The skies were colbolt blue and Looattendent Horace P Eagleburger was pretty chuffed. Not only had he the other night decesively beaten a BF109G6 making his fourth kill, but he had done it in the squadrons oldest and most beaten up P40 Warhawk
Such were the cheers on his return , the glowing praise from the Colonel and the fawning affection of the local ladies, that Horace was on top of the world, and had been given a Brand Spanking New Kittyhawk P40N to play with.
The Colonel had also given him an important mission. He was to take off at 10:00 hrs and burn off fuel in a random direction. Eagleburger was honoured to be chosen for this task.
The Kittyhawk was certainly a decent plane, his old Warhawk certainly couldnt reach height 17 nor kick out 5 throttle at any height near that. The clouds skimmed by below as Horace cruised along at speed 3.
What was this? A plane at his 11 o clock low? Horace squinted and a rising ache grew in his guts. It looked like A Fw190A8, and that was probably because it was a FW190A8.
One of the boches finest kites, faster, more powerful, heavier armement and more manouverable than him.
"Hell yeah?Well I dun taught that heine a good teaching yesterday, din't I? I can takes me a peice of this Focke Wulfs ass"
Horace threw his throttle forward to 5 and banked gently over in a left F level dive
The wiley Tuton had spotted him too, it too curved round in a gentle bank to its left. At range 10 the crates were perfectly lined up at the same altitude for a head on pass, the FW gaining speed from its engine and the warhawk still benifiting from the energy of the dive, both kites were now at speed 4, or about 400MPH for those using old money.
In a head on pass the FW had a slight advantage in firepower, Horace held his fire wanting to conserve ammo. The Hun let rip with his fifty calibers only, saving his ammo in the cannons for a better shot. Heavy bullets smashed into the Kittyhawk, but its Heavy Armour Plate capability spanged those rounds off with little effect.
The closing speed of 800MPH meant that one pilot should surely break first, neither Horace nor the Jerry wanted to, they both preformed Straight Level manouvers and ended up scant yards from each other, nose to nose.
A cacophony of noise broke out as both planes launched a maelstrom of dice at each other. The Kittyhawks bullets shredded into the Germans spars and bracers. lumps flew away and span wildly like steel confetti reducing the FW from 11 structure to 4 in one long terrible burst. The FW caught the P40 with a solid cannon hit and a couple of MG's, though nothing vital was damaged Horace felt his plane shudder badly as his structure went from 12 to 9.
Nose to nose now was the time of action. Horace committed to a sideslip left at his speed of 5, the Tutonic pilot simply cranked round in a wicked speed 5 Class A right turn that whipped him round a half circle, and whilst it bled off speed it put the P40 and the 190 flying at the same height and alongside each other.The FW to the right of the forty
Horace glanced accross. He saw the Prussian looking at him. the fellow flashed him a smile.
"Dag-nabbit!" cursed Eagleburger and cranked his crate into a D class right turn, the sausage chomper
hoping to come round on the Fritzy. The 190 had a similar Idea, but he could whip round his Sharp A right.
Horace cursed as the 190 slid closer and closer round to his tail. The twinkling of cannons seconds later blasted away the Kittyhawks undercarrige. The Looattendent cursed and checked his damage sheet. Four points of structure left. He had to get outta dodge. Ramming his nose down in a Turning D class dive to the right, the P40 increased speed to 7 straining the wings in the 500MPH wind and he left the FW (which did a C right level turn above him) with its cannons facing thin air.
The Kraut screamed down after him in a straight shallow dive, but Horace had anticipated this and hauled back in a Straight Steep climb. As the Ubermenchen shot below him, he roared skywards, stripping his speed right down to 2 but climbing back to height 14 with the FW at height 11 and behind him.
With a last flick of the stick, Eagleburger shallow dived straight ahead and exited the table. The FW realising that the table edge meant he was BINGO fuel, turned for home.
Horace landed his badly damaged crate with its undercart collapsing back at his base, a wiser and humbeler man.
