August 10th, 1941
Palermo, Sicily
The sight of Salinda was most welcome. After a few months, one tends to forget how another looks. The entire squadron is in Palermo for a month taking in recruits and letting them train. Me and Hans have our hands full at the moment, training at least 3 full flights of new recruits straight out from the Luftwaffe schools. The new recruits not only includes pilots, but also many more mechanics. The chef is doing quite well currently, but his wife has fallen ill and has since been sent back to Germany. Whats worse, we now have another flight leader; Wolfgang Schneider. He and I are perhaps the most competitive, if not the most aggressive, pair there is in the world. We both practically hate each other.
Wolfgang and I met in high school when we were both freshmen. He was the ladies man, a kiss up, and when conditions are met, an unstoppable force always getting his way. He was always getting all the frauleins and the better things of life by one way or another. However, he had his heart set up and out over my dearest Salinda. However, Salinda was quick to notice his arrogance and his pushy ways and I already had a 2 month advantage on her. No wonder she chose me over him. We both went our separate ways in 1936 when all of us graduated. He went to Berlin to join the Luftwaffe whilst I remained in Emden to study flight. I decided to join in the Luftwaffe in late 1939, after some officers from the Luftwaffe offered me a job as a fighter pilot. The rest is history pretty much.
Now, me and Wolfgang have completely different doctrines in training the pilots. I was more ordered and taught the young recruits some more advanced maneuvers in dogfighting. Wolfgang, however, was something reminiscent of a drill instructor. He was more than ready to push down a green pilot if he did even the slightest thing wrong. The man simply demanded utmost discipline. There have been rumors of him selecting a certain recruit, taking him behind the field, and simply beating the living daylights out of him. The guy was almost half dead when he was thrown back into the line. The Colonel didn't mind this at all. However, there have been times of him pulling Wolfgang out for being too rough with the fresh batch of pilots. We both taught our students how to be as aggressive as possible and not to let personal feelings in getting in the way during a dogfight; to stay focused, flexibly, and you'll keep flying was the basic motto of the two of us. However, Wolfgang was more inclined of imposing his teachings on the students than I was. He was also lazy, often abusing his authority and failing to teach the students even basic combat maneuvers.
After the days lessons were done, I would rush to Salinda who was staying in Palermo to oversee her families' assets in Sicily. She has become quite wealthy from her contacts through Mussolini and others in the Fascist Party. However, Salinda was a kind and gentle hearted creature, often hiring people who got laid off or simply aiding those in need. She gave generously and tried her best to help the less fortunate whenever possible. What really made men mad for her was her beauty however. To Wolfgang, she would be just another pretty fraulein in his collection. I honestly and outright cherished her and loved her to the core, and she reciporcated the feelings. To this day, Wolfgang is still trying to think of a way get to Salinda. However, this girl is smart enough to either stay away from him or outright smack him when he gets too touchy.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Entry: August 5, 1941
August 5, 1941
Palermo, Sicily
Flying just meer meters above the sand swept dunes of Eastern Libya, 5 Hawker Hurricanes and 3 Gladiators were pursuing me relentlessly. Hans was nowhere to be found, as was the rest of my flight. The skies were peeling with lightening and rain pelted my ME-109 as I tried my best to evade my pursuers. Then, a Hurricane fired it's 8 .30 caliber machine guns at me, peppering my aft fuselage. The machine lurched forward and under, the propeller striking the very crest of a sand dune. Again, the resounding echo of the machine guns rung and the strikes again hit my fuselage, parts of my wing, and peppered my tail. The bullets must have cut the wires, since I had no response when I pulled on the stick or when I kicked the rudder pedals. Then, it happened. The rattle of machine gun fire, the hammering of the bullets on my craft, and the bone crushing impact of the craft hitting the sand. I hit my forehead on the craft's retical and started bleeding. However, I was conscious the entire time but the pain threatened to put me under. Miraculously, I survived that ordeal whilst the awaiting death of the desert was still there. I laid there, forehead to the instrument panel when I heard a voice. It was Hans. Faint at first, but it grew louder. Meanwhile, the British aircraft soared overhead, waiting like vultures to finish the job. As Hans voice grew in volume, I looked around but didn't see him. I got out of my craft and started to run into the desert wilderness. The rain continued to pour, like a waterfall rather than droplets from the clouds. My face now stained in blood and sweat. At the same time, Han's voice was being more clear. At some point during my flight from my aircraft, I realized it was the voice of Salinda. "Wake up!" it said in a loud but warm voice. The winds picked up and I became blinded by the ensuing sandstorm. The voice continued to grow in volume. Suddenly, I felt a huge collum of water smash on my face and I hit my head on the upper bunk hard. I gave a short yell as my skull met 10mm of steel. I looked around me, and behold! It was Salinda!
Palermo, Sicily
Flying just meer meters above the sand swept dunes of Eastern Libya, 5 Hawker Hurricanes and 3 Gladiators were pursuing me relentlessly. Hans was nowhere to be found, as was the rest of my flight. The skies were peeling with lightening and rain pelted my ME-109 as I tried my best to evade my pursuers. Then, a Hurricane fired it's 8 .30 caliber machine guns at me, peppering my aft fuselage. The machine lurched forward and under, the propeller striking the very crest of a sand dune. Again, the resounding echo of the machine guns rung and the strikes again hit my fuselage, parts of my wing, and peppered my tail. The bullets must have cut the wires, since I had no response when I pulled on the stick or when I kicked the rudder pedals. Then, it happened. The rattle of machine gun fire, the hammering of the bullets on my craft, and the bone crushing impact of the craft hitting the sand. I hit my forehead on the craft's retical and started bleeding. However, I was conscious the entire time but the pain threatened to put me under. Miraculously, I survived that ordeal whilst the awaiting death of the desert was still there. I laid there, forehead to the instrument panel when I heard a voice. It was Hans. Faint at first, but it grew louder. Meanwhile, the British aircraft soared overhead, waiting like vultures to finish the job. As Hans voice grew in volume, I looked around but didn't see him. I got out of my craft and started to run into the desert wilderness. The rain continued to pour, like a waterfall rather than droplets from the clouds. My face now stained in blood and sweat. At the same time, Han's voice was being more clear. At some point during my flight from my aircraft, I realized it was the voice of Salinda. "Wake up!" it said in a loud but warm voice. The winds picked up and I became blinded by the ensuing sandstorm. The voice continued to grow in volume. Suddenly, I felt a huge collum of water smash on my face and I hit my head on the upper bunk hard. I gave a short yell as my skull met 10mm of steel. I looked around me, and behold! It was Salinda!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Entry: July 30, 1941
July 30th, 1941
50KM east of Halfaya Pass
The war continues on throughout the desert. News comes in from U Boats operating in the Mediterranean Sea. They are doing quite well, sinking and finishing off any crippled ships trying to break into Malta. Hopefully, the island will starve to submission by combined cooperation between us and the Italians. Spies are informing the U Boats of enemy movement thoughout the world. For me and my little squadron of ME-109 fighters, the past few weeks were uneventful. From the start, enemy air activity has since moved on to greener pastures, since we won Halfaya Pass. Rommel is perusing the British back over the Lybian/Egyptian boarder. In the mean time, my fighter squadron has since started to pack up to move back to Sicically, this time to Polermo, not Syracuse. I was glad to go back to that lustrious green isle, with it's sweet scents, beautiful harbor and bountiful waters. Salinda has move back to Emden, but I haven't heard from her since. Hans looked anxious as well, the man always hated to move. Sad for a man serving with the Luftwaffe. God be with him.
50KM east of Halfaya Pass
The war continues on throughout the desert. News comes in from U Boats operating in the Mediterranean Sea. They are doing quite well, sinking and finishing off any crippled ships trying to break into Malta. Hopefully, the island will starve to submission by combined cooperation between us and the Italians. Spies are informing the U Boats of enemy movement thoughout the world. For me and my little squadron of ME-109 fighters, the past few weeks were uneventful. From the start, enemy air activity has since moved on to greener pastures, since we won Halfaya Pass. Rommel is perusing the British back over the Lybian/Egyptian boarder. In the mean time, my fighter squadron has since started to pack up to move back to Sicically, this time to Polermo, not Syracuse. I was glad to go back to that lustrious green isle, with it's sweet scents, beautiful harbor and bountiful waters. Salinda has move back to Emden, but I haven't heard from her since. Hans looked anxious as well, the man always hated to move. Sad for a man serving with the Luftwaffe. God be with him.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Entry: July 18, 1941
July 18, 1941
50 km east of Halfaya Pass, Lybian/Egyptian Boarder
Between late June and mid July of this year, things have been rather repetitive around the Mediterranean Sea. On the eastern front, however, news have been received of a rather "easy" campaign so far. The Field Marshals of the Eastern Front all report that they will be in Moscow and back in their homes my Christmas. Just incidentally, I was recalling an old history lesson from my days of secondary schooling. I just hope that the Field Marshals will get wise and either hurry up with their invasion and march into Moscow by early September. Before the war, I had been to the Soviet Union a few times for field studies and once as an exchange student. The winters there in Russia are quite harsh if one does not wear enough layers and warm clothing. I even had a friend, Vladimir, that was living in Moscow. He was in the Soviet Airforce by the time I had last seen him, a young cadet if I remember correctly. I still keep in touch with him before relations with us and the Soviets went awry. In his last letter he was already a lieutenant flying I-16's. I haven't heard from him since Operation Barbarossa started.
In the meantime, back in the Mediterranean, we have been receiving both men and plenty of material for our base. In fact, three squadrons of He-111's, 5 squadrons of Ju-87's, and a new squadron of Me-109's, Bf-110's, and Do-217's all arrived to our base. With the new personnel and materiel, our base was expanded almost 5 fold over the course of 3 weeks! While the new material and men came to settle on this base, my squadron of Me-109's have since gotten even more deadlier than last time. I racked up kills totaling 10 for the month, Hans got 16 however. Because of this, Hans got promoted to 2nd flight leader. I still led first flight, but now Hans isn't my wingman anymore. He still flies with me though, since I'm in charge of the entire wing. Among other things, the British are stepping up a notch in the war. More activity in our hunting grounds has Rommel a bit edgy apparently. The Ju-87 Stuka pilots also noted increase in tanks on the ground. Fortunately, I think the Afrika Korps carry enough equipment to handle the commonwealth armor.
The Colonel is slightly antsy also, worried that the base might become too big for him to handle any more Luftwaffe planes. And with the more planes the base has, the more likely that we'll get slammed by the British again. Since our last encounter with the LRDG, the Colonel has placed additional barb wiring and fencing around the base, as well as more armed guards around the parameter than we last had. Hopefully, the LRDG won't take another crack at us again...
50 km east of Halfaya Pass, Lybian/Egyptian Boarder
Between late June and mid July of this year, things have been rather repetitive around the Mediterranean Sea. On the eastern front, however, news have been received of a rather "easy" campaign so far. The Field Marshals of the Eastern Front all report that they will be in Moscow and back in their homes my Christmas. Just incidentally, I was recalling an old history lesson from my days of secondary schooling. I just hope that the Field Marshals will get wise and either hurry up with their invasion and march into Moscow by early September. Before the war, I had been to the Soviet Union a few times for field studies and once as an exchange student. The winters there in Russia are quite harsh if one does not wear enough layers and warm clothing. I even had a friend, Vladimir, that was living in Moscow. He was in the Soviet Airforce by the time I had last seen him, a young cadet if I remember correctly. I still keep in touch with him before relations with us and the Soviets went awry. In his last letter he was already a lieutenant flying I-16's. I haven't heard from him since Operation Barbarossa started.
In the meantime, back in the Mediterranean, we have been receiving both men and plenty of material for our base. In fact, three squadrons of He-111's, 5 squadrons of Ju-87's, and a new squadron of Me-109's, Bf-110's, and Do-217's all arrived to our base. With the new personnel and materiel, our base was expanded almost 5 fold over the course of 3 weeks! While the new material and men came to settle on this base, my squadron of Me-109's have since gotten even more deadlier than last time. I racked up kills totaling 10 for the month, Hans got 16 however. Because of this, Hans got promoted to 2nd flight leader. I still led first flight, but now Hans isn't my wingman anymore. He still flies with me though, since I'm in charge of the entire wing. Among other things, the British are stepping up a notch in the war. More activity in our hunting grounds has Rommel a bit edgy apparently. The Ju-87 Stuka pilots also noted increase in tanks on the ground. Fortunately, I think the Afrika Korps carry enough equipment to handle the commonwealth armor.
The Colonel is slightly antsy also, worried that the base might become too big for him to handle any more Luftwaffe planes. And with the more planes the base has, the more likely that we'll get slammed by the British again. Since our last encounter with the LRDG, the Colonel has placed additional barb wiring and fencing around the base, as well as more armed guards around the parameter than we last had. Hopefully, the LRDG won't take another crack at us again...
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Entry: June 20, 1941
June 24, 1941
50km west of Halfaya Pass, Egyptian / Libya border
With Rommel and the Commonwealth forces butting heads in Halfaya Pass, the desert fox had requested additional air support, particularly Stuka dive bombers. We had been moved since the high command saw us doing very little in Syracuse. So, they had us move back to the scorching desert. The ground crew and commanders had already either been shipped out or flown out from Syracuse. The ground crews were first to go, then the entire squadron itself escorting the commander. A Heinkel He-111 bomber had been modified to carry the colonel back to the desert. Naturally, me and Hans were flight lead and element lead respectfully.
"Back to the eternal sea of sand ain't we?" laughed Hans.
I made no reply, I sincerely hated the desert. Anywhere a pilot had to bail out, he'd had to walk literally thousands of miles before reaching a settlement. Either way, we all had our orders. I fired up the Daimler-Benz engine, hearing it's lone wolf's howl once again. I closed the canopy and reflected upon my time there in Syracuse with Salinda. I wondered what was happening to her. Secretly, I began to pray for her safety. However, ground control was getting antsy and yelled out: "LEAD PILOT! WAKE UP AND TAKE OFF NOW!!!" I confirmed the order and hastily gunned the engine up to speed. Once in the air, I lingered a bit for my entire squadron to take off. The planes, still retaining their original tan colors, looked like a blanket of sand on a rather green island.
With the last planes up, the colonel's VIP plane was last to get off. The lumbering He-111 took off into the salt laden air and joined up with us. There was about 24 of us, 4 planes per element. Our flightpath was a indirect route over the Mediterranean, since a direct route would risk the colonel's plane and ourselves to Malta's unceasing curtain of flak and triple-'A'. We flew at a steady pace, keeping our eyes out for any planes.
The 1 hour transit flew by (pun intended) and we had our airbase already prepared for our arrival. The colonel's plane was the first to land. I watched the old bomber taxi to the ramp and it was my turn to land.
It was torture to see again, a barren land stripped of all except our little airbase. In the distance, heavy artillery could be heard sporadically. As I shut down the engine, I stayed in the cockpit and watched the others land their Me-109's. After watching about 4 or so of my group land, the crew chief walked up to me and handed me a letter. The man had no expression on his face as he handed me the parcel and had even less expression as he left. I opened up the letter. It was from Salinda.
"Dearest Johans,
The war is worsening. Just a few days ago, the Americans have removed all their financial assets from both Germany and our ally, Italy. My uncle's funeral was a memorable one. I don't feel like going into details on how it went right now, nor will I ever say a word of it. I've moved back to Emden, where my family's business is still a bit slow. The gardens are busy of people, and freight still flows on the canal. Remember the time when you first asked me out. I remember it quite well. It was about 7 years ago, you were working near the docks of the canal, unloading a barge filled with ores. And here was I, on the other side of the canal, buying some vegetables for the my family's restaurant. I was not paying attention to where I was going and I fell into the canal. Without a moment's hesitation, you jumped in after me, swam the width of the canal, and got me out of the water. You also got the vegetables from the canal as well. After that, we went back into my restaurant and we became acquainted over a plate of wienerschnitzel. Ah, those were the days. I pray that this war will end soon. I miss you already.
-Salinda"
I spent a moment to daydream of us together. The crew chief woke me up, saying that there was something that I needed to come and see...
PART II
"Are you serious?" I exclaimed.
"Yes Johannas, you've been selected for a squadron transfer.."
I stood there, next to my beloved Me-109, my face turning pale at the sight of another letter the cheif was holding:
"TO: Oberlutannt Johannas Wendler
FROM: Regional High Command
Oberlutanant Wendler, you have been transferred to 16 Seenotkommando. This decision is up to you. But do keep in mind that the Reich is in need of fine pilots like you to continue in the defense and expansion of the 3rd Reich.
-General Stefan Fröhlich; Luftwaffe Commander of air operations, Afrika."
I groaned. The 16th Seenotkommando was in Tunisia, not in Lybia. I took the note from the chief and showed it to the colonel.
"Yes, indeed Johanns. But I think you are needed here more than over in Tunisia. Besides, Rommel needs as many enemy planes down on the ground and burning than up in the air killing our panzers! However, this is from the theater commander."
"What would you do, sir?" I muttered.
"Well, seeing that Rommel still needs as much air superiority we can provide over the pass....I would stay."
"I concur, sir." I said swiftly, then I marched out of the tent. Hans was outside the tent, hearing all this. He didn't need to know what was going on, since he's been listening to the colonel. He smiled, saying "Good man, Johanns. We need pilots like you to lead us." We then went our separate ways and turned in for the night.
50km west of Halfaya Pass, Egyptian / Libya border
With Rommel and the Commonwealth forces butting heads in Halfaya Pass, the desert fox had requested additional air support, particularly Stuka dive bombers. We had been moved since the high command saw us doing very little in Syracuse. So, they had us move back to the scorching desert. The ground crew and commanders had already either been shipped out or flown out from Syracuse. The ground crews were first to go, then the entire squadron itself escorting the commander. A Heinkel He-111 bomber had been modified to carry the colonel back to the desert. Naturally, me and Hans were flight lead and element lead respectfully.
"Back to the eternal sea of sand ain't we?" laughed Hans.
I made no reply, I sincerely hated the desert. Anywhere a pilot had to bail out, he'd had to walk literally thousands of miles before reaching a settlement. Either way, we all had our orders. I fired up the Daimler-Benz engine, hearing it's lone wolf's howl once again. I closed the canopy and reflected upon my time there in Syracuse with Salinda. I wondered what was happening to her. Secretly, I began to pray for her safety. However, ground control was getting antsy and yelled out: "LEAD PILOT! WAKE UP AND TAKE OFF NOW!!!" I confirmed the order and hastily gunned the engine up to speed. Once in the air, I lingered a bit for my entire squadron to take off. The planes, still retaining their original tan colors, looked like a blanket of sand on a rather green island.
With the last planes up, the colonel's VIP plane was last to get off. The lumbering He-111 took off into the salt laden air and joined up with us. There was about 24 of us, 4 planes per element. Our flightpath was a indirect route over the Mediterranean, since a direct route would risk the colonel's plane and ourselves to Malta's unceasing curtain of flak and triple-'A'. We flew at a steady pace, keeping our eyes out for any planes.
The 1 hour transit flew by (pun intended) and we had our airbase already prepared for our arrival. The colonel's plane was the first to land. I watched the old bomber taxi to the ramp and it was my turn to land.
It was torture to see again, a barren land stripped of all except our little airbase. In the distance, heavy artillery could be heard sporadically. As I shut down the engine, I stayed in the cockpit and watched the others land their Me-109's. After watching about 4 or so of my group land, the crew chief walked up to me and handed me a letter. The man had no expression on his face as he handed me the parcel and had even less expression as he left. I opened up the letter. It was from Salinda.
"Dearest Johans,
The war is worsening. Just a few days ago, the Americans have removed all their financial assets from both Germany and our ally, Italy. My uncle's funeral was a memorable one. I don't feel like going into details on how it went right now, nor will I ever say a word of it. I've moved back to Emden, where my family's business is still a bit slow. The gardens are busy of people, and freight still flows on the canal. Remember the time when you first asked me out. I remember it quite well. It was about 7 years ago, you were working near the docks of the canal, unloading a barge filled with ores. And here was I, on the other side of the canal, buying some vegetables for the my family's restaurant. I was not paying attention to where I was going and I fell into the canal. Without a moment's hesitation, you jumped in after me, swam the width of the canal, and got me out of the water. You also got the vegetables from the canal as well. After that, we went back into my restaurant and we became acquainted over a plate of wienerschnitzel. Ah, those were the days. I pray that this war will end soon. I miss you already.
-Salinda"
I spent a moment to daydream of us together. The crew chief woke me up, saying that there was something that I needed to come and see...
PART II
"Are you serious?" I exclaimed.
"Yes Johannas, you've been selected for a squadron transfer.."
I stood there, next to my beloved Me-109, my face turning pale at the sight of another letter the cheif was holding:
"TO: Oberlutannt Johannas Wendler
FROM: Regional High Command
Oberlutanant Wendler, you have been transferred to 16 Seenotkommando. This decision is up to you. But do keep in mind that the Reich is in need of fine pilots like you to continue in the defense and expansion of the 3rd Reich.
-General Stefan Fröhlich; Luftwaffe Commander of air operations, Afrika."
I groaned. The 16th Seenotkommando was in Tunisia, not in Lybia. I took the note from the chief and showed it to the colonel.
"Yes, indeed Johanns. But I think you are needed here more than over in Tunisia. Besides, Rommel needs as many enemy planes down on the ground and burning than up in the air killing our panzers! However, this is from the theater commander."
"What would you do, sir?" I muttered.
"Well, seeing that Rommel still needs as much air superiority we can provide over the pass....I would stay."
"I concur, sir." I said swiftly, then I marched out of the tent. Hans was outside the tent, hearing all this. He didn't need to know what was going on, since he's been listening to the colonel. He smiled, saying "Good man, Johanns. We need pilots like you to lead us." We then went our separate ways and turned in for the night.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Entry: June 9, 1941
June 9th, 1941
Syracuse, Sicily
The bright Meditteriean sun once again bridges across the green and grassy landscape of Sicily. Today, it was the Italian's turn at smashing through Malta's walls of fire and try to burn Grand Harbor's dock facilities to the ground. Dozens of SM.79's and their accompyning escorts of Macchi C.200 roared by as they flew low over the base. The planes flew so low that the prop wash and the wake turbulance from the aircraft almost blew me and Hans off our feet and startled some of the AA crews around the base. Their engines roared so loudly that I could barely comprehend what Hans was trying to say to me. When that was over, I took out the Kublewegen back to Syracuse. I fired up the old VW engine and sped away from the base. The sea breeze was refreshing and laden with the sweet taste of sea salt. As I approached the city, I noticed some Italian warships in the harbor. I wondered what could be happening across the Meditteriean and in North Africa. I continued on my way, pondering the reason the Italian warship's purpose in the harbor. I went to Salinda's vacation home. I rapped at the door and the door opened slowly, revealing Salinda on the other side.
"Good morning", greeted Salina. She had a few suit cases behind her. Try as she might, she knew she couldn't hide them away from me.
"You're leaving?" I enquired.
"Yes", she responded in a sad manner. "I'm going back to Germany, my father wants me there for my uncle's funeral."
I nodded. I understood what her uncle ment to her. However, I knew that she had more to say.
"I'm not coming back to Syracuse, Johannas. I'm sorry. But my father wants me back in Germany since the war is growing more feirce." Again, I nodded and offered to help her pack. She declined the offer and I slowly made my way back to my car.
"I'll write to you." She said as I got into the car. I nodded at her and drove away. I went back to the base and caught up with my crew cheif. The ground crew was all over my plane, as always. For some reason, it sometimes appeared to me as though the ground crew looked like ants on an apple. "The plane is in good condition," reported the cheif, "might be nice if you got this thing a few more bullet holes! My guys have nothing to repair!" He grined and I chuckled at the notion. I climbed into the cockpit, and I asked that the cheif adjust my gun's convergance range. He nodded and signled the crew to jack up the tail of the fighter. One of the crew members started to load the guns and cannons. On the cheif's signal, I let rip all my guns and cannon. The crew made adjustments, for I wanted a convergance range of about 1000 meters. The crew adjusted the weapons until it suited them. The cheif then had the plane towed outside to a small clearing just across the hangers and fighter ramps. The plane's tail was jacked until the plane came parallel with the ground. A crew member then ran off, measuring 1000 meters as he did so. He then placed a target and ran for cover. The cheif signaled the test to begin. 20mm and 7.96mm ammunition went flying towards the target. When I was finished, the cheif signaled the member to check the target. All the ammunition struck the target, and I was satisified with the results. We then towed the plane back onto the ramp and prepared it for tommrow's mission. It was already getting dark, so I went to the canteen to grab dinner. Another day in Sicily just came and went.
Syracuse, Sicily
The bright Meditteriean sun once again bridges across the green and grassy landscape of Sicily. Today, it was the Italian's turn at smashing through Malta's walls of fire and try to burn Grand Harbor's dock facilities to the ground. Dozens of SM.79's and their accompyning escorts of Macchi C.200 roared by as they flew low over the base. The planes flew so low that the prop wash and the wake turbulance from the aircraft almost blew me and Hans off our feet and startled some of the AA crews around the base. Their engines roared so loudly that I could barely comprehend what Hans was trying to say to me. When that was over, I took out the Kublewegen back to Syracuse. I fired up the old VW engine and sped away from the base. The sea breeze was refreshing and laden with the sweet taste of sea salt. As I approached the city, I noticed some Italian warships in the harbor. I wondered what could be happening across the Meditteriean and in North Africa. I continued on my way, pondering the reason the Italian warship's purpose in the harbor. I went to Salinda's vacation home. I rapped at the door and the door opened slowly, revealing Salinda on the other side.
"Good morning", greeted Salina. She had a few suit cases behind her. Try as she might, she knew she couldn't hide them away from me.
"You're leaving?" I enquired.
"Yes", she responded in a sad manner. "I'm going back to Germany, my father wants me there for my uncle's funeral."
I nodded. I understood what her uncle ment to her. However, I knew that she had more to say.
"I'm not coming back to Syracuse, Johannas. I'm sorry. But my father wants me back in Germany since the war is growing more feirce." Again, I nodded and offered to help her pack. She declined the offer and I slowly made my way back to my car.
"I'll write to you." She said as I got into the car. I nodded at her and drove away. I went back to the base and caught up with my crew cheif. The ground crew was all over my plane, as always. For some reason, it sometimes appeared to me as though the ground crew looked like ants on an apple. "The plane is in good condition," reported the cheif, "might be nice if you got this thing a few more bullet holes! My guys have nothing to repair!" He grined and I chuckled at the notion. I climbed into the cockpit, and I asked that the cheif adjust my gun's convergance range. He nodded and signled the crew to jack up the tail of the fighter. One of the crew members started to load the guns and cannons. On the cheif's signal, I let rip all my guns and cannon. The crew made adjustments, for I wanted a convergance range of about 1000 meters. The crew adjusted the weapons until it suited them. The cheif then had the plane towed outside to a small clearing just across the hangers and fighter ramps. The plane's tail was jacked until the plane came parallel with the ground. A crew member then ran off, measuring 1000 meters as he did so. He then placed a target and ran for cover. The cheif signaled the test to begin. 20mm and 7.96mm ammunition went flying towards the target. When I was finished, the cheif signaled the member to check the target. All the ammunition struck the target, and I was satisified with the results. We then towed the plane back onto the ramp and prepared it for tommrow's mission. It was already getting dark, so I went to the canteen to grab dinner. Another day in Sicily just came and went.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Entry: June 7, 1941
June 7th, 1941
Syracuse, Sicily
The sun rose over the eastern horizon with it's usual grandure. The birds started to sing, breakfast was being served, and the entire base was in a fury of action. The air was thick with the sweet taste of sea salt. Already, the ground crews were at work preparing the fighters for today's escort mission to Grand Harbour, Malta. After doing my morning duties, me and my squadron assembled in the breifing tent. "Gentlemen, today you will fly escort to the He-111 bombers to strike the docks at Grand Harbor, Valetta, Malta." Said the Colonel. "Already, we lost about 10 of our bombers and the Italians arn't faring any better than us! Johannas will lead the formation of our bomber force of about 42 bombers. DO NOT STRAY FROM THE BOMBERS!!! Already, their Gladiators are being replaced by the more deadly Hawker Hurricane. The Italian's and our U-boats are doing their part in dislodging the British from this 'Island Fortress'. The British are showing no signs of loosing up, however. So stay alert! Dismissed!" We all left the tent like bees that have been shaken up in their hive. I met up with Hans after the breifing.
"Well, here we go again.." said Hans, with a tired voice.
"Cheer up, atleast we arn't in Russia!" I said in a cheerful voice.
Hans chuckled and left for his Me-109. I wished him luck and told him to stay close to me. Hans nodded as he sat down into his plane. I glanced along the flight line; a line of green and black streched back from behind me. I sat down into my plane and signled the engine to be started. The mighty Dimler engine roared as it started up. Hans followed suit as did the rest of the squadron. In an instant, the entire base was filled with the grumbling of the Dimler engines. The ground crew signled the chocks released and I gunned the engine. The grubleing of the engine turned to a whine as the throttle was pushed foward. I started my take off roll and headed into the crystal blue meditteriean sky. Hans and the others followed suit. The bombers were already above us at 10,000 feet. It took us an agonizing 12 minutes to get up to the bomber's altitude. When we got up, I looked around and kept my head on a swivel. At any moment, a Hurricane might pop out from below and take a shot at us or the bombers. It took a hellish 30 minutes before we got to the island fortress. By the time we got to the coast, I was slightly dizzy. However, It paid off. Nearing the island, Hans called out a lone Hurricane near the coast and trying to reach our altitude. I left the number 3 in charge and me and Hans charged the British plane head on.The Hurricane fired first, letting loose a barrage of .303 caliber machine gun rounds. We responded by both 20mm cannon and 7.92mm machine gun fire. The distance between us was closing rapidly! Suddenly, the Hurricane caught fire and went nose down for the icy cold Meditteriean sea (We shared credit for that kill afterwards). After a moment of calmness, a voice broke out over the radio, " Leader! We are being attacked! 5 Hurricanes have broken though....". Before the voice could finish, it let out a scream and then...silence. I looked up and saw a He-111 fall from the sky, the entire plane a flame and crew attempting to bail out. The bomber came between me and Hans, the both of us getting pelted by debris from the slayin bomber. Instinctly, we both pulled up and headed back for the bombers. What we saw was incrediable. There was 20, not 5, Hurricanes that broke though the fighter screen. The radio was a mess with messages from everyone, bomber crew and fighter pilot alike. I looked over and saw Hans giving me a fist. I clenched my fist in response and we went into the furball. It wasn't hard for me nor Hans to find a target. A Hurricane flew across my nose and I persuied him. Aiming my pipper on him, I let the lead fly and the Hurricane was shredded in an instant. Suddenly, tracers lit up around my cockpit like christmas lights. A Hurricane had gotten on my tail! However, looking farther back, I saw Hans with his guns blazing at the Hurricane. Again, the Hurricane bust into flames and headed for the sea. In two minutes, the entire squadron racked up 15 kills, 3.5 to me and 1.5 for Hans. The remaining Hurricanes retreated back to their airbases on the island. We had lost track of the bombers in the fury. While the Hurricane busied themselves with us, the bombers made it to the target and bombed the harbor. 2 bombers fell prey to the anti-aircraft artillery of the island. The lead bomber then signalned for home. We escorted the bombers back to their base before we headed to ours. After landing, I decided to spend the rest of the day with Salinda. After making my way to Syracuse, I went to her vacation home and asked if she wanted to go out and do something. She accecpted and suggested that we take her uncle's yacht around the island. We fished off the coast for the rest of the day in the clear blue costal waters of Sicily. By nightfall, we had returned back to the docks and we tied up the yacht. I took her out to dinner, this time trying out a nearby seafood restruant. We smiled and laughed as we exchanged stories from one another. After the dinner, I took her back to her vacation house. We kissed each other good night and I went back to base. Hans met me near the entrance of the base. He had a jelious look on his face as he handed me a letter. I read the letter quickly. I had been awarded the Iron Cross. I gave Hans a puzzled look as he tossed me a small box into my lap. I picked up the box and opened it up. In it was the Iron Cross and a letter from the Regional Commander, stating how proud he was of my squadron. I smiled and me and Hans made our way into the barracks.
Syracuse, Sicily
The sun rose over the eastern horizon with it's usual grandure. The birds started to sing, breakfast was being served, and the entire base was in a fury of action. The air was thick with the sweet taste of sea salt. Already, the ground crews were at work preparing the fighters for today's escort mission to Grand Harbour, Malta. After doing my morning duties, me and my squadron assembled in the breifing tent. "Gentlemen, today you will fly escort to the He-111 bombers to strike the docks at Grand Harbor, Valetta, Malta." Said the Colonel. "Already, we lost about 10 of our bombers and the Italians arn't faring any better than us! Johannas will lead the formation of our bomber force of about 42 bombers. DO NOT STRAY FROM THE BOMBERS!!! Already, their Gladiators are being replaced by the more deadly Hawker Hurricane. The Italian's and our U-boats are doing their part in dislodging the British from this 'Island Fortress'. The British are showing no signs of loosing up, however. So stay alert! Dismissed!" We all left the tent like bees that have been shaken up in their hive. I met up with Hans after the breifing.
"Well, here we go again.." said Hans, with a tired voice.
"Cheer up, atleast we arn't in Russia!" I said in a cheerful voice.
Hans chuckled and left for his Me-109. I wished him luck and told him to stay close to me. Hans nodded as he sat down into his plane. I glanced along the flight line; a line of green and black streched back from behind me. I sat down into my plane and signled the engine to be started. The mighty Dimler engine roared as it started up. Hans followed suit as did the rest of the squadron. In an instant, the entire base was filled with the grumbling of the Dimler engines. The ground crew signled the chocks released and I gunned the engine. The grubleing of the engine turned to a whine as the throttle was pushed foward. I started my take off roll and headed into the crystal blue meditteriean sky. Hans and the others followed suit. The bombers were already above us at 10,000 feet. It took us an agonizing 12 minutes to get up to the bomber's altitude. When we got up, I looked around and kept my head on a swivel. At any moment, a Hurricane might pop out from below and take a shot at us or the bombers. It took a hellish 30 minutes before we got to the island fortress. By the time we got to the coast, I was slightly dizzy. However, It paid off. Nearing the island, Hans called out a lone Hurricane near the coast and trying to reach our altitude. I left the number 3 in charge and me and Hans charged the British plane head on.The Hurricane fired first, letting loose a barrage of .303 caliber machine gun rounds. We responded by both 20mm cannon and 7.92mm machine gun fire. The distance between us was closing rapidly! Suddenly, the Hurricane caught fire and went nose down for the icy cold Meditteriean sea (We shared credit for that kill afterwards). After a moment of calmness, a voice broke out over the radio, " Leader! We are being attacked! 5 Hurricanes have broken though....". Before the voice could finish, it let out a scream and then...silence. I looked up and saw a He-111 fall from the sky, the entire plane a flame and crew attempting to bail out. The bomber came between me and Hans, the both of us getting pelted by debris from the slayin bomber. Instinctly, we both pulled up and headed back for the bombers. What we saw was incrediable. There was 20, not 5, Hurricanes that broke though the fighter screen. The radio was a mess with messages from everyone, bomber crew and fighter pilot alike. I looked over and saw Hans giving me a fist. I clenched my fist in response and we went into the furball. It wasn't hard for me nor Hans to find a target. A Hurricane flew across my nose and I persuied him. Aiming my pipper on him, I let the lead fly and the Hurricane was shredded in an instant. Suddenly, tracers lit up around my cockpit like christmas lights. A Hurricane had gotten on my tail! However, looking farther back, I saw Hans with his guns blazing at the Hurricane. Again, the Hurricane bust into flames and headed for the sea. In two minutes, the entire squadron racked up 15 kills, 3.5 to me and 1.5 for Hans. The remaining Hurricanes retreated back to their airbases on the island. We had lost track of the bombers in the fury. While the Hurricane busied themselves with us, the bombers made it to the target and bombed the harbor. 2 bombers fell prey to the anti-aircraft artillery of the island. The lead bomber then signalned for home. We escorted the bombers back to their base before we headed to ours. After landing, I decided to spend the rest of the day with Salinda. After making my way to Syracuse, I went to her vacation home and asked if she wanted to go out and do something. She accecpted and suggested that we take her uncle's yacht around the island. We fished off the coast for the rest of the day in the clear blue costal waters of Sicily. By nightfall, we had returned back to the docks and we tied up the yacht. I took her out to dinner, this time trying out a nearby seafood restruant. We smiled and laughed as we exchanged stories from one another. After the dinner, I took her back to her vacation house. We kissed each other good night and I went back to base. Hans met me near the entrance of the base. He had a jelious look on his face as he handed me a letter. I read the letter quickly. I had been awarded the Iron Cross. I gave Hans a puzzled look as he tossed me a small box into my lap. I picked up the box and opened it up. In it was the Iron Cross and a letter from the Regional Commander, stating how proud he was of my squadron. I smiled and me and Hans made our way into the barracks.
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