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Dudley Nightshade
Flt. Lt.
B Flight
6 RNAS

Feb 11, 1917.


Airfield Patrol today. Nothing sighted.




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Originally Posted By: carrick58
popcorn

Bats off to Bruce and his gunner. Quick to the Bat Cave ( his room ) and we can divide his stuff.
duh


Heh heh. That's good Carrick, but you're forgetting one thing. Catwoman's already there.


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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Sorry to hear that Fullofit, but I can't say that I'm really surprised. Bruce definitely lived life in the fast lane and it finally just caught up with him.


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In case anyone has missed it, we lost one of the great ones this past week. Everyone should have a toast in their respective messes for the late, great Bruce Wayne.

Here is the latest status report.



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Originally Posted By: Banjoman
Sorry to hear that Fullofit, but I can't say that I'm really surprised. Bruce definitely lived life in the fast lane and it finally just caught up with him.


You're right. I didn't expect him to survive the war. He was living on the edge and sooner or later some joker would get him. At least his enemies feared him.
So, we're done with "B's", time for a "C". Tomorrow Cyrus Gold will be arriving at the Front.
Thanks for the stats, Banjoman.


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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Fullofit: Cat woman Meowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww thats sounds Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrfect.

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Dudley Nightshade
Flt. Lt.
B Flight
6 RNAS


Feb 13, 1917.


Morning Patrol to Loos and back 9 machines. I flew as Tail end Charlie because of the speed of my wornout machine.


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Fullofit, so sorry to hear about your losing Bruce. He had an amazingly long career! Good luck with Mr. C!

A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator (Colin Urquhart)

Part 5

Buck and I ran from the twisted remains of our Strutter. The ground was rocky and torn with shell holes. From across the valley a machine gun hammered away. We could hear rounds slapping into the mud and ringing off the rocks nearby. Buck took a roll of barbed wire in a leap, or at least tried to. The tails of his leather flying coat caught and brought him crashing into the mud. I risked puncture by searching for a gap in the wire. From there it was a breathless fifty yards to the edge of the wood. And that is where the two dullest poilus in France met us with the points of their bayonets. They screamed at us and spat at us and called us Boches and, I’m fairly sure, a number of other unsavoury things. One of them, who I gathered was named Paul, wanted to shoot us on the spot. The other, named Pierre (I know, I laughed too, despite our predicament), wanted to stick us a bit first.

I screamed “Anglais” at them, then “aviateur,” then “Canadiens,” but I might as well have been shouting “Don’t shoot, I’m the parliamentary secretary for the Minister of Inland Revenue.” Pierre and Paul stared at us, slack-jawed and dull-eyed, and darted their bayonets about our faces. After a minute or two of this, an officer rode up on a fine grey.

“Thank God,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He removed a leather glove and slapped me twice across the face. “Ferme ta putain de gueule, maudit barbare!

“What?” I asked. I truly had no idea what he said. That’s when my trusty colleague Jacob Buck spoke up.

“If I have it right, Colin, he said for you to shut your whore of an ugly throat, you damned barbarian.” Buck was very satisfied with himself. I’d had no idea he could "parlez-vous the ding-dong."

“Seriously?” I asked Buck. “A whore of a throat? What the hell is a whore of a throat?”

“It’s rather vulgar, I admit,” said Buck.

“Vulgar? These idiots need to learn how to curse.” I turned to the snail-eating officer. There followed some florid asservations of his mental inferiority and low birth, interspersed with lurid Anglo-Saxon suggestions as to what he could do with himself and where he could do it, and capped with suggestions for the disposition of the French army and of Pierre and Paul. I stopped to catch my breath.

Eh bien, why did you not tell me you were Canadian?” he said.

Lieutenant Morneau, for so he was named, turned out to be a fine fellow possessed of a comfortable dugout with good stock of port. He was even able to procure a glass of fresh milk for my Mennonite gunlayer-cum-translator. It took until evening to get us back to the field at Luxeuil.

We went all the way to Colmar on a patrol on the 9th October. We spotted a pair of Hun two-seaters, but they were too far off to be worth chasing.

On the 10th we escorted Nathanial Page and Ron White for an artillery shoot up near Luneville. About twenty minutes into the shoot three Fokker biplanes climbed to the attack. It turned into a wild fight. I got a deflection shot at one of the Huns who tumbled out of control. There was another on us, and Buck had done a good job of holding him off. As religious and upright as he was, I was astounded by his vocabulary when engaging the enemy. I managed to damage the second Fokker in a head-on pass, then get behind him as he tried to break off. We both dived towards the Hun lines with Archie bursting all around. At length I closed on him and finished him off, watching the machine crash into some trees north of Herbéville.

We were turning for home when I noticed a bit of yellow moving over the dark earth a half-mile off. It was likely the third Hun. We made for it and surprised him near Héming. He fell into a field and burned. We returned elated and claimed all three. That’s when we learned that Page and White had not returned. Page was a young English boy. I’d hardly got to know him, although he had the cabin next to mine in our hut. White was a petty officer. He had been in the service since 1914.

The RO informed me later that my OOC claim was denied, as the Hun had recovered close to the ground and headed east. The French balloon line confirmed the second Hun, and the third was denied as it was not witnessed and Captain Elder was a stickler for understated claims. Still, I now had three confirmed victories and was a damned fine fellow, wot, or so the Captain said.

That night a new fellow moved into Page’s cabin – an American named Charles something. He’d signed up in Canada, he said.

We flew twice on the 11th without anything interesting happening, except that I landed from the afternoon flight in the dark. That was a first and was frankly terrifying. Just before touching down, our machine gave a sharp lurch and there was a snapping of brush. We landed with a good piece of treetop in our undercarriage.

Not everyone was so fortunate. The next day was a momentous one. Most of our wing escorted the French bombing group to attack the Mauser works in Oberndorf, Germany. The Escadrille Americaine went into action for the first time. The day was a sad one for our American friends across the way. Norman “Nimmie” Prince, one of their earliest members, was coming in to land in the late day and hit a telegraph wire. He was thrown from his machine and seriously injured.

We missed the Oberndorf show. Instead we accompanied Flt Comdr Draper, Armstrong, and Dissette over the lines near Nancy to attack an enemy rail junction. Except for some accurate Archie, nothing of note happened.

The next two days saw us on an offensive patrol twenty miles over, then on an artillery shoot up near St-Dié. I am beginning to think the Huns have given up the air to us. They certainly have not been bothering us a great deal of late.


"At length I closed on him and finished him off, watching the machine crash into some trees north of Herbéville."

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Salute to the fallen pilots and good luck to the new ones! salute

Raine, you continue to entertain with your stories. Keep it up! smile

I've been pleasantly surprised by the Caudron G.4 in WOFF. It's a very gentle machine and with two guns with good visibility and fields of fire can also defend itself reasonably well. Or at least I hope it can - no Hun planes have attacked Bruno yet. smile

Anyway, here's the latest from Bruno...

*****

15 October 1916.
Melzéville air base.


Dearest mama & papa,

First let me offer you a thousand apologies for not having written anything in a while. I know you must be awfully worried about me. In my defense, I can only say that I have been terribly busy with my new assignment. Serving as a pilot in a real front escadrille is very different from being a student at a flight school! One may think he knows well the theory and even the practice of flying, but then having to put all that knowledge into actual use - under wartime conditions no less - is another matter entirely. It is a humbling experience, but a very educational one too. (I’m sure you as schoolteachers can appreciate this!)

What should I tell you about my new outfit? Our escadrille is under the command of capitaine de Kérillis; a professional officer in the true sense of the word. He knows his business and can be very demanding; yet he also leads by example and puts himself in the same dangers as his men, like a real officer should. I have full confidence in him, which sadly cannot be said of all the officers that I’ve served under.

You know I cannot go into details because of the censors, but I can tell you this: our escadrille is one of the best of its kind, and specializes in bombing and reconnaissance duties. I must work hard to earn my place here. So far, I think I’ve been successful at this; I haven’t wrecked any machines or injured my observer. -I suppose you’d like to hear more about him? His name is Pascal Girard and he’s a sous-lieutenant like me. He’s from Marseille, has a fiery Mediterranean temper, and comes from the artillery like so many observers. I’m getting along with him reasonably well - and he’s not one to mince his words if he thinks I haven’t been flying our machine steadily enough.

There are so many things I’d like to tell you about our people and machines here, and also of this place and the countryside surrounding it. I’ll try to do my best in the future. But now I’m tired and must go to bed. I just wanted you to know that I’m doing well and you don’t have to worry about me (though I know you will and I love you for it). Tell Marie and Sophie and Louis that I love them and always think about them. Please write to me soon and let me know everything that goes on there. Spare no details - letters from home are always greatly cherished here.

Your humble (occasionally) and obedient (rarely) son,

Bruno.

PS. My leg is doing pretty well now. Not much pain, though the stiffness is still there and may never disappear completely. It doesn’t bother me when flying, which is all that matters.


"Upon my word I've had as much excitement on a car as in the air, especially since the R.F.C. have had women drivers."

James McCudden, Five Years in the Royal Flying Corps
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Journal Entry: 17 October, 1916
Bertincourt

Returned this afternoon from an exhausting and ultimately frustrating sortie to find an Oberst Deist from the Kriegspresseamt and three oily 'gentlemen' from the press waiting in my office. As soon as everyone was seated, Oberst Deist introduced the three men as representatives of Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, Berliner Tageblatt, and Vossische Zeitung respectively. After the obligatory small talk, Oberst Deist came to the point of this meeting by saying, "Rittmeister Auge since you well know that you are the leading ace in the Deutsche Luftstreitkräfte I should not have to tell you of your honor and duty to share with the people back home your glorious victories." His statement was quite shocking to me because I had no idea that I was leading the Luftstreitkräfte. Of course, I keep detailed records of every sortie I fly, but it never crossed my mind that I was the highest scorer. Anyway, I responded, "What about Boelcke? I thought he was providing that service for the Fatherland." Oberst Diest answered, "He is, he is and he is performing that duty quite admirably, but as you well know, the public needs more heroes. These men will ask you a few questions and take a few photographs and then you will be able to return to your duties. Gentlemen, I believe Rittmeister Auge is ready for your questions." Well, the truth was I wasn't ready for their questions but how do you argue with an Oberst so I grudgingly cooperated. The interview was actually quite pleasant until the reporter, I forget his name, from the Berliner Tageblatt asked, "Rittmeister Auge, can you tell our readers what's it like to shoot down an enemy aeroplane?" I sat stunned at the insensitivity of that stupid question and so I asked a question of my own, "Sir, are you asking me what it is like to intentionally stalk and kill another human being?" The reporter fumbled and stammered and ultimately was saved by Oberst Deist who graciously ended the interview. After thanking me for my time, the men filed out and left my office. Afterwards, I sat thinking of the stupidity and naivety of those back home, they really don't understand this war at all. One bright note of the interview, one of the photographers sent me a photo as a keepsake.



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Great stories Gents! Charles Choto, 3 Wing, RNAS will be joining the war later this week.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
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Thanks Guys. Bruce had an exceptional run (11 months), but with the Albatros on the prowl it looks like there will be more joining him soon.
Meet Cyrus Gold. Son of a murdered merchant whose body was dumped into a swamp.



It is the middle of October, but the weather is still holding.



His first flight was cut short by a mechanical failure right after take off. It took him half a loop to get back to the airfield, but the Strutter was a mess.



Not the best way to impress the CO.


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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Good Luck

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Dudley Nightshade
Flt Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit-synthe, France.


Feb 14, 1917.


Cheerio, Bit of Luck today. Posted to Cover Aerodrome down towards Calais. Mixed it up with two 2 seat types. The rest of my section was spread out so far I ended up attacking alone. By jove, they were so high and so fast I had to fire at 400-300 meters then reloaded and fired off my second 97 rd large drum from 400 meters by then they were almost out of eyesight.


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Originally Posted By: carrick58
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Good Luck


Thanks Carrick. My aim is to get promoted and get my hands on a shiny Pup.


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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Dudley Nightshade
Flt Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit-synthe, France.


Feb 15, 1917.


Mission: Patrol to the lines.

B Flt: 5 machines, mix N-17 and 1 N-11.

Alt: 2300 meters

E/a: 2 flights of three 2 seats ( Roland ) + 1 or more in Archie fire. 7-9 enemy a/c.

Results: 1 Roland destroyed. Sqn Losses: 1 machine forced down ( Mine) 2 pilots wnd. and all of B Flt's machines damaged.

Remarks. Bit of the Diciest encounters yet. B Flt was strung out when we encountered and chased one machine. I broke right to cut him off when I ran into 3 e/a that I hadn't seen. The flt was already engaging another enemy flt of three so no help at all. Managed to get off 2 ( 47 rds) drums during the flight before I took too many hits. The 2 e/a on my tail got in some good hits to my engine ( the Oil line) the motor made strange sounds then stopped. Nothing to do but Spin down and find a road. ( the e/a lost interest in me as I spun from 2000 meters to 500. )


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Dudley Nightshade
Flt Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit-synthe, France.


Feb 16, 1917.

Mission : Aerodrome attack

B Flight: Bombardment arm with Rockets and machine gun ammo
A Flt: Cover Flight arm with full load of machine gun ammo

T/O: 1400 hrs.

Results: Target damaged. Sqn Losses: 2 N-17's damaged. 1 N-11 ( mine) had System failure, but landed at Friendly Airfield.

Remarks : A hair raising little flight. Flew under 2 enemy Patrols. Then flew around another Patrol avoiding a flight of 2 seats in a landing pattern. Fired off my rockets and 1 drum of ammo then headed home. Passing a friendly field, my motor sized up so had to land.



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Dudley Nightshade
Flt Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit-synthe, France.


Feb 17, 1917.


Patrol to the lines and back: B Flight did a low level patrol this afternoon, spotted nothing to see.

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Oct 20th, 1916
Sub Flight Lt. Charles Choto
3Wing RNAS, Alsace

Four days ago Charles had awoke with a splitting headache and bandage around his head.

"Welcome back to the world old boy!" came a voice. Looking up Charles made out the blurry form of Colin Urquahart. Colin had been friendly to Charles since his arrival on the 10th. "Seems you celebrated your first confirmed victory a little too much",said Colin.

"What the hell happened"? asked Charles.

"It seems you were 3 sheets into the wind and when you arose from the table you went spinning like a windlass and came down on the table! Don't worry though. the table is none the worse for it. You should be fit to fly in a few days." With that, Colin stood up and said he had the morning patrol and must be off.

Charles thought back to his first mission. He led C flight to note troop movements near St. Die. Arriving at St. Die, he and the other machine in the flight started their circuit. It was a beautiful day. While patrolling around St. Die at the order of his gunlayer, Capt. Eggleston, Charles saw two monoplanes coming in from the northest. He instantly got on the tail of one and scored some hits and it dove away. His flight mate had sent the other one packing and they formed back up at about 6000". They resumed their patrol and Charles kept a watchful eye as he now had a few bullet holes in his tail! No sooner had they settled into their observation patrol he spotted 2 more machines above and to the east. "Must be B flight he thought." At that moment they nosed over into a dive. It took Charles a split second to realize what was happening and he turned into them with a head on climbing pass. As soon as the two Huns went over him he reversed and was on the tail of one of them. He fired 2 bursts and the pilot slumped over and the Halb nosed straight into no mans land! Looking around, Sharman was no where in sight. Charles turned into a slow circle and spotted Sharman at low altitude circling with the other. He dove and side slipped to loose height as fast as possible. By the time he was almost to their level, Sharman had got behind the Hun and was pouring it to him. The Hun started to smoke and nosed over into the hillside.



The elation turned to horror as Sharman tried to pull up and came down hard in a shower of dirt on the hillside!

Eggleston motioned to Charles to get out of there and they flew back to base without incident. They were glad to know that Sharman was OK. He was a bit banged about but OK and would be back by nightfall. Charles filed a claim for the Hun. Sharman had claimed two.



It was on his third mission, more observation near Herbarviller in the rain, when almost to the lines Charles saw "A" flight turn and head back. Eggleston motioned to follow. Charles thought they may have seen Huns and were returning to base but in fact had seen 2 Aviatiks and were intent on some fun. After loosing them in the clouds he looked all around to locate them when out of a cloud one one of the Huns appeared going in the opposite direction about 200' above with one of "A" flight on his tail. Charles turned the Strutter around and reentered the cloud he had just come out of. Coming out he could not see anything. He looked all around. Nothing! Then Eggleston shouted, "He's right above you!" Charles looked up there were those two black crosses plain a the back of your hand. He eased back on the stick and fired. The Hun dipped to starboard and went straight into the ground near Luneville aerodrome. He was beside himself! Another Hun! He made a heading for the patrol area and after about 2 miles saw an Aviatik tumbling to the ground about a thousand feet below. Looking ahead Collishaw's machine came into view and they resumed the patrol.



Their other missions had been uneventful. Word came down that the second Hun had been confirmed but the first was rejected. It did not matter. He had his first confirmed Hun!


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Carrick, excellent shots of the rocket attack. Too bad they don't really do much damage.
Have you, or anyone else flying in the northern Flanders, noticed that there is no machine gun defense at Ghistelles? Flak yes, but no MG. I can fly along with the poor Fokkers expecting protection, but getting decimated instead. Just wondering if anyone else is experiencing this, or is it just my version somehow knackered.


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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