Carrick, good try there. Sounds like you pulled the plug on chasing that Hun just in time. Good DiD call, that.
Fullofit, good to see a nice sedate patrol after the last episode. Keep Toby safe!
Harry, another great Lazlo chapter. It's funny, I haven't seen a Lone Wolf yet. Maybe the devs take pity on people flying BE12s. Hope you're enjoying the DIII. It's a great machine to have this early if you don't pull the wings off it like I would.

Collins is having a good time in 19 Squadron, but the re-equipping is painfully slow...

An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt James Arthur Collins, VC, MC

Part Seventy-Two: In which I am quite at home

9 October 1916 – second patrol of the day. A pristine beryl sky with scarcely a cloud, brisk, a gentle breeze, and at eight thousand feet over the Hun ‘drome at Riencourt, bloody frigid. I cursed that second cup of tea. Some of the fellows I’ve flown with would fumble with buttons and search for their shrunken whatsits in order to pee all over the rudder bar. I’ve never quite been that desperate or oblivious to the lot of my Ack Emmas, but that morning I came close. We escorted a French Caudron and I carried a few Coopers so at least one of us would make the trip worthwhile.

We’d just released our bombs and turned for home when a formation of Halberstadts dived on us – Prince, Child, and me. The Caudron put its nose down and headed west. We tried to catch up with the Frenchman but the Huns caught our BEs between the lines at three thousand and the jig started. One Hun was on Martin’s tail and I managed a full deflection burst that caused him to break off. The BE12 struggled for height and another Halberstadt stuck up and put rounds through the fuselage behind me. I pulled the machine around to the right. Easier said than done. The BE12 turned with the enthusiasm of a civil servant returning from lunch in his last week before retirement. Just then, Prince’s machine flashed in front of me with a nasty brown Halberstadt on its tail. I pressed the trigger. The top of the Hun was towards me as he dived and he flew straight into the burst. My tracers splattered across his top wing and into his cockpit, scarcely fifty yards away, and the Hun began a long, spinning dive towards the mud below.

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"...the Hun began a long, spinning dive towards the mud below."

The fight was out of them now, and the enemy broke away while we re-formed and headed west. Both my flight-mates promised drinks and Prince confirmed my Halberstadt – my eleventh Hun and the second I’d downed in a BE12. I was now even with Ian Henderson’s record in the machine. Major Rodwell declared that there would be a modest binge after dinner, and I was permitted to invite Major Lawrence and some of the 70 Squadron boys from across the field for food and drunkenness. That was Swany’s old firm. I strolled over to their squadron office to find that the officers were done for the day, so I knocked at their mess door and was invited in.

Major Lawrence seemed like a very good sort and we spent some time – three gins’ worth, in fact – talking about Swany. I regaled him with an exaggerated version of our Salisbury contest for Alex’s affections, without mentioning her by name or adding the small detail that she was the journalist of recent notoriety.
The binge later that night was a good time but a short one. Like the boys from 70, we had early patrols. I had a glass of port with Chatwick, who had been Swany’s observer. He was a decent sort, sporting a newly-issued MC ribbon and still basking in the reflected glory of my Yankee pal’s VC.

The next day, 10 May, was like Christmas. Captains Tidwell and Henderson were dispatched over to 2AD to pick up two of the new Spads. They were handsome machines with a rugged, pugnacious look about them. Unfortunately, as the newest flight commander, I did not get a Spad. So far, only these two had been delivered. C Flight was still lacking a pilot so Tidwell and Henderson began joining us for patrols. I suspect they just wanted to rub my nose in it. That afternoon we encountered two very keen Rolands west of Albert and got into a good scrap. I took a number of hits that fortunately missed anything vital (and me) and had to give up the hunt, but Henderson was able to down one of the Huns – our first Spad kill and his third.

On 11 October, C Flight drew the short straw and was dispatched five miles into Hunland to down a balloon south of Péronne. This one had defied earlier attempts. Its crew was very quick on the winch and the supporting guns and machine guns were good. Having no Le Prieurs on issue, and having little faith in my ability to down it with a BE12’s Vickers, I had the mechanics put up a pair of Cooper bombs.

I flew with Prince in his BE12 and the other two flight commanders in their new Spads. We saw no Huns on our approach. When we were still three miles off, Henderson and Tidwell opened their throttles and faded into the distance hoping to bag the balloon before the lumbering BE12s got in the way. I gave chase, but even Prince in his BE outpaced me with my bombs. The Huns were lowering the gasbag quickly and it was down to a thousand feet by the time I reached it, throttle wide open in a shallow dive yet barely reaching ninety miles an hour. From six or seven hundred feet above the balloon, I loosed the bombs and turned as sharply as I could. Just in time, too, for a pair of big, black Archie bursts rocked my machine. Another second of straight flight would have been my last! Banking about, I saw a flash and a column of flame and smoke and knew I’d bagged a balloon with a bomb.
A cluster of specks appeared to the east; it was time to go home.

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"Banking about, I saw a flash and a column of flame and smoke and knew I’d bagged a balloon with a bomb."

This was victory number thirteen – that made four Huns since joining 19 Squadron. Fienvillers was starting to feel like home.
Attachments
Kill No 12.jpg Kill No 13.jpg