The Red-Tailed Devils
by
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- 1 - The mottled, gray over blue, camouflaged Bf-109G Messerschmitt fighter flew above a tall, cotton ball, cloud cover. Below the German fighter, a khaki green, P-40N Warhawk, flew straight and level within the tall columns of white fluff, not skewing from side to side in what was a standard evasive maneuver. Hauptmann (Captain) Otto Kruger watched the American plane below him and thought to himself, “He has to be a novice... I can’t believe it! He isn’t even aware of my presence!” The few years Otto had spent at the Russian front, in the Bf-109E variant of the Messerschmitt fighter, had taught him to always position himself up-sun from his intended prey. Otto smiled and thought, “This will be an easy kill…” He cocked his head and looked forward and down through the glass side panel of his cockpit. The young Captain keyed the radio button, attached to his joy stick (control) and spoke softly into his throat mike. “Achtung! Achtung! Herman... Do you see him?” “Yes, Hauptmann!” Herman Wagner, flying off the wing of his squadron leader, nodded his head, even though he knew the Captain wasn’t looking at him. “It looks to be an obsolete Pea-forty Warhawk... a fighter-bomber.” “What makes you think it’s a fighter-bomber?” “The Pea-forties aren’t good fighters... But they’re very good at ground attack and the American’s use them effectively in that role... He could be on a reconnaissance mission but I don’t think so.” Leutnant, (lieutenant) Herman Wagner, adjusted his throttle to maintain position in the two plane, rotte (formation). “I agree, Herman!” Otto grinned at his wingman’s obvious attention to detail. “This one’s going to be my sixtieth kill. Stay on my wing and don’t get lost.” Otto pressed his joy stick to one side, then forward. The nimble fighter responded instantly, rolling into a steep dive while the young pilot centered the Warhawk in his reflector sight. As the American fighter-bomber grew in size, Otto began to apply pressure with his thumb on the gun switch which would activate the two cowling mounted machine guns and the 20-mm cannon that fired through his propeller shaft. He didn’t see Herman’s airplane suddenly burst into flames and then disintegrate from a combined, point-blank burst of .50 and .30 caliber machine guns. As Otto began to fire his own weapons, the Khaki Warhawk that filled his sight, snap-rolled to the right and disappeared from view. The German pilot started to follow by rolling to the right, but bright orange tracers streaked down the same side of his canopy. Otto’s mind reeled. “What the…? Instantly Otto halted his attempt to follow his intended victim and he snap-rolled the Messerschmitt in the opposite direction. Projectiles from the unseen enemy’s guns pranged into and through the aluminum skin of his fighter. Otto’s face broke out in cold sweat. “Where did he come from?” He stomped on the right rudder pedal, and applied opposite aileron pressure. The little Messerschmitt skidded right, then left, and rolled into a split-S evasive maneuver to put Otto into a steep dive for the earth below. The sweat on Otto’s forehead seeped between the seal formed by his goggles and his skin and began to run into his eyes. Otto swore, “How stupid of me... I’ve been trapped like a complete novice...” Otto tried every trick he’d ever learned in combat on the Russian front. More tracers streaked past his canopy and he skewed the Messerschmitt in the opposite direction. However, it wasn’t fast enough to prevent more of the lethal projectiles from penetrating his mount and cutting through control cables, hydraulic and fuel lines. The slab-sided canopy shattered from several hits and the instrument panel erupted in a shower of glass splinters. The pretty blue and gray Messerschmitt began to roll out of control and a thick, cloying, smoke filled the cockpit. Otto didn’t hesitate, “...time to get the out of this bird...” He released the shattered canopy to allow it to flutter away in the slip-stream. This allowed hot, burning oil from the damaged engine to spray onto his face as he stood on his metal seat and then hurled himself out of the cockpit. Once free of his mount he began to tumble end-over-end as he watched bright orange flames erupt from the space where only moments before he had been sitting. Otto waited for several more seconds, just make sure he was clear of his doomed fighter and then reached for his parachute deployment ring. As he pulled the ring he caught a glimpse of two, khaki colored shapes streaking past him. Then the bright yellow canopy blossomed above him, jerking the young officer to an abrupt, but slowly oscillating, descent. “What stupid, luck... to be shot down by a lousy fighter-bomber... It’s embarrassing!” * * * * * “Hauptmann, Kruger!” “Yes, Oberst (Colonel)!” “You’ve never fought the American’s before?” Oberstleutnant (Lieutenant Colonel) Karl Schmidt asked the question, his lips forming a straight line while his eyes narrowed and glared at the young veteran from the Russian front. “No, Oberst!” “Yet, you allowed yourself to become suckered into a trap, Otto!” Karl looked down at the report on his desk, then up at the young Captain. “Not only did you fall into their trap, but you lost your wingman... How many kills do you have to date?” Karl already knew the total but Otto needed to be reprimanded. “Fifty-nine, Oberst!” “Fifty-nine!” The Lt. Colonel of the German fighter group nodded his head and then slammed his fist onto the desk. “Fifty-nine! A record to be proud of... Ten, Russian utility-observation planes, twenty-two, Russian Stormavik’s, six, Lend Lease American Pea-thirty-nine Air cobra’s, nine, Yak’s, seven, MiG’s... and five, Lavochkin La-five's... Very impressive... and how many times were you shot down during your tour of the Eastern Front, Hauptmann?” “Two times, Oberst!” Otto maintained his stance and stared straight ahead. “By flak or in aerial combat?” “Once by flak, Oberst! The second time by an La-five with victory stars all over the side of his plane.” “And this last incident makes it three times?” "Yes, Oberst!” “You’re lucky, Otto... Very lucky to be alive.” Karl Schmidt shook his head from side to side. “But your luck’s just run out!” “I don’t understand, Oberst?”
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About the Book
The book is a historical fiction. This means that the characters are fictional as are their exploits, but the story line is based on historical fact.
Hauptman Otto Kruger is assigned to a special Luftwaffe fighter group tasked with shooting down American bombers even if he must resort to ramming. In order to achieve this goal, he devises a number of innovative techniques, which include tethered bombs and eight-inch mortars.
Lt. Vernon Ghest of the 302nd fighter squadron, while flying his war-weary P-51C Mustang with the distinctive red tail markings of the 332nd fighter group, becomes Otto’s nemesis. When Vernon and another airman from the Ninety-Ninth FS are eventually forced down, they present the Germans with a new problem as they attempt to insert the black airman into the all-white POW camp. Eventually, Vernon and his companion devise and implement an ingenious escape plan that allows them to escape to once more to fight the Luftwaffe in the skies over Germany.
About the Author
Paul Cozens served in both the Navy and the Army as an intelligence specialist. The Navy taught him to fly. He holds a commercial license, a flight instructers rating, instrument rating and a multi-engine rating. He has a Bachelors degree in Military History, and a Masters degree in Asian History. His masters thesis is titled, The Role of radar in the Pacific theater During World War II: Development, Acceptance and Effect. 170 pages.
He has experience as a computer salesman in source data collection, as a head hunter (recruiter) and eventually ran his own recruitment company. While attending college with his daughter he worked for a contract security company and simultaneously ran his own software company, Jagdstaffel Software, where he wrote the code for an educational program, Prompter II and a computer simulation game, Taskforce 58, the Battle of the Philippean Sea.
Upon graduating from San Jose State University, he formed and managed Specialty Floor matting. He has a passion for writing historical fiction and fiction based on personal experience.