View Full Version : A story for Boosher - a BF-110 pilot's story

01-16-2005, 05:34 PM
I'm too old for this, I tell myself. Combat flying is a young man's pursuit, and at 34 I am painfully aware of the strange deference with which I am treated by my younger comrades. I must seem impossibly old to them, and at times like this I feel it myself. Neither the cockpit heater in my BF-110 nor the heavy flight suit I am wearing is sufficient to block out the penetrating cold of the Russian winter as my machine thrums along above the scarred, snow-covered landscape toward the ongoing battle over a Soviet industial complex.

It seems like a lifetime ago that I started along the path that led me to this battlezone. At the time it seemed like a mere youthful fancy. While my friends in college joined the mountaineering society or the rowing team, I spent my weekends soaring with the glider club. Perhaps I was inspired by the stories of derring-do over Flanders I heard as a boy from the one-armed barber Hans, or maybe it was just some innate genetic longing to soar as the birds, but now it is clear that my choice of extracurricular activities has defined my life and may very well foreshadow my death.

Times were tough in the '30s and a commission with the newly invigorated Luftwaffe was hard to pass up. When war came, I was already a veteran of peacetime maneuvers and spent the first two years in a cozy instructor's position in Germany, sending a new generation of heroes off to the front to fight and die for the Fatherland. A few poorly considered remarks calling into question the sanity of the whole affair resulted in a quick reassignment to the Eastern Front and a reduction in rank while a more politically reliable replacement took over my instructor's post.

They tell us that we in the zerstorer units are the elite, that our machine is at the vanguard of our inevitable victory. They also told us that the Stalinist rabble we are up against have neither the backbone nor the technological and industrial capability to put up an effective struggle against our legions. I've seen too many of our brave flyers go down in flames to believe either of those lies anymore.

I'm jolted from my reverie by the sight of white-hot tracers whizzing inches past my windscreen, and by the angry rattle of my gunner Klaus's twin machine guns in the rear cockpit. As I turn my head instinctively to look over my shoulder, there's a dull explosion and the terrifying sound of rending metal. My plane pitches violently to the side like a small boat tossed by a wave on the sea, and I fight the controls to right it.

I catch a glimpse of the Red fighter that's caught me unawares. He's only a hundred meters behind now and closing fast. By the sharp-pointed nose and sleek lines I recognize it as a Yak, but whatever has hit my plane must surely be larger than the 12.7 and 20mm guns on the example we studied after it crash landed behind our lines a few months ago. I've little time to think about this as the landscape rushes by only a few hundred meters below. Automatically I begin looking for a clearing big enough to land my stricken ship.

To my surprise, my plane is still flying and seems to be responding to my input. We've taken no more hits. The sound of Klaus's guns is replaced in my ears by his muttered curse words ****ing the Red pilot. A hunter from the Black Forest, Klaus makes up in marksmanship what he lacks in the social graces. Again I glance over my shoulder and I see the sleek Yak slide past only a few meters from my wingtip. It's so close I can clearly see the pilot's face - he looks to be only a boy! I see his wide eyes as he struggles to control his plane, now trailing a wisp of gray smoke from the engine.

The Yak drifts below me, and I swing my heavy fighter around in a turn that will bring me onto his tail. The young pilot is obviously in touble; I can tell from the exaggeted yawing motions his plane makes as he attempts to compensate for his shot-away ailerons with heavy rudder input. He's losing speed and altitude now, looking as I was moments ago for a place to make an emergency landing. As the Yak grows larger in my gunsight, I feel a momentary pang of conscience about what I'm about to do. Then I remember young Willy, who burned with his plane last week, and Gunther, who dove through a bank of clouds after a Lavochkin and was never seen again.

This young Russian is only doing his job and following his orders, and so am I. I try to harbor no hatred in my heart, but I must do my part, just like the hausfrau who saves kitchen grease for the production of explosives, or the children who collect tin cans for recycling, or even old Hans who patrols the streets at night to enforce the blackout. I press the trigger and my plane shudders with the recoil of four MG151/20 cannon and two Mk108 30mm guns. The Yak lights up with numerous small explosions, and I pull up and over the disintegrating Soviet fighter as pieces of the doomed machine are flung back toward my Messerschmitt. My last sight of the Yak is of the once deadly machine now broken and cartwheeling in flames across the snow.

I replace the image of the brave young pilot's face in my mind with the concentration that will be needed to guide my crippled machine back home. There will be schnapps to warm my weary bones and perhaps still some bratwurst from this morning's breakfast, which I skipped as usual, opting only for a cup of ersatz coffee. The mechanics will have their work cut out for them as they try to salvage what they can. There will be more days like this ahead but I try not to think about them. For today, the war is over.

01-16-2005, 05:39 PM
Good writing, I love it. We should keep these going or something, write stories about our WarClouds or Greatergreeen flights. I think everyone likes them, I know I love writing them.

01-16-2005, 09:09 PM
That would be nice, convert your encounters/sorties into a pilot story that can be posted on one thread. Maybe even get stickied when we get enough stories inside, make sure all the trash stays out and only stories remain.

Bump for a Stories thread, no need to be talented just express it how your flight was from your eyes or in third person. http://forums.ubi.com/groupee_common/emoticons/icon_smile.gif

01-16-2005, 11:55 PM
Wow, that was cool it good enough to put me in the cockpit!!! Great stuff! Of course with all the time I have in the Bf-110 it was great to hop back in even if for only a few moments.

~S~ Fox

01-17-2005, 02:41 AM
Very nice writing,


Just one suggestion,
"...and perhaps still some bratwurst from this morning's breakfast"

Bratwurst for breakfast is/was very unusual in Germany. (the whole "bratwurst" thing is not as popular as the cliche will make you believe)

Maybe "scrambled egg left over from breakfast" would be more authentic.

Best regards

01-17-2005, 03:20 AM
And make sure that you indicate these writings are actually from flying in game, and not exerpts taken from some book or something.This is one of the best reads I've read.Kudos m8!

01-17-2005, 05:50 AM
I've read the story before seeing Boosher's post, and to be honest i really thought it was a real account.... Amazing story, m8, than you. Very well written. http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/25.gif

01-17-2005, 06:54 AM
great story http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/16x16_smiley-happy.gif

TgD Thunderbolt56
01-17-2005, 06:59 AM

Klaus is truly a "crack-shot"...despite his lack of social graces. I've cursed him more than once myself.


01-17-2005, 08:47 AM
It's official then! Every time I have an online encouter I can write about, It's up here on the forum!

01-17-2005, 09:30 AM
Thanks guys, I'm glad you enjoyed the story; I certainly enjoyed writing it. After reading Boosher's story regarding this same encounter I was inspired to offer a view from the other side. Point taken about the bratwurst, although I'll have to tell Klaus - he eats the stuff for breakfast, lunch and dinner and stinks up the cockpit with its after-effects... http://forums.ubi.com/groupee_common/emoticons/icon_smile.gif

01-17-2005, 12:47 PM
Koot great story bud but I think you need to put "The Destroyer" down for awhile and pic up a new ride, your obsessed! http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/mockface.gif

01-17-2005, 01:05 PM
I can stop flying the 110 anytime I want. Really I can, I'm just not quite ready yet. Maybe next week. Really. It's not a problem.

01-17-2005, 02:53 PM
BUMP! http://forums.ubi.com/images/smilies/25.gif