Squadron: No. 501 "County of Gloucester" Squadron
Squadron Code: TP
Pilot Name: Wing Co Prickman. Callsign "Osprey"
Date: 15th Aug 1940
Base: Gravesend
Type: Hawker Hurricane Ia 100 Oct
Marking: P for Pip
Serial: V6620
"Send them in Audrey" I said to my secretary. I was leaning forwards with elbows on the mahogony desk fiddling with a fountain pen as the enlisted men were marched in by an armed RAF Regiment sergeant. A thud as they stood to attention and grabbed their caps sharply looking dead ahead. The LAC looked at me briefly, I winced as he was caught by the Sergeant who yelled in his ear, his voice cracking from volume "Attention in front of the Wing Commander means ATTENTION!". He shuddered. "Thank you sergeant, that will be all". "Sar" he drill marched over to the door. I stood up and leaned toward the pair and paused, then my outburst "What the bloody hell do you think you are playing at?". "We have a war, a WAR, with Germany and you pair of clots are larking about on RAF equipment. I had a whole squadron waiting for an incoming raid and you are clowning around. Not to mention that you destroyed one of His Majesty's latest fighters but you allowed just one more Jerry bomber through into this fine country to drop his bombs onto our people". "The Hurricane was built to take cannons from Jerry's but not bloody trucks from our own bloody forces." I sat down and pondered on what to do with them, reminding them of the severity of their actions, "Court martial would have you in irons for some time, but there's a war on and we need young men. I haven't the time to go through the military court, you are lucky that this is a satellite station and I can keep things hush hush". I called in Audrey, "Would you see to it that these men are to be barracked without any leave and an increase in their shift of an additional 2 hours per day until the end of October, and they are on report to their duty officer. Put it in the record as an incident which doesn't require a Court Martial would you please. Oh and I want to see their reports afterwards". Turning to the delinquents I sternly said "I hope that this incident will have a positive effect on you both. Any blot on this record will see you retrained in an ack ack unit on the front line. Now get out." The sergeant took over, shouting loudly, "You heard the Wing Commander, attention, leeeeft tun, lift, roight, lift roight...." as they marched out. Then I telephoned Kenley to speak to Spud "I need you to lead No.615 today old bean, if Jerry wakes up today and you have a couple of my chaps there just get them into action from your fitters there would you. Carry on."
I walked out onto the aerodrome, a lovely afternoon. "I say, Mauf, pop over to Kenley with somebody would you, I lost a navigation bet with the chaps from No.64 and owe them 4 crates of Badgers Bollocks. Pop them in the back and wing it over please, and bring back some of that single malt they have there too, there's a good chap". Mauf was clearly annoyed by this, not that I'd sent him to do the chore, but because he would have to face the brylcreem boys for himself and take the flak for a bet I lost. A tough bugger though, would definitely be able to hand it back to them.
At 1700 the day was spoiled as Uxbridge called the whole wing to readiness. Ground crews scrurried about, I saw the two I'd just torn a strip off busting their guts carrying oil cans to Dave's crate whilst being shouted at by Chiefy. Good show, that'll teach the clots I thought to myself. Shortly we were on the strip all warmed up and ready to roll having been ordered on patrols across the whole Kent and Sussex coasts. Hundreds of Jerry's coming in, I had to spread No.64 thin and assign a section to each flight of Hurricanes in Kenley Wing. Mandrel would cover the east coast, Panta the south to Rye. We didn't get to patrol, the enemy was on us by the time we hit Dover but I had us a few thousand feet above the rotters. "Tally Ho! Head on attack" I called on the RT as I led A flight into the bastards. Lining up the port of the formation I fired a good squirt into a jackbooted dive bomber observing strikes from his engine to canopy, it shattered as the brownings rattled and found their mark. I climbed and looked over me shoulder and he was sporting a new oil and fluid leak with a small fire wheeling down and right away from the formation. As his dive steepened I knew I had killed the crew outright "Two more portions of sausage at their mess tent" I exclaimed on the RT, "Good shooting red leader" said PO Sabre. I claim this Stuka as destroyed The large group headed up toward Manston accompanied by Bf109's and a huge fight broke out. I caught a 109 who had missed his mark and zoom climbed, but the fantastic Hurricane was designed for just such a situation and with my first class RAF training I closed the gap on him rapidly letting loose a full squirt into the Hun scoundrel. His machine rocked as I struck the invader hard rendering his machine useless for further warfare and he made his desperate attempt to get back home "He'll never make it" I muttered to myself. I claim this Me109 as probable. I fought off 3 Me109's at angels 15 over Manston alone, they had red numbers, these where the Huns of II./JG26, the 6th staffel, and fast gaining reputation in the RAF. I must've struck one of their pals and now they wanted me. Not gaining advantage I seperated from them by losing height and got away to the west before climbing again over Margate. Coming back into the action I spotted Manston guns firing at raiders below, heading west. I dived in and saw another Hurricane chasing. Bf-110's. "Cheeky sods" I said. I had a lot of speed and caught up easily, firing on one of them rupturing his starboard engine "Not so fast Fritz" I said. I began to work with the other Hurricane, I had to break sharply as the monster sized raider fired, deadly cannons from the nose whipped past me, I was scratched a little but the Hurricane was designed for this very kind of fight and I soon turned the tables shooting out his engine before running out of ammunition and breaking away. Meanwhile I witnessed the other Hurricane deal the ace of spades to his comrade and both had their engines give up well away from safety where they both went in. I claim 2 shared Bf-110's with the other Hurricane.
I set for Gravesend and put in on 3 points before walking straight into the bar to warn the staff that a fire engine may be needed for tonight as No.501 had hit Jerry for six and we were keen to burn a few pianos.
Claims
Destroyed
1/2 Bf110
1/2 Bf110
1 Stuka
Probable
1 Bf109
AC and pilot in fine form.
Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August (RDF attacks)
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Re: Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August
Squadron: No. 501 "County of Gloucester" Squadron
Squadron Code: SD
Pilot Name: Dave
Date: 15th Aug 1940
Base: Gravesend
Type: Hawker Hurricane Ia 100 Oct
Marking: W for William
Serial: P3141
Synopsis:
Watching the rest of 501 take off without me was a frustrating experience. Having somehow miraculously survived my little sky-diving episode at St. Margaret's golf course with nothing more than a broken nose and some sprains (the quack informed me that my being unconscious was more than likely what saved me - well, that and the tree I managed to land in of course), I was still officially grounded until my health improved. So off they went, and I watched from the agitated discomfort of a deck-chair, complete with bandages, a black eye and a bottle of Badgers. (AKA, launcher crash forced me to take off late
)
Some time later however, reports were coming in that a gigantic furball was brewing over Manston, and 501 with elements of 64 were having a rough time of it. I needed no further encouragement. Hobbling obstinately in the direction of my new replacement Hurricane, I clambered in with all the grace of my beverage's namesake and gunned the engine as hard as possible, rolling the moment the oil dial reached 40 degrees. As I zoomed down the runway I could see the erks making obscene gestures from the hangars behind me, but I didn't care - I wasn't going to let the rest of the chaps have all the fun while I sat here like an ailing old man!
I didn't waste any more time. I got in touch with Osprey over the R/T - the fight was still raging at Ramsgate, getting progressively lower in altitude by the minute, and to top things off, some Me 110s had arrived on the scene. I pulled the tit and put my trusty steed into a desperate climb - all the while with an anxious eye on my temperature gauges. I leveled off at Angels 8, and sped along the rest of the way towards Manston. It wasn't long before I caught sight of the exchange going on. Flak and aeroplanes were whirling about above the town between 2-4 thousand feet. I announced my presence over the R/T and dived on in, screaming down at 340 mph right into the fray like a bat out of hell.
It wasn't long before I got a 109 in my sights - he didn't seem aware of my presence, so with my extra speed it was no trouble at all to slot in on his six and give him two seconds of Mr. DeWilde's finest. I saw his radiators burst and he began spraying glycol all over the place. Didn't have time to stick around though - I learned my lesson from last time and quickly glanced around to check my own six. Sure enough there was another hun closing in. I dumped the throttle and pulled up into a wide barrel roll. He obliged and joined me, and for a few surreal moments I found myself looking straight up through my canopy at the jerry in question who was looking straight up right back at me. One rarely gets a glimpse of the enemy pilot himself in aerial combat, I have found, but this occasion was a rare exception. Adrenaline brushed aside any moral pontifications however, as within seconds he'd overshot and was in my sights. I gave him a quick squirt, noting multiple impacts, but no serious damage. Either way though it seemed enough to convince him discretion was the better part of valour, as he abruptly went into a dive out to sea and to safety.
I knew better than to try to follow, so I broke off and searched for another victim, and considering the number of aircraft whirling around that wasn't terrifically hard. I spotted another 109 down at sea-level, not far off the pier at Ramsgate. I dove after him and gave him two more seconds of concentrated fire. I scored multiple hits and the hun pilot seemed to panic, his kite flopping about like a fish out of water before he lost control and ploughed right into the beach. I claim this aircraft as destroyed, hopefully to be confirmed by observers at Ramsgate.
No time to celebrate though - that would come later. I glanced around at my six - still clear, thank God. But I was low on the deck now, so I disengaged from the combat area and started climbing again. This was when the Me 110s made an appearance. Just as they were called out over the R/T, I saw them making a low pass at Manston aerodrome, strafing our crates on the ground, including some of our chaps that had landed with damage. Bastards! Well, it seemed like the Spitters from 64 had the situation in-hand at Ramsgate, so I, along with the Wing Commander and possibly a couple of others gave chase after the marauding twin-engines. They certainly didn't fancy their chances in a dogfight (and who can blame them, flying those lumbering death-traps) so they started zooming away north out to sea. The Me 110 is fast, I'll grant that, and it's lucky they had to turn in order to make it back to France, else we may not have caught the buggers. We saw three crossing the coastline, Osprey announced he was going after the highest one, who was in a climb, since he was the slowest. Wingco had more speed than myself so he zoomed on by after the hun in question. A second began climbing up after him - I called this out over the R/T, and Osprey broke away. The 110 made a futile attempt to follow the turn, before breaking off. I followed him back down to the deck, but before I could get shots off, Osprey advised me to break since there was another coming in behind me.
What exactly happened next remains something of a mystery to me. I made to break left, but my usually trusty hurricane went into a kind of snap-roll towards the deck. "Oh God, don't stall out!" shouted Osprey, but luckily within a second or two I had it under control. "Don't worry, sir! I'm fine!"
Well whatever happened to the airframe at that precise moment, it worked - the 110 was off my six. I've become rather fond of Sydney Camm's masterpiece, but nobody told me the beast had a mind of its own! I was in level flight again, but I was losing power and speed. Again, how this happened I am unsure of (on reflection, might've been something the ground crews were vainly attempting to warn me of as I zipped off into the blue earlier), but resetting the fuel cock seemed to fix it and restored the fuel-flow.
While this was going on, Osprey made a couple of passes at the 110s, two of which now remained, and were retreating towards France. Credit where it's due though - they did try to fight back. Foolishly I might add, since they could've gotten clean away from us otherwise, but there it is. We continued our pursuit, with them attempting to make passes at us to no avail. Osprey eventually ran out of ammo leaving me alone with both of them. As I recall, I believe one of them ditched, and the Wing Commander gave me permission to make a final pass at the remaining 110 before turning for home. I closed in, and gave him everything I'd got. With only a cruise home ahead of me, ammunition was not a concern, so I raked the bastard from end to end until the guns stopped firing. By now he was belching black smoke from just about every part of the aircraft that was flammable, and a few seconds later I saw a couple of parachutes floating down into the channel. Fantastic!
I about-faced and headed for Gravesend with a terrific grin on my face. "We'll have to burn a grand piano after this!" declared Osprey. I couldn't agree more.
I came back to Gravesend for a very undramatic landing, and after climbing out I made a snap-decision. I instructed the erks to get W for William painted on the side, and went off in search of a tin of white paint...
Claims:
Two Me 109s damaged, one Me 109 destroyed, two Me 110s destroyed (shared with Osprey).
Losses:
Pilot: Still a bit under the weather but pleased as punch all the same.
A/C: Okay, currently getting that issue with the fuel-flow checked out.
Squadron Code: SD
Pilot Name: Dave
Date: 15th Aug 1940
Base: Gravesend
Type: Hawker Hurricane Ia 100 Oct
Marking: W for William
Serial: P3141
Synopsis:
Watching the rest of 501 take off without me was a frustrating experience. Having somehow miraculously survived my little sky-diving episode at St. Margaret's golf course with nothing more than a broken nose and some sprains (the quack informed me that my being unconscious was more than likely what saved me - well, that and the tree I managed to land in of course), I was still officially grounded until my health improved. So off they went, and I watched from the agitated discomfort of a deck-chair, complete with bandages, a black eye and a bottle of Badgers. (AKA, launcher crash forced me to take off late
)Some time later however, reports were coming in that a gigantic furball was brewing over Manston, and 501 with elements of 64 were having a rough time of it. I needed no further encouragement. Hobbling obstinately in the direction of my new replacement Hurricane, I clambered in with all the grace of my beverage's namesake and gunned the engine as hard as possible, rolling the moment the oil dial reached 40 degrees. As I zoomed down the runway I could see the erks making obscene gestures from the hangars behind me, but I didn't care - I wasn't going to let the rest of the chaps have all the fun while I sat here like an ailing old man!
I didn't waste any more time. I got in touch with Osprey over the R/T - the fight was still raging at Ramsgate, getting progressively lower in altitude by the minute, and to top things off, some Me 110s had arrived on the scene. I pulled the tit and put my trusty steed into a desperate climb - all the while with an anxious eye on my temperature gauges. I leveled off at Angels 8, and sped along the rest of the way towards Manston. It wasn't long before I caught sight of the exchange going on. Flak and aeroplanes were whirling about above the town between 2-4 thousand feet. I announced my presence over the R/T and dived on in, screaming down at 340 mph right into the fray like a bat out of hell.
It wasn't long before I got a 109 in my sights - he didn't seem aware of my presence, so with my extra speed it was no trouble at all to slot in on his six and give him two seconds of Mr. DeWilde's finest. I saw his radiators burst and he began spraying glycol all over the place. Didn't have time to stick around though - I learned my lesson from last time and quickly glanced around to check my own six. Sure enough there was another hun closing in. I dumped the throttle and pulled up into a wide barrel roll. He obliged and joined me, and for a few surreal moments I found myself looking straight up through my canopy at the jerry in question who was looking straight up right back at me. One rarely gets a glimpse of the enemy pilot himself in aerial combat, I have found, but this occasion was a rare exception. Adrenaline brushed aside any moral pontifications however, as within seconds he'd overshot and was in my sights. I gave him a quick squirt, noting multiple impacts, but no serious damage. Either way though it seemed enough to convince him discretion was the better part of valour, as he abruptly went into a dive out to sea and to safety.
I knew better than to try to follow, so I broke off and searched for another victim, and considering the number of aircraft whirling around that wasn't terrifically hard. I spotted another 109 down at sea-level, not far off the pier at Ramsgate. I dove after him and gave him two more seconds of concentrated fire. I scored multiple hits and the hun pilot seemed to panic, his kite flopping about like a fish out of water before he lost control and ploughed right into the beach. I claim this aircraft as destroyed, hopefully to be confirmed by observers at Ramsgate.
No time to celebrate though - that would come later. I glanced around at my six - still clear, thank God. But I was low on the deck now, so I disengaged from the combat area and started climbing again. This was when the Me 110s made an appearance. Just as they were called out over the R/T, I saw them making a low pass at Manston aerodrome, strafing our crates on the ground, including some of our chaps that had landed with damage. Bastards! Well, it seemed like the Spitters from 64 had the situation in-hand at Ramsgate, so I, along with the Wing Commander and possibly a couple of others gave chase after the marauding twin-engines. They certainly didn't fancy their chances in a dogfight (and who can blame them, flying those lumbering death-traps) so they started zooming away north out to sea. The Me 110 is fast, I'll grant that, and it's lucky they had to turn in order to make it back to France, else we may not have caught the buggers. We saw three crossing the coastline, Osprey announced he was going after the highest one, who was in a climb, since he was the slowest. Wingco had more speed than myself so he zoomed on by after the hun in question. A second began climbing up after him - I called this out over the R/T, and Osprey broke away. The 110 made a futile attempt to follow the turn, before breaking off. I followed him back down to the deck, but before I could get shots off, Osprey advised me to break since there was another coming in behind me.
What exactly happened next remains something of a mystery to me. I made to break left, but my usually trusty hurricane went into a kind of snap-roll towards the deck. "Oh God, don't stall out!" shouted Osprey, but luckily within a second or two I had it under control. "Don't worry, sir! I'm fine!"
Well whatever happened to the airframe at that precise moment, it worked - the 110 was off my six. I've become rather fond of Sydney Camm's masterpiece, but nobody told me the beast had a mind of its own! I was in level flight again, but I was losing power and speed. Again, how this happened I am unsure of (on reflection, might've been something the ground crews were vainly attempting to warn me of as I zipped off into the blue earlier), but resetting the fuel cock seemed to fix it and restored the fuel-flow.
While this was going on, Osprey made a couple of passes at the 110s, two of which now remained, and were retreating towards France. Credit where it's due though - they did try to fight back. Foolishly I might add, since they could've gotten clean away from us otherwise, but there it is. We continued our pursuit, with them attempting to make passes at us to no avail. Osprey eventually ran out of ammo leaving me alone with both of them. As I recall, I believe one of them ditched, and the Wing Commander gave me permission to make a final pass at the remaining 110 before turning for home. I closed in, and gave him everything I'd got. With only a cruise home ahead of me, ammunition was not a concern, so I raked the bastard from end to end until the guns stopped firing. By now he was belching black smoke from just about every part of the aircraft that was flammable, and a few seconds later I saw a couple of parachutes floating down into the channel. Fantastic!
I about-faced and headed for Gravesend with a terrific grin on my face. "We'll have to burn a grand piano after this!" declared Osprey. I couldn't agree more.
I came back to Gravesend for a very undramatic landing, and after climbing out I made a snap-decision. I instructed the erks to get W for William painted on the side, and went off in search of a tin of white paint...
Claims:
Two Me 109s damaged, one Me 109 destroyed, two Me 110s destroyed (shared with Osprey).
Losses:
Pilot: Still a bit under the weather but pleased as punch all the same.
A/C: Okay, currently getting that issue with the fuel-flow checked out.
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Last edited by Dave on Wed Oct 22, 2014 11:22 am, edited 2 times in total.
Re: Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August
Squadron: No.615 "County of Surrey" Squadron
Squadron Code: KW
Pilot Name: Donkey
Date: 15th August 1940
Base: Kenley
Type: Hurricane I Rotol
Marking: P
Synopsis:
Took off as Blue 3 together with Hollywood (Blue 1) and Baron (Blue 2). Horus (Blue 4) had been assigned to us but I guess he was having radio troubles because every time he used comms he had heavy distortion. Someone in 615 identified it as a "Rammstein" or some such. Perhaps it was the sound of his Hurricane in distress because he didn't make it off the 'field.
After about 10 minutes of flying we sighted a formation of 12 Stukas in 4 flights of 3. Followed Blue 1 in as Blue 2 had dropped back just a touch and made two passes hitting three Stukas.
Lost the rest of the flight after that so spent the next 20 minutes or so following my radio and looking for action but only found empty skies. Had taken hits so decided to head home after a while, but lost my engine on the way back and ballsed-up the approach to an unidentified airfield somehow and ended up with the crate upside-down with me strapped in and blood rushing to my head.
Claims:
Destroyed: Nil
Probable: Nil
Damaged: 3 x Ju 87
Pilot: Shame-faced but probably alright.
AC: Buggered.
End Report
Squadron Code: KW
Pilot Name: Donkey
Date: 15th August 1940
Base: Kenley
Type: Hurricane I Rotol
Marking: P
Synopsis:
Took off as Blue 3 together with Hollywood (Blue 1) and Baron (Blue 2). Horus (Blue 4) had been assigned to us but I guess he was having radio troubles because every time he used comms he had heavy distortion. Someone in 615 identified it as a "Rammstein" or some such. Perhaps it was the sound of his Hurricane in distress because he didn't make it off the 'field.
After about 10 minutes of flying we sighted a formation of 12 Stukas in 4 flights of 3. Followed Blue 1 in as Blue 2 had dropped back just a touch and made two passes hitting three Stukas.
Lost the rest of the flight after that so spent the next 20 minutes or so following my radio and looking for action but only found empty skies. Had taken hits so decided to head home after a while, but lost my engine on the way back and ballsed-up the approach to an unidentified airfield somehow and ended up with the crate upside-down with me strapped in and blood rushing to my head.
Claims:
Destroyed: Nil
Probable: Nil
Damaged: 3 x Ju 87
Pilot: Shame-faced but probably alright.
AC: Buggered.
End Report
Re: Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August
Form 540
Squadron 64
Date: 15th August 1940
Aerodrome: Kenley
Base: Kenley
Aeroplane: Spitfire 1a (100oct) / SH-W Serial number: K9964
Synopsis;
On the airfield perimeter, engine started and warming up.
{Problem: Suddenly! TrackIR not functioning, reconnected quickly several USBs to get it working!}
Rush to taxi out to the runway forming up behind Gromic. Get the call to roll.
Roared down the runway........ my kite not climbing, pulling back on the stick had no effect, veering to the right, only just off the ground.
{All went pear shape; realised my joystick was not functioning, inadvertently, I must of disconnected while sorting out the TrackIR, should of checked aircraft flight controls, prior to taxiing
}
I crashed.
I wake up the next day in a hospital bed with a bandage head, can't remember much else.
{Compounding the situation, I completely lose internet connection for the duration of the mission, only to be resolved on the following day.}
Claims
Destroyed:0
Probable: 0
Damaged:0
Pilot status: Comfortable.
A/C : Badly damaged.
Squadron 64
Date: 15th August 1940
Aerodrome: Kenley
Base: Kenley
Aeroplane: Spitfire 1a (100oct) / SH-W Serial number: K9964
Synopsis;
On the airfield perimeter, engine started and warming up.
{Problem: Suddenly! TrackIR not functioning, reconnected quickly several USBs to get it working!}
Rush to taxi out to the runway forming up behind Gromic. Get the call to roll.
Roared down the runway........ my kite not climbing, pulling back on the stick had no effect, veering to the right, only just off the ground.
{All went pear shape; realised my joystick was not functioning, inadvertently, I must of disconnected while sorting out the TrackIR, should of checked aircraft flight controls, prior to taxiing
} I crashed.
I wake up the next day in a hospital bed with a bandage head, can't remember much else.
{Compounding the situation, I completely lose internet connection for the duration of the mission, only to be resolved on the following day.}
Claims
Destroyed:0
Probable: 0
Damaged:0
Pilot status: Comfortable.
A/C : Badly damaged.
-
Baron le Scrope
- Posts: 1047
- Joined: Wed Mar 13, 2013 2:25 pm
- Location: Doncaster S/Yorks.
Re: Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August
Squadron code: "KW"
Pilot name:Baron.
Date: 15th August 1940.
Squadron: No615.
Base:Kenley
Type: Hawker Hurricane Mk.1 100oct.Rotol.
Marking:B for beer.
Serial number: P3231
Scrambled from Kenley as Blue2, Sac Donkey as B3, P/O Hollywood as Flight leader, levelled at angels 12 and headed to Littlestone, Rye area where we engaged 10+ Ju87s over the sea.
Blue flight engaged the left hand flight, i got one streaming and pulled up and rolled over the enemy and came back down onto the right of the formation where i peppered two more but never saw the results as i was plagued by a long freeze. When it eventually unfroze i found my A/C violently shaking and gradually self righting about 5ooyds from the sea. I shutdown the engine and glanced out the cockpit, no ailerons, no rudder and no elevator, all had vibrated off through excessive speed.
My trusty Hurricane had started to climb in a left hand circuit, realising that there was nothing i could do, i informed P/O Hollywood i was taking to the silk and gave him my position.
Touched down 1/2 ml south east of the lovely port of Rye and collection of equally lovely pubs, please refrain from sending pickup wagon.
Claims:
Destroyed:0
Probable:1 Ju87s
Damaged:0
Losses
Pilot:OK Joined A/A. hic!.
A/C:U/S
Note, previous f/r was submitted successfully on Monday under Ospreys report, but browsing through the latest reports it was missing???, anyway here it is again.B.
Pilot name:Baron.
Date: 15th August 1940.
Squadron: No615.
Base:Kenley
Type: Hawker Hurricane Mk.1 100oct.Rotol.
Marking:B for beer.
Serial number: P3231
Scrambled from Kenley as Blue2, Sac Donkey as B3, P/O Hollywood as Flight leader, levelled at angels 12 and headed to Littlestone, Rye area where we engaged 10+ Ju87s over the sea.
Blue flight engaged the left hand flight, i got one streaming and pulled up and rolled over the enemy and came back down onto the right of the formation where i peppered two more but never saw the results as i was plagued by a long freeze. When it eventually unfroze i found my A/C violently shaking and gradually self righting about 5ooyds from the sea. I shutdown the engine and glanced out the cockpit, no ailerons, no rudder and no elevator, all had vibrated off through excessive speed.
My trusty Hurricane had started to climb in a left hand circuit, realising that there was nothing i could do, i informed P/O Hollywood i was taking to the silk and gave him my position.
Touched down 1/2 ml south east of the lovely port of Rye and collection of equally lovely pubs, please refrain from sending pickup wagon.
Claims:
Destroyed:0
Probable:1 Ju87s
Damaged:0
Losses
Pilot:OK Joined A/A. hic!.
A/C:U/S
Note, previous f/r was submitted successfully on Monday under Ospreys report, but browsing through the latest reports it was missing???, anyway here it is again.B.
Antec 900 case,/ Sabertooth P67 MoBo,/ Intel corei7 2600cpu-/- MSI GTX 970 4G Graphics, --WD-1Tb Velociraptor HDD--16g Corsair 2133Mhz Ram/-- Corsair TX 850w PSU /--Samsung40"led TV, TrackiR5, CH J/sick. Warthog Throttle. Corsair Vengeance 2100 H/set/mike. W10 Pro 64, /---Two slightly depressed teabags.
Think nothing of it sir, it was the least I could do, a quantity I specialize in.
-
Teepee
- Squadron Leader
- Posts: 978
- Joined: Thu Jul 19, 2012 3:40 pm
- Location: Bomber County - Lincolnshire, England
Re: Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August
Squadron: No.501 "County of Gloucester" Squadron
Squadron code: "SD"
Pilot name: Flying Officer Teepee
Date: 15 Aug 1940
Base: RAF Gravesend
Type: Trusty Hawker Hurricane Mk 1A
Marking: "M for Marvel"
Serial number: N2617
Synopsis:
At last the Boss was back where he belonged, leading the fighting 501 Sqn in their trusty hurricanes into battle against the dastardly Hun. He had survived his greasy experience with the Spitties and was keen to get to grips with Jerry in his marvel machine. I was still leading Blue Section with the heroic PO Meaker as my ever reliable Blue 2, and a new chap from the Continent called 'Quiet' Larry as Blue 3. 'Quiet' Larry was a bit of a shy sort of chap but we knew that once the lead began to fly he would be a typical 501 Sqn bod and deal the Hun a damn good thrashing – with gloves on!
There was no time for the customary pre-ops cricket match. The ground crew were working hard to recover the kites so that meant that we had lost our star wicket keeper young LAC ‘Stumpy’ Bales. Stumpy hadn’t been out of training long but it was soon obvious that his early years boarding at Harrow College had given him a first class education into the skills required of a wicket keeper. Alas, our cricket had become yet another victim of this cruel struggle against the Dark Forces of Evil.
We had been briefed by the Wizards at Ops that we could expect some more attacks against the South coast airfields. Sure enough the orders came through for Blue and Gold Sections to scramble and patrol around Manston while Red and Green were to make their way down to Deal. We launched in a crescendo of sound as Mighty Merlins powered the incredible Hurricanes into the air. The four Sections formed into pairs and made their way to the two patrol areas. As luck would have it we were joined by some posh Spitties. They obviously had lost their way again and latched onto the trusty Hurricanes knowing that if there was going to be a scrap the awesome Hurricanes would be in the midst of it dealing death and destruction to the black crossed crates of doom. Hopefully this time the Spitties would keep the pesky 109s of our backs while we got down to the serious stuff of Bomber busting!
As we climbed the Ops WAAFs were passing information to us to help determine where the Hun were. Soon a sharp eyed Hurricane Pilot spotted the massed formations of enemy heading across the Channel towards Manston. This was it! I held Blue Section high until the evil Ju87s had passed beneath us and then launched my attack. We hurtled down upon the left hand section of verminous crates and opened fire. I saw tracer and DeWilde rip into the engine compartment of my first victim. The Stuka dropped into the now customary spiral of doom and went out of my sight. I was lining myself onto my second victim and opened fire. Again the vermin was no match for the awesome salvo of lead sewing a line of doom across the cloth of the enemy fuselage. The second Stuka dropped and disappeared. I heard reports from the Observer Corp that my first victim had been seen to strike the waters of the Channel. I claim 1 x destroyed Ju87. I never knew when my second hit was destroyed but I was satisfied that I had introduced a few more empty spaces on the evening coach to see the Eiffel Tower that night. ‘Bad luck Hermann, must do better’ I muttered to myself. My Blue companions were also wreaking havoc amongst the Ju87s. I headed over to Manston after hearing reports of pesky 109s attacking the airfield.
Sure enough, the flak bursts gave away the enemy positions and I hurtled down in my incredible machine and latched onto the tail of a pesky 109. I gave a satisfying burst into the fuselage and saw a stream of vapour emerge as I broke off. A Spittie took over from me and peppered the Hun as well. Just north of Manston the Hun baled out and I saw his chute open at low altitude. ‘You lucky beggar’ I shouted as I flew overhead. I claim 1 x shared destroyed 109 (with a posh Spittie). I then saw another 109 and gave chase but when I fired I only had about 10 rounds so I broke off after striking him and headed for Canterbury. I claim 1 x Damaged Bf109. I heard reports that the brave Meaker had been shot down and 'Quiet' Larry was still somewhere overhead. Stout chaps the pair of them and just typical 501 Sqn Hurricane pilots.
After landing at Canterbury I caught a crew bus back to Gravesend and went to see the Squadron Adj to let him know my battle status – Alive and kicking. I then went down to the Mess as I had heard the Boss had bagged himself a 110 and was out to celebrate. The piano situation had improved but we only had two to burn and this was at least a three piano occasion! We sampled more Badgers and the revelry continued late into the night.
It was while I was at the bar that I met a nice young filly, who turned out to be a one of the plotters from the Ops Wing Bunker. She said she had been busy today watching our progress and overlaying our positions for the Fighter Controller to study. She asked me if I would like a visit to the Ops Bunker to see her plotting position. I agreed, naturally, and said I had been plotting a position that I wouldn’t mind overlaying with her and that we could stop by the Ops Bunker annex to open the bottles of wine. I don’t remember anything else after that.
Claims:
Destroyed: 1 x Ju87, 1 x Bf109 (shared with posh Spittie)
Probable: 1 x Ju87
Damaged: 1 x Bf109
Losses:
Pilot: OK
A/C: Fully Serviceable at Canterbury (Badgers for the chaps)
Tea, Cakes and Medals due for plotting a victory.
Squadron code: "SD"
Pilot name: Flying Officer Teepee
Date: 15 Aug 1940
Base: RAF Gravesend
Type: Trusty Hawker Hurricane Mk 1A
Marking: "M for Marvel"
Serial number: N2617
Synopsis:
At last the Boss was back where he belonged, leading the fighting 501 Sqn in their trusty hurricanes into battle against the dastardly Hun. He had survived his greasy experience with the Spitties and was keen to get to grips with Jerry in his marvel machine. I was still leading Blue Section with the heroic PO Meaker as my ever reliable Blue 2, and a new chap from the Continent called 'Quiet' Larry as Blue 3. 'Quiet' Larry was a bit of a shy sort of chap but we knew that once the lead began to fly he would be a typical 501 Sqn bod and deal the Hun a damn good thrashing – with gloves on!
There was no time for the customary pre-ops cricket match. The ground crew were working hard to recover the kites so that meant that we had lost our star wicket keeper young LAC ‘Stumpy’ Bales. Stumpy hadn’t been out of training long but it was soon obvious that his early years boarding at Harrow College had given him a first class education into the skills required of a wicket keeper. Alas, our cricket had become yet another victim of this cruel struggle against the Dark Forces of Evil.
We had been briefed by the Wizards at Ops that we could expect some more attacks against the South coast airfields. Sure enough the orders came through for Blue and Gold Sections to scramble and patrol around Manston while Red and Green were to make their way down to Deal. We launched in a crescendo of sound as Mighty Merlins powered the incredible Hurricanes into the air. The four Sections formed into pairs and made their way to the two patrol areas. As luck would have it we were joined by some posh Spitties. They obviously had lost their way again and latched onto the trusty Hurricanes knowing that if there was going to be a scrap the awesome Hurricanes would be in the midst of it dealing death and destruction to the black crossed crates of doom. Hopefully this time the Spitties would keep the pesky 109s of our backs while we got down to the serious stuff of Bomber busting!
As we climbed the Ops WAAFs were passing information to us to help determine where the Hun were. Soon a sharp eyed Hurricane Pilot spotted the massed formations of enemy heading across the Channel towards Manston. This was it! I held Blue Section high until the evil Ju87s had passed beneath us and then launched my attack. We hurtled down upon the left hand section of verminous crates and opened fire. I saw tracer and DeWilde rip into the engine compartment of my first victim. The Stuka dropped into the now customary spiral of doom and went out of my sight. I was lining myself onto my second victim and opened fire. Again the vermin was no match for the awesome salvo of lead sewing a line of doom across the cloth of the enemy fuselage. The second Stuka dropped and disappeared. I heard reports from the Observer Corp that my first victim had been seen to strike the waters of the Channel. I claim 1 x destroyed Ju87. I never knew when my second hit was destroyed but I was satisfied that I had introduced a few more empty spaces on the evening coach to see the Eiffel Tower that night. ‘Bad luck Hermann, must do better’ I muttered to myself. My Blue companions were also wreaking havoc amongst the Ju87s. I headed over to Manston after hearing reports of pesky 109s attacking the airfield.
Sure enough, the flak bursts gave away the enemy positions and I hurtled down in my incredible machine and latched onto the tail of a pesky 109. I gave a satisfying burst into the fuselage and saw a stream of vapour emerge as I broke off. A Spittie took over from me and peppered the Hun as well. Just north of Manston the Hun baled out and I saw his chute open at low altitude. ‘You lucky beggar’ I shouted as I flew overhead. I claim 1 x shared destroyed 109 (with a posh Spittie). I then saw another 109 and gave chase but when I fired I only had about 10 rounds so I broke off after striking him and headed for Canterbury. I claim 1 x Damaged Bf109. I heard reports that the brave Meaker had been shot down and 'Quiet' Larry was still somewhere overhead. Stout chaps the pair of them and just typical 501 Sqn Hurricane pilots.
After landing at Canterbury I caught a crew bus back to Gravesend and went to see the Squadron Adj to let him know my battle status – Alive and kicking. I then went down to the Mess as I had heard the Boss had bagged himself a 110 and was out to celebrate. The piano situation had improved but we only had two to burn and this was at least a three piano occasion! We sampled more Badgers and the revelry continued late into the night.
It was while I was at the bar that I met a nice young filly, who turned out to be a one of the plotters from the Ops Wing Bunker. She said she had been busy today watching our progress and overlaying our positions for the Fighter Controller to study. She asked me if I would like a visit to the Ops Bunker to see her plotting position. I agreed, naturally, and said I had been plotting a position that I wouldn’t mind overlaying with her and that we could stop by the Ops Bunker annex to open the bottles of wine. I don’t remember anything else after that.
Claims:
Destroyed: 1 x Ju87, 1 x Bf109 (shared with posh Spittie)
Probable: 1 x Ju87
Damaged: 1 x Bf109
Losses:
Pilot: OK
A/C: Fully Serviceable at Canterbury (Badgers for the chaps)
Tea, Cakes and Medals due for plotting a victory.
-
Broadsword
- Posts: 3124
- Joined: Wed Sep 03, 2014 7:54 pm
- Location: Cheshire, UK
Re: Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August
Squadron: No.501 "County of Gloucester" Squadron
Squadron code: "SD"
Pilot name: L/A Broadsword
Date: 15 Aug 1940
Base: RAF Gravesend
Type: Hawker Hurricane Mk 1A
Marking: E for Edward
Serial number: P3582
By the time I got back to Gravesend after our sortie on the 14th, the 501 party was in full swing. As I hobbled into the recroom Teepee and Meaker were plucking their instruments and leading a singalong of George Formby tunes by the light of a burning piano. I must have looked a terrible sight, with my head still bandaged, the left leg of my uniform removed where the medics had dressed my shrapnel wound, and pretty much everything else covered in oil (apart from a conspicuous lipstick kiss on my right temple where one of the land girls had wished me luck after my oh-so-heroic forced landing in a wheatfield), but when Teepee saw me he just grinned at my dishevelled state and plucked at his ukelele.
"We call upon Broadsword to sing us a song, to sing or show us your ring..."
At which suggestion the rest of 501 joined in tunelessly with, "We've seen your ring, it's a terrible thing, so sing you bugger, sing!"
Some sort of public schoolboy larks I assumed, but the intention was clear - I wasn't getting out without giving them a song.
"Do you know the tune to 'The Good Ship Manatee'," I asked, thinking of a whimsical old sea-shanty my Uncle had once taught us. "You set the pace old boy, and we'll follow along," said Meaker with a grin, so wracking my brains to adapt the lyrics, I gave them my version of 'The Fighting Song of 501'.
"We are the bold and rakish men of the fearless Five-Oh-One,
They say that we're the toughest chaps that ever fought the Hun.
So ready your engines Jerry and get up here in your planes,
We'll fill your arse with three-oh-three from our mighty Hurricanes.
Three cheers for 501, and wave as we pass by,
They say that we're the fiercest men who ever learned to fly.
The Squadron's led by Osprey, he's a pilot of renown,
He has a radar in his nose to hunt old Jerry down.
So when he gets a sniff of them he leads us to the fray,
But if he sneezes we go home, to fight another day.
Three cheers for 501, sing out we pass by,
It's true that we're the bravest bunch who ever learned to fly.
His second is called Teepee, he's a gent of noble breed,
With his plane all painted ready, should he have to take the lead.
He hunts the Hun with such aplomb, you'd think he was a hawk,
Then finds a WAAF to share a glass, and help him pop his cork.
Three cheers for 501, heads up, we're soaring by,
You'll see that we're the grandest chaps who ever learned to fly.
We all get filmed by Bonkin as we dive out of the sun,
Showing all the folks of Blighty how we stick it to the Hun.
He keeps his guncam running, technicolour and widescreen,
As we fight on in Sydney Camm's most marvellous machine.
Three cheers for 501, shout 'Ho!' as we pass by,
We surely are the smoothest lads who ever learned to fly.
The Hawker boffins gave our boys the mighty Hurricane,
To help protect Old England from fat Hermann's mad campaign.
And when the skies are darkened by those black-crossed Jerry crates,
The boys of 501 step in, like guardians at the gates.
So three cheers for 501, and swoon as we pass by,
You know that we're the finest men who ever learned to fly.
Yes, three cheers for 501, and wave as we pass by,
It's true that we're the finest men who ever learned to fly."
Well, after that my throat was so dry that I had to down a couple of pints of Badgers, and what with the pain meds and all I went to sleep feeling very happy.
I woke on the morning of the 15th with a dreadful feeling of foreboding. All morning I felt terribly fuzzy, and couldn't quite seem to get anything straight. Sitting in my trusty Hurricane with the engine running I looked over at Dave to my right and couldn't even make out the markings on his plane. He and I had been assigned to Gold section under P/O Robo (a great opportunity), but every time the WingCo tried to explain which sections were getting which assignments it all got jumbled in my brain. In my fevered state it sounded like people were talking about 'Blue Flight' and 'A Section' and other such nonsense. Thank God Robo seemed to take it all in - he was cool as a cucumber whilst all around were in chaos, and kept Gold section waiting patiently to line up at the back. I blacked out once whilst taxiing and narrowly avoided dinking Robo's tailplane, but stupidly thought I'd feel better once airborne. Thundering along the grass strip at Robo's 7 o'clock I lifted off and almost immediately suffered another blackout. I came to with my mighty Hurricane angling sharply down towards the large hangar behind Gravesend's control tower. I yanked back on the stick, skimming the ground, and managed to haul my bird back into the air and give chase to the by-now dwindling Robo. Perhaps last night's crate of Badgers was a bit off, but some of the other 501 chaps began complaining of similar symptoms, so WingCo ordered us to use 'combat spacing' rather than our usual tight formation, in order to avoid any collisions.
Climbing out towards Manston alongside Dave, with Robo setting a fine pace in pursuit of Blue section, I experienced a couple of minor blackouts but started to relax as by now my marvellous Hurricane was getting quite adept at flying herself straight and level. From Manston we turned south to patrol towards Deal at angels 16, but started to get reports on R/T of 50+ Hun divebombers heading our way.
Teepee ordered us to pull the tit and we swooped in with Merlins roaring, Robo calling out "Gold Section, attack, attack", and attack we did. Guns blazing we dived through the enemy formation. Robo probably killed a couple of the blighters, but I blacked out and when I came to I heard Dave saying he'd had some sort of crash (didn't catch the details). I was pretty much adrift from Gold section by now, but saw a friendly looking Hurricane and followed him round in a westward loop (took a couple of pops in the port wing from a 109 but no real trouble) and back into the scrum. Passing over a Jerry straggler I gave him a good burst from my .303s and saw multiple good hits to his fuselage and cockpit, before arcing around once more to the west. Managed to make contact with Robo on R/T, just in time to see him down another of the filthy Bosch, then heard the sad news of Meaker being killed by an opportunist 109. My mind drifted back to his banjo playing turn the previous evening, as I lined up for a vengeful run on Jerry. "This one's for you, Meaker old chap," I said to myself as I gave one of the Stuka's a few new vents (the latest fashion for 1940) and set him pouring oil, "there's one Bosch bastard who won't be bunking up with a French tart tonight!" My roaring Merlin dragged me up and over him, and onto the tail of another 87. Lining up my sights I gave him two good bursts of DeWilde right where the sun don't shine (as our yankee cousins might say), saw him burst into flames, and then blacked out once more.
I felt the heat of the explosion, heard Teepee's voice say, "Nice flamer there," and knew that the gig was up for me.
"Three cheers for 501, don't cry as we fly by,
We were the very best of men, who ever learned to fly."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJzPhRJRgFA (If you want the tune. I've not embedded it, as I wasn't sure that was right for a flight report
)
Claims:
Destroyed: 1 x Ju87
Probable: 1 x Ju87
Damaged: 1 x Ju87
Aircraft: Confetti. The burning kind.
Pilot: Just a memory.
Squadron code: "SD"
Pilot name: L/A Broadsword
Date: 15 Aug 1940
Base: RAF Gravesend
Type: Hawker Hurricane Mk 1A
Marking: E for Edward
Serial number: P3582
By the time I got back to Gravesend after our sortie on the 14th, the 501 party was in full swing. As I hobbled into the recroom Teepee and Meaker were plucking their instruments and leading a singalong of George Formby tunes by the light of a burning piano. I must have looked a terrible sight, with my head still bandaged, the left leg of my uniform removed where the medics had dressed my shrapnel wound, and pretty much everything else covered in oil (apart from a conspicuous lipstick kiss on my right temple where one of the land girls had wished me luck after my oh-so-heroic forced landing in a wheatfield), but when Teepee saw me he just grinned at my dishevelled state and plucked at his ukelele.
"We call upon Broadsword to sing us a song, to sing or show us your ring..."
At which suggestion the rest of 501 joined in tunelessly with, "We've seen your ring, it's a terrible thing, so sing you bugger, sing!"
Some sort of public schoolboy larks I assumed, but the intention was clear - I wasn't getting out without giving them a song.
"Do you know the tune to 'The Good Ship Manatee'," I asked, thinking of a whimsical old sea-shanty my Uncle had once taught us. "You set the pace old boy, and we'll follow along," said Meaker with a grin, so wracking my brains to adapt the lyrics, I gave them my version of 'The Fighting Song of 501'.
"We are the bold and rakish men of the fearless Five-Oh-One,
They say that we're the toughest chaps that ever fought the Hun.
So ready your engines Jerry and get up here in your planes,
We'll fill your arse with three-oh-three from our mighty Hurricanes.
Three cheers for 501, and wave as we pass by,
They say that we're the fiercest men who ever learned to fly.
The Squadron's led by Osprey, he's a pilot of renown,
He has a radar in his nose to hunt old Jerry down.
So when he gets a sniff of them he leads us to the fray,
But if he sneezes we go home, to fight another day.
Three cheers for 501, sing out we pass by,
It's true that we're the bravest bunch who ever learned to fly.
His second is called Teepee, he's a gent of noble breed,
With his plane all painted ready, should he have to take the lead.
He hunts the Hun with such aplomb, you'd think he was a hawk,
Then finds a WAAF to share a glass, and help him pop his cork.
Three cheers for 501, heads up, we're soaring by,
You'll see that we're the grandest chaps who ever learned to fly.
We all get filmed by Bonkin as we dive out of the sun,
Showing all the folks of Blighty how we stick it to the Hun.
He keeps his guncam running, technicolour and widescreen,
As we fight on in Sydney Camm's most marvellous machine.
Three cheers for 501, shout 'Ho!' as we pass by,
We surely are the smoothest lads who ever learned to fly.
The Hawker boffins gave our boys the mighty Hurricane,
To help protect Old England from fat Hermann's mad campaign.
And when the skies are darkened by those black-crossed Jerry crates,
The boys of 501 step in, like guardians at the gates.
So three cheers for 501, and swoon as we pass by,
You know that we're the finest men who ever learned to fly.
Yes, three cheers for 501, and wave as we pass by,
It's true that we're the finest men who ever learned to fly."
Well, after that my throat was so dry that I had to down a couple of pints of Badgers, and what with the pain meds and all I went to sleep feeling very happy.
I woke on the morning of the 15th with a dreadful feeling of foreboding. All morning I felt terribly fuzzy, and couldn't quite seem to get anything straight. Sitting in my trusty Hurricane with the engine running I looked over at Dave to my right and couldn't even make out the markings on his plane. He and I had been assigned to Gold section under P/O Robo (a great opportunity), but every time the WingCo tried to explain which sections were getting which assignments it all got jumbled in my brain. In my fevered state it sounded like people were talking about 'Blue Flight' and 'A Section' and other such nonsense. Thank God Robo seemed to take it all in - he was cool as a cucumber whilst all around were in chaos, and kept Gold section waiting patiently to line up at the back. I blacked out once whilst taxiing and narrowly avoided dinking Robo's tailplane, but stupidly thought I'd feel better once airborne. Thundering along the grass strip at Robo's 7 o'clock I lifted off and almost immediately suffered another blackout. I came to with my mighty Hurricane angling sharply down towards the large hangar behind Gravesend's control tower. I yanked back on the stick, skimming the ground, and managed to haul my bird back into the air and give chase to the by-now dwindling Robo. Perhaps last night's crate of Badgers was a bit off, but some of the other 501 chaps began complaining of similar symptoms, so WingCo ordered us to use 'combat spacing' rather than our usual tight formation, in order to avoid any collisions.
Climbing out towards Manston alongside Dave, with Robo setting a fine pace in pursuit of Blue section, I experienced a couple of minor blackouts but started to relax as by now my marvellous Hurricane was getting quite adept at flying herself straight and level. From Manston we turned south to patrol towards Deal at angels 16, but started to get reports on R/T of 50+ Hun divebombers heading our way.
Teepee ordered us to pull the tit and we swooped in with Merlins roaring, Robo calling out "Gold Section, attack, attack", and attack we did. Guns blazing we dived through the enemy formation. Robo probably killed a couple of the blighters, but I blacked out and when I came to I heard Dave saying he'd had some sort of crash (didn't catch the details). I was pretty much adrift from Gold section by now, but saw a friendly looking Hurricane and followed him round in a westward loop (took a couple of pops in the port wing from a 109 but no real trouble) and back into the scrum. Passing over a Jerry straggler I gave him a good burst from my .303s and saw multiple good hits to his fuselage and cockpit, before arcing around once more to the west. Managed to make contact with Robo on R/T, just in time to see him down another of the filthy Bosch, then heard the sad news of Meaker being killed by an opportunist 109. My mind drifted back to his banjo playing turn the previous evening, as I lined up for a vengeful run on Jerry. "This one's for you, Meaker old chap," I said to myself as I gave one of the Stuka's a few new vents (the latest fashion for 1940) and set him pouring oil, "there's one Bosch bastard who won't be bunking up with a French tart tonight!" My roaring Merlin dragged me up and over him, and onto the tail of another 87. Lining up my sights I gave him two good bursts of DeWilde right where the sun don't shine (as our yankee cousins might say), saw him burst into flames, and then blacked out once more.
I felt the heat of the explosion, heard Teepee's voice say, "Nice flamer there," and knew that the gig was up for me.
"Three cheers for 501, don't cry as we fly by,
We were the very best of men, who ever learned to fly."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJzPhRJRgFA (If you want the tune. I've not embedded it, as I wasn't sure that was right for a flight report
)Claims:
Destroyed: 1 x Ju87
Probable: 1 x Ju87
Damaged: 1 x Ju87
Aircraft: Confetti. The burning kind.
Pilot: Just a memory.
I must go up to the skies again, to the peace of silent flight, To the gull’s way, and the hawk’s way, and the free wings’ delight;
And all I ask is a friendly joke with a laughing fellow rover, And a large beer, and a deep sleep, when the long flight’s over.
Re: Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August
Squadron: No.501 "County of Gloucester" Squadron
Squadron code: "SD"
Pilot name: Pilot Officer ‘Meaks’ Meaker
Date: 15 Aug 1940
Base: RAF Gravesend
Type: Trusty Hawker Hurricane Mk 1A (100oct)
Marking: "G for George"
Serial number: P2793
COMBAT FLIGHT RECORD
Took off as Blue 2,with Flying Officer Teepee leading Blue section,and a new chap called Larry acting as Blue3.
We were vectored to patrol the Manston to Deal area,making Angels 17 we levelled out,Blue Leader calling out to us that we were to look out for the enemy,upon arriving at our designated area to patrol,we came face to face with some 3 to 4 formations of enemy Stukas inbound with the intent of descruction to our beautiful land.
We broke clouds at some Angels 16 and rocketed downwards to our duty,to halt the hun invasion,before sweeping around on their 6 o’clock.
Blue Leader shouted out,‘Tally Ho Blue section!’and once again,led us gallantly into the attack on the Nazi invaders.
I shot down one Stuka straight away,and judging by the way he blew up in front of me,must have hit his main fuel tank which is sited directly beneath the pilot,so the blighter stood no chance of survival,serves him right!
On seeing him go down,I then took up my engaging position directly and just low of another Stuka,positioning on his 6 o’clock,firing short bursts again at his fuel tank area,and hitting him,but before I could peel away to the next,I was cruelly shot down myself.
Bullets ripped through my body as I grappled with the canopy release handles on either side of the canopy,....the bloody things jammed!!!....I can’t get out of this hell!!,..but now,the reserve tank had got hit,this is directly behind the dashboard,and now flames were rushing into my cockpit.But the burning agony seemed to give way to another sensation,that of pure tranquillity,and in that lonely small space of my cockpit,I succumbed to my injuries,my last thoughts being......now I would again join my beloved Irish Wolfhound,old‘Merlin’in a better world than the one I leave..............................
Claims:
Destroyed: 1 x Ju87
Probable: 1 x Ju87
Damaged:
Losses:
Pilot: KIA
A/C: Lost to German lead
Squadron code: "SD"
Pilot name: Pilot Officer ‘Meaks’ Meaker
Date: 15 Aug 1940
Base: RAF Gravesend
Type: Trusty Hawker Hurricane Mk 1A (100oct)
Marking: "G for George"
Serial number: P2793
COMBAT FLIGHT RECORD
Took off as Blue 2,with Flying Officer Teepee leading Blue section,and a new chap called Larry acting as Blue3.
We were vectored to patrol the Manston to Deal area,making Angels 17 we levelled out,Blue Leader calling out to us that we were to look out for the enemy,upon arriving at our designated area to patrol,we came face to face with some 3 to 4 formations of enemy Stukas inbound with the intent of descruction to our beautiful land.
We broke clouds at some Angels 16 and rocketed downwards to our duty,to halt the hun invasion,before sweeping around on their 6 o’clock.
Blue Leader shouted out,‘Tally Ho Blue section!’and once again,led us gallantly into the attack on the Nazi invaders.
I shot down one Stuka straight away,and judging by the way he blew up in front of me,must have hit his main fuel tank which is sited directly beneath the pilot,so the blighter stood no chance of survival,serves him right!
On seeing him go down,I then took up my engaging position directly and just low of another Stuka,positioning on his 6 o’clock,firing short bursts again at his fuel tank area,and hitting him,but before I could peel away to the next,I was cruelly shot down myself.
Bullets ripped through my body as I grappled with the canopy release handles on either side of the canopy,....the bloody things jammed!!!....I can’t get out of this hell!!,..but now,the reserve tank had got hit,this is directly behind the dashboard,and now flames were rushing into my cockpit.But the burning agony seemed to give way to another sensation,that of pure tranquillity,and in that lonely small space of my cockpit,I succumbed to my injuries,my last thoughts being......now I would again join my beloved Irish Wolfhound,old‘Merlin’in a better world than the one I leave..............................
Claims:
Destroyed: 1 x Ju87
Probable: 1 x Ju87
Damaged:
Losses:
Pilot: KIA
A/C: Lost to German lead
Re: Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August
Squadron: No. 64 Squadron
Squadron Code: SH
Pilot Name: Fenris
Type: Spitfire Ia 100 octane
Marking: F for Romeo
Date: 15th Aug 1940
Base: Kenley
Shared a 110-kill a few miles east of ramsgate, was attacked by his girlfriends and eventually had to leave my damaged aircraft due to loss of control .
Claims:
Confirmed: 1 shared BF110 with LTLuke
Probable: 0
Damaged: 0
Losses:
AC: at the bottom of the channel
Pilot: Swimming in the channel
Squadron Code: SH
Pilot Name: Fenris
Type: Spitfire Ia 100 octane
Marking: F for Romeo
Date: 15th Aug 1940
Base: Kenley
Shared a 110-kill a few miles east of ramsgate, was attacked by his girlfriends and eventually had to leave my damaged aircraft due to loss of control .
Claims:
Confirmed: 1 shared BF110 with LTLuke
Probable: 0
Damaged: 0
Losses:
AC: at the bottom of the channel
Pilot: Swimming in the channel
- Fluffy slippers on, gun button to fire! -
Re: Adlerangriff. Mission 28: 15th August
Squadron: No. 64 Squadron
Squadron Code: SH
Pilot Name: Gromic
Type: Spitfire Ia 100 octane
Marking: Q for Queen
Date: 15th Aug 1940
Base: Kenley
No Synopsis today. The dead can't write.
Claims:
Destroyed: 0
Probable: 1 bf109
Damaged: 1 bf109
Losses:
AC: destroyed
Pilot: drowned 500 yards SE of dover harbour
Squadron Code: SH
Pilot Name: Gromic
Type: Spitfire Ia 100 octane
Marking: Q for Queen
Date: 15th Aug 1940
Base: Kenley
No Synopsis today. The dead can't write.
Claims:
Destroyed: 0
Probable: 1 bf109
Damaged: 1 bf109
Losses:
AC: destroyed
Pilot: drowned 500 yards SE of dover harbour
32 Squadron / USAAF 84 Squadron