A brown stallion stands next to me pawing at the dirt floor of a barn. Thank God one of the troopers had some apples stuffed into his rucksack. Was about to chew him out for them until the horse quit neighing and walked over to him. I guess breaking the rules sometimes does turn out good.

Not sure where we are at this point. Our squad has been on one hell of a run lately. We have covered nearly 100 miles since Thursday morning. And it being Sunday, we are starting to get a little tired. Just took a look at my map and noticed that we have run nearly off of it.

WHAM!!! WHAM!!!!

The enemy artillery fire is starting to get a little close. Hope the guys can get to it before it reaches us. About an hour ago, we were rolling through the woods, only to come upon the lead element of a pretty strong ground force. Thankfully they though they were still in their backyard and not running a tight formation. Raptr, Rifle and Rogue worked them up pretty good and the enemy high-tailed it for home. Rooks didn’t seem to care that they led us right to their base.

For now, they are shelling the town into submission. Tried to sneak in there earlier and came across a hail of towed 88s and Panzer fire. Once I saw that, I know that it would be a tough one. The radio chatter is quite active. Reports of a Panzer near the water tower get broken off mid-sentence as one of our guys disables it. They are moving at such a clip I am surprised that they haven’t run out of ammo.

“Supplies needed near town, ASAP!”

Rifle finally ran out of HE rounds and Celt runs up some more for him. I always hated being out in the open or near the front lines trying to rearm a tank. Just a situation no one wants to be in. Bullets and tank rounds fly past as if you are a sitting duck in one of those carnival shooting galleries.

Suddenly the sky from my perch darkens for a brief moment and a roar of an aircraft engine pierces the din of ground warfare. It is an IL-2 with enemy markings. He must be expecting some troops to be out here somewhere ready to storm the town once the tanks have slowed the shelling. Sure wish we had the anti-aircraft battery. The troopers and I are all alone out in the woods without any sort of air defense. We were moving so fast that the AA vehicles were left behind. They were still trying to catch up the last we heard from them.

At the moment, the air base near town is starting to come alive. The drone of fighter engines begins to grow. I repeat the call to headquarters for air support. They are trying to re-route some fighters on a ground support mission. We will see though. The last time they re-routed fighters to us, they had already expended their ordnance and watched from 1500 feet as we fought it out.

Another call is made to Recon and Moil who are slowly coming up in ack guns.

“2 minutes from your position, now sit tight and shut up.” Moil, our ever eloquent CO is not one to mince words.

The sounds of battle had been growing but are now slowly beginning to fade. The whine of artillery that had passed nearby has slowly disappeared and the drone of aircraft hangs on.

I gather my troopers and start to formulate an attack plan as the call comes in to begin moving up. The engine on my M3 groans to life and we leave the relative safety, if that can be found in battle, of the barn. Making our way to the base, we see the path our squad has blazed. Shattered remains of tanks still burning and smoking, litter what was once a corn field. A few stalks sticking up between tread marks are all that remains.

Few enemy aircraft still loiter about looking for an easy kill. Thankfully, the anti-aircraft guns are keeping them at a respectable distance except for one that has broken from the others near town and dove to the ground in our direction. The driver of our M3 guns the engine and lurches over a small hedgerow as the IL-2 comes so low, there are treetops higher than he is. I can tell he is stepping on the rudder as we race for the cover of a grove of trees. I look into his face as he opens up and we hear a loud wrenching sound coming from his right wing. He was paying too much attention to us and didn’t see the tree. With a morbid sense of humor, one of my troopers begins to sing the theme song to George of the Jungle.

We make it to the edge of town as a couple of friendly Typhoons streak over town dropping ordnance and pulling high over our heads. What once had been a beautiful town was now a dusty pile of rubble from hours of tank and artillery shells and now bombs. Our squad did a good job of rooting out any enemy ground vehicles and we had a clear run through. Just a short mop up and the base was ours. A hard day’s fight won.

Later while sitting in the remains of the church, I looked up at an amazing sight. The large round stained glass window had survived. I began to lower myself down to the ground for a rest……

...and Moil walks in, “Get off your butts!! Let’s move out!!”

Today, I had the pleasure of flying with LTARazor on a bombing mission to A43. However, what was thought to be a milk run turned into a harrowing experience for this reporter, while the LTAR squad remained cool. Almost as if it was a pleasurable walk in the park.

We left our airfield and slowly climbed to nine thousand feet.After reching cruising altitude, I asked Razor, the aircraft commander, why we had only climbed to that altitude. Hi answer was somewhat disturbing to me.

"We get better accuracy at lower altitudes and we kind of like to see who we are up against." Maybe I am on the wrong flight.

Our run over the field resulted in only half of our bomb load being dropped. Almost once the ordenance had been dropped, an enemy figher appeared climbing to our rear quarter. The gunner quickly dispatched the Spitfire as a N1K closed in. Again, the gunner brought that aircraft down. But, one of the wingman had been shot down and we were now leaking fuel.

A slow turn was completed and brought this strange crew and frightened reporter back over the base for another run. Thankfully, someone said that fighter cover was on the way. I was thinking that we needed it when a Mosquito was shot down by the rear gunner. Again, form the bombardier, "Bombs away" and we turn for home. After just a few minutes, LTARadio appears above us and descends to fly our wing. Amazingly, this scares away an enemy fighter away, except for another lone Mosquito that closes on us during the letdwon.

Breaking up into a loop, LTARadio drops on the six of the offending fighter and pours a stream of machine gun and cannon fire into his right engine sending him down in a mass of flames.

Upon landing, we find out that LTAR had flown against the vaunted Aces and 8s Squadron. But, no sign of weakness from LTAR. When asked by this reporter why the mission was so difficult, LTARazor replied that this was a milkrun and had not posed any problems that "normal" missions offer.


Mac Johnson
War Correspondent
In the Skies With LTAR

Tide of Battle Halted???

Tonight, while many Bishop squadrons and ground units are disolving along the front, the LTARs stood firm and halted many advances. Even taking back one of the bases that had been captured earlier, when CO Moil was able to get troops in after the VHs had been dropped. Fromt there, they showed the diversity of their training while stopping two advances at A102 and A146. At A102, a Knight mission consisting of BF-110s and P-38s was stopped cold by the brilliant flying of many in the LTAR squad. The same happened at A146 when they upped their fighters under heavy bombardment by several sets of Lancasters with escorting fighters. While stymied by some setbacks, they persevered under pressure. Is this the leadsership that we are looking for?
I will be following this squad and getting to know the men that make up this rag-tag squad. What are they fighting for? Where are they from? Why do they fight so well? These and other questions will be answered during my stay with these heroic warriors.

Mac Johnson
War Correspondent
On the now stationary front lines with LTAR.

Attack Along a Wide Front Leads to Bish Quagmire in War

News has reached us that the Knight and Rook Countries have been attacking the Bishops along a wide front. Bases have been overrun and many good pilots and tank commanders lost. There has been a virtual blitzkrieg and we have been powerless so far to contain the advance. Calls of “Pilot’s!!! Man your planes” and “Base Under Attack” are being heard at an alarming rate. Here on the front lines, there has been widespread panic and confusion among our troops. Many have left their posts and run leaving weapons and stockpiles behind. Who will step up to lead our great nation and troops to a stunning defense and then offense to a final victory in this war?

Mac Johnson
War Correspondent
Somewhere on the front lines

God what a day. This damned aluminum seat and the only padding is my chute. What a pain in the ass. Then, throw in this 12-hour mission and you can be one sore dog at the end of the day.
A day that started at about 4am when the wake-up call came. At least we had real eggs for breakfast. Knew once I saw real eggs, that there was a mission on. Finished up that and slowly walked over to the briefing room wiping the sleep form my eyes and stretching my arms. Need to stop drinking after the sun goes down. That and my girl keeps saying something about a baby.
Cnuk stands at the front of the room glancing at his watch every couple of seconds, waiting for the CO to come in. He has been filling in while our CO Moil had been away for a few months. I guess the top brass had some issues for him to deal with at HQ. Moil has been with this squad since the beginning. Think he may have been placed in charge by the big guys in Grapevine. We heard that he was even instrumental in getting us some new ack GVs here not too long ago. Unfortunately, that technology was stolen a few months back when the Rooks overran a couple of our bases. Damn that Moil and his uber ack gun. Every time I fly over a Rook base and have to face that Wirbelwind I get a little scared.
We all yak back and forth as light hearted as we can. The mood in the briefing room is usually a little morbid. Guess that’s how guys about to head out to do battle keep the tension down. Can’t help but notice the black curtain covering the wall map at the front of the room. That seems to be the other thing on everyone’s mind.
“Ten-Hut!” barks the XO as the old man comes striding down the small aisle. We’re all at attention and aching to sit back down again. Finally he reaches the front of the room.
“At ease men.”
He quietly surveys the room as we tense up for what we think is our impending doom. What will the mission be today? The ball bearing factory, oil refineries, the new aircraft factory intelligence found or a fighter sweep.
“The brass gave us a big one today.” Pulling aside the curtain, “Rooks have been moving from their air base at A65 with heavy bombers and Jabos last night to V41. We need to stop this advance ASAP. Our mission is to take down the ordnance and stop any troop advancements from reaching that base. Our VH is down and Seabees are working as hard as they can to bring them back up. They need our help before the bas is overrun and our countrymen lost.”
At this point, there is a small commotion at the back of the room. Being too hard to ignore, we turn to see Soup rush to the front of the room with a message. Gravely, Moil looks up from the note.
“It seems a Rook CV has moved into position off of A65 to support the advance. I need two volunteers to try and send it to the bottom.”
Not a chirp sounds as the latest news sinks in. Almost unwillingly I find myself standing to volunteer. What am I thinking?
“I’ll go.”
“Thank you Razor! Any others?” Moil looks around.
“You can’t count me in.” Everyone thought our resident prankster was asleep in the back. Mac stands up looking like a disheveled rag doll. He can sleep through a briefing but still get up and proceed with the mission as if he heard the entire thing.
Moil looks a little grimly at Mac. “Alright then. Takeoff immediately and rendezvous with the escorts that the Spartans will have for you over the coast. Soup will give you the last known coordinates of the CV. Oh, by the way. We have reason to believe that it is the HMS Audacity.”
I stop and slowly turn my shoulders now showing the utter dread welling from within me. It was just a few short months ago that I had barely made it back from an attack on that same ship. Both of my wingmen had been lost and my aircraft shot so full of holes that it had collapsed and broken into pieces upon landing.
Stammering slowly, “The what?”
“Good luck Razor and good hunting.” Moil then returns to discussing the Jabo tactics and ground support assignments for the squad mission ahead as I slowly head out to discuss the mission with Mac and Soup.
On the way out to our aircraft, we formulate our plan. We both will take off and rendezvous with the fighters. From that point, we will both separate and fly search patterns until finding the Audacity. Arriving at our planes to find the crews ready and the ground personnel scurrying around our aircraft getting things ready for the mission ahead.
A short barrel-chested sergeant comes over to me. “Would you like the 500 or 1000 pounders today sir?” He keeps chomping on his unlit cigar without missing a beat.
“Better load the big boys today, Riley. I want to make sure we take that bastage down.” The fight within me is now starting to build.
Soup looks over my plans and turns to leave. “Good luck this morning Soup.” I say. “Same to you Razor.”
I look over at the Mac’s plane sitting next to mine. The “Grumpy Bastage” has seen its time in the air. But, so does Mac. Both have been flying since the beginning and show signs of wear. A small hole in the wing, or a bruise over the right eye from last night’s bar fight is their battle scar.
I look at my bird. She is only a couple of months old, but still showing the effects of hours of hard flying in this war. The “Florida Fatty” is now my home in the sky. Got her new from the factory and have flown it quite often in various roles. Aside from my girl at home, she is one of only three women in my life. The other is my FW190-D9 sitting in its dispersing area on the other side of the field.
The crew climbs into their positions as I give the sign for start engines. A great rumble erupts as 24 Pratt and Whitney radials start barking and rattling. The oil starts flowing and coming up to temp as we start for the runway. We pass the others as they climb into their fighters.
“Tower! This is 456332 flight of two, ready for takeoff.” My throat mic is a little tight and needs readjusting. Too busy now though.
“456332, flight of two. Cleared for takeoff and good luck!”
Throttles and props full forward. The props claw and bite at the air as we ever so slowly start rolling down the runway. A quick check behind confirms that my two wingmen have followed me. Airspeed slowly builds as we reach the mid-point of the runway and the nose wheel starts to come off of the ground. Just seconds later, the mains lift off as well. But she climbs like a punch-drunk angel. Slow and on the verge of a stall. I gain some altitude and turn to see my wingmen joining up.
“How far back are you Mac?”
“Close enough to tell that you didn’t wash behind your ears this morning.”
“Thanks Mac. Keep the climb till we reach 10K. We should reach the coast in about an hour.”
“Roger that Razor.”
I settle in and look around the cockpit. The mixture is a little rich and the props are slightly out of synch. That’s better.
“Here comes the rest of the squad sir!” calls the tail gunner. I look off my left wing in time to see the lead element fly past. There goes Rogue and Stud. Hntr and Raptr in their gray mottled 110s. There is some blue haze floating around the cockpit of Raptr’s cockpit. He must be smoking one of his “short and fatty” cigarettes that he is always trying to take time out for.
About and hour out of base, I pick up the coastline. For whatever reason the Spartans aren’t here and I can’t pick them up on the radio. We have to have fighter support, but the mission has to be finished. Thankfully there is spotty cloud cover that can be used for cover if need be. Mac and I go over the search grids and he breaks to cover his area. Now begins the long, arduous and boring task of searching for an enemy. The hours drag by. About 8 hours into the search we spot a small speck on the horizon. I call out for the gunners to check their guns and keep a sharp eye out. We keep a watch but as soon as it appears, it is gone.
Mac calls with his location and we know we must be close.
“There it is sir!!!!!” Danged gunner screamed so loud my eardrums about shatter.
“Where is it Hatcher?” I ask calmly.
“4 o’clock sir, about thirty miles out. Nice ring of destroyers around her too sir.”
Slowly, more specks start appearing from the area of the CV and close quickly.
“Where the hell are you Mac?” My frustration starts to mount, as he should be close by now.
“I’m pickin’ up fighters like crazy! Not sure I am going………..” and the transmission is lost.
To our 9 o’clock is a dark smudge on the horizon. Damn Mac!!
But, no time to mourn or think about that now, we are getting lined up and fighters are below us trying to get at us. Corsairs and Seafires are filling the sky at an amazing rate. If only we can get the bombs away on target and get the hell out of here.
“Bombardier, you have the airplane.”
“Roger that sir,” as Williams my bombardier begins his run.
Two minutes of sheer terror unfold as fighters start to turn on us and the flak starts bursting with increasing accuracy. We hear pings here and there as we get hit with the deadly shrapnel. A piece punctures a fuel tank and the fuel cock for that tank has to be shut down. Memories start coming back of my last run on this blasted ship as sweat starts pouring from every pore.
“Two seconds…Bombs Away!!!” cries Williams.
With that, nothing more needs to be said. I start my turn for home as a Seafire begins his dive on our six. Hatcher happens to get a good bead on him and we feel the aircraft vibrate as he lets loose a hail of lead and takes off the enemy’s right wing. My belly gunner calls out a Corsair below and climbing to our belly. Another shudder as the .50s open up and a plane falls to my crack gunners. But, we are not out of the woods yet. Two more Corsairs fall in from a perch position and start their deadly dive. The top turret gunner is able to start one to smoking and the other keeps coming. Another shudder, but this time it is from being hit and not our guns.
“Fire in engine number three,” cries out the co-pilot!
“Mixture cutoff, feather prop, extinguishers on,” as we perform the drill for real that we had performed countless times in training.
All of the sudden a tremendous thump comes to us. We look around trying to find what hit us.
“What the hell was that?” I shout!
Everyone cries over the intercom at the same time that nothing is wrong until Hatcher tells everyone to be quiet.
“We got it sir!!”
Cheers and slaps on the back go all around, as my men forget about the battle that still rages on. Thankfully Hatcher is still aware of things as he opens up on another aircraft diving in. But this time, the pilot’s aim is true as he pours his lethal fire in my wingman. Fire in the left wing erupts and spreads as he falls from the formation.
What a pity. We barely got to know that young pilot or his crew. Damn!! What a toll this is taking on all of us. But in the midst of our gloom comes our salvation.
“Need a little help down there Razor?” Looking up I see the Rokit and the Spartans diving in on our 12 o’clock. What a glorious sight to see fifteen friendly fighters coming in.
“Bout time Rokit! Where the hell have you been?” Relief is starting to creep over all of us in the “Florida Fatty”. We just may make it home yet.
“Oh, we got caught up with some Knights that crept over the field as we were upping. Where’s Mac?”
“Not sure. Think he may have bought it about 30 miles off to the west. Can you have someone check things out?”
“Roger that.” With that, I set my sights on getting home. Home. Only four more hours of flight time left for today. Maybe that tailwind that was supposed to be forecast for tonight will move in early. My ass is really killing me. Still feels like a concrete slab. Oh well, have to tough it out. At least the fighters are being dealt with by Rocket and his crew.
We finally have the coast in site, so we can start dropping altitude and getting ready to land in about 30 minutes. What a relief. The landing checklist is performed a little ahead of schedule, but, we are all thinking about that medicinal shot that doc will give us when we get home and debriefed and then maybe heading to the o’club for a little music and winding down with a couple of pints. And there it is. After nearly 12 hours in the air, the field is such a welcome sight. We come over the field at only two hundred feet before we call our break. Might as well give the guys on the ground a sight. Wheels down and two notches of flaps, keep the speed up. This thing is a brick if we get too close to stall speed. Quarter mile form the end of the runway and out come another notch of flaps. Cross the threshold and out comes the last notch of flaps and dump the power. A squeak followed by a bit of a thump. But at this point, none of us cares if we grease a landing. We are finally home. The long taxi back to the hard stand and the adrenaline has completely left our bodies.
We don’t get out of the aircraft as much as we all fall out of it. Only to find Moil waiting for us. “Come on guys! Get to briefing.”
We pile onto the waiting jeep and drive off to HQ. “We lost Mac sir.” The tension and loss can be seen on my face.
“Don’t worry ‘bout Mac. A sub was patrolling the area as you guys were going over and picked Mac and his crew up.” Relief floods over me as we pull up to the low Quonset hut for debrief.
Debrief last only a few minutes and before we can leave, Moil walks over and hands me an over night pass too town. “Thank you sir. Sure will be nice to see my girl tonight.”
“Have a good night Razor. Be back on post by 10 hundred tomorrow.”
A crisp salute, “Yessir!”
The trip to town takes only a couple of minutes and walking through the door is such a relaxing feeling. A quick hug and sitting on the end of the bed I pull of my boots and my gal hurriedly runs around the room trying to make me comfortable. I lay back for a moment and as my eyes start to close and I drift off to sleep, I catch a brief part of what she is telling me.
“So, when can we have a baby, cause………”

The sun was setting, everyone sitting around doing little of nothing, some playing cards, some just talking, some writing home. It had been pretty quiet since moving into this base, almost too quiet. All of a sudden the alarm sounds off and over the speaker all we could hear ..........”We have incoming, Pilots man your planes!” Everyone scrambled……..all you could hear were engines roaring down the runway.

The radio speaker came alive in the squad room. Only two were left behind in the room. Both men listened to the speaker as orders were given “ Climb!! ‘get as much altitude as you can, move away from the base and engage!!”. The two men just looked at each other as they walked out of the squad room and headed towards the vehicle hanger. Both looked as though they had lost their last friend, both wanting to be there……in the heat of battle…….protecting their brethren. As the men entered the VH they both overheard one final burst from the speaker "Have vis on boggies!!, six – No eight!! At my 1 O’clock….Angles………………” and then silence, the squadron was now out of radio range.

Meanwhile Stud and Rokit went ahead into the VH and began working on their Panzers, and waited for word on the raging air battle. Both men knew why they had been chosen to stay behind, and didn’t take their assignment lightly. Someone had to stay behind, keep an eye on the field making sure no bad guys tried to move in overland. To keep occupied both continued to work on their Panzers. Rokit was telling Stud a joke when all of a sudden over range channel the tank radio blurted out "Tiger on the Field......It’s entering the bomber hanger right now!!!" How the hell did a Tiger manage to get onto the field, there’s got to be a dozen friendly’s over the field………and no one spotted him?

Both men jumped into their Panzers, the engines coughed and came to life. Stud began moving towards the bomber hanger, just out of line of sight of the Tiger "No Shot". Rokit flanked his Panzer to the left, wide, keeping the bomber hanger wall between him and the Tiger. Rokit radioed Stud and told him “OK Stud I’m flanking left and will approach from the rear of the hanger…” Stud acknowledged. Both LTAR radios lit up and came to life................Stud advised no sight on Tiger......"but I know he's there........he's trying to shoot me but he still doesn't have a shot, I'm right around the corner of the hanger from him, engine running.
Rokit by this time was beginning final approach to the rear of the hanger. Both men knew what needed done.............Rokit had momentum in his Panzer.......shifted to neutral, killed his engine, and began coasting towards the rear hanger entrance. Stud instinctively began starting and stopping his engine.....over, and over, and over, making as much noise as he could. You could hear the groan of the Tiger turret traversing towards Stud, waiting, anticipating to kill Stud just as soon as he peeked around the corner of the hanger.

Just as soon as the Tiger turret stopped moving, Rokit cornered the rear of the hanger, still in stealth mode, from the gunner’s position immediately acquired his target, the fuel can located on the rear of the Tiger...............and with ONE high velocity armor piercing round…….. shot...........and dispatched the Tiger, it's occupants, into a fiery ball of flames……………..no survivors!

By the time Rokit and Stud were climbing down from their Panzers in the VH the rest of the squadron was landing. The air campaign had been completely successful. As the pilots entered the hanger, exchanging heroic stories about how they killed the incoming enemy, one looked over and commented “Must be nice to be able to do nothing” he said jokingly………..”what did yall do while we were working for a living?” Stud and Rokit just looked at each other, smiled, and replied “nothing much………..just another day in LTAR.”

The chill from the early morning air started to creep in around the neck of my flight jacket. It was the kind of cold damp air that drops down off the mountains in the night and settles over the flats, the kind that gives you a quick shiver and makes it hard to go back to sleep. To add to it the wing of my B-24 that I had decided to make my perch for the night was ice cold. Talk about quiet. You’d think being only 50 miles from the front it would be nothing but noise, but this section of the front down in the valley had become peaceful in the last few days. I think both sides needed a rest. Just a few more days helping out the Bish, it sure would be nice if it stayed quiet like this. I understand why moil volunteered us to fall into their ranks to help out. These poor guys have been out numbered and out gunned for almost a year now. Yet in all that, they had managed to hold on. Sometimes I just shake my head at the fact that the world thinks this is the front that will give first. The Bish might not have the most skill, best equipment or even the population needed to defend a country this size, but they fight like a pit viper backed into a corner. I sure am going to miss these guys. Anyway, the sun would be starting to rise soon although it would be another few hours before it would peek over the mountains. Time to get off this wing and cover the bird up.

I knew this was going to be another lonely day. Raptr and I drew the watch for 24 hours, while the rest of the boys headed to a little town near here for some much needed R&R. Rokit, the XO had found us a nice spot to hide the planes and tanks with a long natural landing strip. Heck, Rokit and the boys did such a good job I flew right over them at treetop level yesterday and never saw a thing. Only moil our CO’s voice “thmp! You dolt, down here”, in my headset breaking in over the noise of the engines made me turn the big bird around. He always does have a way with words.
The one thing about being on the front, the hot days, cold nights and hard sleeping arrangements make the coffee taste all the better. Just as I was turning to go hunt down Raptr and wake him up for a cup of java, I noticed flashes in the sky to the north. Walking under the wing to the front of the 24 I noticed the whole valley was lighting up. It looked like flashes, from the bulb of a giant camera was aimed at the mountains on both sides. A few seconds after the flashes I heard the familiar sound of rapid-fire shells and explosions. That’s miles away from here I thought, wondering what was happening. The radio in the half-track crackled to life. “thmp! thmp! You copy? Come in thmp!” It was Raptr, the excitement and fear in his voice could be heard at the same time. “ Go ahead Raptr, I copy.” “thmp you wouldn’t believe our luck!” “Just fire up the goon, the one loaded with small arms and weapons!” “Your destination is a town about 35 miles to the north!” “ I’ll fill you in while you get’er warmed up!” I couldn’t believe it. Rokit was either going to ground me for doing this or give me a medal and a good chewing. Either way, Raptr needed assistance and I wasn’t turning him down.
I started going through the story I had just heard as I reached down and pulled the gear lever up. It’s always comforting to hear that old familiar whine and thud of the gear locking into place. In these mountains every bit of climbing speed is needed. Still shaking my head, Raptr, of all the things to go and do. He was looking at some old maps and saw that the town just north of us was once full of Bish. He must have left last night after I fell asleep but I still can’t understand how I didn’t hear the engine on the Ostie crank up or the squeak of the tracks as he pulled away. I got to get my ears checked. Between the explosions and engines this war was making me deaf. Raptr, I know he means well but talk about taking a chance. Lucky for him it was a chance that worked. Had he said he drove that hunk of metal straight into town or walked? Either way the town’s folk were happy to see him and willing to help capture the Knight airstrip near here. They told him that the entire Knight Squadron and all the vehicles had left 4 days ago headed west on the outside of the valley. Looks like the Knights were reorganizing for another offensive. The only thing left at the base was 3 Me110s and a couple of low altitude defense guns. Raptr was having me get the gear to the folks in town and then organize a plan to take the base. He had taken out one of the 110s that was on final approach and passed just over his head. My only objection was the fact that we had only two people with military background an Ostie and a bunch of town folks that would perform like an organized mob. Raptr convinced me that he believed in these people and it was our duty as LTARs to help them out, even if that meant our end. He was right, we signed on to protect this country and that is what we were going to do. These people believed in us, the least I could do was have faith in them.
Just a few minutes from the climb out at the top of the ridge Raptr came screaming across the radio “thmp! thmp one of the 110s has just taken off and I hear the other one cranking up!” Wonderful, the sky is getting lighter, I have no guns to fight back with flying right into a hornets nest with a Goony Bird. Why did I let him talk me into this. “Woo Hoo! That baby is burning! Ha Ha, thmp another one down! They take off right across the town.” I was just throttling back and dropping my gear and flaps, hoping I could find a spot to set down near the town when Raptr scored one more 110. I saw that last one explode in a ball of fire. After a quick prayer for my enemy, I spotted a clearing where the people of the town had set out burning hay bails to mark my landing area and set down. Both men and women came running to the plane to help me unload. Raptr came riding up on a bike and with out stopping jumped off almost tripping over it running up to me with a grin from ear to ear. His hands were high in the air holding up three fingers denoting the planes he had just scored. I couldn’t help but chuckle, he always looks like a kid in a candy store just after he has downed a plane or two. Raptr showed me a rough map were one of the towns folk had drawn the layout of the base, and after formulating a plan and handing out weapons we started moving in.
The sky was much lighter now but the shadows of the night still clung to the ground. I thought to myself this is good we need some cover. Just as we all climbed the last hill to look across the edge of the airfield we heard an engine cranking in one of the hangers, out rolled a Yak9 not even bothering to use the taxi way or runway. He throttled up and took to the air just barely clearing a tower and a fuel truck. Lying as low as we could with our faces in the dirt we didn’t see the Typhoon diving in from behind us. The roar of the engines made us all jump as he passed over head about 20 feet above us, and we all closed our eyes and ducked instinctively when the Yak, unaware of our fighter exploded just as his landing gear were coming up. With that distraction I ordered the assault and with all the courage they could muster the towns folks rushed the enemy manning the machine guns, stormed into the barracks catching the enemy off guard and unarmed and climb the stairs of the tower forcing the surrender of the few remaining Knights without a shot fired. As the people yelled, hugged, danced and cried I looked over at Raptr poking his head out of his Ostie he had just parked and nodded at him. I remembered right then and there the reason I asked to sign on with the LTARs.
The celebration in town was a big one that night in our honor. The only problem was there was one missing. Who was that pilot in the Typhoon that saved our tails? It was one of those many questions that will never be answered in the time of war I thought. A noise rose up behind me as I sat on one side of the bonfire in the middle of town listening to the music the small band played. I looked over my shoulder and into the light came Raptr carrying an exhausted but happy pilot on his shoulders shouting and screaming for me to come meet O'Brian, and right behind him the whole squad of LTARs. A smile came to my face as moil explained to me they had gotten back to camp shortly before dark and found it deserted. There was a Bish Typhoon sitting in the middle of the field with O'Brian drinking some day old cold coffee. He had told him the story of a fight going on at the base north of here and moil immediately knew Raptr and I had stirred it up again. Laughing I said’ “well you said for me to keep and eye on Raptr all the time.” Rokit walked up and congratulated us on a job well done. Moil and Rokit wanted us to hang out and have a grand time tonight. “Heck” Rokit said, “the whole dang stalemate is over now that we have this base we can take the whole dad-burn country away from them”, and then leaned over and let me know I was to meet him in the command tent at 0800 hours tomorrow for a discussion on following orders. I knew it, Raptr managed to gather me up another butt chewing! Oh well, that’s the life of an LTAR. Do it right, then do it again to make sure it is right, after that practice it to make sure it is always right and if you screw up take your chewing and then get it right. LOL

Being stationed to his new post the XO was just getting settled in to his new bunk and quarters when the chow bell rang. The rest of the crew was already there in the mess tent fighting over some leftovers from lunch and a cheap bottle of wine.
The new XO was greeted with the regular banters and how the hell are ya's, but no one really wanted to see another replacement because that only meant one thing, the last one was killed.
Everyone offered up thier take on the current situation on how & where the enemy was going to attack next.
Of course there was everything from massive bombers to huge ground assaults, no one really knew. Everyone finished up and was going to smoke thier after dinner cig's and cigars outside by the VH.
We got word earlier that some enemy planes had been spotted and a few shot down just 35 miles to the North. Of course everyone didn't thing much about it, it's been happening for the last week. My squadie leans over to get a light and a thunderous BOOM!! is heard just 500 yards away at the fuel depot. Another BOOM!! and the ammo bunker explodes into a giant fireball, enough to illuminate the entire camp.
The air raid siren begins to scream and people are running in all directions, the camp is turned into pure madness.
The vehicles pour out of the hanger hoping to get far enough away to keep from being bombed. The fighters attempt to scramble, but are cut down by strafing planes.
The fighters seem to swoop down from nowhere, guns open up on the attacking air craft, a barrage of tracer fire fills the evening sky. A fast FW-190 comes across the deck at what must have been 500 mph, five 37mm AA guns swing around as fast as possible hoping to hit the 190 before he strafes another helpless plane. The guns fire as fast as the loaders can feed them fresh shells. Tracer rounds criss-cross all over the field making it extremely dangerous to fly over, the 190 takes some hit's from some small arms fire but somehow manages to elude death from the AA guns. A second and third air craft are decending fast as they come diving from the sky. All guns turn upward, firing everything they've got trying to bring down this winged evil that has already claimed many lives and friendly planes. Many never got off the tarmac, shot up just trying to taxi.
The night sky is now a total glow of explosions, tracer fire and planes that have caught fire from being hit. A wall of lead is sent up toward the stars to meet the the attackers. Some supplies had made it through from a neighboring field, but it wasn't going to be enough.
Some 20,000 rounds had been spent trying to defend what was left of our home and lives. Besides a couple of damaged BF109's now limping back home into the black sky, there was a single BF110 trying to sneak in at low alt from the East.
I honestly believe he was a little scared to come close to the field after having watch his commrades go down in a ball of flame.
I guess he took a swigg off the bottle and said "screw it I'm going in" as his plane banked over hard and began to dive sharply at the last remain troop supply barracks.
We could almost hear the plane creek and shudder as he picked up speed. Once again the now drained gun crews open up with a battery of fierce AA fire with all the determination in the world. The plane is struck several times, the last, shearing off the right wing. The plane, now helpless, plumets to the earth in a firey heap.

Some friendlies did manage to get off the deck and do a fighter sweep, lucky for us they had run home. We bandaged up the injured and covered the dead. It was nice to see the new XO wasn't one of um. He come's slumpin' out of what's left of his quarters after visiting his foot locker. He passes around the bottle of very old, very good Scotch. The kind you can use for plane fuel if ya had to. No one was complaining, some of us were still alive to taste it.

It was a somewhat gloomy day in the skies over the LTAR camp just 60 miles from the enemy headquarters.
The orders came through to attack and secure the vehicle base just to the North of enemy headquarters. We all new we had to go but you could see it on the troops' faces it wasn't the news they were hoping for. Once the ground crews had the BF-110's ready to roll we climbed aboard and hit the ignition.
We all gave each other that friendly wave "see ya when we get back" although as the knots formed in our stomachs we knew a bunch of us probably wern't going to return.
The Wing commander lifted first with everyone right on his tail as we climbed and began to form up. The winds were kicking up just a bit and a cloud layer was now starting to form under 10,000 feet. Now formed up we headed due South towards target, keeping spirts up with bits of radio chatter bout the night Rokit got drunk in the officers mess and started dancing with an old mop. I guess you'll do just about anything when you're stuck in a warzone with home no where in site.
Once at 15,000 feet we leveled and flew for what seemed like hours. My hands, as always, were cold and numb as I fumbeled with the sticky controls and switchs of this old bird.
At last we reach target, for some reason it got real quiet as we started our decent onto the target. The wing commander gets a radio message from the C-47 pilot that had taken off hours earlier from another field that he is approx 15 minutes out from target. Finally some good news for the day, I know those paratroopers were sweatin' bullets due to the amount of enemy fights that had been patrolling the area for days.
We continued our decent, now diving steeper to try and avoid the AA fire that was there to meet us. As we scream in on target a wall of tracer fire seemed to come out of no where, filling the sky with a sparkle of light and smoke. One pilot took two direct hits and lost a wing, his plane now cork-screwing to the deck in a ball of flame. You had to feel for the guy but what were we to do.
The rest continued in dropping our bombs and strafing anything that looked remotely threatening. I took a hit or two into the canopy and right wing, luckly by an act of God I wasn't hit and my plane only suffered minor damage. The wing commander and wingman got 4 direct hits on the target which rendered the hanger useless. The others managed to get through the fire and land their bombs on the second target. A fireball erupted from the ground in an awesome spectical of orange light as the last hanger exploded. The final set of attackers managed to get through the AA fire and take out the flak batteries that had caused us to sustain such damage. One plane took three big hits and was on fire as he struggled to keep control of the now crippled aircraft, he would have to set down in the field next to the base and hope for the best.
Once we got things under control we all breathed a little easier as we anxiously awaited the arrivial of or troops. The Gooney bird struggled a little as it caught some cross wind and began it's final approach into the now exploted vehicle base which was still smoking heavily from extensive damage.
The C47 came in low to help avoid from being spotted and those poor bastards just jumped out into the darkened sky, drifting to Earth while small arms fire whipped about them.
Luckily no one was hit as they assaulted the Generals quarters and made their way to the map room. There was some exchange of small arms fire but the now weakened enemy was quickly overun and objective completed!
There was a big sigh of relief from everyone in the camp, we found an old abandon air strip just to the South and deceiced to touch down there rather than attempt the flight home.
Gathered around a still burning pile of storage crates to keep warm the Wing commander takes out his bottle of favorite Scotch and passes it around. Even Rokit who swore on a stack of Bibles he'd never drink again after that night back at camp, took a shot with his Brothers and started to laugh, we all started to laugh, you gotta love these guys!

In a daring daylight maneuver, LTAR Ground Units attacked and captured an
enemy airfield, tieing up scores of enemy aircraft and enemy pilots.

During a daylight attack in what can only be described as brilliant, LTAR
Ground units drove in right under an outgoing raid of 30 to 50 Bishop fighters
and fighter/bombers. The sky was virtually black with planes. None of whom
saw, or at least sounded the warning to his/her fellow countryman. The ground
attack crews then went directly to the command center of the airfield known as
A39 and captured the base in short order. As soon as the base was secure, the
LTAR Air Wing took to the sky's in captured Bishop aircraft and waited for the
inevitable retaliation.

For the next few days, scores of enemy fighters flew in and tried to capture the
airfield. And scores of enemy pilots never flew home. Ground crews pounded
incoming air attacks again and again while LTAR aircraft shot them out of the sky.
The LTAR Ground crews fired thousands of 37mm High Explosive rounds from their
Ostwind Flak Panzers. At night the sky was ablaze with streaks of light blazing
forth from the Ostwinds. Each blaze of light was certain death if an enemy aircraft
were to come into contact with it. The Ostwinds used ammunition captured from the
enemy base to combat the attacking aircraft.

During the battle, Colonel Moil explained that there was no hope of keeping this
base due to the shear number of enemy available to attack it, but it was however
tying up an unknown number of Bishop pilots who would otherwise be fighting some
place else. And while this attack was raging on, many more bases were captured
by other allied forces.

After witnessing the action, I have no doubt that if the LTAR Force had not engaged
the enemy at this lonely little airfield, that those forces attacking would have
thwarted the attacks on those other bases.

When loss of the base was eminent, Colonel Moil order his troops out so as not to loose
any more men or equipment. The retreat back into friendly territory went without
hitch and the territory that they returned to was much larger than when they left

In the early evening hours on May 20th the LTAR forces along with a small regiment of battle hardened Knights dug in and prepared for an air attack from a nearby enemy field.
The sun was starting to set as the first wave was spotted by an M8 scout positioned just a few clicks to the South.
The air raid siren whaled for what seemed like hours and broke the erie night silence that we had become acustom to.

With ammo cans charged and magazines loaded we readied our positions as the commander scanned the valley for aircraft.
"THERE HE IS" he shouted, you could see the tension on comrades faces......"BANDIT"...2 oclock........then another appeared, then another!
A raid of P47's and P38's escorting a small formation of B26 bombers had decided that our Vehicle base was too close for comfort and needed to be eliminated.
Our grip tightened around the firing handles of our guns, a finger almost numb from fear and anger starts to press the firing trigger as the enemy comes into range.

The planes came right in, almost fearless, you had to wonder if they were as scared as you were.
The deck guns with there greater range opened up on the first in target, a P47, coming straight in. The order was given to open fire and the skyline was filled with tracer fire. It was almost hypnotizing to watch as thousands upon thousands of rounds filled the air in this tiny valley.
The P47, now well committed to his target was struck by smaller AA fire which only damaged his broad wings causing fuel to leave a trail as he pulled up to extend out away from the base.
At this point the second and third aircraft were in on their targets which appeared to be the hangers and our ammo supply. We knew we would have to protect these hangers if there was any chance of our survival.
The guns swung around to take aim on the other two targets that were approaching fast. One right on the deck as he came in low to line up on a big ammo bunker. The other was diving down in a feat of desperation trying to avoid being hit by the tramendous AA fire that filled the sky.
The low P47 now firing his 8 guns on the target was hit twice and lost a wing as he barrel-rolled to the deck. The flames from his plane cast an eire glow that reflected off the valley walls. You almost felt sorry for having to take another pilot and his craft out of the sky in this struggle of life and death.
His plane finally struck the ground exploding into a fireball, his ordinance still attached to his belly exploded shortly after.
The ground crew franticly attempted to reload and supply the now nearly empty flak guns and vehicles that littered the base. With over 10,000 rounds now spent into the skies our supplies wouldn't last through the night.
The first P47 that was now back in on his second pass was surely feeling somewhat alone after seeing his comrade take two direct hits and go down in a ball of flames.
The P47 without reguards to his own life continued in on his target, the bright muzzle flashes from all the AA guns lit up the now darkening skies. The sky was a dizzing site of glowing tracers and smoke trails.
Again everyone got that knot in the pit of their stomachs as they tried in vein to hit the now very close P47 that was sending rockets right in on us. The first two struck the hanger and exploded imediately taking out most of the doorway and part of the roof.
The other two struck one of our AA batteries killing it instantly, at least he didn't suffer. We continued to pour a barrage of gunfire into the sky hoping like hell that someone hits him before he takes another one of our brothers.
As the P47 was flying fast and low from his dive he extended out of range of our guns and appeared to be headed home. Just as start to feel a little relief from our luck of still being alive the commander shouts out P38 times two coming in from the South East.
The 38's were dropping in from what seemed like the stratosphere, It took forever for them to come into our gun range. We opened fire sending a wall of lead to the heavens with one of the 38's taking a direct hit early on in his dive.
He lost a wing then most of his tail, spiraling down to earth with a smoke trail that looked a mile long. He managed to bail out and lofted down to earth but was later captured by our M8 patrols.
The second P38 had decided to level off a bit then come straight down with his bombs. He cut two bombs loose as he pulled out of his steep dive just barely missing an old radar tower still standing.
The bombs smashed right through the poorly covered roof of our already damaged hanger at hit some of the vehicles inside. The explosion was deafening and flames and debris flew all over the place killing two AA guns and some crew men. I guess some have good luck and some don't, but I knew mine was starting to run out I could feel it.
The P38 continued on just past the second set of AA guns positioned to the East. Someone got a couple good shots on him and he began to burn. The plane in a almost suicidial way turned his craft and attempted another pass on our ammo depot. The rest of the guns opened up on his slow moving plane as it was torn to shreads by heavy 37mm gunfire.

The B26's now just above us were well out of our gun range so the order was given by our now injured commander to take cover and hope for the best.
As the sound of the bombs whistled to the ground I clutched my hands together to try and warm them up and keep them from shaking. The bombs impacted the hangers and everything around them, destroying anything of remote value. Our fuel was left down to one 55 gallon drum, all the ammo had been spent or destroyed. Some 30,000 plus rounds were fired in an effort to protect ourselves and our base.
Rumor has it that the M8 scout got word that there is a resupply convoy inbound from the North to help bring us back up to speed with much needed supplies. Lets hope he makes it hear soon before we have to face another raid or bomber attack.

Enemy troops were overwhelmed last week when the LTAR Air and Ground forces made a spectacular show of force by flying in and dropping nearly a hundred troops on a small coastal town under enemy occupation.
At a remote airfield deep in the jungle, six Douglas C-47 transport aircraft, known to the soldiers as "The Gooney Bird" sat quietly on the tarmac while determined LTAR paratroopers boarded them. The only sounds that broke the silence were the quiet chuckles of nervous soldiers who kidded with each other about who would find the first date after landing, and the occasional clank of equipment as they boarded their aircraft.
At three in the morning while darkness still blanketed the battlefield, the "Gooney Birds" took off and headed out to liberate sleepy little town. As the transports disappeared into the darkness and quiet returned to the little airfield in the jungle, only the that remained in the control tower knew of the destruction that was about to descend on those hapless enemy who dared to oppose the LTAR assault force.

As dawn broke, the six aircraft, now accompanied by an LTAR fighter, dropped to within feet of the jungle canopy to avoid detection by the enemy. As they approached the target, the crews knew that the drone of this many transport planes would alert the enemy to their presence. When detection was eminent the transports rapidly climbed to 800 feet and the deadly cargo was unleashed onto the sleepy village while the fighter began to strafe the enemy airfield. Within seconds, the sky was full of silk and lead. LTAR Paratroopers descended on to the town firing at the sleepy-eyed Bishop forces. Within minutes, the sleepy coastal town which had been occupied for what seem a life time, was jarred awake by the sounds of gunfire and Freedom. LTAR troops obtained a quick and unconditional surrender of the enemy Bishop forces and the little town was free at last.

The Mayor of the town in gratitude, gave the LTAR Assault force free reign of the city. Colonel Moil, who headed up this mission, was unavailable for comment at the time of this writing but has assured the citizens that the incident involving the sheep and the grass skirt after his men left the last pub, was all a misunderstanding.

Yesterday, a small well organized raid was made behind enemy lines by a contingent of the L.T.A.R. Regiment Air Wing.

Five Republic P-47 Thunderbolt fighters, heavily armed, and one Douglas C-47 with two specially trained soldiers, took off before dawn on a trip behind enemy lines to a small village known only as "The town in BFE" to secure and return some highly classified cargo.

The six aircraft flew low to the ground to avoid detection by enemy radar. So low in fact that after the mission one pilot laughingly asked Colonel Moil for an extra five dollars for trimming trees along the way.

The fighters arrived at the village just as the sun was on the horizon. They were surprised to find most of the village was already destroyed and the enemy gun emplacements out of action. The C-47 cautiously landed just out of town as a swarm of enemy fighters appeared out of no where.

The L.T.A.R. fighters had their hands full keeping the enemy fighters from detecting the C-47 and its passengers who were by then searching in town
for the classified cargo.

After 5 minutes of intense air combat, the two soldiers in town returned empty handed, boarded the C-47 which then took-off and ran for home. The fighters covered the C-47s departure and followed back to base soon after.

High Command reported after the mission that the enemy forces must have been warned about the impending raid. Command staff cited the intensity of fighter cover and the fact that the classified cargo was not recovered as evidence to
the fact.

Second hand reports indicate that the cargo had been destroyed by enemy forces.

On the battlefield where victory and defeat walk hand in hand, you need to be decisive in your actions, have a good plan, and a lot of luck. Of course, having a strong squad, high morale, and excellent teamwork is what LTAR is all about.

LTAR is back on the warpath this month, reeking havoc on the enemy and attempting to tip the scales in the Knights favor for the ongoing conflict between the three powers.

Hang in there everyone, LTAR's new site is almost complete as you can see. Just a few finishing touches and she'll be spit shined just the way we like it!

Don't forget that you'll all need to re-register and create new profiles for the forums, and eventually for the site itself (as the two are different usernames/passwords).