Posted tagged ‘Messerschmitt 109’

Luftwaffe descending

August 26, 2012

It was my birthday. My wife always had a surprise gift for me on my birthday. She told me to close my eyes and she led me up the garden path. When we reached the frontline she said “you can open your goggles now” and dangled a set of keys in front of me. There, parked on the driveway was a Messerschmitt 109. Just what I’ve always wanted.

“Danke.” I said to her.

“Well go on, take it for a tailspin.” she said.

Leaping into the cockpit I searched for the slot for the ignition key. There didn’t seem to be any. The control panel had a mind-boggling array of switches, dials and buttons. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it back the way. A roar grunted from the engines. Chocs away, way-hay.

I turned into the road, managing to avoid hitting any of the military topiary figures my Polish neighbour had cut into the hedge. I was particularly wary of the air to surface missile shaped decoration but the Me-109 manoeuvred past the obstacles. We hit the road running, powering along the tarmac.

Gaining altitude was a problem as no matter what I tried I couldn’t get off the ground. I put the flaps down, I put the flaps up, I shook the flaps all about. I pulled levers, I pushed levers, I left levers alone. I shouted at the controls, I caressed the controls, I pleaded with the controls still we were kissing the asphalt. The altimeter read: 0 MSL (mean Sea Level). This meant we were level with the sea. Down here with the ants the clouds seemed so far away.

Then I had a fuselage moment. Fuselage! I remembered I once played flight Simulator on the Spectrum ZX console. I hoped I could use this experience of flying to pilot the plane into the skies. Trouble was there was no QWERTY keyboard on the dashboard. There was no shift/control and up/down buttons to push. And no space bar for cruising. Of course, I had forgotten that the Spectrum ZX was an obsolete format and not as modern as the Messerschmitt 109, for Focke-Wulf.

The next problem was an everyday one. I was approaching a red light. I could have taken a cyclists mentality and steered through were it not for the fact that a little old granny was crossing with her wheelie bag. Where’s the brakes, where’s the brakes, where’s the brakes, I rat-a-at-tatted for all I was worth. There was nothing else for it but to stick one of my legs outside the cockpit onto the road and use it as a brake. My shoe was burning rubber. Friction forces were slowing the fighter plane down but not nearly enough. The lights and the granny were upon us. She was shouting something about “boy racers” and disappeared under my wing. Checking the mirror I could see she had survived. She was saved by her stoop.

Onwards and upwards, though not literally, I flew along the street.

Mein Gott! Up ahead was something very rarely encountered today as it has its roots in the medieval age of chivalry. A fraulein in distress.
She wasn’t tied to the tracks of a railroad though she was in some discomfort. A beautiful young lady wearing a tight T-shirt and a mini-skirt was lying down on the ground holding her shapely thigh as if hurt. Her helplessness made an appeal to my gentleman courtesy. I parked the Messerschmitt into a tree.

“Guten tag, have you broken your leg, Madame?” I asked.

“Only a nail when I scraped it on the kerb. It’s all Hans fault. He owes me big time. This better be worth it” she remarked.

“I don’t understand.” Suddenly, from the bushes emerged the aforesaid Hans with a gun in his hand, a Luger if I’m not mistaken. He was smelling of cologne. It was overpowering, I couldn’t resist. Hans gesticulated for me to sit down. As scent rises this was a good thing.

Hans and, I don’t know her name, Gretel or something jumped into the Me-109’s cockpit closing the canopy behind them. She was going on and on about her broken nail. I felt sorry for Hans. One quick reverse from the tree, a burst from the engines, a swift exit down the makeshift runway, a lifting of the undercarriage and they were airborne. Hans knew his stuff. This wasn’t good for me. I had been carjacked.

Trusting in the local constabulary I phoned the police outlining the details of the crime not overlooking the fact it was my birthday to which I received a many happy returns greeting, thank you very much. Much mirth was going on in the background as I narrated my tale of woe of the stolen Messerschmitt. I overheard one officer quip “the Red Baron has been the victim of a honey trap.” another said “Did he lose a dogfight?” I hung up on them.

Stranded as I was in no-man’s land I had to get home somehow; there was a big party planned for me tonight. Not being a larcenist I would not copy the German stunt of Grand Theft auto. Hitchhiking is a safer option. I could hear a rumbling from around the corner making the ground shake. We weren’t on a fault line, why are the Teutonic Plates moving?
Karl Heinz Rummenigge! Looming into sight was a Tiger tank. That was what I wanted for Christmas.

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