homepage Forums Air Combat & Civil Aviation Wings: Over Flanders Fields Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)

Great stuff, everyone. I wish I could say something for each of you but my post would be ten times longer than I'd want.

Here's a quick update up to the 11th of July so that I can get back on track with him (Real life is being tough as always).



Loss and change
The diary of Flight-Lieutenant Reginald Capell, No. 9 Squadron, R.N.A.S

8 July
Rain through the night had many of expecting any chances of flying to be called-off, but were surprised to be stirred awake by the orderlies around 0445. We all were in decent shape considering our celebration for Boutiller. There was a very light drizzle, but the clouds were scattered enough for the sun to start peaking through. Visibility wasn't the best, but it certainly wasn't the worst. I was surprised to find Morley in the mess. I asked him if he was supposed to be back in Yorkshire by now, and he laughed, telling me a long tale about how he got held up in St. Pol. Many of the R.N.A.S chaps were being sent back to their units, hints of something big coming. He made his way back to Flez but found us gone. Luckily some of the 22 and 24 mechanics were still back there and told him that we were at Filescamp. He finally caught up with us late last night after most of the squadron had retired. He decided to stay in the mess and wait for us to wake up. His story was amusing, but it had us buzzing all the same. Leaves were on hold, people were coming back. Units were receiving Camels and we needed to be trained on them, but that wasn't the case for a full hold. Morley said up north was full of our troops building up. Something was coming and soon.

Around 0630, both A and B flights were told to head out: two-seaters were harassing the PBI near Lens. Mott led B-flight, along with Pinder, Redgate, Banbury, and myself. Morley was headed out with A-flight and was hollering from excitement that he had a Tripe now. We took off towards the North East in the drizzle and gained altitude under the clouds (an uncomfortable 5000 feet). I felt that I could reach up and grab a handful of the clouds at times. Once over the lines, we saw a few two-seaters that followed their routine of diving to the East in a hurry. Mott began rocking his wings with a fury, my stomach sinking as I fear he might lose a wing or all. He point to the South and eleven specks came to view. All Albatri. A-flight was within distance and joined us as we turned. No one could safely gain a height advantage. We charged head-on at 5000 feet, the world silent, and when in distance everyone opened up on both sides.

Everyone spiraled in their own direction, some with black smoke behind them, some alone, some with one or two of the enemy on them. I found one, mostly black, and did my best to follow him. He evaded as best he could as I popped shots into him (I'm starting to hate having one bloody Vickers to their two). He flipped over and dove down fast, in control, and disappeared. Then I noticed one on my tail. I hit hard rudder, twisted and turned, eventually losing him. Another came into my sights, this one on Pinder. I opened up, letting him get a long burst, and watched him smoke and dive. This one wasn't in control, and he headed straight behind enemy lines. Another to claim. I had no time for excitement, this time two were on me and I did my best to lose them. I could see the tracers go over my head, some hitting my wings, even felt my rudder begin to lose complete control. Mott and Banbury saved me, coming out of no where as they followed one each as the Albatri split into two directions. I tried to see the extent of my damage. The rudder was a bit finicky, but I had control. I went up to 5000 to evaluate what the situation was, and all I saw was everyone heading back to their lines. I didn't waste time and headed back to Filescamp.

The scene on the ground was one to remember: a couple of Tripes were smoking. Pierce, Mott, Banbury and Pinder were all shot up, holes about and their engines leaking. Boutillier had called in from behind the front, his Tripe written off completely, he with only a few cuts and scrapes. Redgate took a piece of his wing to hit cheek, asked if it was enough to go home. The Squadron Commander laughed and told him he might have to lose an appendage or two before consideration. All seemed to be good considering the odds, but we were missing one: Morley. Pierce and Mott were in HQ. I lit a smoke outside the door and eavesdropped. Pierce had seen him go. An Albatros had a grip on him and he had no match for it. He saw all three wings on the port side crumble, the Tripe spiraling out of control and crashing over lines. The Sqd. Cdr. phoned it in and received confirmation of it. Morley was KIA. Once they were done I headed in for my claim. I was told they'd check into it, and that my last claim from Flez was a wash: no confirmation. Tough luck, they say.

I headed back to my berth, washed up, and decided to just sit alone for a while. Morley was the squadron's first loss since I arrived. Other's said they were surprised that it took this long, but I didn't want to hear it. I looked through my chest and decided to read some Blake, something I hadn't done much of since arriving in France. I opened the book and turned to "The Lamb," and it felt more fitting than before:

Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing wooly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice!
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee

Little Lamb I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb I'll tell thee!
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek & he is mild,
He became a little child:
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb God bless thee.
Little Lamb God bless thee.

After dinner, the Sdn Cdr gave an announcement: we were moving out again. We were to move further North to Bray-Dunes in two days. We were to pack up tonight to load all of our personal belongings minus our intimate kit. I headed straight in and packed and called it a night.

9 July
The weather was awful, so much so that HQ decided to not risk a delay of flying on the 10th that our Tripes were loaded up with our belongings. We would be heading up after them the next morning. I spent the day writing to home, surprised I hadn't received a letter from then yet.

10 July
We left early, around 0200 and, thanks to crowded roads, miscommunication, and good military guidance, we didn't arrive until close to dinner. Bray-Dunes is even larger than Filescamp. I haven't had a chance to look around, but I know there are multiple units sharing this place. Maybe tomorrow I'll have a chance to scout out the area. A morning patrol is likely for me.