the lancaster kicks ass
Major General
- 19,937
- Dec 20, 2003
or crashing it into the deck of an american carrier and you not exploding, you gotta see the funny side of that.........
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Four Focke-Wulfs were flitting around like big moths, occasionally spitting a stream of bullet in the inferno. I daren't attack them - I could feel the other prowling round in the shadows. Aha ! I spotted a lone plane skimming over the tree tops in the direction of Bremen, whose tall chimneys stacks look positively medieval outlined against the dying sky. Engine temperature 125°, oil pressure down to the fifty five. Regretfully I opened the radiator and closed the throttle to 3500 revs. Even then I went on gaining on the Focke-Wulf, who was probably making for home, his magazines empty. We were now over Bremen, and he was still a thousand yards ahead. This businness might take me rather far; I closed the radiator again and opened the throttle flet out. My "Grand Charles" responded at once. We were now over the first docks of the Weser. We roared between the shattered remains of the big transporter bridge. On either side rose the charred hulks of the ware-houses; the few cranes and derricks still erect rose uo like black skelettons. Suddenly a salvo of Flak shelles blossomed beetween theFocke-Wulf and me - brief white flashes, mingled with brown balls which passed by either side of me. More kept appearing miracously out of the void. The automatic flak now chimed in and the orange glow of the tracers was reflected in the black oily water, from wich overturned hulk emerged, like enormous stranded whales. I concentrated on not losing sight of my Focke-Wulf - lukely he was silhouetted against the dying glow of the sky. For a moment the Flak redoubled in intensity. There was a sudden Clang behind my back - then suddenly the tracers were snuffed out and diseappeared... A bit suspicious ! A glance behind me explained this curious phenomenon : on my tail six Focke-Wulfs in perfect close echelon formation - exhaust white hot -pursuing me at full throttle. With one movement I broke the metal thread to enable me to go to "emergency" and shoved the throttle lever right forward. It was the first time I had occasion to use it on Tempest. The effect was extraordinaire and immediate. The aircraft litteraly bounded forward with a roar like a furnace under pressure. Within a few seconds I was doing 490 m.p.h by the air speed indicator and I simultaneously caught up my quarry and left my pursuers standing. I had soon reduced the distance to less than 200 yards. Although in this darkness my gun sight rather dazzled me, I had him plumb in the middle and I fired two long, deliberate bursts. The Focke-Wulf oscillated and crashed on its belly in a marshy field, thowing up a shower of mud. He miracously did not overturn. Whithout losing anytime I climbed vertically toward the clouds and righted myself to face the others. They had vanished in the shadows. They must have turned about and left their comrade to this fate. I flew back over the Focke-Wulf I shot down. The pilot was limpimg off, dragging his parachutte an dquite dazed by the shock. I besparred the remains of his machine with shells and they caught fire at once.
That made two !
my point of interest said:Thank you sir!
Yeah I know, that's the numbers Pierre wrote down, but I read somewhere he had the tendency to exaggerate.
About that picture above, now I find it funny, because Pierre says that Dora caught fire but the plane on the picture does't look like burned remains to mee.Maybe it really is from the Bodenplatte op...
DerAdlerIstGelandet said:From everythign I have ever read about Pierre, I find it very hard to believe anything he says.