Last Flight of the Buffaloes - a World War II Story on the Fall of Java

Chapter 5 - Air Superiority

When Lieutenant Franky Deibel, ML-KNIL, saw that there were two Japanese Ki-43 Hayabusas flying low and slow on strafing runs against the American artillery, he felt a deep surge going from the bottom of his back. A kind of rejuvenating, possessing rush he had never felt before. His blood rose and he was trying to hold in that instinctive urge to head down and take them out. He'd lost many friends to the Japanese and this was one way he can pay it back to the Nips.

"All Reds. This is Red Two. I have visual on two Oscars low on ground attack path... about 3,000 feet or lower"

Van Helsdingen said, "Roger. I see them. Reds One and Two... Feel free to engage. Me and Three will cover you."

"Roger, Lead." Said Bruggink. "OK, Franky. You're on point for this one."

"OK. On me. Let's get these suckers." Said Franky. And so he tilted his stick left, and dove moderately from 10,000 feet, making sure that he did not go too fast.

In about a minute—and two strafing runs by the Hayabusas—the two Buffaloes were in position. Almost returning for another strafing run, the two Hayabusas seemed to have spotted them, and did not return for a third. Using his superior altitude, Franky Drebbel pushed his throttle and headed in pursuit, on an interception course with the two Japanese.

"Don't turn on them, Franky. Don't lose speed." Said Bruggink.

Franky did not reply. He was focused. He was going in for the kill. Diving down, he aimed just ahead of the lead Japanese plane. He felt the counter go down. 1000m... 800m... 600m... not too fast! But there it went—Before they could get to optimal shooting range, the two Japanese planes turned into each other's paths, causing the Buffaloes to miss the interception. It was now a game of nerves.

"Up! Up! Back Up! Fuck!" said Bruggink.

Franky pulled the stick back, going back up on a full engine. Once high enough for another dive, he turned down on a split-s, and regaining speed, he jumped in again on the two. Bruggink stayed behind, acting as his cover. Now, in another dive, he tried to catch the Japanese planes before they went off too far.

He dived in again. Another miss! The two Japanese planes turned into his dive, and if he followed in with another turn, Franky would break the wings of his plane—this ain't no Hurricane! They went up again. Having lost the element of surprise, taking the Japanese on would be difficult, especially that their numbers were equal.

"Don't lose your cool if you wanna stay alive, Franky."

"We're gonna have to trap one of them." Said Franky.

"If we both go in, we ain't got more cover. Van Helsdingen's making sure the Hurricanes are—Fuck it. Let's do it"

"OK." Said Franky Drebbel. He dove in again, and this time, Bruggink was with him. The plan was to dive from two different directions, so wherever they turned, the Buffaloes could still take them on and not have to change course and lose speed. So that was exactly what they did. Franky put some distance away and each were on their own (wingmen were supposed to stick together at all times) from Bruggink and Bruggink dove first, Franky not far after. Taking in the two Hayabusa's flight path, Bruggink charged and expectedly, both turned away from him; coming from the direction of the sun, Franky, however, did not. Rushing in from above, now somewhat lightheaded due to the dives he took, his blood all at the back of his head, he pointed his targeting reticule on the path of one of the Hayabusa, and squeezed the trigger in two quick bursts. Lead discharged out of his nose and wings, flying into the direction of the Japanese plane. It caught its wings, then its fuselage, and one round from the second burst—an incendiary round—broke into its fuel tank and caused a small ignition, followed by a fire that consumed most of the tail of the Hayabusa. It crashed into the Javanese forests in a ball of fire. Another kill for Franky.

The other went low and headed north to escape, but the two Buffaloes, still faster with energy conserved, quickly hounded down on him. It flew in a complete straight somewhat downwards line, trying to gain speed. "This guy's mine!" said Bruggink, and just as they were getting close, a different piston engine sounded, beyond the two. From above them, a plane appeared and opened fire, its distinct eight .303 Browning machineguns opened up several bursts and shot right through the cockpit and pilot seat, and the plane flew down and out of control, landing in a small river.

"Sorry, chaps. Had to do it for the monthly bonus." Said the British pilot and laughed. He zoomed away to join the rest of his squadron.

Van Helsdingen came in again. "All Reds, regroup. We're returning to base."

"Goddammit." Said Bruggink. "Roger, Red Lead. Going back up to you."

"Hey, at least you got two assists, huh?"

"Do you realize that we're losing this Island and you're still counting kills?"

"Better than getting nothing out of a bad deal!" Said Franky, laughing afterwards.

Their laugh was cut short as a British voice came into the frequency. "Dutch Buffalo flight, you have three Nip fighters headed your way. Up high. Watch it! We're coming after them!"

"Shit! Franky! Up high! Break!" yelled Bruggink.

Franky looked up and saw one diving down, another two diving from another direction. He tried to evade, turning low in a dive, away from Bruggink. The first two missed him, but the second, slow enough in the dive, followed him in a turn, and opened fire. Franky's Buffalo took several on the wings, and on the second series of bursts, it went straight behind his cockpit, pierced the armored plating, and drove a hole into his controls.

There was a spark, but there was no fire, but it was then he realized not only did he lose control, but his engine had been hit and was now squirting fuel over his cockpit. With a small window amidst the oil for visual navigation, he turned his plane away, then low. He realized that his instruments were all screwed, but he could tell that he was still flying straight. He looked down, and saw that a part of his uniform had turned red. He swore, but had both hand on his controls, which were becoming more ineffectual by the second. On an open field nearby, he killed his engines, glided, and, headed towards the ground, hoped for the best.

When the impact came, it was all black.

#