homepage Forums Air Combat & Civil Aviation Wings: Over Flanders Fields REPORTS FROM THE FRONT

Perhaps the devs will read this and make us a new "sticky thread", as we had it in the old forum,
called "Reports from the Front". And even if not - feel free to post your adventures in here too,
then it will always get bumped up onto page 1.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

2nd Lieutenant Haynes had a rather unpleasant 'adventure' with No. 46 today, and it will keep him
off the duty board for at least a week. But let's see his latest entry from his diary.

"We were flying south along the road to Lens, when I sighted a single German scout - one of those
new Albatros V-strutters - crossing our course ca. 3000 feet ahead and lower, from right to left.
They do not cross the lines very often, and this flyer was even all on his own - what a chance!
First I was only just amazed about the look of the aircraft; it had an appearance like a peregrine
falcon, a beautiful shape of both, wings and fuselage. The body was of bright plywood; the tailplane
was painted white, with a big Iron Cross on the fin and rudder.
Then I waved towards Kay and Dimmock to assign the enemy - when they swung round left already.
Great, I thought and pushed the stick, to get at the enemy plane.
I had no idea, that Kay had spotted a flight of DFW C.V further away, and led the flight there.

I tried in vain to catch up with "my German" - the distance between us wouldn't shrink.
Then I saw the 5 DFW coming towards me, only 300 feet higher than me. I climbed towards them.
I saw our flight to my left and much higher up - they would surely engage too.
So I took the left two-seater under fire. As they began passing me, I went into a steep right turn,
firing again and again, until I got behind the big craft. But I was too close!
Without any irritation they flew on straight, and now their observers opened their fire on me!
I heard and felt several impacts on wood and in canvas - Zzipp! Zapp! Shrak!! Tock-tock!!!

And then I got hit. The bullet entered my right leg short above the knee and got stuck somewhere in
the middle of my tigh. The stinging pain was very strange, like electric or like a poised bee sting,
only much bigger. I felt awfully sick.
Immediately I broke off and turned away from the Huns. Within seconds, my whole body felt very cold,
except for my leg. Warm blood was running along the tigh and soaked my trousers which I was wearing
under the thick flying suit. I could not check the wound, but I was sure it was quite heavy - I felt
the blood running out, soaking my pants more and more, and panik came up.
What if the loss of blood would make me faint?
I couldn't help it - I pulled down my scarf and had to vomit overboard.

I pushed the stick forwards; I had to get down to the ground as quick as possible!
I saw a bigger town south of me and I realised I was already as far as Arras. I checked my map.
Mont Saint-Eloi was the closest field for me, and I reached it. Meanwhile, I was sure I had
lost more than five pints of blood! When does a man faint from blood loss?

Somehow I managed to fly over the hangars and put the kite down in the middle of the field.
Then I must have fainted for a bit, cause the next I saw was me on a surgical table, with three medics
and several curious pilots around me.
"Ah, there you are, old chap! Stay with us! You had a little shock! What's your name?"
I told it. "Unit? Age?" I got anxiously and got angry.
"Wanna know my granny's girl name?! Can you save my leg?" I bellowed from a sore dry throat.
"Your leg? No, we had to take it off!" said the doctor.
I almost fainted again, but he saw my dispair and clapped my cheek.
"Hey, hey, there, there! It is nothing! Just a grazing shot, all along your tigh.
Be happy - a little more centered, it could have hit more valuable parts!"
The pilots around me all laughed, which I found utterly misguided! But then one feller came with a big
glass of brandy, which I drank - with the doctor's order - at one big gulp.
It helped drowning some of the embarrassment which I felt now - the others must have thought I was a Sissy.
But it really DID feel like a large amount of blood lost.

Oh, well, these fellers will soon be left behind - in ten days I may be fit for flying again.
And I swear to myself: I will have much more respect from two-seater formations from now on.

Kay didn't give me any brushing down. He only said in a very calm, warm and friendly way:
"Boy, you could have been dead. Never leave the formation again, okay?"
It worked much more on me than any harsh words, and I will try never to let my leader down again."

Nice read Olham, Lt. Haynes will be more cautious next time I am sure.

VERY nice Olham! I loved that scene.

Great story, glad their aim was a hair off.

Great read, specially liked the way you described the effects and feelings on your injured pilot. Thanks for posting.

Thank you all, gents!

And as I said: should be nice if you'd post some own reports here occasionally.

.

A very good report Olham, and super screenies too. But yet another thread I need to go to to see what folks are up to?! I can't stay current with all the ones we have as it is.

.

No screenies, alas, but hopefully I can describe it.


June 10, 1917

Father.

Today, I killed a man in cold blood. Duty says I had no choice, but I am not so sure. It goes against everything you taught me. There was no glory in it, and I can only wonder what I could have - should have done differently.

I led a flight of five in a simple patrol to La Selve, an aerodrome only an hour or two's walk from here. Baumer was on my wing: You remember, the tall man with the greasy hair who came on leave with me in April. We flew Albatros scouts. I'm sure you've heard the rumors about their wings being fragile, but I assure you I've had no trouble nor have my men.

In no time at all we were some two kilometers over La Selve circling slowly in the warm, morning light. Few clouds, the sun bright somewhere over Berlin, the breeze slanting into the cockpit a welcome relief from the humidity. Then I saw three French built SPADs some distance above us. We saw them first and climbed, but soon they realized their error and turned to engage.

It was beautiful, father. I wish you could have seen it. So often in these engagements it's over in the first seconds: One side has the disadvantage and dives or runs. This was mutual, and for several minutes we all climbed, dove, turned and danced around each other. One tried to get behind me, but a controlled spin took care of that. I fired on one until he drifted out of range with one of my cohorts in pursuit, turned on a second until he passed under me, then found my target.

He was a plain enough looking SPAD: Brown canvas, and at my angle I couldn't see any insignia. He had the speed advantage and I fired somewhat haphazardly hoping for the best. I must have hit the engine from behind at 600 meters, for a thick stream of black, oily smoke arced back in my direction. He ran of course, and most of my shots were futile gestures.

He ran out of oil. His engine began sputtering and I closed the distance rapidly. He was in a hopeless situation, some ten or fifteen kilometers behind the front lines and should of landed. Instead he ran, and so I shredded him at sixty meters: Great holes appeared in his wings, chunks of wood flew from his fuselage. Surely, I thought, he'd realize the futility of his situation.

No.

As I turned, the Frenchman was hurt badly. He could barely keep aloft. His nose would jerk up for a bit, then fall away like a wounded bird. I watched him for a moment, waiting for a signal of surrender, but it never came.

It was with a heavy heart then I came around for another pass, lining up behind him and slowing down to give him time to realize his predicament. Still the crippled SPAD rose, dipped, rose again, sputtered, dipped.

I waited as long as I could, father. If he had tried to land. If he'd lost his engine. Hell and Death, if he had simply signalled....but he did not. He kept trying to leave, and that I could not allow. I hoped one more burst, perhaps knock away a spar or disable his engine, would break through.

Thirty meters. I fired and spun away. I think I saw the spray of blood, though perhaps that's my imagination. Regardless, by the time I swung around he was in a terminal dive.

You taught me never to hit a man from behind. You taught me never to hit a man once he was beat. Now I have done both, and rather than censure me or ignore it, my squad wants to celebrate my 'victory.'

What in the name of God has happened to war?

That's why I thought a REPORTS... thread would be good, to collect all flyers' single
adventures and reports in one thread.
But you must not read everyhing, must we? I don't read such threads when I don't have
enough time; and then I may miss many stories.
But hey - we're not obliged to read the WHOLE forum, EVERY post - are we?

Just realised: this is in the "stickies" now - thank you, whoever did this!

October 22, 1918
Jasta 15, Verdun

Fritz is back in action after a 2 week hospital stay. His patched up DVII F and six squad mates were waiting for him to lead a flight of Hanovers on a short bomb run. No problems findingg the bombers.


No EA encountered during the bomb run and the Hanovers finally headed back towards home.



After the Hanovers entered a landing pattern Fritz headed for home in the fading light. As they approached their home airfield, Stenay, flak was spotted. Fritz decided it was best to not engage and took his flight down low before landing in the dark.

Geez MudWasp, are there any Hun aircraft still on the ground!!

25 Sqn. RFC patrol missions over the ammunition dump at Audruicq on the Calais-St. Omer railway. Same route every day for the rest of March 1916. I'm getting used to flying this truck and dogfighting in it.





Besides dogfighting, the hardest part is keeping formation inside the clouds.

You don't have to worry about being captured!

Frizt had decent weather for escorting another Hannover CIII flight, but this was a recce run. Good thing he took a full fuel load as many laps of the circuit were flown.



No EA encountered and all went well, except for who ever "landed" this plane while he was gone.

A painful dilemma many soldiers must have gone through.
Made them sick and hate themselves (like Otto Fuchs seemed to feel after his first kill) -
and yet many of them overcame it and carried on (like Fuchs also).
The name of the first victim of war is 'Innocence'.

Oct 23rd 1918
Jasta 15, Stenay Verdun

Balloon defense today


As they arrived near the balloon flak smoke was spotted down low. Fritz and crew dropped down to say hello and a large DF was on.



Jasta 15 handled the 5 SPADS well and eventually rtb. Long lines of trucks were traveling the roads near Stenay. "Heading to the front or retreating?", Fritz asked himself.


Fritz filed a claim, had it rejected due to the chaos of the DF, and was then informed he was promoted!

Congrats on your promotion, MudWasp. Yeah, the D.VII is a great easy-to-fly fighter.
Will you enetually receive the D.VII F (high altitude version with the strong BMW engine)?

That is what I currently have... the DVII F
Recently transfered from Jasta 80b based in northern Alsace and was flying the DVII OAW down there. The "F" certainly has more power, and a throatier growl to it's engine sound.

I may have to transfer closer to the Chanel if Fritz's objective of shooting down anything other than SPAD XIIIs is to be realized. But I rather like Jasta 15, maybe we will stay put...IDK...there is just about 3 weeks of flying left for him.