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reading

Lack of Paint ? rofl

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Beau Brummel
Sgt, 32 Sqn
Rfc.


July 11,1916.

Bit of a Scrap this time out. The Sqn put up 10 machines in two flights and we both got to mix it up with the Huns. The cover flight had no claims but did have 1 DH2 missing. I flew in B flight as wingman and got off 2 drums while chasing 4 Fokkers. Hits ? Make no mistake I saw my flight leader get one ( motor stopped ) and my element lead flamed one on the deck. 2 claims none lost. 1 DH 2 was damaged.



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Beau Brummel
Sgt, 32 Sqn
Rfc.
Jul 12, 1916.


Airfield Security Patrol

Alt: 8,500
A/C: 4 DH 2,s

Remarks: No Contact with E/a.

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Beau Brummel
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13 July 1916.



Went up as a wing-man on a 6 a/c Show the Flag flight down to Reincort Aerodrome. I dont see what these kinda of flights prove. Maybe to keep the enemy Ground gunners Awake !



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Journal Entry: July 13, 1916
St. Pol-sur-Mer

Apparently, my idea has been working excellently. As a matter of fact, I've compiled the results since I started this experiment and sent them up to Wing for their perusal. We started June 22nd and since that time the four of us flying the Strutters have accounted for seven Huns without a single loss to ourselves. Obviously, for my idea to work you need experienced aggressive pilots and you need a machine that is quite formidable. Fortunately for us, we have that machine in the Sopwith Strutter. My idea would never work in a unit flying the Quirks, but it could possibly work with the Fees. The other requirement is you need a mixed squadron, doesn't make much difference if everybody is flying the same machine. Until our squadron composition changes, we will continue flying with the most experienced pilots in the Strutters since this has proven to be so successful.

I have heard rumors from Wing that we will be changing over to a pure scouting squadron in the coming weeks, but when asked about a time frame, none was given. Since these are rumors, I decided to say nothing to the men since rumors do nothing but disturb a well operating machine. We shall see if anything comes of them in the future.



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Journal Entry: March 15, 1916
Bertincourt

It looks like winter is finally loosening it's grip and warmer weather is just around the corner. I arrived in Bertincourt after most of the flowers had bloomed and so I'm really looking forward to the beauty of spring in this area of France. Everything seems to reawaken after winter's long sleep, even my men seem to be re-energized for the coming work.

It appears that our attack in Verdun will not be the breakthrough that we needed to end this war. We are still making progress, but it seems like the steam is running out. I have not shared any of this information with the men mainly because it was given to me in confidence by a friend. Furthermore, what good would it do the men? No, I will keep this to myself and maybe I will be proven wrong.

We had a very interesting sortie yesterday. The Tommies have gotten it into their heads that attacking our aerodromes will somehow win the war for them. Instead, what it really does is just waste fuel for them and annoy us since they never cause any real damage. Anyway, we had received word from the lines that a couple of Tommies were sneaking over to attack one of our aerodromes. I took off with Helmut and Jakob and soon I spotted them approaching Pronville. I signaled the attack and down we went. I singled out the leader and quickly gave him a good burst. I saw that I had hit him by the debris but I had to pull away to avoid a collision. As I circled back, I saw that the enemy was slowly descending flying lazy circles in the sky. I watched as he just slowly descended to ultimately crash into some trees. Helmut and Jakob arrived a few minutes later and we headed home. At dinner we were discussing the day's engagement and we decided that I must have either killed or severely wounded the pilot and the aeroplane literally flew itself until it crashed. Can you imagine the horror the observer experienced when he knew that he could not control the aeroplane as it descended? Our discussion then turned to why are there not dual controls in two-seater aeroplanes. Manfred argued that ultimately HQ does not care what happens to us and more than likely it is just a cost issue. That started quite the argument which finally ended when Jakob started playing the piano. I cannot help by wonder if there is some truth to what Manfred said and if so what does that mean for each of us.


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Lou, great to see you here. Love the livery. Very French. Proper British pilot wouldn't be seen dead in that thing. Like a flying boudoir, old boy.

Banjoman, I'm enjoying Abner's adventures in the other DiD thread, and greatly appreciate the welcome here.

Carrick, I'm jealous of your DH2.

Alfred Keers got in a bit of a scrape last time up...

Ground mist on 11 March gave us an extra two hours of kip time, although the coming and going of the guard was a constant disturbance. I chafed at my seemingly permanent role of Duty NCO.

Shortly after 8 o’clock, Captain Paget Graves led a formation of five Fees to the lines near Armentieres. From there we were to fly south over the area where last week we set off some huge underground mines. Our tunneling troops are fighting a war under the trenches while we are fighting a war over them!

We climbed steadily as we headed east into blinding sunshine. The clouds were patchy and we made our way through them without difficulty, emerging onto the glowing white desert of the upper sky. Only a few minutes later I noticed movement off to my left. It took a while to confirm that I’d seen something, but then a glint of silver betrayed the small formation – three Hun two-seaters about a mile and a half off to the north and heading west, slightly above us.

I dashed forward and signalled to the flight commander, pointing in the direction of the Huns. He waved vaguely and I understood that I was to lead the way, so I put the Fee about and began climbing towards the north. The German aircraft had turned for home and I set course to cut off their retreat. I was about 500 yards from the enemy aircraft when I realised to my horror that our machine was the only one in the attack. Captain Paget Graves and the others had continued west. There was nothing for it now but to continue the attack.

As Captain Dawson (my observer) and I approached, the rear right Hun began firing. The gunner occupied the rear position in what I believe was an Aviatik type. I dodged under his tail as Dawson began returning fire. As soon as Dawson’s rounds started to hit home on the right-hand Hun, the rear left-hand Hun’s rounds could be heard snapping past. Two holes appeared in the upper plane. I dipped under the rear left Hun and Dawson emptied the rest of his drum into it without apparent result.

Just then a deep burning pain shot up from my left leg. I’d been hit by the right-hand Hun. There was blood and my heavy coat was torn, but it didn’t seem serious. Everything moved as it ought to. We gave up the hunt and turned west, landing at a friendly field outside Bailleul. No 1 Squadron was there and I trundled directly up to a hangar where there were a number of pilots. Captain Dawson and one of the Morane pilots helped me down and into a tender. There was a dressing station operated by the Field Ambulance just a couple of miles east of the field. A RAMC doctor saw me fairly quickly and cleaned up the wound, which was little more than a furrow across the top of the left thigh.

“Just a bit of a scratch is all,” he said while puffing on his pipe. “Mind you, another inch or two higher and you’d have been the last of your line.” It made me reconsider chasing two-seaters all alone.

Stitched up, I flew us back to Clairmarais, but when I landed I was told I’d be off flying duty for five days. Then Major Wilson tore me up for bumf for “gallivanting off after Huns like a bloody terrier after a ferret” instead of maintaining formation. I tried to explain my misunderstanding of Captain Paget Graves’s signal, but it was carefully explained that my stupidity did not constitute a compelling excuse.

“I’ll not have you wandering around my aerodrome with your thumb up your arse for five days, Sergeant. Report to the pilots’ pool in St-Omer this afternoon. I’ve been fighting to keep you here, but I’m beginning to question whether it’s worth the effort. See the squadron office after lunch for your papers.”

That afternoon I sat forlornly in the back of the tender with my kit and two ack emma lance corporals who were off to retrieve parts. They reminded me that at least I’d be done with orderly NCO duties. They were right. Life always gives you something good, even in the worst times.

I reported as instructed to Lieutenant W.F.C. Kennedy-Cochran-Patrick, the OC Depot, who tore a strip off me for not having reported directly to the pool on my arrival in France. I explained that my orders did not instruct me to do so, but apparently I didn’t know what I was talking about. Then I explained that I was medically grounded for four more days and the good lieutenant started to get excited all over again. It seemed that I had that effect on officers. He asked what was wrong with me and whether I thought I could fly. I responded not much and yes, probably. He liked that answer.

“Fine, then. Follow me.” Mr Patrick led me out to the field. No 1 Aircraft Depot was a crowded spot and incredibly busy. Noises of engines running up, grinders grinding, and hammers pounding echoed across the narrow field, mixing with the blipping gurgle of Le Rhône rotaries from the Moranes and the deep rumbling of Beardmores and the dull thump from the oleo suspension of Fee undercarts as they dropped onto hard ground. “Take that BE2 up as much as you want. Get some hours in while we figure out where you’re going. But first, let me take you over to the Sergeants’ mess and get you a place to call home."

This was far better than being Duty NCO.


"I dipped under the rear left Hun and Dawson emptied the rest of his drum into it without apparent result."


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popcorn

Raine: Thanks, If the pilot survives for a while, I will paint the little Scout.

Banjoman: Are U flying on both sides ? If so, will U end up fighting yourself ? sigh

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Beau Brummel
Sgt, 32 Sqn
Rfc, Flanders


14 July 1916.


The best laid plans ect. The Idea was to hit a enemy Rail-yard and Troll for enemy a/c at the same time by dropping Flares to attract them from neighboring Aerodromes. The problems encountered on the raid: Supply only had 1 Flare, Our cover flight of 3 machines lost us in the clouds before the target, No e/a came up, and the Route took us over enemy Archie near balloons at less the 2000ft. Results: Failure little damage to Rail-yard and 1 DH-2 lost ( POW ? ) seen to go down near the target.



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Carrick, I am flying two pilots one a Brit and the other an German, but they are separated by 6 months time. Maybe they could meet in a Twilight Zone episode? biggrin


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yep

I wonder if U could do both sides on the same date ? thumbsup

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Beau Brummel
Sgt, 32 Sqn
Rfc.
July 15, 1916.

Another Sitter of a Security Patrol deep in our lines. Alt 11,435 ft. speed 55-65 mph. No e/a but all kinds of Friendly planes headed for the Hun side of NML.






( Flew mission early due to commitments on Friday )

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Beau Brummel
Sgt, 32 Sqn
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July 16, 1916.

Escort today. No Show so Mission cancelled.

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Here is the latest report. Carrick, if you want in the report I need some data. Deacon, in the last status report you had Ingvar flying with the Marine KEK and then this time he was still a Flugmiester but you had him with Jasta 1, I'm going to assume that was a simple data entry mistake.



Last edited by Banjoman; 07/17/16 12:42 PM.

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Sgt Alfred Keers is back in action!

20 March 1916

The time at Depot passed quickly. There were several other sergeant-pilots and we had a jolly little fraternity for a few days. Each day or two, one or the other would be posted out. It seemed like all of them were bound for Corps cooperation squadrons. I’d flown the BE long enough to pity them. It was a wonderful machine for sport and comfort, but nothing I’d want to face a Hun in. The gun had practically no field of fire and the thing handled like a tramp steamer.

My wound was little more than a scrape and healed quickly. On the evening of 17 March 1916, I was summoned to see the OC Depot, Lieut Kennedy-Cochran-Patrick.

“It seems that Major Wilson wants you back,” he said with a wry smile. “Must be a dud lot over at No 20.”

“Aye, sir,” I replied. “The gentleman knows quality when he sees it, I’m thinking.” Patrick laughed and cautioned me to take care of myself. I was to gather up my kit and wait for transport outside the mess after I’d had lunch.

The Crossley dropped me off back at Clairmarais and, much as I’d begun a week or two before, Sergeant-Major Goddard marched me before the CO. The major eyed me up and down like a sheep with the mange, sighed, and commented that it seemed I was “official now.” He told me that I would be assigned to pilot Lt Whieldon’s machine.

“May I resume my duty NCO task after tea, sir?” I asked.

“That won’t be necessary, Sergeant. I have found a new man for that duty.” I smiled. Either I was redeemed or someone else had blotted his copybook far worse than I did when I looped a Fee on arrival at the squadron. I went over to claim my billet. Sergeant Andarto and I still shared a tent. Tonight would be my first time sleeping there, as until now I’d kipped in the guardhouse as Duty NCO.

I wandered out to the sheds and met the ack emmas. There was a hearty and genuine welcome back, and I was secretly please to learn that the chief rigger, Sergeant Dooly, was the new Duty NCO, having come back from leave mildly drunk enough to get caught peeing in the RO’s rose bushes. The new machine was in fine shape, and my gunner Lieut Whieldon was considered a fine and fair man.

The next two days, 18 and 19 March, were uneventful. We patrolled south towards Arras both mornings without seeing a sign of the enemy.

On the morning of 20 March 1916, three machines, led by Second Lieut McNaughton headed back to Arras. We crossed the lines around eight o’clock flying into the burning sunlight above a cloud layer. Over Monchy we turned north and doddered along at 8000 feet, crossing over Vimy where the Huns were well bedded in. Our guns were laying down some morning hate on the poor Fritzes.

Suddenly Mr Whieldon stood up and grasped the staunchion that supported the rear-firing Lewis. He rattled off around twenty rounds. Mr Reid’s machine put its nose down and dived west. Mr McNaughton closed up on us. I could see that his gunner, Lieut Rowle, was standing.

I turned left gently so as not to unbalance Mr Whieldon. He dropped into the nacelle. Once he was down I banked more sharply, searching for the Hun. There were two of them, but only one was at all close. We headed towards the Fokker, which was above us and to the left. As we approached, Mr. Whieldon fired a full drum from his forward Lewis.

We turned again, looking for the Hun. He was gone! I forced myself up against the lap belt and searched backwards over the engine. Visibility was limited, but there was nothing. Then I saw Mr. Whieldon pointing down over the left side of his pulpit and pounding the breech of his Lewis with his mitt. A yellow Fokker was falling in a flat spin. We watched it as it hit the ground near Thélus. Whiedon replaced the tip of his mitt over his bare fingers and punched the air. Possibly, just possibly, we’d get credit for a kill.


"We watched it as it hit the ground near Thélus."


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Jolly good show, that!


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Banjoman, Carrick, and Raine - enjoyable reports Gents. Had some time after Allard's dawn patrol this AM to catch up on your latest doings. And as I have a bit more time right now I will report on said dawn patrol.



Capitaine Allard Tremblay and his flight preparing for the first sortie of the day at Brocourt-en-Argonne.



As the Le Rhône warms up Allard checks over his mount.



Lifting into a beautiful summer sky.



Reaching altitude above the front at Varennes.



A short time later the Capitaine dives on a lone Eindecker attempting to sneak back across the mud.



After a well-placed volley into the Hun craft Allard follows it down into the trees near the Aisne river.



He watches as his victim bursts into flames upon impact.



After resuming the patrol another hour passes before the flight runs across a trio of Huns at the front east of Sommepy. The Capitaine latches onto the leader.



Allard gets on the Hun's six and sends two bursts from the Lewis into his prey.



But Tremblay's inattentiveness has resulted in him flying directly over a German machine gun position. His is shredded by ground fire and must break off.



While he is only grazed by a bullet his mount is badly damaged and it is all he can do to wrestle it to the ground. Fortunately it is on the friendly side of the mud. He scrambles out of his kite and dashes for cover as a barrage is in progress.

After getting medical attention the Capitaine is told he will be spending the next several days on the ground as his wound heals. He is counting himself lucky to still be alive, much less up and walking about.

That is one of the great things about this sim. Even after all the countless hours I have spent flying it I can still make such noob mistakes in the heat of battle.

.


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Three RFC Brass Hats were strolling down a street in London. Two walked into a bar, the third one ducked.
_________________________________________________________________________

Former Cold War Warrior, USAF Security Service 1974-1978, E-4, Morse Systems Intercept, England, Europe, and points above.
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Beau Brummel
Sgt, 32 Sqn
Rfc.

The Rain stopped so they had us move to Vert Galand Aerodrome.


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Beau Brummel
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July 21, 1916.



What a Mess. I had a Bump in the night all 10 a/c were 40 ft in the air then Crash and all destroyed when they fell down with my pilot listed as wounded and not flyable for 14 days pitchafit

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That really sucks, I wish they would fix that. Do you use Robert's pilot backup utility? If so, I believe I speak for the group and say it would be ok to restore your pilot to yesterday and refly the mission.


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