Beginning.
A wet, stormy day. A perfect start to what would be a high pressure, but rewarding first flight with the new group. Following the transfer from 5th Staffel, where I cut my teeth and made some Great friends, it was almost surreal stepping out of the transport lorry onto the field at Coquelles. The fellow pilots where gathered outside a Large tent, about to attend a briefing by the Major.
As I stepped over, I noticed the calm among the men, they knew today was important, but had a quiet confidence that helped calm the jitters, The 190s where lined up just down from the group, a very different scheme to my old 5th bird, but the bright yellow numbers looked great, even in the heavy rain.
We stepped in to the tent and the briefing began at pace. We where to cover a large flotilla of ships as they made their way north through the english channel. We where told to expect heavy resistance, as the RAF where under instruction to stop them at all costs. We wrapped up with the Orbat, and I was given 2-4, flying with Dieter 'Lefty' Kaps.
I knew as we walked out to the Kites I had a number change, but I didnt expect to wear the same number as Hans Marseilles, and it looked fantastic with my black cat painted on the side. I climbed up and in, belted up and started up the engine at the Majors command
We took off and formed up around the field, and headed out on the patrol route. The formation was tight, flying in a finger 4. The weather was dire, with rain and high winds. I still managed to snap a nice photo of us in formation
Combat began shortly after we found the ships. It went by in a haze, but the comms where tight, and the pair work was excellent. I got seperated early on as 2-3 went and shot a bomber down, he picked up a 6 and I went for it, loosing him in the process in the rain.
As I was turning for the coast, I seen 1-3 drop a spitfire with a heavy burst, and was just glad to see his kite still up. The numbers where not in our favour today. I crossed back over the coast to be feet dry, and seen a couple more of the staffel take the tommy down, with one sticking in my memory as his plane cartwheeled into the trees in a fireball.
We went back out feet wet to assist the rest of the staffel, and I caught a spitfire not paying attention, I missed the first burst, but not the second, and emptied some 20mm into his cockpit. His place bucked over and went into the drink. Even if the man had survived the damage, odds of him surviving the channel in these temperatures sealed his fate.
I was heading back inland and picked up a six of my own, a tommy set on taking me down. He was firing wildly, rounds zipping all around my plane, on 20mm hit in my rear fuel tank, and it began to leak out. Thankfully 14 proved to be a tough kite, and was able to survive his onslaught. He pulled off before backup arrived, and I made best speed for The airstrip nearby at Calais Marck.
I performed a break over the strip and put the bird down as gently as I could. One of the mechanics snapped this photo as I pulled up and got out as quickly as possible, fuel leaks, at this rate, where incredibly dangerous.
It was a hard welcome to the new unit, but a great test. Looking at the damage on my plane, I knew I was lucky to be alive. I headed to the medic tent to look at some wounds I had to my arm, and for a good kip.
