Operation Highwire (Closed, Excalibur Only)

[Morrdh]

"You OK mam?" Charlie asked Alix as he extended a hand to help pull her back on her feet.

[Grenartia]

"Oh and here we go. Never expect it to be easy, boys." Samantha said, finally coming up to Eleven's wing to make it seem like she did it on her own and hadn't heard Silva's order. She honestly didn't know who he was talking to, because it sure as hell wasn't her. If it was, she'd teach him respect the only way she knew how by drinking him under the table when they got back. "Stay with me, newbie. High chances these guys aren't your average escorts."

"Understood." Jimmy said, before being cut off by Noble's transmission.

Alix keyed the intercom next to her seat - the Germans seemed to have fitted a slightly more advanced internal comms system in the short time they'd had the Wellingtons in their possession.
"All White and Blue flights - the fighters are your main target. Break and attack now - we can get the transport rounded up later. The skies absolutely have to be clear before we can start the-"

She was unceremoniously cut off by the obliquely-approaching roar of one of the enemy fighters. In a snap decision, she quickly dived sideways onto the floor. This was the right decision, for about a second later, the familiar hateful chatter of 109 guns opened up and several new holes were added to the Wellington's fuselage, punching in one side and out the other in a straight line that would have cut her apart at the waist had she still been standing there.

"Stanford!" she called out to the cockpit. "Anything you can do to reduce the chances of that happening again?"

"Twelve, I'm going after that fighter. Watch my 12."

Jimmy saw the fighter that had just made the attack on Noble's Wellington pulling up, and dove to engage it.

[Goram]

Such was the design of the Wellington, a fabric skin over a geodetic skeleton, cannon shells often passed right through the machine without going off. As the 109 made a slashing attack, riddling the fuselage, this design feature proved beneficial as it's rounds passed harmlessly though the gaps in the skeleton. Somehow, the shells missed everyone in the aircraft, but all aboard knew that they might not be so lucky next time.

Anything you can do to reduce the chances of that happening again?

"Yes, Flight. Hold onto som-"

Stanford's reply was cut short by a frantic call, originating from the tail gunner.

"Fighter! Corkscrew port...go!"

The gunner, huddled in his isolated turret, had seen this fellow at the very last second as the fighter moved in from the left. His warning came just in time, as Stanford reacted without thinking, throwing the bomber into a steep dive to port. Stanford and the gunners were strapped into their positions, meaning the violent manoeuvre had little effect on them, however the others didn't have the luxury of a harness. Stanford couldn't see his crew, but he couldn't imagine they were still on their feet.

The smell of cordite filled the aircraft, as the tail gunner engaged the fighter that had attempted to follow the dive. Stanford's eyes were glued to the altimeter, watching as it spiralled downwards. After bleeding off roughly a 1,000 feet Stanford hauled back on the control column, aided by Kaya, going from diving to port, to climbing to port. The exertions the corkscrew placed on the airframe was, to say the least, considerable. After putting on 500 feet, Stanford reversed the climbing turn, throwing the controls to starboard. The climb continued for another 500 feet, regaining original altitude, before turning the right-hand climb into a right hand dive. As might be expected, the diving turn was reversed after 500 feet and the machine dove to port again, repeating the manoeuvre. The German, Stanford didn't know if he was still there or not, might have been expected to anticipate the Wellington's moves now. However, it was easy to anticipate the move but it was a completely different matter to follow it. It was even harder, a fact to which Stanford could attest, for a fighter to bring it's fixed guns to bear on the violently manoeuvring target.

[United Kingdom of Poland]

Dietrich rolled his HE-100 over and dived into the soon-to-be furball, both sides began their initial passes.
"Weiss 2, cover my six. We are going to hunt some bombers, Weiss 3 and 4, engage the enemy fighters. Make sure no one ruins our day, ja?"

"Copy that, Herr Lieutenant!"

As the heinkels engine roared, he selected the lead wellington as the target.
His guns spitted out shells into the crafts wing, hoping to hit fuel lines. he kept going, flying below the bomber and he pulled the stick into his gut. The Heinkel nosed up, Gaining altitude quickly.

Polanski had his flight gaining altitude searching for targets. Blue flight seemed to have the first wave in hand with sword 11 and 12 chasing the fighter on the one Wellingtons tail. Off to his right he could see two aircraft climbing out of an attack. The lead aircraft appeared to be some new type of aircraft that Matt hadn't ever seen before. "Sword 5 to command, I have some new fighter, I can't identify but it is not a 109 over." He and the rest of the flight banked over to begin pursuit.

[The balkens]

Dietrich looked over his shoulder to see spitfires in pursuit of him.
"Damn it!" he gunned the throttle, soaring higher and higher. Hoping to outrun the enemy.

[Kassaran]

-snip-

Jonah watched from his flight leader's side as the Messerchmitt's tore into one the Wellingtons below, knowing he'd be yelled at later, he broke formation and dove towards the ailing Wellington. The 109 on its tail was quickly bringing guns to bear, though Stanford was pulling everything he could to shake the bandit. Flipping his craft over on its back, Jonah pulled back on the stick, bringing himself into a steep dive. The point of being on his back was to allow for the fuel to still move into the engines from the carburetor. Feeling his stomach begin to stretch from its current place down towards his toes, he held the dive, almost drifting along- 500 meters.

Looking for a means of lining up the shot properly, Jonah began to guide his craft slowly to the right while in the dive, the point would be to flip over hard clockwise. The force being directed from downward momentum into a climb would allow Jonah the time needed to correct and sneak in on the bogey's tail, or so he hoped. Calling to Stanford, Jonah moved to engage- 250 meters.

"Stanford or whatever radio guy is on the dancing bomber! I'm coming in to support you, tell that poor shot of a tail gunner to hold off that Kraut for a few more seconds, bearing down right on his six! Will have him in ten seconds! Hold on!" 175 meters, the Spitfire was now beginning to show the stress of the dive. Knowing that he was within striking range, he lost track of his target as it disappeared under (or over, depends on your point of view really) his nose. Flipping over, he began to feel the wings vibrate viciously, but knowing he was still comfortably within his boundaries of maintaining structural integrity he continued on with the wide scissor-loop, slowing down and pulling under the dueling duo, then, dropping his flaps to half-down, he nosed up and put his cross-hair right into the little space between the Wellington and Messerschmitt and closed the distance- 100 meters.

He could now see clearly the areas where the gunner had chipped away the flecks of paint on the wings and body of the 109, but he had failed to do anything significant visually. Still needing to pull up more, he kept his nose and his guns pointed into that tiny bubble where he would need to place his shots to drop the enemy fighter- 75 meters. His engine screaming, he paused for one last second, waiting for Stanford to respond, before dropping his finger on the little button on the control stick that would fire the twin 20 millimeter cannons and their adjoining .303 caliber MGs on the target.

[Grenartia]

Dietrich looked over his shoulder to see spitfires in pursuit of him.
"Damn it!" he gunned the throttle, soaring higher and higher. Hoping to outrun the enemy.

As Jimmy saw his prey shoot past him, he did the only thing he could think to do. He put his Spit into level flight for a short stretch, before pulling up, and then rolling it 180 degrees, a maneuver known as an Immelmann turn (though not to be confused with the other similarly-named maneuver from WWI), putting Jimmy in a position to climb back up to a position where he could fire on the German.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"You OK mam?" Charlie asked Alix as he extended a hand to help pull her back on her feet.

Alix gratefully accepted the proffered hand , and hauled herself unsteadily back on her feet. Seeing Charlie's current position as probably the best possible idea, she ducked behind the strut on her side.
"I'm fine. Thanks for the help. I guess we're just lucky he didn't hit anything important-"

"Fighter! Corkscrew port...go!"

The gunner, huddled in his isolated turret, had seen this fellow at the very last second as the fighter moved in from the left. His warning came just in time, as Stanford reacted without thinking, throwing the bomber into a steep dive to port. Stanford and the gunners were strapped into their positions, meaning the violent manoeuvre had little effect on them, however the others didn't have the luxury of a harness. Stanford couldn't see his crew, but he couldn't imagine they were still on their feet.

The smell of cordite filled the aircraft, as the tail gunner engaged the fighter that had attempted to follow the dive. Stanford's eyes were glued to the altimeter, watching as it spiralled downwards. After bleeding off roughly a 1,000 feet Stanford hauled back on the control column, aided by Kaya, going from diving to port, to climbing to port. The exertions the corkscrew placed on the airframe was, to say the least, considerable. After putting on 500 feet, Stanford reversed the climbing turn, throwing the controls to starboard. The climb continued for another 500 feet, regaining original altitude, before turning the right-hand climb into a right hand dive. As might be expected, the diving turn was reversed after 500 feet and the machine dove to port again, repeating the manoeuvre. The German, Stanford didn't know if he was still there or not, might have been expected to anticipate the Wellington's moves now. However, it was easy to anticipate the move but it was a completely different matter to follow it. It was even harder, a fact to which Stanford could attest, for a fighter to bring it's fixed guns to bear on the violently manoeuvring target.

She was again interrupted by Stanford's frankly terrifying series of maneuvers that threw the Wellington around the sky like a petulant child would throw about a toy. The only thing saving her from literally tumbling across the entire crew compartment (and possibly out the open side portal) was her clinging relentlessly to the side strut as the plane corkscrewed wildly, evading German fighter fire quite handily. Thankfully, her straps held and her equipment didn't go spilling out all over the interior.
We've got to end this now.

"Stanford!" she yelled as the plane righted itself, nearly sending her sprawling once again. "Get on that bloody radio and call up the Beaufighters! We need this airspace cleared out, right now! I'd do it myself, but the comms over in here are...erm...sparking...a bit!"
She'd hoped to keep the Beaufighters in reserve for as long as possible to conserve fuel and the element of surprise, but it seemed she'd underestimated how long the aerial battle would take, and how much it would set back the assault. Hopefully, the numerical advantage the heavy fighters would give them would speed up the battle some.

[Monfrox]

Samantha watched below and saw a fighter try and line up on the Wellington's six. "Hang in there, Eleven, I'll be right back." She said as she pulled off to the side and dove. She tried lining up on the fighter, but was getting too much speed. Figuring she was going to overshoot it, she pulled hard up alongside the 109. "Clear it, you Kraut." She growled as she forced him off the sweet spot. Her wingtip was almost touching his fuselage. She didn't stop there, and kept pressing him further away until they were a good distance, only then did she break off. "Ha HA! Who says you need guns to keep fighters busy?" She looked behind her to find the 109 lining up on her now. "...well shit." She said, pushing down into a dive. "Come get me...." She led the German down to the ground and weaved around the terrain while keeping an eye on her altimeter.

[Kassaran]

Samantha watched below and saw a fighter try and line up on the Wellington's six. "Hang in there, Eleven, I'll be right back." She said as she pulled off to the side and dove. She tried lining up on the fighter, but was getting too much speed. Figuring she was going to overshoot it, she pulled hard up alongside the 109. "Clear it, you Kraut." She growled as she forced him off the sweet spot. Her wingtip was almost touching his fuselage. She didn't stop there, and kept pressing him further away until they were a good distance, only then did she break off. "Ha HA! Who says you need guns to keep fighters busy?" She looked behind her to find the 109 lining up on her now. "...well shit." She said, pushing down into a dive. "Come get me...." She led the German down to the ground and weaved around the terrain while keeping an eye on her altimeter.

Jonah watched as his prey tore off after Sam, he had just been about to line up the shot when she had torn in and began pushing him off of the target, a good thing he had caught her diving to assist as well or he might of opened fire and accidentally hit her. Bearing down after the two fighters, Jonah began to make the calculations. A spit could only dive a short while before the engine would choke, meaning the Messerschmitt held the advantage here. Calling out to Sammantha over the comms, he explained the situation. He was closing at just under 100 meters behind the 109 tailing her. If she pulled hard right and up, the 109 would be unable to counter properly due to stress fractures opening him up to a slashing dive attack by Jonah.

Dropping his nose into the area in front of the 109, he waited for Sam to clear and drag the Kraut into a turning fight, against a pair of Spitfires, he was certain to drop quickly. The engine roared in Jonah's ears yet still Jonah listened vigilantly for the response.

[The balkens]

Dietrich cursed as another spitfire latched on to his six. Thinking that his next maneuver could be costly, he decided to go with it anyway.

He jammed the stick further back, having his plane perform a loop. But he leveled out when he noticed about a flight of four beaufighters below him.
Perfect he rolled over and dived again. Seeing that the spitfires were out of range, this was an opertunity he could not pass up.

The heinkels engine screamed, the unassuming beaufighters kept on course. Dietrich smirked as he pressed the trigger as he pulled lead on the rear craft. Shells poured in the fuselage of his target, he kept firing until the rather large fighters fuselage broke in half. Dietrich kept going with his dive, zooming below the now scrambling heavy fighters.
"one down..... "

[Morrdh]

"You OK mam?" Charlie asked Alix as he extended a hand to help pull her back on her feet.

Alix gratefully accepted the proffered hand , and hauled herself unsteadily back on her feet. Seeing Charlie's current position as probably the best possible idea, she ducked behind the strut on her side.
"I'm fine. Thanks for the help. I guess we're just lucky he didn't hit anything important-"

"No worries mam." Charlie replied and then held onto Alix's arm as the Wellington was suddenly thrown about the sky by Stanford. "Should've asked to fly first class."

---

A Flight, 604 Squadron

"Steady lads, wait for the signal." Flight Lieutenant Morgan ordered over the radio to the other Beaufighter pilots, though he knew the pilots under his command were eager to engage the enemy but they had to wait for the fellows with the Spits to call them in. Suddenly his observer opened up with the rear machine and shouted. "Bandits!"

"Break! Break! Break! Morgan called out over the radio and then put the Beaufighter into a swirling dive, just glimpsing one of the twin-engine fighters explode into a fireball before streaking down towards the earth. He pulled out of the dive, using the extra speed they'd built up to climb and give himself a bit of an altitude advantage. Meanwhile his observer called from the back of the plane. "The Jerry bastard's below us!"

"Keep you're eyes peeled." Morgan shouted back as he scanned the skies with his eyes for any more attackers as he levelled off and flew in a zig-zag pattern to make himself a difficult target. Ideally he wanted to get the drop on the German pilot first and give him a taste of the Beaufighter's four 20mm cannons, though it was a case of making sure the German didn't catch them unawares.

[The balkens]

Dietrich zoomed lower to the ground, leveling out at about 1000 feet.
"Weiss flight! Let's put those fighters to the test, shall we?"
As he heard the reply, he nosed up and began to climb. It was a near looping climb, as he got to the sufficient altitude, he leveled out. "let's pull the sword from the stone, once and for all.."
Dietrich pushed the stick forward and the heinkels engine screamed. "Who's next?!"

[Kouralia]

As the Wellingtons bumped about, the thoroughly disapproving Smythe could do little but tsk and move to a marginally safer position. Despite his relative lack of aptitude in the air, the British Army NCO would much have preferred to be in control of his own destiny, so to speak. Standing there in the hold, accompanied by the odd Polish bloke's brother and hearing the chattering of machine guns whip around - and on occasion through the British-made bomber, Smythe couldn't help but feel the slightest bit unsafe.

Sighing at the irony of the approach - under the guns of machine guns, oh how very army-like for a soldier in the air force, Sebastian couldn't do anything more than repeatedly check the chamber of his Browning, and occasionally feel against his clothes for the reassuring steel. The poor bastards flying that German transport...

[The balkens]

Dietrich was above it all, he can re-engage the beaufighters from here or make a run for the wellingtons.
"and......NOW!" he pushed the stick back, his wingman still behind him. "Weiss two, we are going for the heavy fighters. keep your guard up and don't let them get a shot on you!" "ja mein herr!" his wingman replied.

[Monfrox]

"Negative. Disengage, Sword Four. That's an order. Cover the Wellington. We need to make sure they make it to the transport." Samantha said back. She was quite seasoned, so she had a few tricks up her sleeve. She waited for Mackenzie to pull up while she led the 109 down along the treeline. "I'm gonna run you into the ground..." She thought.

[Kassaran]

"Negative. Disengage, Sword Four. That's an order. Cover the Wellington. We need to make sure they make it to the transport." Samantha said back. She was quite seasoned, so she had a few tricks up her sleeve. She waited for Mackenzie to pull up while she led the 109 down along the treeline. "I'm gonna run you into the ground..." She thought.

Jonah followed her orders and obligingly fell back into formation with the Wellington's above. As he pulled in to position behind Stanford's, a Bf-109 buzzed the massive plane. Jonah, knowing that he was baiting, pulled up and pretended to pursue, hoping his feint at leaving the bomber unprotected would provide him with better prey. He'd much rather drop a few rounds into a flight leader than a little decoy. Getting about 700 feet above the bombers, he sat and wove in and out hoping that soon the transport would be present and they could begin the boarding operations. Looking anxiously towards the wing-mate he had left to the mercy of the Messerchmitt below, he hoped he had made the right call in letting her go and then went back to scouring the nearby area for any takers.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Meanwhile, aboard the Junkers...

it's amazing, Oberleutnant Gottfried Eckert dispassionately reflected to himself, how quickly things can go from so utterly boring to so utterly fucked.
Only a few minutes ago, he'd been enjoying what may have have been the simplest, most cushy transport run he'd ever been on. Flying some prisoners from one end of France to Berlin with a whole squadron of fighters for protection in one of the the fastest, newest transports Germany had to offer was a pretty sweet deal - right up until the moment they'd been caught in some kind of English fighter sweep.

Now, he was desperately trying to keep out of the fight while staying on course and avoiding the attention of the RAF group that had so suddenly materialized. He flipped over to the fighter frequency.
"Weiss Lead, this is Grun - the situation's way too hot for us here. We're going to try evasive action moving on our original axis northeast - can you buy us some time to get clear of the area?"

As he spoke, the 89 was already heading further away from the furball.

[The balkens]

Dietrich keyed the radio.
"Grun, this is Weiss lead. Roger, however; We may not guarentee your safety if you brake away from our sight. I will be with you shortly."

Dietrich dived on a unsuspecting Beaufighter and pressed the trigger. The machineguns made an all too familiar sound.

"be advised, I recognize the squadron prefixes. It's Them.

[Morrdh]

The rear gunner on Dietrich had spotted him and returned fire with the rear mounted .303 machine gun on the heavy fighter as the plane took evasive action, determined not to be such an easy kill.

~

"Beer Flight, where the bloody hell are you chaps?!" Flight Lieutenant Morgan cried out over the radio as he kept flinging his own aircraft about the, his only response was a frantic cry from one of his own flight who had a Jerry on his tail. Morgan brought his Beaufighter and spotted Dietrich going in for the attack, Morgan got onto the German's tail and fired off a burst of quad 20mm cannon fire.

"Engage, engage!" Came a message from the Wellington, to which Morgan replied. "Bit busy here chum."

[The balkens]

Dietrich saw cannon rounds and shells fly past his canopy. Pulling the stick back, he performed a loop, hoping to bring the beaufighters higher towards his squadrons BF-109s.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Eckert could hear from the chatter on the radio that the English were whittling down his fighter escort. More than that, they were drawing it off from him - leaving the transport totally exposed. Almost unconsciously, he throttled the engines up as far as he could safely go, trying to leave the furball behind him and make his escape. he felt a bit bad for leaving the fighter boys in his dust, but what else could he do? They had their job, and he had his - and it wasn't like there was anything he could do to help them out other than get himself and the cargo killed.

---

The radio on the Wellington squawked through the crew compartment of the Wellington again - less loud this time, as it lacked the stereo effect of the dual speakers since the one had been shot out.
"This is Morgana calling Whimpey One - Transport is moving out of the combat zone to the northeast, speed estimated at 220 MPH. Recommend pursuit."
Couldn't agree more. "Full throttle, Stanford," Alix called out from the compartment. "And somebody get the fighters on the line and tell them to hold the 109s where they're at now - hopefully, we can get enough of an opening to start the boarding."

[The balkens]

Dietrich could see from his position that the transport was slipping away, he smiled devilishly.
"Weiss squadron, this is Weiss one. The transport is withdrawing from the combat area. In Five minutes; We withdraw from the area and head home. Let the Junkers gain some distance from them. You got that?"

As the responses came in, he readied himself for another attach run on the beaufighters.

[Morrdh]

Flight Lieutenant Morgan didn't go after Dietrich and got his surviving Beaufighters to form up so that they could concentrate their rear guns if any of the German fighters tried attacking, though the Spitfire squadron was keeping the Germans busy and relieved some of the pressure on Morgan. He was intending to briefly withdraw from the engagement in order to gain some altitude whilst the German fighters were kept engaged by the Spitfires, though his radio crackled to life. "Beer Leader to Ace Leader, can't leave you alone for five minutes before you're crawling with Jerries."

"Ha!" Morgan replied, scanning the skies with his eyes for the second flight of Beaufighters. "Where the ruddy hell you lot been? You missed all the fun!"

"You're too much of a bolshie Ace Leader, we've been meeting a few angels and about to drop in for some tiffin with Jerry. Try not to come to grief in the meantime."

"Well pull yer ruddy finger out and get on with it." Morgan replied before switching the channel over. "Whimpy One, Ace Leader, sitrep please."

---

"Beer Flight, you heard the man." Beer Leader called out over the radio to his own flight of Beaufighters. "Tally ho, tally ho."

The six Beaufighters of Beer Flight dove out from the cloud that they'd used for cover as they tracked the engagement with their radar sets, each one dead set on taking out a German fighter to avenge comrades who'd been shoot down. They dove down on the Germans from above, hoping to catch them by surprise.

[Goram]

Full throttle, Stanford

The words reverberated through the earpieces in Stanford's helmet, as he threw the medium bomber hard to starboard in order to avoid the 109 that was making a sweeping pass against them.

The Bf.109F, a new variant of the machine that all RAF fighter pilots had come to fear and respect in equal measure, was less well armed than the previous E model. Still, the two 7.92mm machine guns and singular 20mm cannon, firing through the motor, packed a punch. Stanford's hard turn, the intervention of a Beaufighter, threw off the German's aim and only two of the cannon shells hit the Wellington. One passed harmlessly through the fuselage. The other contacted and penetrated the bulkhead that separated the wireless operator and navigator.

2.3 grams of Pentaerythritol Tetranitrate, the explosive charge of the shell, went off first. The explosion, blew the Wellington's navigation table away. By some miracle, the navigator survived completely unharmed. The wireless operator, was not so lucky. The man was dead before his brain had time to register the flash that had gone off next to his head. The explosion was followed, fractions of a second later, by the incendiary effect. The 2.1 grams of elektron, a magnesium alloy, burnt at over 2,000 degrees celcius. The unimaginable heat cauterised the dead man's horrific wounds and started a small fire inside the fuselage, setting maps and logs aflame.

As Stanford brought the bomber back level, opening the throttles, in order to catch the transport that was barely visible on the horizon he turned his head back to signal Noble. Instead of the Flight Lieutenant, all he could see was flames and the dead wireless operator. Stanford could have sworn his heart stopped for half a second. Half of the poor bastard's head seemed to be missing. He gripped the controls tighter, to stop his hands shaking if nothing else.

"Pilot to crew"

He began, taking a moment to compose himself

"Someone put that fire out. Flight Lieutenant, I've got the target in sight. Prepare to board."