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

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 9 of many



3 July 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France


The wound, if you could call it that, wasn’t serious but it was sore as the devil. Another curveball on the outside corner. Another annoying graze from a nearly spent shard of yesterday’s hate, painfully treated by Corporal Fredericks, and unworthy of a wound stripe. I finally got some use out of my absurd officer’s cane. I still don’t understand the purpose of this thing. A Centurion's vine staff, certainly, but watching a group of strapping young fellows all standing together leaning on canes beggars belief. I’d never hear the end of it from Smokey if he ever saw such a thing. I have great affection for the British, but they can be a strange people.

0645 hrs. Line patrol from Menen to the Lys. Flying A6189 today and she’s the spitting image of my recently departed No. 11, complete with the large ‘W’ painted on each top plane. Corporals Mitchell and Johnson likely stayed up all night getting her ready, bless them. Weather unsettled this morning. I led Pope, Foster Charley, and Hyde. Pope, the impertinent scoundrel, was in Major Horn’s red-nosed machine!

We’d just reached the lines when Pope pulled alongside, waggled his wings and pointed downward excitedly. There, 2000 ft below, a single DFW flew across the background of cloud. I led B-Flight circling down on top of the Hun then attacked. Wretched Vickers jammed again! I pulled up to the side and cleared the breech just as Pope got in on the DFW.


Pope, flying the Old Man’s Pup!



Pope finished his firing pass and broke away. I was well above now and attacked from height, riding the tracers all the way down. The Hun was finished. The Observer sprawled over the side. Small wisps of flame gathered in the lower engine cowling, then began their malevolent crawl upward and aft.


I shot past and zoomed straight up. It was then I heard the explosion.



Trailing a long tail of black smoke, he crashed near the Bisseghem aerodrome. I hope death took him before the flames.


1200 hrs. Escort 3 RE.8s from RFC-42 on reconnaissance of enemy lines Lille to Loos with Foster, Charley and Hyde

At the rendezvous point 3 Albatri with prison-striped black and white tails charged in at the Harry Tates. I attacked their leader. Hyde got onto another, while Charley and Foster chased the third Hun as he raced home to the East.



I had my Hun right where I wanted him when the man Hyde was chasing sprayed me with a crossing shot from range and holed my petrol tank.

#%&*$# #%&*$# #%&*$# !



“Milford, get your arse over here and help me!”

Alas, Hyde had his own Hun to deal with. We scissored now. The sight glass fell like a siphon. I had mere moments of petrol remaining and knew the Alb would kill me if I tried to break off. Nothing for it but to brass it out and work for a shot.


He was in my sights and I was firing as the Le Rhone gave up the ghost.



I glided down after him but there was no need for further action.


“Northwest of Ypres he fell…and over his eyes was mantled the covering mist of darkness.”

Turning to avoid the tree line I found a nearby field, yet unplowed, and set A6189 down. Hyde, having seen his Hun off to the lines returned for me. I waved. He waggled his wings then headed north to Bray Dunes.

I’d landed only a few miles east of Proven aerodrome. The smoking pyre of the Albatros lay not a mile distant. I had no desire to see it or claim a trophy. Within an hour a salvage train of Crossleys from Proven appeared in the field and transported me back to their aerodrome. Biggins collected me soon thereafter and had me back to Bray Dunes in time for a swim before dinner.

Once again two fateful portions of death, which lays men prostrate, balanced on the golden scales, and the Hun’s death day proved the heavier.

The squadron was incredulous until Milford sorted them out. I ended up buying the first two rounds.
A fortunate victory. The nearest run thing… Wing did not share my view. The dispatch rider brought the news after dinner. The morning’s DFW confirmed, the afternoon’s Albatros rejected. Twenty-Five.