I intended to post a new topic on my blog, but I didn't have enough time. It was about the last combat training exercise... Location: western coast of Norway.
I was flying south, in my Ju-87 D-5, and my mission was to attack the ships or any facility in the harbors in the enemy area, being protected by a Bf-109 G-6. I was supposed to link up with my escort near the front line and enter the enemy area together. It seemed to be a reasonable plan and I was fully confident in my dive-bombing abilities. The ingress route was well chosen, too, away from any enemy patrol or AAA. One SC500 bomb hung under my belly and I was eager to put my new Stuvi bombsight to work.
I follow the planned route and remain at 3,000 m, watching the splendid clouds ahead and the blue sea below. I tell my rear gunner to increase vigilance as we were approaching the front line. Suddenly, I see a small dot at my 2 o'clock. The front line was still 50 km away and my escort wasn't supposed to fly north. Something was wrong with this dot that was growing bigger and bigger. I had the bad feeling that it was a bandit, and, by its size, chances were high that it was a fighter plane. It's a Spitfire! Pure horror to come... I rapidly announce my rear gunner of the imminent danger and send a radio may-day. The Spitfire maneuvers into my direction, and I follow the procedure by the book. I drop my bomb and start losing altitude very fast, heading back north. Hitting the deck could at least spare me of the attacks coming from below. My intention was to slow down near stall speed and scissor like crazy, giving my rear gunner the opportunity to fire at the Spitfire...
I am at 50 m above the water when tens of bullets start hitting my plane, although I do my best to move away from my enemy's gunsight. My Jumo 211 engine starts smoking slightly and all I can hear is the engine roar and the MG 81Z machine guns firing desperately behind me. I am too concentrated to stay away from the enemy tracers that whistle all around me and hit the dark water ahead, raising high columns of white foam, and I don't have a second to assess the damage done to my crate. The rear gunner starts screaming with what I found later to be desperate joy, as he hits the Spitfire and disables its controls. I look over my left shoulder and I see the Spit rolling into the water and disintegrating into a thousand pieces. Mein Gott, we're saved! There are no words in this world to describe our feelings at that moment...
Later I find that the Stuka is still airworthy and I start thinking that we might get home alive... When we reach our base, after a tough landing due to my engine's loss of power, I am told, the second day, that the enemy radio messages indicate that one of their top aces is missing, after crossing our front line...
Actually, before having to leave hometown, I intended to post a new topic on my blog, but I didn't have enough time. It was about the last combat training exercise... Location: western coast of Norway.
I was flying south, in my Ju-87 D-5, and my mission was to attack the ships or any facility in the harbors in the enemy area, being protected by a Bf-109 G-6. I was supposed to link up with my escort near the front line and enter the enemy area together. It seemed to be a reasonable plan and I was fully confident in my dive-bombing abilities. The ingress route was well chosen, too, away from any enemy patrol or AAA. One SC500 bomb hung under my belly and I was eager to put my new Stuvi bombsight to work.
I follow the planned route and remain at 3,000 m, watching the splendid clouds ahead and the blue sea below. I tell my rear gunner to increase vigilance as we were approaching the front line. Suddenly, I see a small dot at my 2 o'clock. The front line was still 50 km away and my escort wasn't supposed to fly north. Something was wrong with this dot that was growing bigger and bigger. I had the bad feeling that it was a bandit, and, by its size, chances were high that it was a fighter plane. It's a Spitfire! Pure horror to come... I rapidly announce my rear gunner of the imminent danger and send a radio may-day. The Spitfire maneuvers into my direction, and I follow the procedure by the book. I drop my bomb and start losing altitude very fast, heading back north. Hitting the deck could at least spare me of the attacks coming from below. My intention was to slow down near stall speed and scissor like crazy, giving my rear gunner the opportunity to fire at the Spitfire...
I am at 50 m above the water when tens of bullets start hitting my plane, although I do my best to move away from my enemy's gunsight. My Jumo 211 engine starts smoking slightly and all I can hear is the engine roar and the MG 81Z machine guns firing desperately behind me. I am too concentrated to stay away from the enemy tracers that whistle all around me and hit the dark water ahead, raising high columns of white foam, and I don't have a second to assess the damage done to my crate. The rear gunner starts screaming with what I found later to be desperate joy, as he hits the Spitfire and disables its controls. I look over my left shoulder and I see the Spit rolling into the water and disintegrating into a thousand pieces. Mein Gott, we're saved! There are no words in this world to describe our feelings at that moment...
Later I find that the Stuka is still airworthy and I start thinking that we might get home alive... When we reach our base, after a tough landing due to my engine's loss of power, I am told, the second day, that the enemy radio messages indicate that one of their top aces is missing, after crossing our front line...
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