Kanalkampf. Mission 11: 20th July 1940

[Katt]

Squadron: No. 615 "County of Surrey" Squadron
Squadron Code: WK
Pilot Name: Katt
Date: June 20 1940
Time: 1330hrs
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Hawker Hurricane
Marking: "P"
Serial number: R4194

Synopsis: Forced to take off with No. 501 as a result of pilot error. Engaged by e/a aircraft while chasing another e/a directly over the fleet, wounded and ditched along side friendly vessel.

Losses
Pilot: Wounded
A/C: Lost

[Luke]

Squadron: No.64 Squadron
Squadron code: "SH"
Pilot name: Luke
Date: June 20 1940
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Spitfire Ia 100oct
Marking: "R for Romeo"
Serial number: P9563



Claims
Destroyed: 1x BF109 (Shared with looky)
Probable: 0
Damaged: 1x BF109

Losses
Pilot: OK
A/C: Needs repairs

[Siddich]

Squadron: No. 615 "County of Surrey" Squadron
Squadron Code: KW
Pilot Name: Siddich
Date: June 20 1940
Time: 1330hrs
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Hawker Hurricane
Marking: "H"
Serial number: L2025

report: Took off as No2 to Hawes and went out towards enemy bombers. As we potted the enemy Stukas - two large groups, at least 40 planes - we also spotted some enemy fighters high in front and a little bit lower behind the bombers. I went for the bombers and damaged at least four of them by hitting their radiators, together with some of my old squadron mates from No.501. Whilst aiming at one more bomber, I was attacked by a Bf 109 wich hit me into my wing and perforrated my tank. I shook him of, by doing some evasive action and diving down towards our ships immediatelly. He didn't follow me down, so I could shoot at one more Stuka and head back towards Hawkinge,

from where I took of again in a rearmed and refuelled Hurricane.

EDIT: Please read the rules. You landed a damaged aircraft, you can't take another as if there are a load there waiting for you - you must be undamaged. Sorry but the stuff below does not count.

Reply: Sry, just read the rules, wont do that again.

(Wolverine and I immediately contacted the comander of No.501- Osprey, as he was calling for help, because of my own squad was in large part taken out of the fight. I found them in heavy fights over our own ships and got stuck in. Whilst this fight I managed to damage one 109 and destroy another one. After I had emtied my guns into him I could see him ditch between Deal and Ramsgate. I turned back towards Hawkinge and could see the rest of No.615 and No.501 land, whilst I checked my plane. I had some more small hits in my wings, but I don't konw, when I was hit. This might have happened in this damn brutal fight with the enemy 109s, when all the different planes wher turning around each other. Lucky that I didn't have holes in my head...)

damaged: 5 Ju87s


losses:
A/C: a few small holes in the wing, perforrated right wing tank
pilot: hungry

[Von Archie]

Squadron: No. 615 "County of Surrey" Squadron
Squadron Code: KW
Pilot Name: Archie
Date: June 20 1940
Time: 1330hrs
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Hawker Hurricane
Marking: "K"
Serial number: R4192

Synopsis: Took off as No2 to Hollywood, engaged a large raid of Stukas, killed the engine on one (last seen windmilling down low) and damaged another, then took some hits from the escorting 109's, and took avoiding action. Later got jumped by 109s hanging around near the coast and wounded, so made an emergency deadstick landing at Ramsgate.


Claims
Destroyed:0
Probable: 1x JU87 Stuka
Damaged: 1x JU87

Losses
Pilot: Wounded
A/C: A write off

[Redeye]

Squadron: No. 64 Squadron
Squadron Code: SH
Pilot Name: Redeye
Date: June 20 1940
Time: 1330hrs
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Spitfire mk Ia
Marking: "P"
Serial number: K9964

Another convoy patrol. A-flight, lead by the CO and 6 other pilots were to patrol the Ramsgate-Dover area. As the bell sounded
I strapped myself into my SH-P, that had just been returned to me after being fixed up as it had been shot up pretty bad last
combat sortie. As the engines roared to life across Hawkinge, I had trouble with my fuel feed, and was forced to watch the others
take off without me. Curses!

My engine man and his crew worked under the duress of my shouting and whining as the rest of the Wing dissapeared into the sky.
Finally, the trouble was sorted and she started beautifully. I took off alone and climbed inland while heading east.
The others were already in contact.

I went feet wet over deal and spotted 10+ stukas heading south, surrounded by several other contacts which I presumed
to be escorts engaging our group.

I attacked the Stuka formation, making three passes, damaging 2 x Ju- 87 from optimal range. Both of them streaming
glycol and the last one started spiralling down. I did not give chase but pursued some lower contact midchannel and
found them to be be Looky and Bounder engaging the fighter escort heading home.

A lengthy cat and mouse fight occured as several more 109's joined the fight, as well as Tyrone.

At this moment I head the WingCo call out he needed help over Deal. However that was 5 minutes away and were
were heavily engaged, so we stuck it out. I was attacked twice by 109's sixing me, but broke away successfully both
times thanks to good communication from the chaps.

I fired on a 109 from 200 yds, heading NE towards Deal and the convoy, puncturing its rads with my last rounds while Looky covered my six. After spending the last of our ammo we cautiously disengaged, with Luke and Ty still being stuck in.

We headed for Hawkinge on the deck and landed shortly afterwards without incident.

Claims:
2 x damaged Ju 87
1 x damaged 109

Losses
Pilot: ok
A/C: ok.

[Dickie]

Squadron: No.501 "County of Gloucester" Squadron
Squadron Code: TB
Pilot Name: Osprey
Date: June 20 1940
Time: 1330hrs
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Hawker Hurricane mk Ia
Marking: "P for Pip"
Serial number: V6620

Prelude
Of all the things that a Wing Commander has to deal with in this war, all the trouble that Hitler is causing and I get a request from the station doctor to give one of our chaps 'sick leave'. "What?!" I exclaimed to Dr Cartwright, "Yes sir, apparently he can't go on without him, says that one of the other chaps murdered him" he replied. "This won't do, I'll soon put a stop to this", after finishing the call I pressed my new intercomms button, damned fangled contraption, last week I tried the quartermaster to obtain De Wilde by fair means of foul but pressed the wrong button and sent that through to the NAAFI butcher "De Wilde sir?", it was all rather embarrassing.
"Sgt Thaine, would you come in please", "Yes Sir". "Take this down would you. 'On no account will leave be granted for dead dogs'. Go and pin that on the mess notice board good fellow" "Oh, and get me P/O Meaker too, I'd like a word". "Yes sir, right away sir". Meaker came into the office, cap off and at attention. "Stand easy Meaker old chap. Old shag?" I offered him a pinch and a spare pipe. "No thank you sir, it's not been the same and one of the buggers killed him on purpose, it's bloody murder" he said as his eyes welled up. "Now listen here, it's just a dog so bally well get on with killing Jerry eh what" I said as I leaned back in my leather chair. This wasn't easy for Meaker to take so I relented a little. "All right Meaker, here's what we shall do. You can have a break from meeting Jerry today and I'll see what can be found out about your dog, what's his name?...Mertel?..", "Merlin sir", "...yes yes Merlin, that's the fellow, but none of this must reach the other squadrons or we'll be a laughing stock. We can't be seen as soft you see", "I understand sir, thank you sir" he replied. "Now auf you go old boy, deiss-missed". "Sar", a stamp and classic British salute before Meaker marched out, leaving one remaining question, "Who killed Merlin?"

Synopsis
First thing in the morning we were down at Hawkinge on Standby, and this was brought up to Readiness once the skirts at Uxbridge started getting some plots. Soon afterwards No.615 were ordered to scramble and 10 Hawker Hurricanes powered into the wind on an interception for a Jerry raid heading in from Calais. No.64 were taking forever to move into position "What's the hold up Freema?". A few minutes later the Spitfires from No.64 were also scrambling, a slender machine and highly spoken of by those who fly them but I still have my faith in the trusty Hurricane. Many pilots have been lost in Spitfires when the Hurricane, with it's genius design of wood and doped canvas, takes the punishment or just ignores it altogether. Yes, many Huns have been angered by their 20mm shells passing right through without going off only to find Sydney Camm's wonder fighter swinging majestically onto their tail and unleashing 2 banks of Brownings into it. No, you can keep the fancy stressed skins and line shooting, the Hurricane will win this war for us.
No.501 took the stage and another 10 British fighters hurtled down the grass strip and into the big blue. "Hallo control, Mandrel here, where's the trade? over", "Hello Mandrel, forty plus, eleven thousand feet, heading three-one-zero 15 miles south east of Deal. Intercept on course zero-five-eight. Seven minutes. Good luck", "Thank you Lily, they will need it", I recognised Lily from the last group ball, a fine waltz we had, I heard a giggle before the R/T closed with a click. I had a good feeling about today, that Germany was going to take a damn thrashing. Lily had us bang on course and the Germans had presented themselves to us dead ahead. The R/T was alive with fighting as both other squadrons were ahead of us, they'd occupied the fighters and now the bombers looked unopposed. I was in the lead and first to call the type "Stuka's chaps, guns to Hun", "58 feet sir" Teepee said excitedly. I beamed into the flank and as I settled in behind one of the black crossed trolleys he rolled over, damn, we were above their target already and starting to dive in. None the less I got a good squirt away and this Hun started spewing coolant and fuel as he dived. I claim this Stuka as damaged. The stukas had received the usual harsh treatment of Kenley Wing and Goering was sure to be furious - how he'd explain this to Hitler I'll never know. I suspect he'll take it out on his pilots and manufacturers rather than look to himself, the fat clot.
On with the show and dogfights were happening from 15k ft to deck from Deal to Manston. I was fired upon and heard a few bangs, mere scratches to my wooden wonder machine, and carried on to deliver some deftly blows to the enemy. The first was a bosch machine who I had watched track a new chap, LAC Serpico, I gave R/T warnings but the R/T was playing up again, I'd have words with the fitters when I got back. I caught him by surprise in a right handed climb and unleashed my thunderous payload into his airframe, which rocked violently as pieces fell away. Glycol and smoke poured out, he immediately dived for home but we were a long way out, Serpico caught him up and finished him off - the Hurricane is a fast machine. That's a 1/2 shared destroyed for me. The second came as Bully was calling for help fighting 4 109's all on his own, the mighty Hurricane tying the squareheads in knots. I arrived and that immediately switched the balance further from them than it already was, then further still when I opened up the guns in a pass onto one of theirs. Mr De Wilde did his work, fluids poured from his ruptured lines and he dived away, I claim this 109 as probable. Bully and I fought on, these 109 chaps were very good and very brave, and when more Hurricanes arrived they turned tail. Following this action we all headed north where Bonkin was toying with a 109 beside our ships. I arrived in good time to burst his radiators and start a small fire from inside 20 yards, nearly colliding with Fritz in the process. Another chap finished him off so that's a shared destroyed for me.
Finally, after climbing up I latched onto the tail of a 4th 109 and gave him a deathly blow, Fenris also blasted him. With 4 Hurricanes to fight he was a goner so I did the honourable British thing and called off the gunnery, then flew alongside, Black 1 of JG26 with a strange raven painted on the right side of the fuselage. I signalled to him which he responded with a wing waggle and then he ditched safely into the drink. I radio'd the position and a Walrus was sent out to collect him - I will have a chat with this Jerry later I hope. That's another shared destroyed by Sydney Camm's magic.

The squadron returned home safely, I was fired on at least 4 times during those scrapes, my lucky day, and I barrel rolled over Hawkinge much to the fury of the station commander, before putting down with a perfect 3 pointer. What a day.

Claims
Destroyed: 1 1/2 109
Probable: 1 109
Damaged: 1 Stuka

Lost
Pilot ok
A/C ok

[Thaine]

Squadron: No.64 Squadron
Squadron code: "SH"
Pilot name: Thaine
Date: July 20 1940
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Spitfire Ia 100oct
Marking: "J for Juliett"
Serial number: L1068

My head was still spinning, while I was waiting in my bulky-winged Spitfire for the call. It started the day before, Wing Comander Osprey from No.501 had just ordered me to pin something about sick leave for dogs on the mess notice board when some chaps from 501 caught eye on me. "Hey Thaine, do you Spitfire guys like a good drink?" "Yep, now and then, sure." They waved me over to them "We've got this mighty fine Absinthe. Ever saw the green ferry? Well this stuff makes you see even more beautiful things." I joined their round that bloody evening and had maybe one zip to much of this develish drink. I think they tricked me somehow, since I saw not one single beautiful woman or ferry. Instead I got hallucinations of green and slow flying bus like aeroplanes. It might as well have been the lively discussion of my drinking mates on whose Hurricane was the most mighty and trusty.

Needless to say I did not sleep that well the following night, which followed in me beint too late for a nice coffee the next morning before we headed off to Hawkinge. As if that was not enough, my radio seemed to be broken and transmissions from command came in only broken. "`ZEFIX, DES G'SCHISSNE FUNKGERÄT!" I was cursing only to recieve uncomprehending looks from the mechanics, they hadn't seen me loosing my temper before. Finally, whilst taxing to the runway, the order to scramble came in. No.64 departed from Hawkinge. But something wasn't right, it must have been last effects of the evening before. I had a hard time to get space and time in place. The other planes were shifting position, sometimes zooming ahead in odd angles. Opening the canopy for fresh air did not seem to have an effect on this either. So I decided to keep my distance as to avoid runing into another Squadmate. I had lost contact to my flight long before anyway.

Shortly after we made contact with three groups of Stukas and their escorts and soon a furball was forming in which planes zoomed in and out. I spotted a 109 on my lower eleven o'clock and directed my bulky-winged Spitfire down to jump the Hun. The position was perfect but I was misjudging my closure rate and zoomed past Jerry without firing a single shot. I turned around to get into position again but had lost the advangtage. In addition, unpleasant vibrations started to shake my crate. I checked pressures and temperatures but eveything seemed to be ok, so far. 2 More 109s zoomed into my six spitting rounds in my direction, but still I was turning to fast for them. Finally I managed to get into the six of a 109 once more. There again, my opponent started zooming in odd directions, making it nearly impossible for me to get a well aimed shot. Even worse, I realised only the guns in one of the wings was fining. Anger boiled up in me and I threw all I could towards the Hun, but did not see damage done. "Spitfire firing break!" I heared Vranac calling out and knew it was me. I broke off the the left and saw Vranac hunting down my pursuer. Clouds were becoming thicker and I decided to RTB, the vibrations getting more and more unpleasant.

As I broke free from clouds I saw a column of Stukas limping home towards France. In a last effort I zoomed past one of them releasing my last rounds. DeWilde's flash covering the fuselage and wings of my target. Stubornly the Stuka continued it's flight streaming coolant in its wake. I returned to Hawkinge and was pleasantly surprised that the engine did not die before I put down my Spit in a nice 3 point landing. I jumped out of the cockpit after parking and headed straight for the barracks to get a cigarette, some strong coffee and sleep.

Claims
Destroyed:
Probable:
Damaged: 1 stuka

Losses
Pilot: OK
A/C: Radio broken, engine not quite well.

[Gromic]

Forward: My last 540's haven't related my experience (synopsis) so I've decided to make this one rather long. I tend to go off on vivid descriptions but I hope you enjoy the read neverless. Enjoy.



Squadron: No.64 Squadron
Squadron code: "SH"
Pilot name: Gromic
Date: July 20 1940
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Spitfire Ia 100oct
Marking: "Q for Queen"
Serial number:

Synopsis:

We're doing preflight checks at Hawking when we get a call from WC Osprey telling us to turn over and form at the end of the runway with a probable scramble due sometime soon. 64's numbers are low this day. Nitrous, Bounder and a couple of other chaps picked up some skirts at the local pub 3 days ago. Apparently the same skirts that, unbeknownst to my men, 501 had a rollover on the previous night before. My crew has been sick ever since.

We get the scramble order and push the throttle forward slowly turning left after takeoff. We climb course 110 until reaching angels 10 just south of Deal as we cross the coast going feet wet. RDF informs us that they're plotting a large formation 15 miles north of calais heading 310 degrees. 20 seconds later FO Looky breaks the RT with a "tally ho" at 1 o'clock 20 miles ahead of us on the same altitude. Multiple snappers are poised above the formidable formation and have apparently seen us as well. We climb fast towards the escorts.

A good sized furball is now taking place above the bombers as these continue on towards thier target (later disclosed as convoy FS229). I give WC Osprey an RT sitrep on our position and scan the airspace around me to make sure it won't be the last transmission I make. The air is thick with angry, buzzing fighters. Spitfires and 109s each trying to gain an advantage over the other. I see a 109 stalking a spitfire that has been separated from the main group. Who ever is piloting the spit is doing a good job of keeping jerry's guns off of him. Weaving back a forth in a classic scissors maneuver, the 109 never gets a clear shot but the constant directional change also has a negative effect. I'm forced to actually track the spitfire and hope that the 109 will cross my sights during the reverse. On the 5th change it does exactly that. My guns echo as impact flashes go across the starboard wing and radiator of that 109. Not enough for mortal damage but it gets the point across. Jerry breaks off the spitfire and classically bunts towards the sea in a mad attempt to shake me off. I see his rads venting coolant and decide to keep altitude since he won't be a threat anymore. I claim this one damaged.

I climb slowly in an easy right turn scanning the area around me for the hun and level out at 14 thousand feet with my nose pointed back towards dover harbour, about 25 miles out when I see numerous contacts at my far 1 o'clock, turning and twisting above the clouds. Engine temps are fine and so I gun the throttle forward again, this time slowly descending at an ever increasing rate of speed. The wind howls across my canopy as I read 310 IAS on the dial. A 109, 2000 feet below me is pursued by a single spitfire. He tries to use his climbing advantage against the RAF pilot but has obviously meet his match. It will be over in a matter of seconds when out of the corner of my left eye I see a second 109 dropping onto the attacking spit. If I don't do something soon the hunter will become the hunted. "Spit saddeling a 109 in a right hand climb, you have a snapper about to bounce you at high six!" I bellow out over the RT. PO Vranac answers immediately "I see him". I now turn my attention to the bouncing 109, obviously the wingman of PO Vranacs 109.

Miraculously, PO Vranac evades the bounce and still continues to track his initial 109. The second wingman has too much energy to get a good tracking shot in and decides to climb and ready a second attempt. "Kill him Vranac. I'm going after your boomer." He is fast but I am faster. Unaware of my presence, he loses speed in his climb where I am waiting for him at the top. The distance closes as his airframe growns within the crosshairs of my gunsights. Steady, steady, steady. Just 3 more seconds I mumble to myself as my thumb lightly touches the firing mechanism, readying to depress it fully.

Bastard! This jerry is obviously an experienced veteran or a 10 hour airman. Regardless, his situational awareness hasn't let him down for he notices me closing on his six and instantaneously breaks into three bunting rolls that throw my aim off wildly the moment I fire. My guns go wide and stream tracers past him as I extend 30° offset to his port side in a slow climb to maintain altitude and speed advantage. Fritz knows he has drawn the short end of the straw and decides to race towards the deck in a mad plummet above the clouds. I roll over and follow him down in the harrowing dive. My airframe screams as I near terminal velocity, the hun extending as we drop through the clouds. I fire a blind, aimless shot after him as I pull back on the elevator before my wings depart, my muscles straining with effort.

My vision blurred, I pull level and climb again into the clouds breaking through the top of the overcast at angels 12. My vision clears but my ribs hurt as I level out and check the area around me. The skys are empty as I attempt to regain orientation, the gyro still spinning wildly after the previous pullout. I see white cliffs 20 miles ahead at my 10° and head in the general direction of Blighty feeling safe for the time being.

Too safe. Shells rattle into my airframe. I kick the rudder hard to port, my neck craining to glance where the fire is originating from. A lone 109, guns flashing has crept up on my blind, low six. Something behind my head explodes sending debris towards the instrument panel. I feel no pain as my vision again blurs, this time red in taint. I taste blood. Again I am hit. My engine sputters as the rollsroyce powerplant losses power almost instantaneously. I hear the compressor whine of the messerschmitt as he passes over in a climb above my shattered canopy. What feels like an eternity is done in an instant. My attacker is now nowhere to be seen.

I quickly check controls, electrical and hydraulic systems. Elevator, aileron and rudder all responding to the short imputs to check thier state. Immediately, I shove the spad grip forward. At 12 thousand feet I still have enough altitude to shorten my swim towards the dover coast. The airscrew feathers expectedly as enough oil pressure still remains in the governor to rotate the blades, reducing drag as much as possible. I glide through the now engulfing overcast descending at 500 feet per minute and IAS 160 on the dial. Breaking through cloud base at angels 8, I can now clearly see the white cliffs gradually growing closer, but not close enough. There are no options now. I have to belly into the waves as slowly as possible. My eyes frantically scan for alternatives to a watery death.

There! 5 miles off of my 2° position, I see the northbound remanents of convoy FS229 slowly lurching northwards just southeast of Deal. Numereous burning freighters lining the water behind the remaining undamaged ships can be seen as well as countless smaller vessels circling the dying, smoking wrecks. I slowly glide towards the murder scene ahead of me. I tighten my harness, unlock and open what remains of my canopy, set flaps to full down and close my eyes as the waves race towards me, my arms shielding the floatation device strapped to my body.

I feel like a rider on the back of a horse going full stop. Hitting the water my harness straps jolt suddenly against my shoulders, compressing my lungs as I excerpt every cubic inch of air within them virtually in one great gasp. My groin pushed towards my spine as I scream in pain. Salty water gushes against my face and body showering me in white mist as my spit comes to a rest atop the waves. Quickly, I release my safety harness, open the port latch and roll out onto the submerging wing, vomiting in the process. The floatation vest expands with a loud bang as I pull the actuator just seconds before loosing conciousness.

The slapping of waves against my bobbing head force me out a near, instantaneous, drowning closure of life. My lungs painfully cough up sea water. Salt filled eyes burn like torches. My sense of smell and hearing are fine, but what they report will haunt me until the end of my life. Although I've bellied almost a half mile south of FS299 my ears are filled clearly with the screams of dying sailors from bombed ships burning among the putrid, foul smell of black oil ignited atop the water as I fade into unconciousness again.

I can still hear them now as I write this 540 report three days later, bedded at the infirmary at RAF Kenley. One of the smaller ships notice my ditching and picked me out of the water. I survived the ordeal - but the screaming never stops.


Claims
Destroyed:
Probable:
Damaged: 1 ME-109

Losses
Pilot: wounded
A/C: lost

[Hawes]

Squadron: No.615 "County of Surrey" Squadron
Squadron code: "KW"
Pilot name: Hawes
Date: July 20 1940
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Hawker Hurricane Ia
Marking: T for 'Toc'
Serial number: L2098

Mighty 'Panta' scrambled to intercept enemy formations flying towards Blighty. We made contact mid channel and attacked the Stukas head on. I managed to damage four E/A in several passes before a ME 109 took a shoot at me. I lost the bugger in a crowd and then flew towards the convoy that the dive bombers were trying to destroy. I saw the rest of the formation drop on the ships and one went up in flames. I dropped on another Stuka and shot him up, I saw the A/C jerk and I think the pilot must have been wounded. I couldn't see what became of this JU87 as I was once again jumped by a 109 and my engine started to die. I ditched next to our ships and that was then end of my flight.

Claims
Destroyed:
Probable: 1 JU 87
Damaged: 4 JU 87

Lost
Pilot: OK,
A/C: Lost

[Mauf]

Squadron: No.501 "County of Gloucester" Squadron
Squadron code: "SD"
Pilot name: Mauf
Base: Hawkinge
Type: Hawker Hurricane I
Marking: "D for Don"
Serial number: LI898


Claims:
Downed: 0
Probable: 0
Damaged: 1 JU87

Losses
Pilot: Bailed, Wounded
A/C: Lost