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Amazing mod you have there. Good work.

The crap is yours I'm afraid, unless you believe John and Mike are still alive, cause they aren't. And the guy working on YAP-RW is an end-user (not a 3d modeller nor a modder) who bought those products. Is he at fault because he updated the products he bought for use on SF2 for free? He also was scammed if the stuff he bought was stolen and that's terrible. I don't think anyone can held him responsible for the crap done by others. That's what I meant with my post. The RW guy, unlike the original YAP guys, is at least asking for permissions in using CA mods in his rework, and he's also crediting modders. Original YAP never did this to my knowledge, they'd rather steal and monetize upon free mods. Before disliking posts trying to give a more complete perspective of the situation, think twice. I (luckily) never dealt with YAP in the past and I never cared about it. I'd obviously be angry if any of my work had been monetized by others. I'm here for creating and sharing free legitimate mods. If you had an issue with YAP in the past, it's your problem that you haven't solved it in years before the owners died. You're a nobody to call me a liar, and it's suspicious this is only your fourth post on CombatACE. Your previous three posts were about complaining that GKABS' 3d models don't work on SF1. You've never contributed anything over here from what I see, you behave like a troll. You'd rather show some respect to people in the community.

One last thing: I don't care about original YAP and what they have done or not done, as I haven't spent a single cent on their stuff - I just don't know their stuff, so I cannot judge about the past! I unwillingly contributed to YAP-RW, because the guys just used my stuff, that I released here. For that stuff I spent A LOT of time researching, gathering infos, creating decals, creating templates and so on... Workarounds are one thing. Copy stuff from different sources together or spending 5 minutes of time to copy one skin to a different plane and say, that this is my "work" is just nonsense. I want my work to be of good quality, so they should leave my name out of this shit. I never asked my mods to be added to YAP-RW and ripped apart by people, that obviously don't care for historical correctness. Theres a simple solution for that though: Just don't use my stuff! They should do stuff by themselves and invest their own time! Have a nice day... Edit: Sorry again, for the continued hijack. It was the last time.

I have to admit, even if the actual YAP-RW-people are not the real YAP-guys, the actual one/ones are still a bit shady to me. They give credits for stuff they use, that's cool! That's a thing, that actually worked better, than here on CA... But they also change stuff beyond all recognition or simply copy stuff together, that obviously doesn't work well and still say it's from you, although that crap isn't. Call me strange, but that's also not, how it works (at least for me). For me they are neither pure white, nor pure black - just something in between. Sorry for hijacking the thread even more. I'm out again.

other than the terrain for Vietnam48* (which is a NIGHTMARE!!!) I tend to release everything I do. Unless it's pure shit. *btw, all the birds and most of the ground units are done. I could release those, but without the terrain .... pity too, the aircraft came out GREAT (if i say so myself!!! )

Normally, I'd post these in the WW2 WIPs, but as only 7 or 8 of us are totally Prop Heads .... Some of the other projects from Coyote Aerospace, courtesey angelp. There ARE a host of others, too

About the current state of YAP, Menrva has said it all. What I can add is that "Ralph" is a very nice guy who became a friend, completely correct and with no intention of harming anyone or making any profit from the project. He is simply a fan of the original YAP, and after the death of John Shelton (who was the guy that some here had problems with in the past), he took over the project to not let it go to limbo. He has ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with the problems of the past, and I know he condemns the eventual bad things that happened on those occasions. I participated in YAP-RW with some editions, suggestions and as a beta tester. (The soundtrack, for example, was chosen and placed by me.) Everything was done by the YAP-RW Team with the care and desire to deliver an immersive experience and made as if it were for us, and I'm sure everyone involved thought so too. Some things had to be changed in relation to the originals, but that's due to the way YAP was designed, often for it to work in the imagined way it is necessary to circumvent the SF engine and make a "workaround" (many things there I don't like either, but things are as they are). All creators who contributed with objects, editions, in short, with everything, were duly credited and had their efforts recognized and eternalized there. I've never commented on this, but I couldn't help but respond when reading some things here...

"I started a joke" !!!!!

Boss, I´m a Prop Head from the start as you may know, and the new planes are most welcome BUT... will they be released? Rules are rules...

On base....... Sooo many new buildings, vehicles etc, I use hardly any stock objects anymore. At least by building my own you can get everything at the correct scale....some of the stock buildings are way off.

yep, would look good with HUD

You're not hijacking the thread (not too much anyway) so your concerns are pretty valid given the touchy nature of YAP and YAP-RW so far. I just hope that things work out for the better with YAP-RW and so on. Cliff7600 will look at the files and hopefully provide a workable solution to the FM issue with the Prowler though. It flies okay just trapping is a nightmare and frankly understand why trapping is such a clincher for some people. I mean I get more focused on landing than on a normal runway, but the ease of some jets takes away the worry.

Thanks, I'll PM him and see what happens.

I may be wrong, but I think @Cliff7600 is the only FM guru still around. Baffmeister hasn't been around in a long time, he contributed for some time on ODS 30AE. Both are very talented! I have no such good knowledge on flight models.

it would be, actually, fairly easy. A fairly small map (250km x 250), an airfield or 2, maybe some rock spires, etc. But I'm buried with stuff! (lots of ww2 birds, to say nothing of the North Cape clean up and the ever-dangling Veitnam48 maps)

Couldn't you make one in the future?

just to let you all know, no joy on the Air Race map. I went through all the CDs and zip discs. I know it was from the very early 2000s Sorry all!

The cockpit of the F-7B/M like the Iraqis, which is modernized with a HUD, would look good in this version, if it were made in the 80s/90s.

Dhimari version for allenjb42....the arabic script on the nose is a translation of "gnat" which I hope is the correct way round...

Another unrelated thing..... if you want some nice Ambient Occlusion RTGI really helps with that Ive been testing it and it works well aslong as you disable Anti aliasing and use SMAA in Reshade Takti's RTGI,AA Preset.ini

Been playing around with the EA-6B Superpack by HomeFries. So far it's pretty good and I think it's a good plane, I just need to force myself to learn how to trap the bird (that DIANE sight gets in my way and makes it difficult). Anyway, for my fictional squadron here's my custom Prowler ICAP III. The weathering is experimental, as my references don't have much gunk on it, but it's always a work in progress skin that I fly sometimes:

Final look. I changed the "Ambush" to how they normally do it as opposed to the proposal. In any case, it'll be uploaded soon and awaiting approval.

Some more work. I may just use the brown as the others for artistic license since I can't find a top or bottom view of the proposed scheme.

Journal of FLt Douglas Bell-Gordon, RNAS Part 16 24 March 1917. Furnes, Belgium. We’ve had a week of grey skies and cold drizzle, relieved only by periods of freezing rain and wet snow. Patrols have been uneventful. Simpson has been made a flight commander and so has Huntington. The latter claimed a Roland yesterday and it was marked up as his eleventh. The talk in the wardroom centres on the many young ladies of London who have taken up correspondence with the chaps ever since Galbraith was drafted back to a seaplane squadron that in England a few months ago. Galbraith was a fellow Canadian whose sister was a Red Cross nurse at a hospital in London and who had undertaken to have her colleagues write to lonely aviators. Every few days Reggie Soar received a letter from Grace. Roderick McDonald is corresponding with Dolly. Crundall has been sent letters from Margaret. And I have begun a mild correspondence with a girl named Alice. So this afternoon, Reggie was enjoying a glass of brandy and a pipe whilst reading to us a poem written by his Grace – a poem about, of all things, flying! Raised up from English soil and blessed with English sun, He rises from the earth to stalk the frightful Hun, Girded not with armour but canvas wings and wires He jousts with England’s foes above France’s lofty spires! Hoots of laughter. Jenners-Parson grabbed the letter from Reggie’s hand and set it alight. Reggie tried to get it back and in the process dropped it onto one of the overstuffed armchairs. Disaster was narrowly averted by throwing the flaming chair outside into the rain just in time to splash mud over Prince Alexander of Teck, who was arriving with Squadron Commander Bromet for tea! Huntington sat apart from us all this time and, once tea was over and the higher-ups had left us alone, he came over to give us a dressing-down. We were bloody fools and what we had done was dangerous, he said. Furthermore, we were unkind to Reggie who was lucky enough to have someone who cared for him enough to write letters. As a flight commander, he would not put up with such behaviour. “You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourselves,” he told us, “and especially you as a flight commander, Simpson.” And then he added, “Galbraith should have known better than to start this nonsense.” “Has a girl written you, Huntington?” It was Simpson who asked. “You know full well that I have my Eliza,” Huntington replied. “No need of anyone else.” “Strange. I don’t recall you ever getting letters from Eliza.” Huntington’s face pinched. “In the first place, Simpson, it’s none of your bloody business. Eliza sends her post along with letters from my parents. She is very close with the family. Should be part of it one day, I suppose.” I couldn’t help joining in. “Are you sure this Eliza is not a cousin, or perhaps a hideous sister you’ve forgotten about?” “You disgust me, Douglas, you really do. Of course, one should probably expect that sort of thinking from a colonial homesteader, I suppose.” As luck would have it, I was seated next to Roddy McDonald. Roddy hailed from Antigonish, Nova Scotia, where his family had farmed a homestead for several generations since being evicted from the Highlands to make room for deer. “Mixed up as usual, Huntington,” I said. “It’s Roddy here who is the colonial homesteader. I’m the colonial hockey player and Navy brat. Then there’s Simpson. He’s the colonial sheep shagger from down under. And Hervey, he’s the colonial peas souper from Québec. Bob Little over there is another colonial sheep botherer. Hell, as if being Australian is not bad enough, his old man comes from Canada. Then of course there’s Grange over in the corner. He’s a Yank, so he only wishes he were a colonial. You’re outnumbered by us colonials, old boy.” Huntington left in a huff. That evening I received permission from Squadron Commander Bromet to take dinner in La Panne along with Simpson and Reggie Soar. We’d found a comfortable little estaminet on a side street, well away from the more frequented establishments. The woman who ran the place made a genuinely decent cup of tea, and once we were settled I cleared the centre of our table and laid out my package of tricks. “My God, a Dorothy bag!” Reggie exclaimed. “Haven’t seen one of those since the Dardanelles.” “What did you call it?” I asked. Reggie explained that “Dorothy” bags were issued on hospital ships so that the wounded men could store their personal possessions. Mine apparently was a very fine version of what he had seen. “I got it from a nurse. Interestingly, and she was called Dorothy, too.” I gave Simpson a wink. The bag was the package I’d received from Simpson’s cousin Dorothy and her friend Patricia when I had been invited for dinner with Simpson’s parents in London a couple of weeks before. I reached inside and withdrew a small photograph of a young woman. She was idyllic – languorous eyes, fair hair falling in ringlets, noble cheekbones and a fine, strong nose above perfect lips and delicate chin. The lower part of photograph was gauzy. Perhaps she wore a a thin dress low on the shoulders, but it was barely visible and the suggestion of nakedness was tantalising. “Meet Apollonia Willing, gentlemen.” “Who is she? She is topping,” said Reggie. “Apollonia is Huntington’s new fancy,” I told him. Simpson was giggling uncontrollably. “Willing? Her name is Willing? Isn’t that a bit transparent?” “It’s Huntington, man. It will be at least a week before the thought crosses his mind.” I withdrew from the Dorothy bag a small pile of yellow stationary embossed with gold floral finishes in the corners. There were at least a dozen envelopes and as many penny stamps. I then explained the plan. The three of us would collaborate in composing letters to Huntington from Apollonia who, of course, was a figment of fantasy. The photograph belonged to the sister of a nurse who worked with Dorothy and Patricia at Saint Thomases’ Hospital in London. She had planned to send it to her boyfriend at the front but thought it too racy. I had been practising a girlish, loopy script that suited the character. Apollonia would be enthralled at the idea of writing to a gallant bird man. Perhaps we could begin innocently enough and gradually make her letters more suggestive and enticing. We would slip Apollonia’s letter into the post at the squadron office shortly before dinner time. The trick would be intercepting any reply from Huntington before our outgoing mailbags were picked up by the dispatch rider in the morning. To this end, Simpson had volunteered to assist the Records Officer, D’Albiac, in maintaining the squadron war journal. He figured he could offer to censor some letters while working in the office, which would give him easy access to the mailbags. Reggie asked how we would make the incoming letters appear to have passed through the post. “Take a look at this,” I said, and pulled the final item from the bag. It was a stamped envelope, addressed in a girlish hand to Flight Lieutenant Samuel Huntington. The one-penny stamp was cancelled with a postmark from Torquay dated 21 March 1917. “It’s perfect,” said Simpson. “How?” “It’s the sixpence ha’penny solution,” I said. “The outer circle is traced in pencil using the ha’penny and the inner circle using the sixpence. From there it’s just a matter of mastering the lettering. I’ve diluted a bottle of black ink with some distilled water and cigarette ash. If you lightly paint it on with a drop of ink smeared on the end of a pencil and nearly dry, you can do a fairly good job. And if you make a small mistake you can always rub it with your hand and make it look like the post office smeared the cancellation.” It was time to order a bottle of wine and begin… “Samuel, my dear boy, we have not yet met but I have already heard so much about you!” It would take several more bottles before we were done. 27 March 1917. Auchel, France. After a period of bad weather the squadron moved again, this time farther south towards Bethune in the Arras region. Our aerodrome is just outside a place called Auchel. It is a rather grimy mining town of squat brick houses and soot-stained buildings that eventually dissipated into the countryside along muddy roads flanked with ancient low farm buildings and middens coming alive with the springtime. Above the town looms two giant mountains of dross called terrils. They have the appearance of great black pyramids standing guard over the countryside. We should have no problem finding our way home here. I’m in the squadron commander’s bad books since I smashed up a perfectly good triplane during my arrival at Auchel. Got away with only a few bruises. 31 March 1917. Auchel, France. We are still awaiting our first postal delivery at the new aerodrome. I am billeted with Simpson in a house at the edge of town. The owners are an elderly couple who speak no English. Whether they speak French is still a mystery as they scarcely talk to each other. I have been over the lines twice since arrival here. By all accounts there are some very keen Huns in the area. Had a scrap yesterday with a formation of Albatri and managed to drive one down. D’Albiac phoned around but no one saw it crash. Today we were sent up to chase off several two seaters in our area. I fired about 200 rounds at long-range at one of them but it got away. April is upon us and with it rumours of a new push. I suspect we are about to get busy.

Got some catching up to do... Journal of FLt Douglas Bell-Gordon, RNAS Part 15 "Flames immediately began to pour from the engine of the Albatros and I watched it, a black machine with a white band around its fuselage, as it fell in flames directly over the enemy aerodrome" 12 March 1917. Dunkirk. So with the beginning of March I was off to England, boarding HMS Llewellyn in Dunkirk for the quick dash across the Channel. The German Navy had been active during the preceding night and the ship’s complement were clearly on alert. We landed at Dover without incident, and from there the train delivered me to Victoria Station in the heart of London. What a city! My past acquaintance with the place was so brief and so full of preparations for transfer to France that only now did I have a chance to take it all in. I headed out to the street to flag a taxi for Holt & Co to cash a cheque and exchange francs for sterling, then bring me to my hotel on Basil Street. First priority was a long bath and a smoke, all accompanied by a stiff whisky. My hotel is a bit of a walk from everything. Wandered north through Hyde Park and took tea at the marvellous Maison Lyons by Marble Arch. Shopped on Oxford Street and ended my marathon by following Regent Street to the famous Piccadilly Circus. It was growing dark by then and the place wasn’t all it’s made out to be because of the blackout rules. Ran into Pete Maguire from Halifax. He’s over here with the artillery. We enjoyed dinner at the Regent Palace and he suggested that I take in the new show “Maid of the Mountains” at Daly’s. I picked up a ticket on my way home. Took in the Natural History Museum next morning. Met Pete for lunch and then went to see Buckingham Palace. Light dinner at the Trocadero and from there by taxi to Daly’s Theatre by Leicester Square. Played the tourist for several more days – British Museum, Victoria and Albert Museum, and saw “Zig-Zag” with George Robey at the Hippodrome. Joined a small group of Canadian officers for a trip to the Turkish Bath at the Auto Club. Then a most pleasant surprise – the clerk at my hotel informed me of a letter that had been left for me in my absence. It was a dinner invitation from the mother of George Simpson. On the evening of Friday, 9 March, I caught a cab up to Regent’s Park. I’d always understood that Simpson lived in a posh area, but nothing prepared me for the immaculate white, pillared Georgian frontage of Cumberland Terrace. Before I even reached the door of number 29, it was opened by a liveried butler who took my cap, gloves, and walking-out stick (with which I had never before actually walked out). To my surprise, I was met by a Mr Goodman Levy and moments later joined by Simpson’s mother, who introduced herself as Alice. The story tumbled out over sherry. Simpson’s parents were English but had moved to Australia more than thirty years before. Simpson himself was born in Melbourne. They returned to England when Simpson and his brother Rolfe were boys. Simpson’s father taught art but had died six years ago. Goodman Levy was a trusted family friend, also from Australia. Goodman and Simpson’s father were old school chums in Melbourne. Goodman and his brother had a prosperous importing and exporting business and he was something of a wine merchant. When Simpson’s father died, he left money to Goodman Levy, who had promised to take care of Alice. And take care he did! The flat at Cumberland Terrace was immense and Mrs Simpson had two rooms of her own and the run of the place. It was all very proper, of course, and a very comfortable situation for Alice. More visitors arrived – two lovely girls named Dorothy and Patricia. Dorothy is a distant cousin to Simpson. She and Patricia are working as nurses at Saint Thomases’ Hospital. A splendid dinner followed. I related as much as I could comfortably about our experiences with the Royal Naval Air Service, and about George Simpson. After dinner, Dorothy gave me a package. She invited me to open it when I returned to my hotel and said it contained several items that George had requested her to find for me. My return to France was delayed by problems with the ship on which I was to sail. Finally, I made it to Dunkirk. There the disembarkation officer helped me to find a telephone to arrange a drive back to Furnes. I had a long and serious chat with D’Albiac, our Records Officer, who had not received my telegram about the delay in sailing. Absolution received, I settled into a café to await a tender. 13 March 1917. Furnes, Belgium. We had a celebratory dinner in La Panne in honour of – wait for it – my old chum Huntington. Huntington has achieved ten Huns to his credit and been awarded the DSC. There is even talk of making him a flight commander. Huntington gave a stirring speech at the end of dinner, in which he thanked all of us for our support and vowed to continue taking the fight to the enemy. He even managed to work his beloved Eliza into the conversation, saying that decorations meant nothing to him – all he wants to do is make her proud of him. It seems that his last three claims have all been unwitnessed. Once the patrol breaks up and the pilots head home on their own, Huntington goes off to do battle with the enemy. Increasingly, his claims from these solitary quests go unquestioned. In the atmosphere of the wardroom, one does not question the integrity of one’s fellow officer. So there’s nothing for it except to smile and nod when Huntington is praised. Infuriatingly, he placed a hand on my shoulder whilst we were finishing the port and said, “Terribly sorry to have taken advantage of your leave to surpass your score, old boy.” Simpson and I have taken Reggie Soar into our plot. We have decided to head for La Panne on our first dud day and spend the afternoon putting it all together. I will share the contents of Dorothy’s package at that time. 21 March 1917. Furnes, Belgium. A busy week back with the squadron. Flew twice on the 14th, encountering a large group of Albatri whilst on a close offensive patrol near the coast. I managed to drive one down but did not see it hit the ground. On 15 March, we were to attack the rail yard south of Roulers, but as we crossed the lines at 11,000 feet we were attacked by a large formation of Halberstadt scouts. Our Tripes handle these machines rather comfortably. After twisting about the sky for a couple of minutes, the fight spread out and I spotted one of the brown Halberstadts turning behind a Triplane. I dropped in behind the Hun and gave it a long burst. The HA immediately began to trail black smoke, and then a bright tongue of orange flame snapped back from the cockpit. I silently hoped that I hit the pilot before the fire erupted. This victory over the Hun, however, was hard to miss and Simpson was able to confirm its fall. My score was up to eight. With the exception of Huntington, we all pretend not to count our scores. But dammit, I can’t help treating it as a competition. I added another Halberstadt to my bag on 18 March. A mixed group of Halberstadts and Albatri engaged us as we were climbing over our lines and preparing for another trip back to Roulers. This time I chased the HA down to nearly treetop level before finishing him off. Huntington, however, claimed another Halberstadt that morning – this one beyond question, so he had eleven to his credit and I had nine. Then on 19 March we were off to attack the Hun aerodrome at Ghistelles, which the Flemish call Gistel. We approached over the sea and turned inland for the attack. We were in squadron strength and our other flight was already beating up the aerodrome when a very large group of Albatri decided to interrupt the proceedings. We met several of them head on and tried to turn behind them. The Huns were faster and zoomed into high turns. One of them punched a few holes in my wings, but this time I was able to snap the Sopwith into a left turn and catch the HA as it began another climb. My rounds hit all about the pilot and I saw the enemy machine tumble out of control. A second HA passed in front of me, diving right-to-left. I was behind him in an instant and firing. Flames immediately began to pour from the engine of the Albatros and I watched it, a black machine with a white band around its fuselage, as it fell in flames directly over the enemy aerodrome. I claimed both Albatri, but the first was accepted only as driven down. Several of the fellows had seen my flamer over the aerodrome, so it was confirmed. Number ten at last!

epower – What a brilliant start to your new career. I see that this campaign has sent you down numerous new historical rabbit holes and I can't wait to see what the future will bring. A hearty welcome to Felix Moore! Albert – Edward is certainly making a name for himself flying that DFW as if it were the latest vee-strutter! Excellent story and an outstanding group of photographs. I particularly liked the last one with the Caudron. After a bit of time away from my WOFF computer, I am finally caught up again and able to post Douglas's next instalment… Journal of FLt Douglas Bell-Gordon, RNAS Part 13 "By the time I completed my turn, flames were licking back from the Roland’s engine and it began its final dive." Thursday, 22 February 1917. Furnes aerodrome, Belgium. We replaced No. 1 Squadron RNAS at Furnes. This aerodrome is located a few miles over the border from France into Belgium, not far from the coast between Dunkirk and Nieuport. Our job here will be somewhat more naval than it was at Vert Galant – patrolling the coast up to Ostend, defending against incoming raiders, attacking enemy captive balloons, and only occasionally patrolling the front. We have a Belgian squadron across the fields and two French reconnaissance squadrons nearby. We will also provide escort to the French. The frontline between us and the Germans is held by Belgians and the French 29th Division. After arriving here on 15 February, snow and high winds prevented flying for a couple of days. We could not even get our bearings. After we were settled in and had completed the many bits of “busy work” we were assigned, Soar, Simpson, Huntington the Insufferable, and I received permission to have dinner in town. Normally that would have meant the supposedly beautiful and historic nearby town of Veurnes, but the Belgian King had briefly taken up residence there and, although he had moved on, we military types were not allowed into town so as not to provoke the Huns. Veurnes is still within range of their largest guns. Instead we headed for La Panne. This is a somewhat smaller town, a seaside resort. Strangely, it’s also where the Belgian royals have now taken up residence. We are allowed there because it seems not to matter so much if the Kaiser smashes this place up instead of Veurnes. In any event, we found a very pleasant hotel restaurant on the Grand Place where we had a wonderful feed of mussels and chips along with some really first-rate beer. Over dinner, Reggie Soar confided that he had received a lovely letter from a girl he didn’t know. Reggie was good friends with Galbraith before the latter was packed off to England just before New Year’s. “Just before he left,” Reggie said, “doesn’t he tell me that his sister back in Canada is now working as a nurse in London and she has offered to have her nurse friends write to any lonely aviator he knew. So we picked me, he did. Right chuffed about it I am.” And then Reggie pulled out his letter from a young woman named Grace and read it to us. It was touchingly sweet and sincere. “I’m writing back this evening,” Reggie said. “Who’s up for a pen friend? I’ll see if Grace has anyone who will write you lot.” Simpson and I immediately volunteered for an epistolary courtship. I watched Huntington over the rim of my beer glass. His eyes lit up for a moment at the prospect before he protested loudly that he could not betray his beloved Eliza. That cinched it for me. I doubted very much that Eliza actually existed. And an idea began to form. On 17 February I slept in as I was not scheduled for a patrol. But around ten in the morning our ship’s bell began clanging away – enemy machines were in sight! I pulled on breeches and my monkey jacket over my pyjamas and ran as quickly as I could from our hut to the Bessonneau where the mechanics were already priming the engine of my Tripe. Machines were rolling in every direction on this nearly windless day as I lifted off. The Triplane climbed sharply as I scanned the cold blue skies. A few pale puffs of Archie in the direction of Bray-Dunes provided me with the needed direction. In a few minutes I was already approaching 8000 feet. Then I spotted the prey. A pair of two-seaters were turning eastward over the coast and one was lagging behind the other. By this time I was all alone, still climbing. I fired three or four rounds to warm the Vickers gun. It took another ten minutes to reach the straggler. The Hun machine was a Roland. It had not yet seen me as I approached beneath its tail. Three hundred, two hundred, one hundred yards. It was a lovely machine. The underside was pale blue and the upper works were green. There was some kind of symbol on the fuselage – crossed swords or perhaps cross machine guns. Crossed something in any event. At fifty yards I could wait no longer. I fired a long burst into the belly of the Roland. I could see the observer leaning over the side and trying to angle his machine gun downward. I turned away quickly to the opposite side and then banked sharply in order to approach again from behind and below. There was no point. By the time I completed my turn, flames were licking back from the Roland’s engine and it began its final dive. There was no question about this one. The long black trail of smoke it left behind was visible all the way to Dunkirk and this, my seventh victory, was on the books before I landed. The weather turned wintry again and we planned another visit to La Panne. But first I needed a quiet word with Simpson…

I have Arma2:CO and Arma2:reinforcements with a lot of add-ons from the AWESOME communities!It's the best combat REALISM SIM i have ever played.Hands down! I have read that Arma3 minimum requirements state an OpSys of Win7 or WinVista....I have WinXp x64.....I have had nothing but nightmares at work with both Vista and Win7.......(with the simplest of tasks...even the IT guy says we should stay with WinXp)with very little tech help....thats not to say that some people have no problems with Win7 or Vista....I have. No,thanks BIS.......I bought the best SIM you have put out to date....I'm extremely happy with Arma2:CO+Reinforcements.....I WILL NOT UPGRADE MY OP/SYS to buy Arma3.Period.

Just to clarify, it's not the YAP most over here at CA think it is. YAP-RW is a free fan-made project done almost entirely by one end-user who bought all YAP products in the past; he's been updating those so that they work on Strike Fighters 2 for his own enjoyment and simply thought about sharing what he's done for free. He's in no way related to the original YAP nor to the fact original YAP guys monetized upon freeware mods without permission. The owners of YAP died years ago and the store was still up despite not being controlled by anyone anymore. Apologies for the little off-topic, it's just that I've seen people complain about YAP-RW as if it was done or even monetized (it is not) by the same YAP guys responsible for those issues. This is a case where an unrelated end-user was held accountable by some for the issues surrounding those products, products he legitimately bought without knowing of all this chaos.