Sorry for the delay in posting. I’m still working, slowly but surely.
Here is another snippet to ease the withdrawal symptoms. Karl is subbing for the injured copilot on a flight from Moscow…
“Does that screwball not understand that we ain’t as fast as he is?” Ames complained for about the tenth time in the past two hours. It was obvious that the screwball in question didn’t understand the speed difference between a Petlyakov PE-2 and a Packmule. Nor did the Soviet pilot understand that the Texan autogyro couldn’t fly as high as he clearly wanted it to do, thanks to the lack of an oxygen system. They were currently cruising at 130 knots indicated at 10,000 feet, just short of the Packmule’s top speed under normal conditions.
The PE-2’s gunner leaned out of his cockpit with a signal light and began flashing a message to the Texans. Karl read it out, his Morse almost as bad as the gunner’s English. “‘Must.. fly… more.. fast… Nazi… fighters… in… area… more… quickly… now…’ Well, that explains their agitation. Have you ever flown a ‘gyro with an unloaded rotor, Mister Ames?”
“Un-loaded rotor? Howinhell do you do that, sir?”
“Hmmm, I guess they’re still not teaching that in the advanced ‘gyro course. Let me show you.”
“Your bird, sir.” Ames had a doubtful look on his face.
Karl took over control of the ‘gyro, advancing the throttles to the stops. He then set the flaps on the stub wings down to 10 degrees. Finally, he reached for the rotor pitch control and began slowly flattening out the blades, reducing their lift. To Ames’ amazement, not only did they not fall out of the sky, they maintained altitude and the airspeed indicator began slowly climbing. 135… 140… 145… Finally, it topped out at 148 knots indicated, which, for the current air conditions gave them a true airspeed of nearly 160 knots.
“That can’t be, sir! Howinhell does that work?”
“Well, at speeds over a hundred knots or so, the stub wings are actually providing a fair bit of the overall lift. Enough so that it’s possible to reduce the pitch on the rotor, which, of course, reduces its lift. And if it’s not producing as much lift…”
Ames smiled as the idea got through to him. “It’s not producing as much drag, meaning we can go faster. And by adding a little flap on the stub wings, that boosts their lift without much of a drag increase. Giving equivalent overall lift for less overall drag. Damn, why don’t they teach that in the flight schools, sir?”
“Because it’s too easy to unload the rotor too much, causing it to flap and lose RPM. I’m riding the ragged edge right now. Another few degrees of pitch and bad things will start happening. It also cuts way down on our maneuverability. But we seem to be keeping up with our escort, for the moment anyways.”
“Looks like it. Damn, Admiral, where’d you learn that trick?”
“The owners of Brazos River Aeronautics were my roommates in college. I did a lot of test flying on their early prototypes between Navy assignments. Tell your loadmaster to have everyone in the back start keeping an eye on the outside. If there really are Kraut fighters snooping around, that could be big trouble.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Ames waved to the loadmaster and shouted Karl’s instructions to him. The loadmaster nodded and went back to the passengers.
It wasn’t long at all before the Soviet’s fears were realized. “Bogies eight o’clock high!” The loadmaster shouted.
“How many? Are they attacking?” Karl shouted back.
“Looks like three… NO, four of ‘em. Turning toward us now!”
********************
Aboard the lead German fighter
The flight was actually a pair of Bf-109s escorting a pair of Ju-87 dive bombers. They were returning from a strike mission on a road junction. The flight leader spotted the unusual formation below.
“Achtung! Enemy aircraft two o’clock low! One bomber, probably a PE-2, and one… Gott in Himmel, was ist das?”
The other 109 pilot, who had recently transferred from the Mediterranean, replied. “It’s an autogyro, Herr Major! The Texans use them to carry troops and supplies. But why is one here in the middle of Russia?”
“It doesn’t matter, they are enemy aircraft, so they are targets. Willi, you and I will take the bomber. Leutnant Harz, you and your wingman will take the strange thing.”
The other pilots acknowledged their orders, and the four planes split into pairs to pursue their chosen game.
********************
Aboard the Packmule
Ames shouted “The bogies are splitting up! Two going after the Russkies, and two after us!”
“Let me know when they’re about in firing position” Karl shouted back.
The loadmaster called out “Permission to drop the rear ramp and break out the tail guns?”
“Not just yet, Mickey. I think the Admiral has some maneuvers planned. Y’all better strap in!”
“Got it, boss!”
Ames looked out his side windows at the diving Germans. “They’re Stukas, Admiral! Almost there…NOW!”
Karl chopped the throttles, then brought the rotor back to full flight pitch. The effect was like slamming on the brakes. The ‘gyro pitched nose up and slowed down rapidly, causing the Stukas to overshoot. He stomped on the left rudder pedal, causing the whole aircraft to pivot underneath the rotor, reversing direction in less than a heartbeat. The rapid turn caused the German pilots to lose track of their prey.
“Ames! Is there ammo in the nose guns?”
“Yessir! I had a full load put aboard, just in case!”
“Bless you, my son! Have the loadmaster drop the ramp now!”
“Aye, sir!”
Karl continued the turn, ending up on the tail of a by now quite confused Stuka. Normally this wouldn’t have been a very useful place to be. However, after the introduction of the Wasp showed the way, it had become popular among Packmule crews to mount a pair of guns, usually .50’s, on the noses of their ‘gyros. After all, why should the attack pilots have all the fun. Unfortunately, this field modification usually didn’t include mounting a gunsight for them, the pilots relying on tracers to walk their fire into the target.
When the angle looked right, Karl fired a burst, missing the German low and to the right. He quickly corrected his aim and tried again. Too much rudder. A final adjustment was rewarded with flashes marking hits on the wing root and fuselage of the hapless Stuka. It rolled over to the left and dove toward the ground below. It never pulled out.
“Where’s that other Stuka” Karl shouted, mentally cursing his missing eye.
“Five o’clock low, the loadmaster’s lighting him up now!”
That was indeed what was happening at the rear of the autogyro. The loadmaster had unlocked and lowered the loading ramp, which allowed the Model 1928A light machine guns that were mounted to either side to be pointed out the back. The Loadmaster was on one gun, while CWO O’Donnell had grabbed the other one. They took turns lining up and firing at the trailing Stuka.
They were unlikely to do any real damage to the German plane since the Texan’s rifle round, an offshoot of the civilian .300 Savage hunting cartridge, was less powerful than the ones used in German, British, or American rifles. However, the tracers would likely make the enemy pilot cautious about trying to attack the rear of the fleeing ‘gyro.
While this was happening the two 109s had gone after the PE-2, which was maneuvering wildly to evade their fire. The radio operator on that plane was also calling for help as loudly as he could, the plane’s transmitter turned up to maximum power.
Karl continued his deadly dance with the remaining Stuka, dodging its fire while never quite getting into position for a return shot. It should have been over quickly, as the Stuka was much faster than the Packmule. The ‘gyro’s extreme maneuverability and Karl’s skill were evening things out. But unless help came soon, there was only one ending for this battle. Even if the other Stuka was somehow knocked out, there were still the two 109s to worry about. Not to mention the possibility of more Krauts showing up.
Fortunately, It was the Soviet reinforcements that arrived first, in the form of a pair of Yak-1 fighters from a nearby fighter base. These dove on the unsuspecting Messerschmitts, catching them both by surprise at about the same time that Karl had finally managed to turn the tables on his pursuer. The Stuka, trailing smoke from its engine, turned and ran west, toward the German lines.
“Is everybody alright back there?”
“Checking now, Admiral.” Ames unlatched his seat belts and went to the passenger compartment. He returned a few moments later. “All secure for the moment, sir. No major damage, and only one casualty.”
“Who was it?”
“Chief Petty Officer Diaz. He caught a round through his head, dead instantly.”
“Damn. Can you take over, Ames? I’m ‘bout worn out.”
Ames buckled himself back into the left seat. “My bird, sir.”
Karl nodded and released his death grip on the control yoke. “Your bird. I guess put us back onto our base course to Arkhangelsk. Hopefully we have enough fuel to get there.”
Copyright 2025 D.A. Brock
