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AAR From this Afternoon...


Stag
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Well I thought it was a good fight…

Took off in from an un-named desert airfield in a Tropical Spitfire Mk.Vc. Headed West at angels 10 until I got to the choke point between the mountains and the sea (anyone who flew Debden before will know exactly where I mean, but this was on UK Dedicated 1).

Down below, one of our side was getting kicked; a 109F on his butt and death was immanent. I hit the manual boost override, slammed the pitch up to 100% and dropped exactly like a Spitfire Mk.Vc from 10,00feet onto the tail of a bloody Hun that was mis-behaving onto the tail of a Hun that was, in fact, mis-behaving.

But I was too late. Black smoke erupted from my endangered ally, a wing separated from the whole and the main body of the aircraft cartwheeled uselessly towards the ground. The “Franze” saw me and tried to climb clear, but it was no good; I’d built up too much energy on the way down. A short burst from “Trixie” and “Bubbles”, my twin Hispanos, plus some .303s left over from the Great War, and the Messerschmitt shredded. Justice was done. I throttled back, and looked around the sky for more targets

Then came the burst which blasted oil over my windscreen and turned my world red with pain.

I quickly rolled right. I was dead; I’d been in this situation before. My Spitfire’s engine was shattered and on borrowed time. My vision fogged with the red mist that comes from severe wounding. I was dying, but I was British, and dying easily is not a National Trait. Throttles slammed forward, trusting in God and Rolls-Royce, I yanked the stick over into a 90 degree roll then heaved it into my stomach looking for a target. If I was going to Hell, some bastard was going to be holding the door open for me; Nothing above, whoever it was that had crippled me was still down in the mud, which is no place to be with a furious (but admittedly dying) Spitfire!

I was almost blacking out, but I knew that nothing the Germans had except for a Storch could match me in horizontal maneouver. I craned my head up and saw my attacker trying to line up for another shot. I’d like to say at this point that I smiled and let him try, but I didn’t; I wanted my hands at his throat; bugger the Hispanos and Vickers-Brownings in the wings, I wanted to strangle the swine so I pulled back even further.

And blacked out, God Help Me. I eased off on the stick and made my peace.

When vision returned I was still alive, still in the air. Closer to the aircraft-destroying dunes, but still above them. A ribbon of black smoke was above; a Merlin’s fluids bleeding into the sky. More rounds impacted, and I hauled back again, slower. Vision greyed over, but slowly, so slowly my enemy crawled down my vision towards the gunsight.

He could see what was coming and tried desperately to turn the maneouver into a scissor, but R.J. Mitchell had designed my machine; not his. Suddenly he lost it; spun out and scattered pieces of German engineering all over the desert. Hardly cricket, and not one to paint on the machine, but when he died, the last thing he saw was me bearing down on him! Well, except for the ground.

And so it was over. I leaned back, removed my oxygen mask and began to wonder if I could take my crippled aircraft home. There was a name in this for her. What should I call her?

Almost before I’d started my daydream, cannon shells thudded into me from behind. Again I yanked hard into the horizontal and looked around for my attacker. There he was, clawing back for altitude. Another Franze!

My engine was making expensive noises by this time, and I knew that I couldn’t engage him, couldn’t climb. Best I could do was face him. If he would take me head on…

He didn’t. The Spitfire shuddered as more rounds hit it and another Hun tore past me; This one had not read the manual, or perhaps not properly because it kept going down a fraction too long.

And I was on him, and because I would never have another chance I emptied my guns in his direction and I missed, but he panicked and tried to dive below my rounds and the sand claimed another victory, but while I’d engaged the second the first had moved behind me, and one last burst sent me hopelessly down to the desert.

My comment at the end was “WHOA, WHAT A SCRAP, S!

The Axis never responded. Guess they know a Pyrric victory when they see one. Okay, only one real kill and two lawndarts, but for me, that was one of the most intense 30 seconds I’d ever experienced online.

So S! again to the Axis; may they keep sending me targets!

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Excellent and thoroughly enjoyable write-up, Stag. :thumbsup:

Favourite line: A short burst from “Trixie” and “Bubbles”, my twin Hispanos, plus some .303s left over from the Great War, and the Messerschmitt shredded.

Classic :)

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Cool!

Stag, if you force a guy into a mistake that sees him ending up a lawn dart, why shouldn't that count as one to paint on your cowl?

Because it was pilot error and the rounds from Stag's plane did not make contact. In IL2, the last player to land rounds (human or AI) into an enemy before it crashes gets the credit. Even if you chew off the control surfaces, make the engine smoke and belch long flames and the plane goes into a death spin, if another player or AI lands a hit before it crashes, then the credit goes to the other player or AI.

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Cool!

Stag, if you force a guy into a mistake that sees him ending up a lawn dart, why shouldn't that count as one to paint on your cowl?

Nah. Besides, the "Rule" I'm playing by ATM is to fly a type, and paint the kills on my aircraft, where they will stay until I die myself (bailing out is ok, as long as I don't get captured), after which I wipe the slate clean and start again. So even the one I shot up fair and square will not appear on a skin. On the other hand, You can see I've been a bit successful in a Mk.IXc (To the point where I'm becoming reluctant to fly it in case someone breaks the string). ;)

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Stag,

Can you make your sig image a little narrower? 600- or even 700-pixels wide would be good. Right now it's 1276-pixels wide and forcing me to scroll your posts left and right in order to read them.

Doug, I need to do that, too. How?

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Lonin,

Post that image in your sig line and the new super dramatic best friends code in the forum won't resize it.

Funny, I would've thought you'd have been able to figure that out. :D;)

This maybes ok for the Stag however it is the case Japanese standard of indecency prohibits such coarse humor on signature

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