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View Full Version : Even Hartmann himself would have been proud... A story from the front. (Long)



Chainsawofdoom
06-30-2004, 12:03 AM
Today's flight began as so many others...

After a greasy breakfast of eggs cooked in bacon fat served by three young Russian girls and a cup of thin "coffee", we went to our briefing. The officer told us that there was a convoy of trucks heading to a compound, and that the Russians knew about it. It seems as if they've been intercepting our communications as of late, but that's to be expected, he assured us. We'd been listening to them all along.

The mission was simple. Fly high overhead and protect the truck convoy from expected Russian bombers and attack aircraft.

A pit formed in my stomach as I anticipated those dreaded flying concrete blocks... the IL-2 Sturmoviks. My mechanic shouted at me long and hard the last time I saw one of them up close and personal... and even showed me the bullet holes in my armored glass. "Chainsaw, this will not do!" Bimmel shouted. "The next one of these bullets may just find it's way into that thick head of yours!"


However, today was a new day. My aircraft was waiting there for me and she was primed and ready. My BF109-G10. The "Beej Jean". I named her steel after my beloved back home, so far away...

Today was a new day and who knew what was out there, waiting for me and my wingman. Or, who was to feel the sting of my guns and mighty 30mm cannon?

Bimmel helped me into the cockpit, and I threw out my cigarette just before he closed the canopy glass and locked it into place. He smiled at me and gave a short, quick salute and disappeared as he stepped away. I pressed my half-gloved hand up onto the glass in a return gesture. I'm sure he saw it.

I waited there for what seemed like hours before the command came across the radio to start engines. I tell you, the sound of that fearsome and powerful BMW radial engine turning...turning, turning and catching alight is more beautiful than any symphony back at home.

Taking to the air, I felt as at home, for in the air is where we belong, the BF-109 and I. The wings flexed upward as they gained lift, and the Beej Jean began to soar. After the final "thump" of the landing gear locking home in the wheelwells, I raised the flaps and set on course. Into destiny, into what was to prove to be my greatest mission ever...


Come to think of it, it wasn't very long before the tiny specks in the sky far, far ahead began to clearify into fighter planes and bomber-attack aircraft. The G-10 has a powerful German engine and her superb aerodynamics treat her to much lift, which I used to climb... climb...

In no time flat I reached the attacking horde. Diving down and through the fighters, I caught one seemingly unaware of my presence. Swooping below him and into his blind spot, I pressed the trigger for a single, well placed cannon shot.


The Beej Jean shook and rattled as the terrifying 30mm cannon round left the prop spinner of my plane. I could smell the fumes from the explosive charge which sent it forth. One single round...

It flew off, leaving a curious pigtail of tracer smoke behind it. Arching upward, it struck the Russian fighter plane just in front of the cockpit. There was a terrible flash as tiny pieces of the enemy plane broke off, followed by ever larger chunks. Something hit my wing and bounced off. I could have sworn it was a piston with the connecting rod still attached.
Inky black smoke began to pour from the stricken plane, followed by bright flames... and certain doom....

http://www.albumsnaps.com/viewPhoto.php?id=48431


Just ahead were the series of large multiengined bombers. My speed was great and I sped after them. Thank God, I thought. I didn't see a Sturmovik anywhere in their midst...

They flew in a familiar line-abreast formation. Choosing their leader, I opened the throttle and aimed the guns of the Beej Jean at the engines. Diving at the last second and pulling the triggers, I was again treated to a terrible sight. Flames. Fire. Death...

http://www.albumsnaps.com/viewPhoto.php?id=48430

Over and over again I made my passes. Return fire from the tailgunners was fierce, but I did my best at jinking the shots aside. Two more went down in similar fashion in short order.

The rest of the schwarm was tending to the escort fighters, leaving myself and my trusted Rotteflieger to work over the bombers before they reached the truck convoy.

Again, tiny black specks ahead turned into PE-3 attach fighter-bombers. Fearsome aircraft, with a respectable bombload and a famous Russian toughness. Songs may one day be sung of these aircraft. Their tough Siberian wooden frames had been turned into toothpicks by myelf and many others in the past, and still the managed to fly home to rest and recover.


But not today...


Aiming my guns on the leader yet again, I fired off sooner than I should have and watched my precious 30mm rounds fly under the wings of the PE-3. Heavy rounds they are, I reminded myself. A big, powerful punch has but little reach...

Waiting until the last moment to fire...


A blurr reached me then, in the heat of combat, in the midst of what could have been my last moments on earth. I heard the words of Erich... "Do not fire until the enemy fills your screen, Stephen... Wait until you can't possibly miss....."

Tears of sweat and fear filled my eyes. I could see the tracer rounds emerging from that aweful PE-3. They were inching ever closer to me...

I wanted so badly to pull the trigger, even though I knew my bullets would miss. Then, I swear to you, I could feel a cold hand on my shoulder...

It was a solid, wirey but strong hand. Amidst the confusion and chaos of everything that was happening, I heard a voice...

There were no words to that soothing voice, but they were sure and solid. A ghost told me to wait... to be patient and wait. Diving down, the enemy tailgunner could not possibly hit me, and he was right.

It was as if everything was in slow motion, in some surreal, ethereal, azure place out of space and time. I did not fire. The enemy fire - the hot, molten shots - did not hit me...



Suddenly, everything snapped back into place. At once and in an instant, the PE-3 was in full view... I could see nothing else! Screaming into my oxygen mask, I mashed the twin triggers home and felt my body shake along with my G-10 as a full brace of death left her barrels....

http://www.albumsnaps.com/viewPhoto.php?id=48429

I never saw what happened, but only heard the frightening sounds of rendering metal and burning, failing engines. Some sort of metal alloy gave a strange, spine shuddering cry as it bent in ways in which it was never meant to...

My fuel was spent. Barely 10% of a tank was just enough to bring both myself and the rest of my schwarm home, and that is where I pointed my compass needle. These were still many rounds in my breech but they would prove of little use if I were to run out of fuel in the middle of yet another attack, I told myself.

The airfield loomed ahead, inviting and warm. Flaps and gear down, I was greeted by the rattles and squeaks of my plane protesting the ground. She seemed to defy the ground in which she came from, longing for the air. Another day...


The squadron commander was there by my plane as I brought her to rest beside the others on the ground. Many of my comrads were clapping and whistling as Bimmel opened my canopy glass and smiled. Once my feet touched the matted grass, he handed me a cigatette and told me that the radio operator confirmed that I has shot down SEVEN enemy aircraft during that flight!


Over warm beer and a campfire that evening, Bimmel sat next to me. We roasted brattwurst sausages over the fire together and talked into the night of many things...

As if the exhaustion and confusion of that day weren't enough to bewilder me, he told me that I had not fired more than half of the "Beej Jean's" ammo stores! One last beer, and I bade him a pleasant goodnight, as tomorrow was sure to prove yet another day of unforseen adventure.

As I threw open my tent flap and made for my cot, I swore I saw a blond-haired figure in the shadows. My eyes couldn't focus on him in the dark, and the apparition faded as quickly as I thought I saw it.



Yet, just before my eyes slid shut on that fateful evening, again the Blonde Ghost was there, in the dim shadows. A whispering voice spoke then...


"You see, Stephen.... You must wait. You must be smart... The Mind is the Ultimate Weapon...."

The ghost faded away, and then my consciousness....

Fear not the Darkness. Rather, fear that which it conceals...

[This message was edited by Chainsawofdoom on Tue June 29 2004 at 11:13 PM.]

Chainsawofdoom
06-30-2004, 12:03 AM
Today's flight began as so many others...

After a greasy breakfast of eggs cooked in bacon fat served by three young Russian girls and a cup of thin "coffee", we went to our briefing. The officer told us that there was a convoy of trucks heading to a compound, and that the Russians knew about it. It seems as if they've been intercepting our communications as of late, but that's to be expected, he assured us. We'd been listening to them all along.

The mission was simple. Fly high overhead and protect the truck convoy from expected Russian bombers and attack aircraft.

A pit formed in my stomach as I anticipated those dreaded flying concrete blocks... the IL-2 Sturmoviks. My mechanic shouted at me long and hard the last time I saw one of them up close and personal... and even showed me the bullet holes in my armored glass. "Chainsaw, this will not do!" Bimmel shouted. "The next one of these bullets may just find it's way into that thick head of yours!"


However, today was a new day. My aircraft was waiting there for me and she was primed and ready. My BF109-G10. The "Beej Jean". I named her steel after my beloved back home, so far away...

Today was a new day and who knew what was out there, waiting for me and my wingman. Or, who was to feel the sting of my guns and mighty 30mm cannon?

Bimmel helped me into the cockpit, and I threw out my cigarette just before he closed the canopy glass and locked it into place. He smiled at me and gave a short, quick salute and disappeared as he stepped away. I pressed my half-gloved hand up onto the glass in a return gesture. I'm sure he saw it.

I waited there for what seemed like hours before the command came across the radio to start engines. I tell you, the sound of that fearsome and powerful BMW radial engine turning...turning, turning and catching alight is more beautiful than any symphony back at home.

Taking to the air, I felt as at home, for in the air is where we belong, the BF-109 and I. The wings flexed upward as they gained lift, and the Beej Jean began to soar. After the final "thump" of the landing gear locking home in the wheelwells, I raised the flaps and set on course. Into destiny, into what was to prove to be my greatest mission ever...


Come to think of it, it wasn't very long before the tiny specks in the sky far, far ahead began to clearify into fighter planes and bomber-attack aircraft. The G-10 has a powerful German engine and her superb aerodynamics treat her to much lift, which I used to climb... climb...

In no time flat I reached the attacking horde. Diving down and through the fighters, I caught one seemingly unaware of my presence. Swooping below him and into his blind spot, I pressed the trigger for a single, well placed cannon shot.


The Beej Jean shook and rattled as the terrifying 30mm cannon round left the prop spinner of my plane. I could smell the fumes from the explosive charge which sent it forth. One single round...

It flew off, leaving a curious pigtail of tracer smoke behind it. Arching upward, it struck the Russian fighter plane just in front of the cockpit. There was a terrible flash as tiny pieces of the enemy plane broke off, followed by ever larger chunks. Something hit my wing and bounced off. I could have sworn it was a piston with the connecting rod still attached.
Inky black smoke began to pour from the stricken plane, followed by bright flames... and certain doom....

http://www.albumsnaps.com/viewPhoto.php?id=48431


Just ahead were the series of large multiengined bombers. My speed was great and I sped after them. Thank God, I thought. I didn't see a Sturmovik anywhere in their midst...

They flew in a familiar line-abreast formation. Choosing their leader, I opened the throttle and aimed the guns of the Beej Jean at the engines. Diving at the last second and pulling the triggers, I was again treated to a terrible sight. Flames. Fire. Death...

http://www.albumsnaps.com/viewPhoto.php?id=48430

Over and over again I made my passes. Return fire from the tailgunners was fierce, but I did my best at jinking the shots aside. Two more went down in similar fashion in short order.

The rest of the schwarm was tending to the escort fighters, leaving myself and my trusted Rotteflieger to work over the bombers before they reached the truck convoy.

Again, tiny black specks ahead turned into PE-3 attach fighter-bombers. Fearsome aircraft, with a respectable bombload and a famous Russian toughness. Songs may one day be sung of these aircraft. Their tough Siberian wooden frames had been turned into toothpicks by myelf and many others in the past, and still the managed to fly home to rest and recover.


But not today...


Aiming my guns on the leader yet again, I fired off sooner than I should have and watched my precious 30mm rounds fly under the wings of the PE-3. Heavy rounds they are, I reminded myself. A big, powerful punch has but little reach...

Waiting until the last moment to fire...


A blurr reached me then, in the heat of combat, in the midst of what could have been my last moments on earth. I heard the words of Erich... "Do not fire until the enemy fills your screen, Stephen... Wait until you can't possibly miss....."

Tears of sweat and fear filled my eyes. I could see the tracer rounds emerging from that aweful PE-3. They were inching ever closer to me...

I wanted so badly to pull the trigger, even though I knew my bullets would miss. Then, I swear to you, I could feel a cold hand on my shoulder...

It was a solid, wirey but strong hand. Amidst the confusion and chaos of everything that was happening, I heard a voice...

There were no words to that soothing voice, but they were sure and solid. A ghost told me to wait... to be patient and wait. Diving down, the enemy tailgunner could not possibly hit me, and he was right.

It was as if everything was in slow motion, in some surreal, ethereal, azure place out of space and time. I did not fire. The enemy fire - the hot, molten shots - did not hit me...



Suddenly, everything snapped back into place. At once and in an instant, the PE-3 was in full view... I could see nothing else! Screaming into my oxygen mask, I mashed the twin triggers home and felt my body shake along with my G-10 as a full brace of death left her barrels....

http://www.albumsnaps.com/viewPhoto.php?id=48429

I never saw what happened, but only heard the frightening sounds of rendering metal and burning, failing engines. Some sort of metal alloy gave a strange, spine shuddering cry as it bent in ways in which it was never meant to...

My fuel was spent. Barely 10% of a tank was just enough to bring both myself and the rest of my schwarm home, and that is where I pointed my compass needle. These were still many rounds in my breech but they would prove of little use if I were to run out of fuel in the middle of yet another attack, I told myself.

The airfield loomed ahead, inviting and warm. Flaps and gear down, I was greeted by the rattles and squeaks of my plane protesting the ground. She seemed to defy the ground in which she came from, longing for the air. Another day...


The squadron commander was there by my plane as I brought her to rest beside the others on the ground. Many of my comrads were clapping and whistling as Bimmel opened my canopy glass and smiled. Once my feet touched the matted grass, he handed me a cigatette and told me that the radio operator confirmed that I has shot down SEVEN enemy aircraft during that flight!


Over warm beer and a campfire that evening, Bimmel sat next to me. We roasted brattwurst sausages over the fire together and talked into the night of many things...

As if the exhaustion and confusion of that day weren't enough to bewilder me, he told me that I had not fired more than half of the "Beej Jean's" ammo stores! One last beer, and I bade him a pleasant goodnight, as tomorrow was sure to prove yet another day of unforseen adventure.

As I threw open my tent flap and made for my cot, I swore I saw a blond-haired figure in the shadows. My eyes couldn't focus on him in the dark, and the apparition faded as quickly as I thought I saw it.



Yet, just before my eyes slid shut on that fateful evening, again the Blonde Ghost was there, in the dim shadows. A whispering voice spoke then...


"You see, Stephen.... You must wait. You must be smart... The Mind is the Ultimate Weapon...."

The ghost faded away, and then my consciousness....

Fear not the Darkness. Rather, fear that which it conceals...

[This message was edited by Chainsawofdoom on Tue June 29 2004 at 11:13 PM.]

pcisbest
06-30-2004, 02:02 AM
LOL this was interesting, I liked how you turned Hartmann into some kind of Obie Wan "ghost" that was helping you ("Run Chainsaw, Run!") http://ubbxforums.ubi.com/images/smiley/16x16_smiley-very-happy.gif

BTW the 109 didnt use a BMW radial engine, that is the 190 you are thinking of, Bimmel could tell you that http://ubbxforums.ubi.com/images/smiley/16x16_smiley-wink.gif

S 8
06-30-2004, 02:50 AM
Hm,you seeing things and hear voices......could be severe stress.I recommend at least two weeks rest away from the front. http://ubbxforums.ubi.com/images/smiley/16x16_smiley-wink.gif

------------------------------
"My blue jeans is thight,so into my love rocket climb.Inside tank of fuel is not fuel but love,above us there is nothing above but the stars,above."
Zlad

Chainsawofdoom
06-30-2004, 05:43 PM
<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR> BTW the 109 didnt use a BMW radial engine, that is the 190 you are thinking of, Bimmel could tell you that. <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Oops...my bad. I knew that, too! http://ubbxforums.ubi.com/images/smiley/blink.gif

Oh, well. It was just a story. The only part of it that's true is that I managed to get seven kills in one mission. I was do darned impressed that I was inspired to share it with you guys. So I "dressed" it up a little!

Fear not the Darkness. Rather, fear that which it conceals...

HuninMunin
06-30-2004, 06:08 PM
Nice read!

"Ist das ein Weinachtsbaum?"
"Natürlich ist das ein Weinachtsbaum, oder glaubst du damit wird die Brücke getarnt?"

MackZ
06-30-2004, 08:31 PM
Cool war story! Thanks for sharing! I loved its vividness and its overwhelming romanticism http://ubbxforums.ubi.com/images/smiley/16x16_smiley-wink.gif Great read!

http://home.comcast.net/~mackzalin/Mackz.jpg

Chainsawofdoom
06-30-2004, 11:06 PM
Thanks, dudes. I'm glad you enjoyed the adventure. Tonight however, my worst fears came to fruition. The devil in the flesh. The IL-2 Sturmoviks were in the air...

Still trembling, I cannot hope to recant my flight tonight. However, look tomorrow for the story of The Sturmoviks...

A good man was lost. An enemy plane was pounded into submission, yet still flew on.

Imagine if you will, a JU-87 Stuka coming to my aid in a dire hour, where the FW-190 D9 could not bring the enemy to his knees.

Tomorrow, adventure returns...

Fear not the Darkness. Rather, fear that which it conceals...