Stuka Ace: French Theatre Complete

June 28, 1940
StG 2 – Northern France, post-Armistice reorganisation

The guns had fallen silent. The roads no longer vibrated with the thunder of Panzer columns. Smoke still drifted in some valleys, and shattered buildings whispered of violence past, but France was finished. The tricolour had been lowered. The Armistice signed.

The mood in the camp was strange. Elation, relief, exhaustion, and an almost childlike disbelief that it had all gone so swiftly and so brutally right. From the Meuse to the Channel in weeks. The old men in Berlin hadn’t believed it. The French hadn't believed it. Now, even the victors could hardly grasp the scale of the triumph. But there was the Fuhrer, posing for photographs in the Champ de Mars

Medals were presented in short but moving field ceremonies. Promotions came quickly—too quickly, some muttered—but few questioned their necessity. The Luftwaffe needed men proven in fire. Men like Andreas Voss.

Just like in Poland, they had paraded again for General Richthofen who had praised their valour and dedication before awarding their Gruppekommandeur, Hauptman Walter Enneccerus, with the highly coveted Knight's Cross. They had all cheered loudly, then crowded in for a Staffel photograph together - Voss in his worn flight jacket, Milo just behind him with a smirk. 

But then came the real news. After the ceremony, Hauptmann Adler summoned him to the command trailer.

"You're not coming with us to England, Andreas, sorry." Adler said. Waving away Voss's objections he continued, "Not because we don’t want you. But because the High Command does."

Voss blinked. "Sir?"

"You’ve been selected for advanced tactical and staff training. Tactics school in Werder, then you'll report to Döberitz for staff and command coursework. When that's done, you’ll be promoted to Oberleutnant and assigned to lead your own Staffel."

The words landed heavily. A Staffel of his own.

But not with these men. Not with Milo. Not with StG 2.

Voss stared out the flap of the tent at the long summer shadows stretching across the airfield. Mechanics were hammering panels on worn Ju 87s, replacements were unloading, pilots were laughing over coffee and schnapps. It felt too soon to be leaving this behind.

Adler placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done more than your share here, Andreas. You’ve lost men, led well, and stayed steady. Now it’s time to take that experience and pass it on. You’re not being retired. You’re being readied—for the next phase.”

Voss gave a faint nod. “I just… didn’t think it would be over so fast. And I didn’t think I’d leave like this.”

Adler smiled. “None of us thought any of this would go like it did. France is done. Holland Belgium are done, just like Poland last year. You've come a long way, but you’re just getting started.”

That evening, Milo brought a bottle of French cognac they'd been saving since Montcornet.

“To the future Staffelkapitän,” he grinned, raising his cup. “Just make sure your new radioman knows how to fix a jammed MG, eh?”

Voss laughed. Then, uncharacteristically, clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Just make sure you survive England, Milo. I’ll be back in the fight soon enough.”

The sky over France was soft and golden that night. For the first time in weeks, no flak stained the horizon. No engines roared overhead. Just the peace of victory—and the uneasy knowledge that peace was temporary.

---------

July 1940

Bavaria – A quiet village near Regensburg

The train had arrived late, but Andreas didn’t mind. The clatter and sway of the carriages was almost soothing after the low growl and adrenaline tension of dive-bombing raids. Now, he walked the narrow path from the station toward his childhood home. The air smelled of hay, woodsmoke, and warm pine. The war felt a hundred miles away.

His father was in the garden, tending to the tomato stakes. The old man looked up as Andreas rounded the gate, squinting at first, then smiling with pride behind tired eyes.

“You look older,” his father said by way of greeting.

“I feel it,” Andreas replied, dropping his kitbag with a soft grunt. “And you look exactly the same. Maybe a bit more grey.”

They embraced stiffly at first, but the silence that followed was a comfortable one.

Inside, the kitchen was warm, and a roast chicken already filled the air with herbs and onions. His father poured schnapps—one for each—and they clinked glasses quietly.

“To the end of France,” the old man said.

“To the beginning of something else,” Andreas replied.

They talked well into the evening. His father asked few questions about the specifics of combat—he was a man who had served in the trenches of the last war and knew better than to pry. But he listened when Andreas described the tempo, the constant tension, the friends lost. He nodded at the mention of Johann, who had written once since the armistice.

“Decorated with the Iron Cross?” his father said, raising an eyebrow. “I always said he had a streak of recklessness.”

“He fought well. He always does,” Andreas said, sipping his schnapps. “I’m proud of him.”

“And of yourself?” his father asked suddenly.

Andreas hesitated.

“I... I suppose. I did my duty. I led men. I didn’t freeze up. I didn’t shame us.”

“That’s not the same as pride.”

“I’m not sure pride is the right word. I kept my men alive, as best I could. I lost two of my crews. It keeps me awake sometimes.”

His father leaned forward.

“You did right by them, then. That’s all you can ever do. The burden doesn’t go away, Andreas. But how you carry it—that’s what makes you a man worth following.”

Andreas nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the woodgrain of the table.

“They’re sending me to Werder. Tactics school. Staff training. After that, I’ll lead a Staffel.”

“Then they see what I always did. That you’re meant for more than just flying. You’re meant to Command.”

The quiet after that was not awkward—it was filled with memory. The sun dipped behind the hills, and the clock ticked in the hallway. Later, they sat on the porch, two silhouettes against a Bavarian twilight, sipping the last of the schnapps.

When Andreas finally turned in for the night, he paused at the door to his childhood room. The same posters. The old carved plane on the shelf.

But the boy who once dreamed of flight now understood what war in the air really cost.

-----------

Notes

After OPERATION DYNAMO (the British evacuation from Dunkirk) was completed, the war in France continued. Fall Rot (Plan Red) saw the Wehrmacht rapidly reorientate, and push south to occupy Paris and force French capitulation. It had been a whirlwind campaign of stunning results. In the last few months the Nazis had captured Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium and France. England stood alone.

In Stuka Ace, each Stuka Squadron has a campaign timeline to follow. For example StG 1 deploys to Norway while StG 2 does not - so I covered that narratively. While StG 2 historically participated in the Battle of Britain, Stuka Ace skips that. By now, Leutnant Voss has also accumulated enough VPs over the two campaigns to merit elation to Staffel Leader, so I decided to narratively kill 2 birds with one stone.

For this campaign, I endeavoured to better tie each mission into a real battle in which StG2 participated. Obviously this involved additional research and reading, which I quite enjoyed, though I couldn't fit them all in of course. The famous capture of the Belgian Forts at Eben-Emael had to be in there, as did the Battle of Sedan, and the race to the sea. The French Counter attack at Moncornet really happened and was led by a French Army Colonel who would later become a household name: Charles de Gaulle. The siege of Calais was a rather brutal affair, but the delay to German forces there was later credited as being a critical factor in allowing the Allies to have the time they needed later at Dunkirk

When we next see him, Andreas will be flying further afield in a new version of the Ju 87 which allowed heavier ordnance loading, including a 1000kg bomb. Standby for Operations Marita (Invasion of Greece) and Herkules (Invasion of Crete)!

Stuka Ace: Mission 6

 

29 May 1940
Dunkirk, Northern France

The call came through in the dim dawn light—Dunkirk again. The British were clinging to the coast, cramming every mole, quay, and sandbar with men. Reports said they were evacuating by sea under the cover of thick smoke screens and punishing RAF air cover. Losses had been high on both sides the past few days. The Fliegerkorps was throwing everything it had at them now, desperate to choke off the escape.

Voss stood by his machine, the morning mist still clinging to its wingtips. Four 50kg bombs were slung beneath her belly—standard load for infantry targets. The targets were enemy formations spotted near the dunes, likely troops trying to regroup to be used as a defensive reserve force.

He had been assigned new wingmen days before - fresh replacements from the training schools, barely through their field checks but keen as mustard. They’d learn by doing, as all of them had.

The forward airstrip they were operating from  launched in strong formation, climbing into the humid air. The Channel shimmered off the port side, and columns of smoke already rose ahead like pillars of warning. Midway to the target, a fast-moving recon plane zipped past. A Lysander or perhaps a Hurricane scout. It veered off rapidly, no doubt reporting their presence to the RAF fighters over Dunkirk. Voss keyed his throat mic.

“Eyes open. They’ll know we’re coming.”

Ground targets hit by Stukas Dunkirk France 1940

Soon after, columns of smoke appeared, as well as black dots peppering the sky — British flak, heavy and angry. The Kette closed up. Voss eyed the white sand and the clusters of infantry weaving between slit trenches, trucks, and supply crates near the dunes.

“Target in sight. Low dive. Follow my lead.”

His Stuka peeled forward, siren screaming, and the world narrowed to a trembling crosshair. The bombs dropped clean, walking a neat row across the infantry’s rear. Men scattered — some diving for cover, others thrown into the air like rag dolls. He pulled out hard, skimming just above rooftop height. His wingmen followed — solid drops, no flak hits. The formation held. Discipline. Training.

But the sky wasn’t done with them yet.

It was mayhem around his kette. Flak bursts, glints off canopies assumed to be enemy fighters, tracer streams reaching from the ground, contrails of 109s and Spitfires mixing it up, and constant radio transmissions. 

A 109 screamed past, trading fire with a Spitfire angling to come in on Voss's tail. Voss got down low and advanced the throttle to exit the area as fast as possible.

Off to his left, he saw a parachute canopy land near the marshland south east of the main battle area. Nearby a crash site was marked with wreckage that looked to be the remains of a 109. Against protocol—but he was close, and the radio reported no enemy fighters in the immediate vicinity—Voss circled and dropped low.

A single man waved from the reed-choked shallows, wading through the mud and smoke. Under the Mae West he wore a Luftwaffe flight suit. That decided it for Voss - he told Milo what he planned and Milo replied with a tense but focused "Jawohl"

Double checking for enemy ground troops, Voss flared the Stuka down hard into a drainage channel just wide enough to hold the aircraft. Milo unstrapped and ran into the reeds, dragging the man back as Voss kept the engine hot. 

With his eyes peeled skywards for threats, Voss was starting to second guess his decision as Milo helped the fighter pilot into the rear of the cockpit and crammed in behind him. As soon as he heard Milo slap the canopy in signal, Voss gunned the throttle. Moments later they were airborne again, the extra man crammed in Milo, nursing a bloodied shoulder and a wide grin.

"Its a bit cramped back here Leutnant, and I can't operate the MG, but we'll manage if you don't throw us around too much." Milo reports on the intercom.

Voss didn't speak, focused on scanning for the threats and getting back as fast as possible. He radioed in his situation to Operations and they promised to have an ambulance standing by. He landed without incident, swarmed with mechanics and medics both as his Stuka rolled to a stop.  He remained strapped in, allowing them to do their duties as he mopped his brow and waited for his pulse to return to normal.

-------------

Later that evening Andreas returned to his tent, exhausted, to find two letters. One formally typed, the other handwritten and attached to a bottle of French champagne. He opened the formal one first

Fliegerführer West – Sturzkampfgeschwader 2 "Immelmann"
Forward Airstrip, Pas-de-Calais
30 May 1940

Subject: Commendation – Rescue of Downed Jagdflieger

To: Leutnant Andreas Voss, 5. Staffel, III./StG 2
Via: Staffelkapitän, 5./StG 2

Leutnant Voss,

During Staffel operations on 29 May 1940 against British positions at Dunkirk, your actions following the primary strike demonstrated both courage and exceptional presence of mind.

After leading your Kette through heavy anti-aircraft fire and coordinating a highly effective bombing run, you identified a downed German fighter pilot, later identified as Leutnant Karl-Heinz Böhler of 2./JG 26, who had been forced to crash-land behind the forward line after an engagement with RAF Spitfires.

Despite your aircraft sustaining operational stress from the earlier bombing run and in the presence of continued British patrols, you chose to descend and land on uncertain terrain. With the assistance of your Bordschütze, Unteroffizier Behr, you secured and evacuated Leutnant Böhler under conditions that could have easily led to your own capture or destruction.

This act of bravery and loyalty is in keeping with the highest traditions of the Luftwaffe and the camaraderie that binds our flying community across units. Your decision likely saved the life of a skilled Jagdflieger who will now return to the fight, thanks to your intervention.

Your actions will be entered into your personnel record, and I am recommending you for consideration of the Ehrenpokal für besondere Leistung im Luftkrieg (Goblet of Honour for Special Achievement in the Air War), to be adjudicated at Gruppe level.

Your comrades in StG 2 take pride in your example.

gez. Adler
Hauptmann, Staffelkapitän
5./StG 2 "Immelmann"

With a lump of pride in his throat, he reached for the second letter:

Andreas,                                                                                                                    29 May 1940

There are few moments in a man's life when he is entirely at the mercy others- exposed and alone. You found me in one of those moments and pulled me out at risk to yourself, your crew and your mission.

I owe you my life, and I don’t say that lightly.

This bottle was “liberated” from a cellar the staff at Gruppe HQ are now using as a map room. The French vintners would no doubt object to its reassignment — but if anyone deserves a drink tonight, it's you.

Consider it a placeholder for the many I owe you.

May our paths cross again in calmer times so I can buy another.

Mit Kameradschaft,
Heinz

II/JG 26

Sweeping up the bottle and two battered canteen cups, Andreas went off to find Milo.

He found him by the edge of the dispersal area, stripped to his waist and wiping down his boots with a rag that had once been a tunic sleeve. The fading light cast the field in amber, the day's strain momentarily forgotten. Voss held up the bottle with a faint smile.

"Rescued fighter pilot says we’re owed a drink."

Milo grinned, eyes tired but bright. "Tell him I’ll collect mine in Paris."

They sat on an overturned crate, enjoying the champagne as the sound of aircraft engines murmured low over the horizon. They had done more than just survive again today. It felt good.

--------------------

Here is a true life account of what it was like flying a Ju 87 over Dunkirk, from Hemut Mahlke's Memoirs of a Stuka Pilot

 https://www.ww2today.com/p/40-06-01-stuka-pilot-over-dunkirk?utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web

---------------------

Game Notes

Infantry positions (4 x 50kgs)

Damaged Airstrip - no effect

Clear/ high alt/ VIC

Approach

1. Perfect Formation + 1 card

2. enemy recon plane!

3. aa Defence  discard 1 random card

Target - Low

Dive 2+2 AA NE REL2+2+2 HIT 6+1 DEST PullUP 9

FORMATT 9 =- DEST

Return - Rescue Crew Successful! +1 Presitge Point (home rule)

Landing NSTR

VPs 2+1+1=4

Stuka Ace: Mission 5

24 May 1940

Siege of Calais, France

The trap had closed 2 days before.

The medieval city of Calais — one of the last functioning ports between Boulogne and Dunkirk — was now surrounded by 10. Panzer-Division who had sprinted to the sea all the way from Sedan. They had shut the jaws around a potent Allied garrison: a full brigade of British infantry, tanks from the Royal Tank Regiment, and remnants of Dutch, Belgian, and French units retreating from the onrushing tide of the Wehrmacht. The city was sealed tight. But like any cornered beast, it was fighting back.

From the forward airfield, Voss could see smoke drifting from the Channel horizon — the black scars of naval bombardment and burning warehouses. Coastal artillery duelled with Royal Navy destroyers that darted into the harbor like wolves, snatching away soldiers under the cover of night.

Hauptmann Adler laid it out coldly in the early briefing:

“The British are evacuating by sea. If we don’t stop them now, they’ll fight us again somewhere else, maybe in England. We are going after the harbor piers and facilities, where Royal Navy motor launches and smaller vessels were trying to evacuate men. Stop them. 

And be alert for the RAF - the are particularly aggressive in their defence of the Allied soldiers.  Me109s from JG26 will provide top cover but they cant be everywhere.”

The devastation of Calais, 1940

Voss and Mil were accelerating down the makeshift grass strip when the Berta jolted hard — a punishing lurch to the left as the undercarriage slammed into an unseen rut. The airframe groaned.

“Scheiße. Something’s not right,” Voss muttered, hands tense on the stick.

Behind him, Milo let out a sharp breath. “That wasn’t just a bump.”

The Stuka staggered into the air, tail-heavy and stubborn in the climb.

A low-frequency vibration settled in as they levelled out — not enough to abort, not yet. But the engine had been running ragged since the Montcornet strikes. Coughing on start-up, minor fuel pressure dips, the sort of things that in peacetime would’ve grounded a kite for a thorough inspection. Now, they patched what they could between sorties and hoped for the best.

No deep maintenance. No time.

Even the ground crews looked like ghosts — oil-streaked, red-eyed, grabbing sleep in between engine swaps and fuel loads and relocating to the next improvised strip. 

Every hour was a mission. Every mission was vital. And Voss — well, Voss was starting to feel it.

His fingers ached. Not from injury, but from clenching too long, too often. His shoulders were tight from flying against wind shear, counter-flak evasion and 6g pullouts from bomb dives. Even his boots felt heavier than usual.

Fatigue. The kind that sits deep in the muscles. Deeper in the soul.

He forced his mind back to the task. Calais again. More ships in the harbor. More guns. More flak.

“We’re running her hard, Milo,” Voss said over the intercom, trying to shake the sluggish engine note from his mind.

“She’ll get us home, sir,” Milo replied, but even his voice lacked conviction. “She always has.”

Voss nodded to no one, watching the Channel horizon appear. The enemy FLAK opened up and he saw their Me109 escorts gain altitude to get away from the AA fire.

Attack Run on the Docks

The Channel wind was stiff with salt and smoke as Voss's Kette broke cloud cover and came upon the Calais harbour below. What he saw was an industrial theatre of desperation — ships docked bow-first, cranes swinging wildly, lorries being reversed up ramps, soldiers scrambling down gangways under shouted orders. British officers trying to restore order to a retreat.

Voss opened his radio channel “Targets visual — ships loading at the quay, far side of the basin. Attack runs in sequence. Standard pull-out, no low passes. Too many masts.”

The masts — that was no exaggeration. The harbour looked like a porcupine — forested with the spindly silhouettes of transports, trawlers, corvettes, fishing boats. And above them, a thousand damned seagulls wheeled in shrieking chaos. A birdstrike in a dive would make him crash as surely as a Flak burst would.

He winged over, pushed down the nose and began his dive down.

The Stuka whined as it tipped, siren keening above the engine’s strained note. Below, columns of men scattered — some ducked, some froze. The seaguills seemed to scatter too. Voss picked his target — a large British transport loading vehicles. Bombsight steady. Wind cross-checked.

“Bombs away — now!”

Four 50-kilogram bombs peeled off and streaked down. Voss yanked the stick back, throttling up and feeling the frame resist, then obey. The Berta screamed upward, clearing the mast forests.

Behind him, thunder. A ship’s stern erupted in fire and black smoke. One of his bombs had found a magazine or a fuel truck — it didn’t matter which. The result was devastating.

He swung around to watch the others.

His Kette came in one after another — disciplined, steady. Their training and recent weeks of experience clear. No one panicked, no one pulled too early. One strike cracked the quay edge, flipping a lorry like a toy. Another splashed squarely amid a cluster of evacuees, forcing a corvette to sheer off its moorings.

It was brutal. It was clean. No wasted ordnance. No missed targets.

“Directs across the line,” Milo reported in his usual detachment. “You got the big one, sir. She’s done.”

Voss exhaled, adrenaline spiking as they banked out over the Channel, the sky clearer now — no enemy fighters, no new flak.

“Good work comrades,” he said simply, clicking to the rest of the Kette. “Lets go home"

He didn’t need to say more and the Kette turned inland. Behind them, Calais burned and the Royal Navy’s withdrawal stumbled.

The Defence of Calaise, by Terence Cuneo

Depicting members of the 1st battalion The Rifle brigade in the defence of Calais in 1940 during which for four days they held off the repeated attacks of German tanks and infantry thus facilitating the successful evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force from the beaches of Dunkirk

Then it all went wrong.

Over Calais – Moments After the Strike

They were 5 miles inland leaving the burning waterfront behind, when the sky shattered.

“Achtung! Spitfire! Six o’clock high!”

Milo’s voice cracked through the intercom just as the first .303 tracers zipped past Voss’s canopy. The British fighters — Spitfires or Hurricanes, too fast to tell yet — came screaming down like executioners, sun flashing off their wings.

“Break! Break now!” Voss barked into the mic.

The tight Vic formation scattered. His Kette peeled away in separate spirals, but it was already too late for Schmidt off his port wing. As he watched, a burst of machine gun fire stitched along the other Ju 87’s fuselage. The aircraft burst into fire mid-roll, nosing down in a sickening spiral. No parachutes

“Schmidt’s hit! Going down!”

Voss’s heart pounded, mouth dry. He juked left, pulling every inch the airframe could handle. Behind him, Milo engaged the closest RAF fighter with short bursts, then a shouted curse.

“Another jam! Gottverdammt—!”

A shadow streaked overhead — fast, black, angled. The howl of a Messerschmitt diving down to engage the British.

But the tide didn’t turn fast enough. above and to his right, Voss saw Ebeling’s machine — his other Kette wingman — trying to dive away low. A Spitfire was on him like a wolf. Ebeling jinked, wobbled, levelled out...and caught a wingtip on the edge of a rooftop trying to ditch — and disintegrated.

“Ebeling’s down! Mein Gott…”

Voss’s mind burned with helpless fury and frustration.

He throttled up. The Berta’s wounded engine protested, but she still flew.

Two 109s slashed into the furball, fending off the remaining RAF attackers. One of the Messerschmitts took a hard hit to the oil line — smoke pouring as it limped west, nose dipped low.

“Stuka flight, you’re clear — RTB, RTB,” advised the Messerschmidt flight leader in a clipped voice through static.

Voss didn’t answer. He finally pulled away, altitude dropping, eyes behind and ahead at once. No sign of pursuit. Milo was pale, face tight.

“They came for blood,” the gunner said quietly.

“And they got it,” Voss replied, equally quiet. “They got it.”

Debriefing – Evening, 23 May

That night, with the low hum of engines still buzzing in his skull, Voss sat with Milo by the aircraft, watching mechanics patch holes and tinker under the engine cowling.

“The city’s going to fall,” Milo muttered. “Not tonight. But it’s bleeding.”

Voss nodded. His own voice was distant, hollow. He thought of the thousands trapped in Calais — infantry holding ruined streets, tank crews firing into flames, sailors pulling soldiers from piers under falling bombs.

The British were brave. But this was war — and in war, mercy came in briefest moments, if at all.

“It has to fall,” Voss finally said quietly, thinking about the four letters he had to write to four grieving mothers

-----

Royal Air Force – Operational Record Book (ORB)

No. 501 Squadron (Fighter Command)
Date: 23 May 1940
Location: Detachment at Saint-Inglevert Advanced Landing Ground, Pas-de-Calais
Aircraft: Hawker Hurricane Mk I
Weather: Broken cloud with intermittent haze; visibility moderate to good; wind SW, light

Summary of Events:

0645 hrs: Received notice via Fighter Command that Calais was under heavy aerial bombardment. RN evac operations observed under pressure; German dive-bombers were striking the port with precision. Army liaison signalled urgent request for air cover over the evacuation zone.

0700 hrs: Two sections scrambled under emergency orders to intercept Stuka formations reported inbound on the Calais sector. Aircraft airborne from Saint-Inglevert at 0703 hrs.

Contact established at 0751 hrs approximately 5 miles south of Calais. Sighted 3 x Ju 87s egressing post dive sequence over the harbour waterfront. 4–5 Messerschmitt 109s flying above in CAP position.

Engagement details:

F/Lt. Simmonds led the Blue Section directly into the Stukas during egress; successful firing pass observed, one Ju 87 seen to catch fire and spiral into the Channel.  Second Ju 87 shot down by F/Sgt. Grady. Both kills confirmed by ground observers.

P/O Lacey of Red Section engaged Bf 109s. Reported damage inflicted on one Messerschmitt, though Lacey’s own aircraft sustained radiator puncture and returned leaking.

Losses:

Own: 1 Hurricane (P/O Thompson) force-landed west of Calais after light damage to ailerons; pilot safe.

Enemy: 2 Ju 87 confirmed destroyed; 1 Bf 109 damaged

Ground reports indicate multiple direct hits on the docks and troop embarkation zones from enemy bombs. 1 fuel lorry and several transport vehicles destroyed.

Assessment:

Stuka activity was concentrated and well-disciplined. Escorting 109s aggressive but engaged late. Reports from naval signals suggest at least two transport ships damaged/sinking at quay, though evacuation continued. Troop morale remains steady despite bombardment.

Operational Tempo:
Pilots flying multiple sorties per day. Aircraft maintenance stretched. Request made for additional spares and relief crews.

Signed:
S/Ldr. John W. Holden
OC No. 501 Sqn
23 May 1940 – Saint-Inglevert

-----------

Game Notes

WOW - this was my first dogfight and it was BRUTAL. And it felt very thematic that my fighter coverage had just been degraded by AA fire when the Spitfires rolled in! At first the mechanics felt weird - I managed my evade roll, but my wingmen didn't and they kept being depleted by Enemy fighters, as did my own fighter cover. Eventually I made the Formation Evade roll to end the dogfight.  

So it felt weird watching my guys get chopped up and not being able to to intervene at all. In fact, it similar to doing you own dive bomb attack: squeezing every + and minimising every - to get maximum impact on the target. And then watching helplessly as your wingmen fluff theirs. I'm sure that is a realistic feeling for flight leads watching their squadron mates get shot down and being ineffective.

The diverting rabbit hole then, is that these rules don't reflect different categories of wingmen - Rookies, Experienced, Vets etc, in being calculating their effectiveness either in the attack or in the air. As aspect to think about.

Finally, this mission was adjusted from one of the Missions in the France Campaign to suit this historically - changing out the target type and making the enemy fighter presence 4+ instead of 6+ . Very easy to do and felt right.

As an aside, the rules don't mention wingman losses, instead tracking 'formation efficiency' - I decided to interpret this as combat losses, which is why the narrative is written that way.

One more mission to play in my French Campaign - Dunkirk!

--------

Mission 1 with substitute of Docked Ships target (with AA=0) to reflect scenario - not usually available

Enemy Presence adjusted to 4+ to reflect RAF efforts to protect the Calais Pocket, and retaining Support Fighters 2

Take Off Damage - structural damage

Clear Weather / High Alt/ VIC form

Approach

1. engine not working - nothing significant

2. terrain check + 1 stamina

3. close call - 1stamina (fatigue)

Target

Searching - FLAK - Fighters-1

Target - Mdm profile

DIVE 2+1+3=6   AA=3 REL 2+4+6 HIT 10+1-1 = DEST PULLUP 2+6=8

FORMATT 3+6-1=8 DEST

Back to VIC

Return
1. enemy contact!!! Dogfight Enemy Fighter 1 Squadron Support1

EVADE 3+5 = success

FORM EVADE 1 =Formation efficiency reduced by 1 (=kette Ju 87 shot down?)

FIGHTER - Fr-1

FORM EVADE 1 = Formation efficiency reduced by 1 (=kette Ju 87 shot down?)

FIGHTER No effect

FORM EVADE = end of dogfight

Land - NSTR

VP 4+1=5

My first DogFight! Very thematic and I equated the losses in formation efficiency as Ju 87s being shot down (which was par for the course in Calais and Dunkirk)

Stuka Ace: France Mission 4

17 May 1940 

Improvised forward Airstrip, near Bastogne, Belgium

A Trio of Ju87 from Stab III/StG51 on an improvised airstrip, France 1940

French Counter-attack at Montcornet

The pace of the last two days had only been exceeded by the speed at which the Panzer Divisions were advancing. Rommel and Guderian seemed to be in a race to the coast to complete the encirclement of the BEF and French Armies. Rumour mill had it that they were even ignoring orders from OKH to slow down to consolidate their winnings. Their blood was up!

Not for the first time in the past week, Voss wondered how his brother was faring. The slower infantry couldn't keep up with the Panzers, but Johann was in a Motorised unit and Voss knew that meant he would be right up there at the leading edge.

It was foolhardy. It was magnificent. It couldn't last. 

The whole Gruppe was woken by sirens - Scramble alarm! Bleary eyed aircrews were still pulling on jackets and gear in the ops tent when Adler began talking, his own boots unlaced. 

"Guderian's run out of rope. At 4am this morning, the French began a counterattack with massed tanks against the flank of his 1st Panzer Division at Montcornet. They are threatening to break into the Division's rear and run amock through his supply lines, disrupting the whole Corps. 88mm FLAK guns are being used as improvised anti-tank but they are getting hit from the air as well, and now they need us to pull their arses out of the fire.

Its our job to knock out the French forward airbase being used to hit them - Mount up!"

Voss's Kette took off quickly into clear skies, climbing into Vic formation. The countryside below shimmered in early summer heat. Navigation was precise — the field was isolated, surrounded by low hedgerows and marked by a dirt runway and canvas hangars.

Voss’s stomach tightened as they began the dive., and the French AA guns opened up - a mix of 37 and 75mm guns. The fire was light but rapid. The tracers came up thick and fast from sandbagged emplacements near the hangars.

His Berta shuddered. A sharp jolt kicked through the airframe.

“Hit! Port wing — something punched through the skin!” Milo shouted through the intercom.

Feeling an increased vibration in the aircraft, Voss held his line and hoped he hadn't lost any control surfaces that would impact his climb out. His settled his bomb sight over a line of parked aircraft.  Bombs away. Pull up!

The Ju 87 pulled up, but with some fight against him and a pull to the left. Nothing he couldn't handle though, he was most pleased to find!

His string of 50kgers burst across the flight line and fires leapt from two twin-engined aircraft - Breguet 693s maybe? - followed by a fuel bowser. One of the tents detonated in a white-orange flare.

Behind him, the rest of the Kette came in. Clean drops following by almost rhythmic explosions. The airfield was left burning — runway cratered, parked aircraft wrecked, and fire spreading through the camp.

Milo glanced over the port wing. “We’re lucky, sir. I can see some buckling but the control surface is intact. But we should get her checked before the next run.”

The engine coughed during the climb out but steadied. A sign of something more serious? Didnt appear so. They limped home on full alert. No fighters, no more flak.

Ju 87B2 Stuka 3.StG2 (T6+HL) WNr 5582 France May 1940

Back on the ground. Gas hoses were dragged up, bomb trolleys came forward, and Milo found himself an inevitable cup of kafe. As the Berta was being inspected, another message came down:

“French infantry advancing on German flanks — likely elements supporting the counterattack regrouping. Take them out before they dig in.”

There was no time to dwell. The wing damage was deemed minor. Voss and his Kette were airborne again within 25 minutes — this time carrying another set of light fragmentation bombs, ideal for open troop formations.

----------

The weather had turned. Low cloud banks and rising mist hung over the target zone. The air was thick with haze, making map-based navigation unreliable.

Voss dropped altitude to get his bearings. The landmarks were vague, the roads barely visible.

Finally, they spotted dust betraying movement — a platoon-size column advancing through a treeline toward a ridge. French helmets glinted briefly in the sun between breaks in the mist.

“Target confirmed — rolling in.”

The dive was shallow this time, more of a precision skip-bombing run.

Voss released his bombs — they walked the treeline, throwing earth and smoke skyward. Milo swung the rear gun to cover, but the MG jammed after two short bursts. No return fire, but it left him swearing.

“Sorry, sir! She’s stuck solid.”

The rest of the Kette came in smoothly, scattering the column. At least one position was vaporized by a direct hit. The French advance was halted — if not broken outright.

Visibility worsened on the return flight. Thick fog spilled over the low hills. Voss kept low, eyes scanning for landmarks and power lines. Without fighter cover, they were on edge.

Back at the forward strip, the touchdown was rough — uneven ground jolted the gear. The Berta took the jolt, though the port wheel protested with a shriek of stressed metal. Still, they rolled to a stop intact.

Mechanics rushed in as Voss climbed out. Milo was already hammering at the jammed MG.

"Hopefully thats given the Panzer boys the breathing space they needed" he mused.

Ju 87B2 Stuka 3.StG2 (T6+xx) close up France May 1940

From: Luftflotte 2, IX. Fliegerkorps 

Operations Summary 17 May 1940: 

The prompt and effective destruction of the French forward airstrips significantly degraded the enemy’s ability to conduct air support during their ground assault. Follow-up strikes against infantry concentrations and artillery positions helped blunt the advance and allowed 1. Panzer-Division to regain flank security and freedom of manoeuvre. Aerial reconnaissance shows  French advance has lost momentum.

Recommendation: 

Continued aerial interdiction of French staging areas and road movement in support of the armoured thrust toward the Aisne. Reinforcement of forward refuelling and rearmament capability to maintain tempo. 

Signed, 

Oberst i.G. Langemeyer 

Operations Officer, 

IX. Fliegerkorps Luftflotte 2

Game Notes

Target Airfield - ordnance selection was tricky. Went with 4 x 50kgs

takeoff NSTR- Clear Wx /High alt /VIC formation

Approach

1 enemy contact - nil. NAV pass

2 AA Defences - no effect to supporting 3 Terrain Check FAIL. (no additional stamina)

Target

FLAK - formation to Loose.

FLAK - Fighter Support reduced (already 0)

Target LOWEST 

Dive 5-1=4, AA 7 Structural Damage, REL 2+2+3-1-1=5 HIT=5+1-1=5 DAMAGED, Pullup 8

FORMATT 6+3-1-2 = 6 DEST

Return

1 Low Fuel - loose STAMINA

2 Engine Trouble - nothing

Rearm/refuel - no repairs 

Secondary target - INF Positions (4 x 50kgs)

Takeoff NSTR - Clear / High / VIC

Approach

1 Vis reduces - CLEAR 2

2 Formation PASS

3 MG jammed - loose STAMINA

Target

Stay in formation - Pass

LOW

Dive 5+2, AA Nil, REL 4+3, HIT 7+1 DEST, PULLUP 6+3-3

FORM ATT 5+3-0 = 8 DEST

Return

1 VIS Improve

2 Clear Skies

Land - NSTR

VPs 2 + 2+1 = 5

First time with an AA hit!

Stuka Ace: France Mission 3

Mission 3 — “Break the Line” 

13 May 1940 — Strike on Sedan Defensive Positions

Target: French artillery and fortified infantry along the Meuse River

The stink of engine oil and scorched powder still clung to Voss’s flight suit as he stepped into the briefing tent at the new airfield. At Dawn that morning the Gruppe had relocated to a forward airstrip at St Trond in Belgium - occupied Belgium - Voss corrected himself. Being that much closer to the front would give them additional flexibility.

A Ju 86B-1 of StG 2 rests in a temporary assembly area in St Trond, Belgium

His arms were stiff, fingers raw from a repeated bomb releases, high G pull-ups and hard landings in previous days. Hannut had been a trial by fire — smoking French vehicles, fields cratered, and forests littered with twisted hulls. But the French had pulled back, leaving their dead and over a hundred tank wrecks on the field. The Panzertruppen had lost more vehicles but were now recovering them and getting them back into action.

But today was different. He felt it the second he saw the maps. Not Belgium. France. The Ardennes. The Meuse. Sedan.

Adler stood by the mapboard with a mug in hand, already mid-sentence when Voss entered. His voice was calm, but clipped — energised.

"Guderian reached the Meuse two days ago. Days ahead of schedule, naturally. Yesterday, the French finally woke up — too late. They're shifting divisions but their main line is still forming. And while von Rundstedt’s got 41,000 vehicles with him, they’re choking on those forest roads. Traffic jams twenty kilometers long!"

He turned and jabbed a finger at a red-circled portion of the map — Sedan.

"Today, we punch through the line where it matters most. The Schwerpunkt will hit with no less than three Panzer Divisions and we will be right there with them. We go to the Meuse. We go to Sedan. Likely targets are defensive infantry and artillery positions but standby for the Air Controllers to call you in as needed."

Adler cracked a grin. “Your Fathers were there in the last war, and your Grandfathers gave the French a pasting there in 1870 too. Lets go make it German once again!"

13 May 1940 — Sedan Sector, Meuse River
Target: French Infantry & Artillery near the River Crossings

Clear skies stretched above like polished glass — a rare gift. Voss buttoned the last clasp on his flight harness, the morning already warming into the promise of a hot day. He took a deep breath. Today would matter.

Formation was tight — a clean Vic at high altitude, the three Ju 87s climbing smoothly into the blue. Below them, the forests of the Ardennes rolled like a dark sea. Somewhere down there, von Rundstedt’s spearhead — tens of thousands of vehicles — was still fighting to unclog the traffic jams of steel and rubber. But further west, Guderian had crossed the Meuse - amazing!

And the French had finally noticed.

Reports crackled over the wireless as they moved toward the target area. Enemy fighters sighted. Their escort peeled off swiftly — 109s banking away to meet the threat head-on, outside the flak corridor.

That left them alone, but Voss trusted the Kette. They were honed now, sharpened across Hannut and the canal. He’d seen them perform under fire and today he would lead them again.

Halfway to the objective, Milo leaned forward and tapped the canopy. A dust trail below — movement. A column of trucks and infantry bunched together in a makeshift laager beside a grove. Voss saw the telltale blue uniforms of the French Army; a Target of opportunity. Voss keyed the mic:

“New target. Strafing run. Prepare to break formation.”

He nosed down sharply and lined up on the rear of the position. Their .30s and rifles opened up — harmless. Voss’s Stuka screamed low, and he opened up with his wing mounted MGs. Tracers connected his Berta to the running men. Dust kicked up and bodies toppled.

Behind him, the rest of the Kette rolled in with surgical precision. One truck turned into a fireball. An anti-tank gun limbered beside a tree burst apart like kindling.

They pulled up, clean and calm. Not a scratch.

Back into the climb.Voss checked his map — the real target lay just beyond. No time to get back into formation. 

The French infantry had dug in along the Meuse, stiffening the line against Guderian’s assault. Riflemen and machine gunners lined the slopes leading down to the river.

Then came the flak.

As they crossed into range, the French opened up. Heavy batteries — well-sighted — began peppering the sky with black clouds. Tracers stitched past his wing. Milo cursed behind him as the aircraft shook.

No time to think.  “Tighten up. Begin the run.”

At 3,000 meters, Voss rolled inverted and began the dive. The Meuse sparkled below, the French positions clear against the scrubby embankments. He aimed for a cluster of foxholes just in front of the ridgeline. The scream of the Jericho Trumpets kicked in — that unholy sound that tore into the nerves of everyone below.

Lower - Lower - Lower again - Bombs away!

The four 50kg bombs tumbled straight down and struck with a bone-jarring detonation. Earth and men vanished in a single pulse. He pulled up hard, G-forces crushing his chest, teeth gritted.

The Kette followed in clean succession. One, two — all bombs on target! The infantry position was wiped from the hill. Resistance collapsed into smoke.

Mission success.

But fate had one more test once they returned home

The forward airfield near Bouillon had taken damage the day before and was now little more than a widened strip of clay and gravel. As Voss came in, the approach felt steady. But just as his wheels touched, the right strut slammed into a hidden rut. The Ju 87 kicked to the left violently.

He yanked the stick to correct — Milo shouted. For a moment, they skidded sideways, then the gear caught again and bounced them back on axis.

They stopped in a cloud of dust. The engine stuttered. A mechanic sprinted over, eyes wide.

“You crack a tooth back there?” Milo joked as they climbed out.

Voss gave a short laugh, his boots crunching dry gravel.
“No. But we cracked the gear strut at the least. Tell the Hauptfeldwebel she’ll need some love

Behind them, the rest of the Kette landed cleanly. They had struck hard — again. Another spear thrust to clear the way for the Panzers.

Junkers Ju 87B Stuka 5.StG2 (T6+GN) 02

Game Notes

Mission1 - Infantry Position ( 4 x 50kgs)

Takeoff NSTR - HIGH ALT / VIC / Clear Wx

Approach

1 enemy contact - Nil 

2 Opp Target: Infantry. Commit to Gun strafe attack, retaining bombs for Primary

   StrAfe Dive 3= fail, AA No Effect, Strafe 5+2-1=6 DESTROYED!

   FORM ATT = 6 DEST

  FORM NOW LOOSE - no cards to fix before main attack...

3. AA Defences. Fighter Sqn support reduced by 1 (now 1)

Target

Searching FLAK Attack 6 = Fighter Sqn support reduced by 1 (now 0)

Target Reached: Lowest REL height 

DIVE 7, AA Fire nil, BOMB REL 6+3 = 9, Hit =10 DEST, PullUP 8-3 = 5

FORMATT 6+3+0-1=8 DEST

Return

1. Nil

Land 11 - 2 structural damage.

Stuka Ace: France Mission 2

Mission 2 — "Steel and Fire at Hannut"

12 May 1940 — Battle of Hannut Begins

Junkers Ju 87B Stuka II.StG2 (T6+xx) France 1940-01

The canvas of the operations tent flapped gently in the early morning breeze. The last 2 days had seen the Staffel running continuous operations in daylight hours, and maintenance and briefings before and after. The teams were tired but exuberant. 

The Belgians were collapsing and the French and British were very slow in reacting to the German invasion. Voss turned his attention from his fellow pilots to ObLt Adler as he walked into the tent  

"Good news, men—" Adler began, and the mood shifted instantly. Good news didn’t always mean safe news, but it meant progress.

The whole tent seemed to lean forward when Adler spoke of the 3rd and 4th Panzer Divisions advancing toward Brussels, and the French racing to meet them with their finest armored units. The names alone—S35s, Panhards—meant trouble. But trouble was also what the Stukas were built for.

"Fifteen hundred fighting vehicles on the field at the same time... the largest tank battle in history," Adler intoned with relish. The aircrew murmured—nervous, excited. This was history unfolding, and they had front-row seats with dive brakes and bombs. And given that this whole Northern front was a German feint, it meant that the French were falling for the deception.

Voss made eye contact with Milo across the tent. The gunner gave a half-smile and raised an eyebrow along with a steaming mug of kafe. Another big one. He didn’t need to say it aloud.

Adler’s final words brought it all home.

"Another busy day in the air—StG 77 is in the area as well, Heinkels will be smashing rear columns, and fighter cover will be tight. Our job is at the front line—slow the French advance down and give our boys room to manoeuvre. As usual*, we ignore the tanks - they move too fast to be effective targets. Focus on the infantry trucks and artillery parks. Smash those and their tanks will be isolated, and our Panzers will mop up. Good Hunting!"

(* this was Luftwaffe doctrine early in the war, Stukas went after less mobile targets and typically didn't engage tanks)

Maps were folded. Watches checked. Briefings concluded. The adrenaline buzz returned.

a rather remarkable shot of 500kg bomb immediately after release during a dive

---------

12 Mai 1940
Forward Airfield, Belgium
Feldpost 31729 B

Lieber Vater,

Grüß Gott - I can't tell you where I am of course, but I am well. I can tell you this much: today we gave the French a good kick in the trousers.

We took off just after dawn with Oberleutnant Voss leading our Kette. You’d like him, Vater. He’s sharp as a blade and flies like he’s part of the aircraft. Steady hands, clear voice, no nonsense. Reminds me of you yelling at me in the barn to keep my shoulders square with the beam. Except now the “beams” are columns of French trucks.

The mission went clean, with Voss's eyes glued to the map to make sure we got to the target quickly. Our Fighter cover glory-boys peeled off early to deal with some French planes reported to the South, but they left us a clear sky. We found our target soon enough - a convoy of infantry support trucks strung out in a lane near Hannut. Voss took us in low, real low, and we dumped our eggs right into the middle of them. I saw two trucks go up like kindling. One of them must have had fuel in the back — the fireball looked like the barn on fire when lightning struck the roof that summer. You remember that, right? Uncle Matthias never forgave the cow.

No flak, no fighters, and not even a radio jam. Just clean work and straight flying. Almost felt unfair. We were back before the coffee got cold — well, if you can call this black mud "coffee." Voss let me log the radio intercepts myself. Said I had “good instincts.” I’ll try not to let that go to my head.

The other boys in the Staffel are in good spirits tonight. Some of the older guys are even smiling — rare sight, that. We’re expecting to be up again tomorrow. Big things are happening. The officers are tense in that way that says they know more than we do.

Tell Mutter not to worry. My gear’s holding up, and my prayers are longer now than they were in training. The sky still belongs to the Luftwaffe. I miss the church bells on Sundays. All we get here are sirens and engines.

With love and mud,

Dein Sohn,
Milo

-------

Game Notes

Mission4 - Trucks (4 x 50kg)

Takeoff - NSTR- VIC/High ALT, Clear 2

Approach

1. Enemy Contract- Nil, NAVCHECK = pass

2. Fighter cover in dogfight

Searching x1 - NSTR

Target Identified

Lowest Approach: Dive 6 AA nil, REL = 7,  HIT = 8 DESTROYED

PULLUP: 2+2+6=10-3=7

FORMATTK = 9 DESTROYED

Return

1. Nil

Land NSTR

VPs 3+1=4. Really nailed that target! Lack of enemy fighters lets me prioritise my cards for the bomb run