I rolled off of my new cot, glad that the world had finally stopped spinning. When he had reported to the flight line last Tuesday, Roderick Dallas, the CO had laughed out loud, told him he looked like pounded clay and ordered him back to bed. By the next day, I had been ordered back to the aid station to get properly checked out. I had a fever of 104 degrees and was ordered to bed and force fed fluids by a nurse that I am still not convinced wasn't working for the other side. I spent three days at the aid station essentially in isolation, at first afraid I was going to die, then in fear that I wouldn't.
I was welcomed back to the Squadron with suspicion, until I proved I was no longer a carrier of the plague. It was then, as I tried to collapse into my bed again, that I learned my "buddies" had decided to help me out with disinfecting and had taken my cot out of my tent and burned it in one of the barrels that serve as an airfield marker at night. Then, deciding that it was starting to become unlucky, they burned the cot that had previously hosted our last two doomed fliers. Too tired to complain, I just collapsed on the ground inside the tent and slept.
Vic and Kink took pity on me and "liberated" a new cot for me. I didn't ask questions. After that, it was back into the routine. I have been spending much time becoming reacquainted with the Camel. After the few weeks in the Tripehound, I greatly appreciate the extra durability in a dive and the extra machine gun. I feel quite safe in the air.
With the proximity to Christmas, it seems both sides are content in putting in the bare minimum and the skies have been delightfully empty on my patrols. The closest we've come to action is when we saw a Hun two-seater, without any trace of escort, trying to get some glamour shots of our boys on the ground. We approached to introduce ourselves, but the Hun bravely turned tail and fled, saving us all a scrap.
The weather has certainly turned cold and the air bites on patrol. I jokingly asked why we are fighting for a land where the air hurts our faces. Kink, being from South Africa, proceeded to describe the wonderful creepy crawlies and snakes that exist on his continent. I am now even more glad that I live in a cooler climate. Ugg, could you even imagine? Spiders as big as a dinner plate? Snakes longer thank a house? I'd rather fight the Baron and his circus every day than face those horrors.
