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View Full Version : Good read.... Pt.1



XyZspineZyX
09-25-2003, 06:32 PM
Courtesy of loon in at the Outhouse...very nice read. I like getting first hand accounts.../i/smilies/16x16_smiley-wink.gif Part 2 is coming

excerpt from 'I Flew for the Fuhrer' by Heinz Knocke (Me109)

28th February, 1942.
The Plotting Sergeant from the operations room next door
comes bursting into my office, where I have been busy writing
at my desk for some hours.
" Sir, that intruder is back again! "
I shoot out through the window and slither down the icy
slope to the runway.
The alert is sounding. Already the ground-crew is at work
on my aircraft. Camouflaged screens are tossed into the snow
and the canopy flaps open. Even as I fasten my safety-belt the
inertia starter begins to wail.
" Contact! "
The ground-crews close the canopy and slide off the wing.
I switch on the ignition, and the engine thunders into life. A cloud of glistening snow is whirled up high into the air behind
me. I have to use almost full throttle to drag the plane through
the deep snow.
A few seconds later I am airborne. Time: 1146 hours.
Base does excellent work today. I receive frequent position
reports on the Tommy. Near Christiansand he crosses the
coast, as he did yesterday and the day before. Altitude 25,000
feet.
Eighteen minutes after being airborne I have reached the
same altitude as the intruder. " Bandit in Bena-Kurfurst-
Hanni-eight-zero." So runs the message from base.
That means that the intruder is in map reference sector
B-K, at an altitude of 25,000 feet. In that case I may spot
him at any moment. The thin veils of ice-cloud cause visibility
to be somewhat reduced. I must keep an infernally keen
lookout.
" Bandit now in Berta-Ludwig."
Blast! Where can the bastard have got to ? I turn my head
first to one side and then the other, looking in all directions. I
run into a thin ice-cloud and wheel off to the right.
Suddenly I tense inside. There he is, just a few feet over-
head. A Spitfire. The R.A.F. rondel markings are the size
of cartwheels.
With a jerk I lift the nose of my plane. I have got to get
him!
But by now he has spotted me also. He whips round in a
tight turn towards me, drops his nose, and straightens out in a
dive far below.
Throttle back: bank to the left. I must not lose sight of
him. With both hands I pull the stick back hard into my belly
while in a vertical bank; my body feels as if a giant hand is
pressing it down into the seat, and for a moment my vision
blacks out.
There he is again. He had put his plane into a vertical dive
and is heading west for the open sea. I go down in a dive
after him. At full throttle the noise of the engine becomes a
frenzied scream, and the vibration causes the wings to quiver
under the strain.
I adjust the sights and fire.
Must get closer range. To gain increased speed I close the
radiator cooling flaps. Never mind if the radiator boils over;
never mind if the engine goes to pieces, I have to get him,
whatever happens.
The Spitfire goes down like a meteor shooting through space.
That plane is certainly a magnificent piece of work, and it is
being flown by a lad who knows what he is doing and has plenty
of nerve.
20,000 feet: he is in my sights, and I again open fire.
18,000 feet: range too great, estimate at 1,000 feet.
12,000 feet: my engine is beginning to boil.
10,000 feet: the dive is now even steeper than before.
6,000 feet: the Spitfire is faster. The distance between us
increases. My eardrums are popping, and my head feels like
bursting. This vertical power-dive is hell on a pilot. I have
ripped the oxygen mask from my face. There is an over-
powering smell of glycol. The engine has boiled. The oil
temperature rises. Still the airspeed indicator registers over
500 miles per hour.
3,000 feet: slowly the Tommy straightens out from the
dive. We both skim low across the snowfields in the high coastal mountains.
This Spitfire is a terrific plane. The gap widens between us. We reach the open sea.
I gave up the chase. My engine is about to seize. Throttle back; open the radiator flaps. The Tommy is now no more than a tiny speck on the horizon.
Coming round in a wide sweep until I am again heading for land, I fly up the Sound to the Inner Fjord, hemmed in on all sides by the rocky precipices. Magnificent scenery, if one is in the mood to appreciate it.
Landing at 1303 hours.
I find that I am shivering. With rage and cold, besides
reaction after that power dive, which was certainly no picnic.
" Give me a double brandy! "



<CENTER>http://www.world-wide-net.com/tuskegeeairmen/ta-1943.jpg <marquee><FONT COLOR="RED"><FONT SIZE="+1">"Straighten up.......Fly right..~S~"<FONT SIZE> </marquee> http://www.geocities.com/rt_bearcat

<CENTER><FONT COLOR="ORANGE">vflyer@comcast.net<FONT COLOR>
<Center><div style="width:200;color:red;font-size:18pt;filter:shadow Blur[color=red,strength=8)">99th Pursuit Squadron

XyZspineZyX
09-25-2003, 06:32 PM
Courtesy of loon in at the Outhouse...very nice read. I like getting first hand accounts.../i/smilies/16x16_smiley-wink.gif Part 2 is coming

excerpt from 'I Flew for the Fuhrer' by Heinz Knocke (Me109)

28th February, 1942.
The Plotting Sergeant from the operations room next door
comes bursting into my office, where I have been busy writing
at my desk for some hours.
" Sir, that intruder is back again! "
I shoot out through the window and slither down the icy
slope to the runway.
The alert is sounding. Already the ground-crew is at work
on my aircraft. Camouflaged screens are tossed into the snow
and the canopy flaps open. Even as I fasten my safety-belt the
inertia starter begins to wail.
" Contact! "
The ground-crews close the canopy and slide off the wing.
I switch on the ignition, and the engine thunders into life. A cloud of glistening snow is whirled up high into the air behind
me. I have to use almost full throttle to drag the plane through
the deep snow.
A few seconds later I am airborne. Time: 1146 hours.
Base does excellent work today. I receive frequent position
reports on the Tommy. Near Christiansand he crosses the
coast, as he did yesterday and the day before. Altitude 25,000
feet.
Eighteen minutes after being airborne I have reached the
same altitude as the intruder. " Bandit in Bena-Kurfurst-
Hanni-eight-zero." So runs the message from base.
That means that the intruder is in map reference sector
B-K, at an altitude of 25,000 feet. In that case I may spot
him at any moment. The thin veils of ice-cloud cause visibility
to be somewhat reduced. I must keep an infernally keen
lookout.
" Bandit now in Berta-Ludwig."
Blast! Where can the bastard have got to ? I turn my head
first to one side and then the other, looking in all directions. I
run into a thin ice-cloud and wheel off to the right.
Suddenly I tense inside. There he is, just a few feet over-
head. A Spitfire. The R.A.F. rondel markings are the size
of cartwheels.
With a jerk I lift the nose of my plane. I have got to get
him!
But by now he has spotted me also. He whips round in a
tight turn towards me, drops his nose, and straightens out in a
dive far below.
Throttle back: bank to the left. I must not lose sight of
him. With both hands I pull the stick back hard into my belly
while in a vertical bank; my body feels as if a giant hand is
pressing it down into the seat, and for a moment my vision
blacks out.
There he is again. He had put his plane into a vertical dive
and is heading west for the open sea. I go down in a dive
after him. At full throttle the noise of the engine becomes a
frenzied scream, and the vibration causes the wings to quiver
under the strain.
I adjust the sights and fire.
Must get closer range. To gain increased speed I close the
radiator cooling flaps. Never mind if the radiator boils over;
never mind if the engine goes to pieces, I have to get him,
whatever happens.
The Spitfire goes down like a meteor shooting through space.
That plane is certainly a magnificent piece of work, and it is
being flown by a lad who knows what he is doing and has plenty
of nerve.
20,000 feet: he is in my sights, and I again open fire.
18,000 feet: range too great, estimate at 1,000 feet.
12,000 feet: my engine is beginning to boil.
10,000 feet: the dive is now even steeper than before.
6,000 feet: the Spitfire is faster. The distance between us
increases. My eardrums are popping, and my head feels like
bursting. This vertical power-dive is hell on a pilot. I have
ripped the oxygen mask from my face. There is an over-
powering smell of glycol. The engine has boiled. The oil
temperature rises. Still the airspeed indicator registers over
500 miles per hour.
3,000 feet: slowly the Tommy straightens out from the
dive. We both skim low across the snowfields in the high coastal mountains.
This Spitfire is a terrific plane. The gap widens between us. We reach the open sea.
I gave up the chase. My engine is about to seize. Throttle back; open the radiator flaps. The Tommy is now no more than a tiny speck on the horizon.
Coming round in a wide sweep until I am again heading for land, I fly up the Sound to the Inner Fjord, hemmed in on all sides by the rocky precipices. Magnificent scenery, if one is in the mood to appreciate it.
Landing at 1303 hours.
I find that I am shivering. With rage and cold, besides
reaction after that power dive, which was certainly no picnic.
" Give me a double brandy! "



<CENTER>http://www.world-wide-net.com/tuskegeeairmen/ta-1943.jpg <marquee><FONT COLOR="RED"><FONT SIZE="+1">"Straighten up.......Fly right..~S~"<FONT SIZE> </marquee> http://www.geocities.com/rt_bearcat

<CENTER><FONT COLOR="ORANGE">vflyer@comcast.net<FONT COLOR>
<Center><div style="width:200;color:red;font-size:18pt;filter:shadow Blur[color=red,strength=8)">99th Pursuit Squadron

XyZspineZyX
09-25-2003, 09:52 PM
bump

<CENTER>http://www.world-wide-net.com/tuskegeeairmen/ta-1943.jpg <marquee><FONT COLOR="RED"><FONT SIZE="+1">"Straighten up.......Fly right..~S~"<FONT SIZE> </marquee> http://www.geocities.com/rt_bearcat

<CENTER><FONT COLOR="ORANGE">vflyer@comcast.net<FONT COLOR>
<Center><div style="width:200;color:red;font-size:18pt;filter:shadow Blur[color=red,strength=8)">99th Pursuit Squadron

XyZspineZyX
09-25-2003, 10:19 PM
I cant believe no one has seen this........

<CENTER>http://www.world-wide-net.com/tuskegeeairmen/ta-1943.jpg <marquee><FONT COLOR="RED"><FONT SIZE="+1">"Straighten up.......Fly right..~S~"<FONT SIZE> </marquee> http://www.geocities.com/rt_bearcat

<CENTER><FONT COLOR="ORANGE">vflyer@comcast.net<FONT COLOR>
<Center><div style="width:200;color:red;font-size:18pt;filter:shadow Blur[color=red,strength=8)">99th Pursuit Squadron

XyZspineZyX
09-25-2003, 10:35 PM
Thanks for these bearcat!


http://home.iprimus.com.au/djgwen/fb/worker_parasite.jpg

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XyZspineZyX
09-26-2003, 12:07 PM
bump /i/smilies/16x16_smiley-happy.gif /i/smilies/16x16_smiley-happy.gif

JG53 PikAs Abbuzze
I./Gruppe

http://www.jg53-pikas.de/
http://mitglied.lycos.de/p123/Ani_pikasbanner_langsam.gif

XyZspineZyX
09-27-2003, 12:21 AM
Man, that is good stuff. Thanks for great post.

"Remember, that's war. We're all in one boat. He who thinks only of himself will destroy himself too. Such selfishness will not be tolerated!"


Kambei Shimada, Seven Samurai

http://www.filmsondisc.com/images/7samurai4.jpg

XyZspineZyX
09-27-2003, 05:36 AM
Good stuff! I could read a book like that. S~

It just doesnt make sense Admiral. They had everything going for them. Are we better than they are or just luckier?

ShadowHawk__
09-27-2003, 07:15 AM
Bump, good read indeed

<center>------------------------------------------------------</center>
<center>http://www.geocities.com/tk_shadow_hawk/shadowhawk_sig2.txt </center>
<center>-Death From Above</center>