TUESDAY 4th MARCH 1997
So there I was inverted at 15 feet when I saw the hedge.............................
Sorry, thats another story.
Sunday.
OK the mission was simple, "they always are on paper" snorted Ginger !
The first part went without a hitch, mainly because 88 had already been captured when we went online, so we didn't have to do anything. Next came the Para drop on 90. Jock and I set off in Gooneys, "Due South", I said to Jock, good name for a TV programme, he commented. The ground flew past as we went in low level, the para's were looking worried, at this rate they wouldn't need their parachutes they would just be steppng out, still as long as they landed on their heads everything would be alright; as everyone knows paratroops aren't picked for their intelligence. Where's the intelligence in jumping out of a perfectly servicable aircraft ! I could understand this in Jocks plane however, i've seen his flying and believe me everyone wants to get out!
As the airfield came into sight over the horizon I popped up to 500 feet and the para's breathed a collective sigh of relief, I dont know why because it takes 600 feet for their parachutes to open ! Still....... The radio was alive with chatter, the airfield was prepped and ready for our contribution to the war effort. Running in I shouted, Red light on, Green light on, Go Go Go. I did a quick wing over and looked out of the left hand side of the cockpit down at the airfield, 9 canopies blossomed over the field, which in itself was strange as we had only loaded 8 troops, it was at this stage that I noticed my co-pilot was missing, and the tea leaf had taken the flask with him. I watched our gallant troops land safely and completely overwhelm the garrison at 90, stacks of "they don't like it up 'em !"
Having dropped my lads into the thick of things I did the only thing left under the circumstances, Yep you've got it, I crashed, this was partly brought on by inadvertantly dropping the undercart, and wholly brought on by hitting the ground as a result. Still it saved all that faffing about with landing and stuff.
It wasnt long before my young Jockenese protege joined me in dropping his troops and committing unexpected Hari- Kiri. Back at the club we smirked smugly at each other and had a quick snort before setting off into the fray again. My Flakpansie and Jocks T34 rumbled majestically over the battlefield as we zoomed over to 86, I say zoomed only for the sake of continuity, in actual fact I got overtaken by an old lady with a zimmer frame ! It was a quiet run over, and we took the opportunity to do all those little jobs you keep meaning to do, you know the type of thing, glue the nob back on the front of the computer, wipe all the jam and fingerprints off the monitor, etc. etc.
We arrived at 86 full of anticipation OK Jock I drawled in my best George C Scott voice (AKA Patton) you take the tower and i'll take out the Flak, CHaaaaaaaargeeeeee. We charged, unfortunately the tower and flak were already missing. Not to be outdone we informed the world that once again we had accomplished our mission and asked for the Gooneys. NOW, it was at this point that it all started to go horribly wrong!
It was as if someone had put up a banner, "All Air Warriors muster at Field 86" ! They came in droves and the gooneys never got through. As a bonus Jock and I had a bit of a turkey shoot on the ground, first an enemy FP appeared at one end of the field and there was a bit of an ungainly rush to blow the beejesus out of it, then our gallant fighter chaps (were they the same lot as last week ?) started knocking the crap out of the enemy and the stupid blighters kept trying to take off from 86 ! Jock and I sat at the threshold of the runway and merrily blew them apart as they sat on the runway reving up, I got about 8 before I stopped counting, at this point an enemy T34 appeared and blew Jock right out of his little tartan slippers. I hung on and potted a couple more planes then I ran out of sodding ammo and had to watch about 6 enemy fighters take off in quick succesion from right under my gun barrels, incidently the barrels were so hot by this time that I had to send my corporal outside to piss on them to cool them down, RHIP you know. (Rank has its privilages)(has anyone found that spell checker for the Netscape message window yet ?). Once we had lost superiority on the ground it was all downhill. At this point while everyone and his corgi were mustering at 86 I took the opportunity to fly a couple of quick gooney trips from 87 to 89 and 88 to 91 meaning that the only neutral field we didn't hold was 86.
The war of attrition started to take hold at this point as wives and girlfriends started dragging their other halves off the computer for their conjugal rights and our numbers dwindled. As a consolation dBa and I held on to the bitter end and when everyone else had gone off to bed we nipped into 86 and captured it. So Yaaaboooo sucks to the Bz and Az. The moral of this story ? If you want to capture 86, send everyone to 91 !!!!!!!!!
Blue Skies
May all your targets be low and slow
VULTURE
PS Watch out for my first book shortly ;-)
PPS Stop calling me shortly !
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