WesWorld

Ok, your getting back at me for my pestering you about some those German responses to my earliest Lithuanian posts aren't you, Rolf? Lol.

Hm, rewrite yet again - back to the FW 187, lol.

Rain, now why in heavens name did it have to start raining , Leutnant von Kalben of the III Battalion/39th German Infantry Regiment wondered to himself. Actually raining was a poor word for it, he thought, it was begining to pour down by the bucket load. The rattle of gunfire was ever present, to the point where the troops no longer remarked on it. Mingled with the ever present smell of gunsmoke, was that of burning wood and mortar, and a undercurrent of burning flesh. Von Kalben tried to put that thought firmly out of his mind, he had other things to occupy himself with tonight.

Word had reached the Field Headquarters, that not only were the League of Nations troops in Vaskes cut off, but that they were now the subject of attack by elements of the Wilno National Self-Defense Battalion. So far, von Kalben, noted his position had not yet been attacked, but the word was an attempt to overrun the Field Hospital had been made. It had been repulsed due to the efforts of the 99th Bulgarian Infantry, but they were now under siege.

Von Kalben suspected, that it was only a matter of time before somebody decided to attack his defensive position, in order to lever the LoN Task Force out of Vaskes. The key question would it be Letowska's forces or the Waclaw Rebels?

Leutnant von Kalben, pulled his surcoat more closely about himself. He slowly made his way from position to position inside his assigned perimeter, checking in with the men of his detachment. They were as miserable as he was, the now constant rain, cold dismal darkness of the night, lite only by the repeated gun flashes and grenade explosions was doing nothing for their mood. He tried to give what encouragement he could as he continued his rounds.

Von Kalben finally arrived at his most exposed outpost, a machine gun position set up on the second floor of an abandoned house. The post had a good field of fire, and at least had a roof over it's head, which was mercifully keeping most of the weather out. One of his men, very civilly offered him a cup and saucer, the home's stove was evidently still working. Von Kalben took it gratefully, treasuring the warmth it imparted to his hands. Lithuania was being to grow colder, this time of year, the harsh bite of an early winter was in the winds tonight.

Von Kalben finished the cup of coffee in a few minutes, pausing to fill his pipe, he noticed idlely a armoured car, emerge from a side street, rainfall beat down upon it's roof, and cascaded down it's flanks in streams. Something about the armoured car, rang distant alarm bells in the back of von Kalben's mind. He couldn't fathom what was wrong, but he knew instinctively that it was. The feldwebel in charge of the outpost moved to join him, evidently just as puzzled but not alarmed. There were after all several armoured cars deployed by task force, here.

Then it hit, Leutnant von Kalben, he fumbled with his field glasses, while waving at the feldwebel to put his men at action stations. The armoured car abruptly slide into view, as he trained his glasses on it. The profile of the vehicle was wrong, it wasn't that of the Turkish vehicles he and his men were so accustomed to seeing. It was a Lithuanian vehicle, a old Great War relic. Dashing up through side streets and marching up behind the armoured car, von Kalben could make out men, with weapons at the ready.

Von Kalben caught a sight of blue armbands, Letowska's WNSD men, and cursed. He reached for the field telephone in front of him, never taking his eyes off the approaching men.
"This is Leutnant von Kalben, get me battalion HQ please. I think we may have a probl --". Kalben never finished the statement he intended to make, suddenly the armoured car, gunned it's engine and began to roll towards his position, the shadowy men around it broke into a run.

"ALARM!!!" Von Kalben yelled into the telephone receiver, he then dropped the phone, and lunged for a spare rifle. Von Kalben had time to register the feldwebel yelling to his men, warning them that they were about to come under attack. The sound of the MG-33 nearby being cocked sounded unsually loud, von Kalben brought the rifle to his shoulder, aligned the sight. Some twenty German soldiers around him did the same, tensely waiting for the order to open fire.

Drat and blast, looks like those PzB 34 ATRs may get some use after all..... pity there aren't any at von Kalben's position.

Looks like the MG33 is about to get it's baptism by fire as well.

Indeed... weather certainly doesn't help aircraft overflights, either.

I think next time we decide to send a LoN task force somewhere, we try to arrange an attached air unit, at least for army cooperation roles. I had toyed with the idea of sending some of my Fw-44 biplanes (I use them as trainers - they are so not a combat aircraft!) as spotters and recon to catch the bandits/deserters when we were still in that phase of operations. They wouldn't be terribly helpful at the moment of combat, but an canvas-clad eye in the sky is better than nothing.

If things settle down again and the LoN taskforce resumes its work, then Bulgaria will probably bring the issue up. Of course I instead decided to be imminently practical and send supply battalions to compliment everybody's ground troops...

Once the fighting ends, Bulgaria will offer to add an engineering battalion to help build refugee camps for displaced persons.

Germany has a bunch of Hs-123 biplanes that could be used for the role of light support and eyes in the skies, and they don't need too much in the way of a runway (though any runway's a fixed base for a hostile force to attack). They aren't fighters, either, but they're competent enough ground-attack aircraft.

No, the rain wouldn't help pictures, but the rain's at night, so either this is the night AFTER the recon birds went out, or it's the night BEFORE (no infra-red cameras in use at this time, so photo-recon's mostly a day-light game).

Yes, it would tie us down to defending an airport, but look what the Brits did in 1941 at Habbaniya with field-converted trainers!

Leutnant von Kalben, held his fire, waiting: if someone was going to start this fire fight, he was going to be damned if it was him. The Wilno Self-Defense men, didn't disappoint him, a spasmatic fire rippled down their front line, gun flashs dotted their positions, peppering his and his men's position. Von Kalben still waited, his men waited for the order, checking their lanes of fire, making sure everyone had a target - the order would come soon.

Von Kalben, centered the sight on an advancing man, who turned as he ran, waving a pistol, obviously an officer - urging his command on. Von Kalben squeezed the trigger, the rifle jarred back against his shoulder, he immediately began realigned the rifle for a new target - his target jerked, then fell to the ground - as he worked the action. Around him, the outpost opened up.

The MG-33 snarled to life, sending a line of tracers arcing across the advancing Self-Defense men's first wave of skirmishers. The gunner swept his weapon back and forth, hosing their attackers with bullets. Charging men went down under it's hail like so may bowling pins. Von Kalben noted as he fired again, that his riflemen were adding their own quotient of death, here and there amoung their attackers a man would stumble, or jerk, then fall dead or wounded to the rain slicked pavement.

A shell screamed overhead, out of the night, and then dove into the street in front of the outpost, Leutnant von Kalben had to shield his face as debris scattered over him. Another shell followed, then another, and yet another. Four high explosive rounds crashed into the Wilno Self-Defense troops, killing or wounded over a score of them in less then a minute. Von Kalben turned and suddenly realized what had happened, one of Feldwebel Pohl's men had grabbed the field telephone and begun relaying ranging information to the battalion's infantry gun platoon. Panic seemed to have seized the Self-Defense troops, they started to fall back in twos and threes, dispite the shouted orders and curses of their officers.

Just for a moment, Leutnant von Kalben, hoped things were going to take a turn for the better. Just for a moment. The MG-33 suddenly stopped firing, with a sickening suddenness, it's crew gawked at their now silent weapon for a stupified moment.

"It's jammed!" One gunner yelped. His loader looked at him for a disbelieving moment, then snapped back.
"Well unjam, the damned thing!"

The abrupt slackening of fire from the German outpost, that resulted from the MG-33 jamming, gave some one amoung the Self-Defense men the chance to launch a fresh assault. The armoured car, poured burst after burst into the house's second story, men dove for cover. The MG-33 was knocked over as the body of it's gunner became entangled with it. The soldier operating the field telephone, fell over with half his face shot away. Von Kalben saw a wave of perhaps a hundred men, swarm out of the side streets and nearby building, surge towards his position. Von Kalben, heard Feldwebel Pohl's shout to his men.

"Fix Bayonets! Fix Bayonet!"

I think we can all agree that not only is Marshal Letowska turning batty, his men are turning suicidal.

Quoted

Originally posted by Hrolf Hakonson
Germany has a bunch of Hs-123 biplanes that could be used for the role of light support and eyes in the skies, and they don't need too much in the way of a runway (though any runway's a fixed base for a hostile force to attack). They aren't fighters, either, but they're competent enough ground-attack aircraft.

No, the rain wouldn't help pictures, but the rain's at night, so either this is the night AFTER the recon birds went out, or it's the night BEFORE (no infra-red cameras in use at this time, so photo-recon's mostly a day-light game).

It's October in Lithuania, Mud happens.
Again, it all depends on whom is asked when for what support. Most period planes can take soggy strips and have lower wingloadings than mid-WWII planes.

The old C.V-Ds and C.Xs can fly off all sorts of short muddy strips, and the .V-Ds have a ski conversion package. KLMs F.36A Arend airliners were designed for flying off such strips.

In other news... things are not looking so good for Lieutenant von Kalben and his unit.

Nope. The good thing is, the MG-33's fairly easy to unjam if, like here, the jam's not due to mud/etc. But, when the eventual reports get written and sent up the chain of command, reports of jams like this will eventually result in a request for a MG of similar type, but less prone to jamming, and if it's a bit less expensive to make, that would be no bad thing. Result? The MG42.

Quoted

Originally posted by Hrolf Hakonson
though any runway's a fixed base for a hostile force to attack

Well. a word in the right ear, and KDM Jutland could be standing off the coast........

In this particular case, we've got an unsinkable aircraft carrier nearby called East Prussia, but the problem is that any airbase outside the LoN force's area of operations can be made useless (or it's value limited) if intervening airspace is not open to flyovers. That's the root of the problem currently facing the LoN force, not a lack of aircraft (Luftflotte II has plenty of aircraft to do anything it's likely to do in support of the LoN force).

Oh, we've already got the Storch, but while it's a GREAT communications plane, it's not the best if you actually want to attack something.

Marshal Letowska, looked at his senior aide, hollow eyed and weary. He sat in his office, with a pistol resting in his lap. Periodically another aide came into the office, and delivered a written or verbal report of the situation. Maps that covered the walls, and surrounding tables were refreshed or modified in light of the reports contents. The fighting had gone on for nearly three days now, longer then anyone had expected. The Wilno National Self-Defense Battalion, had done well in defending the offices of the Wilno Government for the most part, but much of the town of Vaskes was still being bitterly contested, with no end to the fighting in sight, for either his own troops or the Waclaw Rebels.

Letowska would have snarled at that last thought if he'd had the energy to do so. Truth be told he lacked the energy to do much other then to remain seated here in his office, while fire fights raged around him. Letowska scrubbed his face with a listless hand, he was tired, very very tired. The insurrrection had drained him, the victories, the defeats, the ongoing day to day trials and frustrations, all of it.

Word had reached him that Major Ambrozy Guttowa had been killed trying to take over the League of Nations Field Hospital. His company had taken heavy casualties in it's first assault on the place, and was even now trying vainly to besiege the hospital. Letowska shuck his head wearily, he had not ordered that attack, Guttowa's had always been a loyal but headstrong sort. Typical that he should try and seize the hospital for his own troops exlusive use.

Further reports had come in that his troops were clashing with the Civil Watch Corps, that didn't bother Letowska over much, his loyalists hated the Jannissaries of General Kazim Orbay, with a passion. They would have to be dealt with sooner or later, if the Wilno Republic was to prosper, free of outsider interference. The report that a fire fight had brewed up with a German held outpost in Vaskes, troubled Letowska a little. Again he had not ordered it, although he couldn't say he would have opposed it, if asked.

Marshal Letowska, scrubbed his face again with a tired, trembling hand. He had been so close to victory and final success so often, but always it remained just beyond reach. Victory was always elusive, until one snatched hold of it, Letowska thought. Letowska suddenly stood, calling for his staff and walked to the nearest situation table, looked carefully at the maps, then began to issue orders. It was time to finish this, time to rid himself of both his enemies, the Rebels and the Foreigners. Vaskes was his, and so was the Wilno Republic.

Ah, the perils of having too much ambition...

So, the charmer at the hospital was named Guttowa? Heh. Good riddance to him, then!

Dorner surpressed the urge to swallow, the four Lithuanian fighters were closing fast, within minutes they had shot past the cruising FW 187, then looped round and taken up a open diamond formation around his plane. The radio crackled to life, a spat of Lithuanian came over the receiver. Unfortunately, Dorner didn't speak a word of Lithuanian, nor did Thayer. An agonizing minute crawled by, then a voice spoke in German.

"Recon flight Vaskes? Flight Leader Nagius, 5th Fighter Squadron." The voice remarked crisply. Dorner almost sighed in relief, for a tense moment he thought he was about to be shot down. Dorner quickly responded in the affirmative.

"Yes. I am instructed to follow your lead, while in Lithuanian airspace."

"Understood. Maintain, present course and speed, we will over fly, Kaunas and Vilnius, before making for Vaskes. Orders are to check in with each airfield before we arrive over Vaskes."

"Very well." Dorner said. Thayer began making some calculations on a pad, working out the course, that the Lithuanian flight commander had laid down. He grunted wordlessly to himself as he worked out the variables.

The Lithuanian countryside quickly flashed past, Kaunas, and Vilnius came and went in a surprisingly short time, or at least it seemed so, to Dorner. The Lithuanian escort occassionally made some remark to one another, but as it was in Lithuanian, Dorner had no means of knowing what was being said.

Thayer didn't help Dorner's peace of mind by noisely and ceaselessly chewing crackers the whole flight. By the time, they had reached Vilnius, Dorner had half a mind to scream at his collegue. Dorner got the feelling that wouldn't make Thayer stop, though. According to rumour in the squadron, eating crackers was Thayer's luck charm. He'd been in the midst of eating a packet of salted crackers when he'd survived a plane crash some years ago. Which seemed sort of dumb to Dorner, the point of a luck charm was to help ward off accident, injury or bad luck wasn't it? Not deal with it after it happened. Although, Thayer might have a point, after all, the old remark about any landing you could walk away from.... come to think of it, what happened to the pilot that had been with, Thayer that day? Dorner had never been able to find out that particular detail --. Dorner's train of thought was abruptly interrupted.

"Vaskes, ahead. Recon flight." Nagius suddenly spoke over the open channel. Dorner and Thayer snapped to attention. Nagius, slowly circled the flight around Vaskes, for a over view. It didn't look good, a lot of smoke was hanging on the horizon, flames could be seen glittering in several parts of the town.

Dorner following Nagius's lead, swung his FW 187 over Vaskes for a high level pass, Thayer snapped pictures with his equipment rapidly. Not Satisfied, Dorner requested another pass over the town, at a lower level. Nagius, agreed. Around the five aircraft went in, sweeping much lower then their previous pass. Low enough to be endangered by any flak guns if they were present. Thayer snapped more pictures, remarking that one more pass would do it.

Dorner, thought that was pushing it, the troops amid the buildings, in the streets and on top of roofs, had begun to take notice of them. Still Dorner, thought, Thayer had a point: they were here to get the best information of the LoN task force positions and the positions of the Wilno and Wilno Rebels. Nagius responded that he was game. That decided it, one more pass, then they would head for home.

Dorner spotted a series of twinkling lights appear as they began the third pass. It took Dorner a moment to realize what those twinkling lights were. Bullets shrilled past his cockpit, others pock-marked the metallic sking of the engine nacelles, fuselage or the undersurface of his FW 187's wings.

Dorner realized that he was being shot at! It seemed every Wilno soldier who wasn't shooting at something on the ground, was shooting at him. The black crosses emblazed on his wings seemed to offer no protection: either the Wilno Self-Defense men didn't realize that they were shooting at a German aircraft or they didn't care. After several days fighting it was probably the later, they probably thought of any aircraft overhead as being enemy.

Dorner cursed as smoke began to plume from the underside of his port nacelle. The instruments registered no damage, but something was burning inside the casing. Suddenly he heard Flight Leader Nagius bark something in Lithuanian, abruptly the two of the escorting fighters to his right and rear, flew expertly under him in effect acting as shields. A stead storm of bullets tore up from the ground, striking them repeatedly, both Lithuanian pilots obedient to their commander's orders held their position.

Nagius's plane and that of his wingman, ahead and to Dorner's left, suddenly and without warning plunged towards the ground, their hub mounted automatic cannon and wing machine guns chattering. Dorner clawed for greater height, his escort grimly sticking with him the hold way.

Dorner and Thayer watched silently, as the two decending planes, raked the roof tops and streets in a single screaming pass. Many of the twinkling muzzle flashes were abruptly extinguished as they passed, as their own cannon and machineguns shells struck home - killing, wounding or causing men to dive for cover. Nagius and his wingman, began to climb themselves, there work done. Smoke striked out from Nagius's engine, his plane began to wobble sickeningly, then it flipped over before, Nagius managed to right it. Then the fighter plunged, flames erupting from the engine exhausts, the crippled plane careered down into Vaskes, out of control. It passed from view amid the smoke shrouding the embattled town. A bright explosion suddenly lite up the skyline, as the Lithuanian plane impacted into the ground.

Dorner and Thayer exchanged sickened glances. Bullets still reached up for them, but with less and less effectiveness as the FW 187 climbed quickly for safety, the three Dewoitine fighters struggling to catch up. Dorner heard the radio crackle with an exchange of Lithuanian once more. It sounded harsh in his ears. Then Nagius's wingman waggled his wings, and began a turn back towards Vilnius, his fellow Lithuanian pilots did the same, grouping protectively around the German plane. Dorner took his meaning, and brought the FW 187 around onto a course for the Lithuanian airfield.

Quoted

Originally posted by Agent148
According to rumour in the squadron, eating crackers was Thayer's luck charm. He'd been in the midst of eating a packet of salted crackers when he'd survived a plane crash some years ago.

Nice...I love how people think. I can understand a superstition such as 'I've never crashed if I do my lucky ritual'- easy to want to control "fate", but 'well I crashed......but the crackers saved me' ugh. Of course Dorner should wonder what happened to whoever was flying with Thayer hen.

True. But nobody said superstitions had to make rational sense, either.

Have modified the story arc, a bit to reflect your thought Kirk

Still got to wonder where this second crewman's fitting on a single-seat aircraft like the WW Fw-187, though the crackers element IS amusing. Yeah, for all you might want to get more pictures, taking too many passes and getting lower each time is the wrong way to do it. If you must make more than one pass, come from a different direction and preferably higher the second time, and NEVER make a third pass. Once the report makes it back to Loftflotte II, have to send condolences to the Lithuanians about their pilot.