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<blockquote data-quote="ledded" data-source="post: 1387879" data-attributes="member: 12744"><p><strong>[PLAIN]We were like gods once... [Locked in Battle][/PLAIN]</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">France, near St Lo, late June 1944, 10:00 am</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“kkssshhhhseven-zero-niner, alpha one, repeat, relay position of Jerry’s shooters, over”, the tinny voice comes over the radio.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Moose jacks the slide on his BAR, Smitty checks his scope once again, and they feel the truck slowing down. Men are jumping off the trucks as the distant *boom* of cannon fire reaches their ears.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Smitty rolls over the side and takes to the woods, flitting like an old memory from tree to tree looking for a good position. Hank jogs over by the Captain’s armored command car with his radio as the Captain is calmly relaying deployment orders for his tanks and halftracks. Moose jumps down out of the back of the truck and runs towards the front where men are spreading out into the flooded fields for a little cover, to form an advancing line. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="color: lemonchiffon"><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Maybe they can hook around and sweep behind the Krauts before they know what hit ‘em</span></em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">, Hank thinks as he nervously surveys the scene.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Up ahead the M2 Halftrack is blazing away with its .50 cal at one of the two two-storey buildings in the open area ahead; they make an “L” shape in the clearing as the road veers off at a 45 degree angle to the right. The area around them is raised slightly above the flooded fields, just as the road they are approaching on is; the muddy fields limit the approach for tanks and vehicles. There are a couple Kubelwagons and Hanomag SdKfz 251/1 halftracks visible, so they may be able to… </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">*BOOM*</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">The M3 halftrack in front of the American column detonates in a shower of burning metal and screaming men. A Tiger becomes visible as it finishes the turn around one of the buildings, and a cunningly hidden Panther becomes visible by the second house as it rolls out from under its camouflaged netting, main gun smoking. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">The Sherman and one of Cromwell’s fire, their shells SPANGing harmlessly off of the Tiger and Panther’s front armor. Men quickly duck and run for cover as the tanks MG’s open up.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">The second Cromwell places a shot right in the drivers compartment of one of the Hanomags and it hops like a schoolgirl under the impact. A burning German soldier manages to slide over the side and crawl a few feet before rolling onto his back, flaming arms raised to the sky as if in supplication. Hank watches in morbid fascination, sure he is going to be sick.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">G.I.’s are spread out and moving forward from cover to cover, slowed by the treacherous mud on the sides of the raised road. Two machine guns open fire from the second storey windows of the houses and men scramble for cover and several fall, screaming in pain.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Hank grabs his binoculars gets as good a look as he can. He keys the mike for the Air Corp fellas above him.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“Ding-dangit, gots us a couple ol’fat tanks, some Hanny-maggers, ITellYouWhat we caint drop that-thar Tiger and he’s blockin’ the road dingdang ol’ sumbeech, drop us some fire on that sucker at these coordianates…”</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Hank watches in growing horror, rattling off the Tiger’s position, as yet another tank, a Mark IV Panther, becomes visible off to the right; it bursts through a hedgerow and fires into the side of one of the Cromwell’s with such force that the driver’s hatch blows open, flames shooting skyward. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">A tank driver’s helmet, smoking, bounces onto the road; the MG42s in the houses cut down the fleeing survivors as they try to get away from the smoldering tank. An American halftrack fires its .50 cal’s at it to little effect as it scrambles back trying to get some distance. A bazooka team, momentarily scattered when the tank burst over the hedgerow, snaps off a rocket at the side of the tank; the round hits squarely, but only manages to mangle the <em>shurtzen</em> the wily Germans have installed for combating that tactic. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="color: lemonchiffon"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Hank looks back towards the houses, and as he spots the first MG nest the gunner’s head kicks back, a neat hole drilled into his forehead. Hank swings the binoculars back and notices Smitty, in cover from the trees, cycle the action on his </span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Springfield</span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">. He fires again, and Hank is sure somewhere up ahead a Nazi just met his maker. <em>Bet he wishes he weren’t no ding-dang ol’ Godless heathen now by gumption</em>.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Moose is up ahead with some other men trying to lay down suppressing fire; he calmly aims his BAR and rips loose a hail of lead at a window. The other MG falls silent as a soldier silently tumbles from the window, splashing blood onto the front of the house as he bounces into the yard. Several G.I.s, covered by the burning halftrack and out from under the MG’s fire, move forward to make the advance, throwing grenades and firing wildly as they advance.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Suddenly there are some <em>swooshing</em> and <em>thumping</em> sounds in the distance and large streaks of smoke appears behind the main house, the one that it looks like is on fire. Hank swings his binoculars back towards the main house and peers ahead.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="color: lemonchiffon"><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Funny, that house is flickerin’ yeller, but it aint on fire</span></em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">, he thinks to himself as the smoke billows *behind* it. He spots a Wermacht-grey Hanomag, roll cage on top and strange boxes attached to the sides. <em>Oh ding-dangit, them’s one o’ them ole rocket halftrackers, whatcha call ‘em, dang ‘ol Wurfrahme, and them suckers go boom big time</em>, he realizes. He also notices the smoke of what appears to be mortars firing to the left of the houses, and decides that this is not the place to be standing. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“Hey-o, Cap’n, we gotta ding-dang getthehellouttahere, man, danged ole bushwackers Itellyouwhat, we got incomin’ ! It’s a damn ambush Cap’n. Gotta go” and with that warning he sprints off carrying the radio for cover in the trees, dodging MG fire from the Tanks and halftracks coming down the road.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="color: lemonchiffon"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Captain Michaels surveys the rapidly deteriorating situation; the Tiger has held up their advance from the crossroads, and was taking some cover behind the destroyed Hanomag while firing to great effect down the road. His </span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Sherman</span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> is smoking with a busted track but still firing, one of his halftracks was a burning wreck, the second in a very dangerous place near a Panzer. The first Matilda was a flaming metal coffin, and the second was trying to get into position to get a shot at the Tiger or the Panther ahead; he probably won’t penetrate their armor at this angle, but the stubborn Brit just wouldn’t back it up even if he ordered him to.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Just then, Michaels spots German infantry, Fallshirmjagers by the look of them, sneaking from the left to the edge of the road; undoubtedly they have Panzerfausts and MG34’s and are looking to get the drop on his stalled advance. He knows he should call a retreat and move back in his M20, but he can’t leave those men to be cut to pieces without doing something. He knew he should have listened to his bad feeling that morning.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="color: lemonchiffon"><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">What was it those Lakotas Indians used to say back home?</span></em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">, he thought, as the scene became even more chaotic.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="color: lemonchiffon"><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Oh yes</span></em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">, he continued, <em>now I remember</em>. Captain Michaels yanks back the bolt on the .50 cal mounted on his M20, and takes aim at the sneaking Fallshirmjagers.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“Today is a good day to die. Only the sun and moon last forever”. <em>I always liked that one</em>.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“You say somethin’ sir?” asked the M20’s driver.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Whatever the Captain said was drowned out by the stocatto fire of his machine gun, and the driver took that cue to move the car into better position to fire. <em>Where is that damn air support</em>, the young man thinks as he maneuvered the M20 around the troop truck just ahead of him, oblivious to the arching trails of smoke overhead.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">...…</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">John Brighton deciphered the ramblings over the radio, and moved his aircraft on that heading. Very soon, he saw the smoke ahead, and could almost make out the camouflage pattern of the Tiger that was wreaking so much havoc.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">He checked his systems, armed the rockets under his wings, and took one last look around before beginning the shallow diving run required to hit the Tiger.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“Check, Gerald, you got anything?”, he asks over the radio.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“That’s a big old negatory there, ell-tee. Wait, I think I saw a flash…”</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">BRRRRAAAAPPP</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">A long stream of metal walks up Gerald’s wing as 2 BF-109’s fall out of the sun like screeching predatory hawks and fire on them.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“Holy crap, John, we got 2 Messerschmidt’s coming out of our six… where the heck did *these* guys come from?”, came Gerald’s panicked voice over the radio.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">John glanced back, saw them, and replied. “Check that, Lt. We have to drop this fire and we’ll take care of Jerry. We have a job to do. Just try to keep ‘em off me for a second”. John, realizing the plight of the boys on the ground, tries to move evasively as he sets his nose on a course with the rapidly approaching Tiger belching death on the Americans down the thin road.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">BRRRAAAAPPP!</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“Oh dammit John, I’m hit… I’m hit…”</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">John looks back at Gerald, covering John’s wing and juking about to keep the Jerrys occupied, as smoke began trailing from his plane. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“Get out of here Gerald, a few seconds and I can take these guys”, John yells into the radio.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“<cough> That’s another negatory there, ell-tee, we gotta hit that tank. Can’t be <cough> leaving my wingman and all that…”, Gerald replied calmly and moved back and forth on John’s tail as the Nazi pilots moved in close for the kill.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="color: lemonchiffon"><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Just a few more seconds</span></em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">, thought John frantically, as he could hear the whizzing of MG rounds and the occasional PLINK of contact with his aircraft.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“John! Look out, he’s making a move for ya…” came the yell across the radio and John hazards a quick look back as the lead BF-109 releases a flashing hail of metal at him. Just as he nearly yanks the stick to move out of reflex he sees Gerald’s Mustang purposefully cross into the fire, smoke trailing from the engine and cockpit as the rounds chew brutally through the wounded plane.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“Gerald! Bail out… Bail…”, yells John into the radio as Gerald’s Mustang BLOWS into a thousand flaming fragments.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">His mouth a grim line, John turned just in time to depress the firing switch on the rockets, and his plane rocks under their ignition as they streak away from him towards the Tiger on the ground. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">He immediately pulls up hard and banks tight, hoping to shake the BF-109’s.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“How’s that for made in the U.S. of A. ya Nazi pinhead!” yells John as the rockets detonate on target, shearing off part of the Tiger’s turrent as they drive explosively into the weaker top armor. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">John banks hard back the other direction and gives the throttle everything she’s worth, and his sudden climb and banking has put the first Messershmidt dangerously close to his tail but in no position to fire on him. He had hoped to shake or scare them both off, or at least bring them in too close to fire, but the trailing 109 was able to peel back and set up. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">Damn, these guys are good.</span></span></em></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">John glances back he sees the German’s guns light up. <em>Aw, here we go again…</em></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">The long burst walks up the side of his fuselage, and his canopy cracks and shatters as the rounds continue up and into his engine. The P-51’s screaming engine is silenced in an explosion of metal and the cockpit fills with greasy black smoke.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“Sonuva…”, John chokes out as he jukes a stalling roll-over, knowing this may be his last act among the living. His move pushes his rapidly decelerating and burning plane crossways straight into the path of the oncoming BF-109s. He thinks he can almost make out the near-comical look of shock on the closest pilot’s face as he punches through John’s smoke and realizes his mistake. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">“How do you like that, Jerry”, John muses as he coughs on the burning smoke just before the Messerschmidt slams into his tail section, shearing off the nose and engine of the craft in a fiery detonation. They both spin out of control and fall, as the second BF-109 narrowly escapes the same fate as his wingman.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="color: lemonchiffon">John tries to get the canopy open but knows he doesn’t have the height to make a jump; he mutters a quick prayer as the world ceases to spin with a loud crash.</span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ledded, post: 1387879, member: 12744"] [b][PLAIN]We were like gods once... [Locked in Battle][/PLAIN][/b] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]France, near St Lo, late June 1944, 10:00 am[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“kkssshhhhseven-zero-niner, alpha one, repeat, relay position of Jerry’s shooters, over”, the tinny voice comes over the radio.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Moose jacks the slide on his BAR, Smitty checks his scope once again, and they feel the truck slowing down. Men are jumping off the trucks as the distant *boom* of cannon fire reaches their ears.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Smitty rolls over the side and takes to the woods, flitting like an old memory from tree to tree looking for a good position. Hank jogs over by the Captain’s armored command car with his radio as the Captain is calmly relaying deployment orders for his tanks and halftracks. Moose jumps down out of the back of the truck and runs towards the front where men are spreading out into the flooded fields for a little cover, to form an advancing line. [/color][/font] [color=lemonchiffon][i][font=Verdana]Maybe they can hook around and sweep behind the Krauts before they know what hit ‘em[/font][/i][font=Verdana], Hank thinks as he nervously surveys the scene.[/font][/color] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Up ahead the M2 Halftrack is blazing away with its .50 cal at one of the two two-storey buildings in the open area ahead; they make an “L” shape in the clearing as the road veers off at a 45 degree angle to the right. The area around them is raised slightly above the flooded fields, just as the road they are approaching on is; the muddy fields limit the approach for tanks and vehicles. There are a couple Kubelwagons and Hanomag SdKfz 251/1 halftracks visible, so they may be able to… [/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]*BOOM*[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]The M3 halftrack in front of the American column detonates in a shower of burning metal and screaming men. A Tiger becomes visible as it finishes the turn around one of the buildings, and a cunningly hidden Panther becomes visible by the second house as it rolls out from under its camouflaged netting, main gun smoking. [/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]The Sherman and one of Cromwell’s fire, their shells SPANGing harmlessly off of the Tiger and Panther’s front armor. Men quickly duck and run for cover as the tanks MG’s open up.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]The second Cromwell places a shot right in the drivers compartment of one of the Hanomags and it hops like a schoolgirl under the impact. A burning German soldier manages to slide over the side and crawl a few feet before rolling onto his back, flaming arms raised to the sky as if in supplication. Hank watches in morbid fascination, sure he is going to be sick.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]G.I.’s are spread out and moving forward from cover to cover, slowed by the treacherous mud on the sides of the raised road. Two machine guns open fire from the second storey windows of the houses and men scramble for cover and several fall, screaming in pain.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Hank grabs his binoculars gets as good a look as he can. He keys the mike for the Air Corp fellas above him.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“Ding-dangit, gots us a couple ol’fat tanks, some Hanny-maggers, ITellYouWhat we caint drop that-thar Tiger and he’s blockin’ the road dingdang ol’ sumbeech, drop us some fire on that sucker at these coordianates…”[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Hank watches in growing horror, rattling off the Tiger’s position, as yet another tank, a Mark IV Panther, becomes visible off to the right; it bursts through a hedgerow and fires into the side of one of the Cromwell’s with such force that the driver’s hatch blows open, flames shooting skyward. [/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]A tank driver’s helmet, smoking, bounces onto the road; the MG42s in the houses cut down the fleeing survivors as they try to get away from the smoldering tank. An American halftrack fires its .50 cal’s at it to little effect as it scrambles back trying to get some distance. A bazooka team, momentarily scattered when the tank burst over the hedgerow, snaps off a rocket at the side of the tank; the round hits squarely, but only manages to mangle the [i]shurtzen[/i] the wily Germans have installed for combating that tactic. [/color][/font] [color=lemonchiffon][font=Verdana]Hank looks back towards the houses, and as he spots the first MG nest the gunner’s head kicks back, a neat hole drilled into his forehead. Hank swings the binoculars back and notices Smitty, in cover from the trees, cycle the action on his [/font][font=Verdana]Springfield[/font][font=Verdana]. He fires again, and Hank is sure somewhere up ahead a Nazi just met his maker. [i]Bet he wishes he weren’t no ding-dang ol’ Godless heathen now by gumption[/i].[/font][/color] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Moose is up ahead with some other men trying to lay down suppressing fire; he calmly aims his BAR and rips loose a hail of lead at a window. The other MG falls silent as a soldier silently tumbles from the window, splashing blood onto the front of the house as he bounces into the yard. Several G.I.s, covered by the burning halftrack and out from under the MG’s fire, move forward to make the advance, throwing grenades and firing wildly as they advance.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Suddenly there are some [i]swooshing[/i] and [i]thumping[/i] sounds in the distance and large streaks of smoke appears behind the main house, the one that it looks like is on fire. Hank swings his binoculars back towards the main house and peers ahead.[/color][/font] [color=lemonchiffon][i][font=Verdana]Funny, that house is flickerin’ yeller, but it aint on fire[/font][/i][font=Verdana], he thinks to himself as the smoke billows *behind* it. He spots a Wermacht-grey Hanomag, roll cage on top and strange boxes attached to the sides. [i]Oh ding-dangit, them’s one o’ them ole rocket halftrackers, whatcha call ‘em, dang ‘ol Wurfrahme, and them suckers go boom big time[/i], he realizes. He also notices the smoke of what appears to be mortars firing to the left of the houses, and decides that this is not the place to be standing. [/font][/color] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“Hey-o, Cap’n, we gotta ding-dang getthehellouttahere, man, danged ole bushwackers Itellyouwhat, we got incomin’ ! It’s a damn ambush Cap’n. Gotta go” and with that warning he sprints off carrying the radio for cover in the trees, dodging MG fire from the Tanks and halftracks coming down the road.[/color][/font] [color=lemonchiffon][font=Verdana]Captain Michaels surveys the rapidly deteriorating situation; the Tiger has held up their advance from the crossroads, and was taking some cover behind the destroyed Hanomag while firing to great effect down the road. His [/font][font=Verdana]Sherman[/font][font=Verdana] is smoking with a busted track but still firing, one of his halftracks was a burning wreck, the second in a very dangerous place near a Panzer. The first Matilda was a flaming metal coffin, and the second was trying to get into position to get a shot at the Tiger or the Panther ahead; he probably won’t penetrate their armor at this angle, but the stubborn Brit just wouldn’t back it up even if he ordered him to.[/font][/color] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Just then, Michaels spots German infantry, Fallshirmjagers by the look of them, sneaking from the left to the edge of the road; undoubtedly they have Panzerfausts and MG34’s and are looking to get the drop on his stalled advance. He knows he should call a retreat and move back in his M20, but he can’t leave those men to be cut to pieces without doing something. He knew he should have listened to his bad feeling that morning.[/color][/font] [color=lemonchiffon][i][font=Verdana]What was it those Lakotas Indians used to say back home?[/font][/i][font=Verdana], he thought, as the scene became even more chaotic.[/font][/color] [color=lemonchiffon][i][font=Verdana]Oh yes[/font][/i][font=Verdana], he continued, [i]now I remember[/i]. Captain Michaels yanks back the bolt on the .50 cal mounted on his M20, and takes aim at the sneaking Fallshirmjagers.[/font][/color] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“Today is a good day to die. Only the sun and moon last forever”. [i]I always liked that one[/i].[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“You say somethin’ sir?” asked the M20’s driver.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Whatever the Captain said was drowned out by the stocatto fire of his machine gun, and the driver took that cue to move the car into better position to fire. [i]Where is that damn air support[/i], the young man thinks as he maneuvered the M20 around the troop truck just ahead of him, oblivious to the arching trails of smoke overhead.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]...…[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]John Brighton deciphered the ramblings over the radio, and moved his aircraft on that heading. Very soon, he saw the smoke ahead, and could almost make out the camouflage pattern of the Tiger that was wreaking so much havoc.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]He checked his systems, armed the rockets under his wings, and took one last look around before beginning the shallow diving run required to hit the Tiger.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“Check, Gerald, you got anything?”, he asks over the radio.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“That’s a big old negatory there, ell-tee. Wait, I think I saw a flash…”[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]BRRRRAAAAPPP[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]A long stream of metal walks up Gerald’s wing as 2 BF-109’s fall out of the sun like screeching predatory hawks and fire on them.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“Holy crap, John, we got 2 Messerschmidt’s coming out of our six… where the heck did *these* guys come from?”, came Gerald’s panicked voice over the radio.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]John glanced back, saw them, and replied. “Check that, Lt. We have to drop this fire and we’ll take care of Jerry. We have a job to do. Just try to keep ‘em off me for a second”. John, realizing the plight of the boys on the ground, tries to move evasively as he sets his nose on a course with the rapidly approaching Tiger belching death on the Americans down the thin road.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]BRRRAAAAPPP![/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“Oh dammit John, I’m hit… I’m hit…”[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]John looks back at Gerald, covering John’s wing and juking about to keep the Jerrys occupied, as smoke began trailing from his plane. [/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“Get out of here Gerald, a few seconds and I can take these guys”, John yells into the radio.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“<cough> That’s another negatory there, ell-tee, we gotta hit that tank. Can’t be <cough> leaving my wingman and all that…”, Gerald replied calmly and moved back and forth on John’s tail as the Nazi pilots moved in close for the kill.[/color][/font] [color=lemonchiffon][i][font=Verdana]Just a few more seconds[/font][/i][font=Verdana], thought John frantically, as he could hear the whizzing of MG rounds and the occasional PLINK of contact with his aircraft.[/font][/color] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“John! Look out, he’s making a move for ya…” came the yell across the radio and John hazards a quick look back as the lead BF-109 releases a flashing hail of metal at him. Just as he nearly yanks the stick to move out of reflex he sees Gerald’s Mustang purposefully cross into the fire, smoke trailing from the engine and cockpit as the rounds chew brutally through the wounded plane.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“Gerald! Bail out… Bail…”, yells John into the radio as Gerald’s Mustang BLOWS into a thousand flaming fragments.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]His mouth a grim line, John turned just in time to depress the firing switch on the rockets, and his plane rocks under their ignition as they streak away from him towards the Tiger on the ground. [/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]He immediately pulls up hard and banks tight, hoping to shake the BF-109’s.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“How’s that for made in the U.S. of A. ya Nazi pinhead!” yells John as the rockets detonate on target, shearing off part of the Tiger’s turrent as they drive explosively into the weaker top armor. [/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]John banks hard back the other direction and gives the throttle everything she’s worth, and his sudden climb and banking has put the first Messershmidt dangerously close to his tail but in no position to fire on him. He had hoped to shake or scare them both off, or at least bring them in too close to fire, but the trailing 109 was able to peel back and set up. [/color][/font] [i][font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]Damn, these guys are good.[/color][/font][/i] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]John glances back he sees the German’s guns light up. [i]Aw, here we go again…[/i][/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]The long burst walks up the side of his fuselage, and his canopy cracks and shatters as the rounds continue up and into his engine. The P-51’s screaming engine is silenced in an explosion of metal and the cockpit fills with greasy black smoke.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“Sonuva…”, John chokes out as he jukes a stalling roll-over, knowing this may be his last act among the living. His move pushes his rapidly decelerating and burning plane crossways straight into the path of the oncoming BF-109s. He thinks he can almost make out the near-comical look of shock on the closest pilot’s face as he punches through John’s smoke and realizes his mistake. [/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]“How do you like that, Jerry”, John muses as he coughs on the burning smoke just before the Messerschmidt slams into his tail section, shearing off the nose and engine of the craft in a fiery detonation. They both spin out of control and fall, as the second BF-109 narrowly escapes the same fate as his wingman.[/color][/font] [font=Verdana][color=lemonchiffon]John tries to get the canopy open but knows he doesn’t have the height to make a jump; he mutters a quick prayer as the world ceases to spin with a loud crash.[/color][/font] [/QUOTE]
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