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Raine Offline OP
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77_Scout,

Great video. That Fokker was a determined fellow. I thought you did an excellent job of positioning yourself so that the other BE could support you. It must have been a real white knuckle flight.

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I just caught myself up with everyone’s adventures here, a pleasure as always.


77_Scout, that was a close one for Aleck. As noted by Raine, an excellent job of evasive flying and working with your wingman. Good video too.

Raine, nice bit of dovetailing into MFair’s latest episode. And I love the song!

Carrick, best to let ticking bombs lie.

MFair, Jericho is a man of chivalry as well as mystery, but I do hope his temper won’t drop him into some real trouble. Lucky Swany was there to keep him from killing that Frenchman.

Fullofit, Gaston has kept himself busy I see. He shouldn’t feel too badly about missing the target from time-to-time as that was par for the course back in the day. Nice video, by the way.

Lederhosen, great journal entry, well done. Also, I think your fellow might actually enjoy Ensisheim, it’s a lovely area.

Wulfe, more great reading, most enjoyable. I envy you the Fee, I always found it to be a fine early-to-mid war bus, both for flying and fighting.


2nd Lt. Swanson is now convinced that the enemy has made killing him and his gunner/obs, Lt. Dent, an utmost priority. With the exception of this morning’s sortie, which was an uneventful and quiet recce of the Hun trenches north of Loos, every outing over the last week has seen Swany and Christopher in go-rounds with multiple Eindeckers. The most harrowing was two days ago on the 23rd. B Flight had reconnoitered the back areas east of Loos and was turning to go home when a trio of Huns swept down upon them. Just when the boys from Auchel thought they had things under control another brace of Eindeckers joined the party. Swany did everything he could think of to keep the enemy from riddling their kite with holes while still providing Lt. Dent some shooting opportunities of his own. As if this weren’t enough, Archie suddenly found their range, savagely bouncing the Morane about in the bleak, rain-filled sky. Luck decided to change sides when Christopher managed a solid hit on the closest Hun, sending him looping down out of control. This discouraged the nasty fellow’s partner who promptly turned tail and headed back east. Swany guided his own mount towards camp at best speed, crossing his fingers that they would make it as the engine was now coughing and sputtering like a Norwegian lumberjack who’d just swallowed his snus. Fortune continued to smile on the pair long enough to get them back to Auchel in one piece, and after turning in their reports and claim forms, the two men went to the mess to take some tea and calm their nerves.

As to the recent claims submitted by Lieutenants Swanson and Dent: the one from a week ago was denied due to lack of corroboration; the one from two days ago was confirmed by a British MG squad in the frontline trenches south of Loos. This means Swany now has two confirmed victories, and the young fellow is as much surprised as he is pleased by this fact. He has also been forced to write home, directing his father to withdraw some of Swany’s savings from the bank and wire it along to him. The young fellow’s chit at the bar has grown to a fairly hefty size, what with the recent victory celebrations and the CO’s orders concerning American and Canadian pilots following the “Bethune Incident”.
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Einies and Archie and rain, oh my!
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Raine Offline OP
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Thanks, Lou. The song, however, was composed by Maeran. He PM'd MFair and me in a wonderful example of story collaboration. He suggested the investigation and added the song. All I did was add the Major's response to the APM.

You're a Fokker magnet these days. I've just had a nail-biter, and will write it up in the net installment. This war business is getting dangerous.


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Originally Posted by Fullofit
Originally Posted by carrick58
I say , Gotta see what makes em tick.

A ticking bomb is not a good thing. Run!



rofl too funny!


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Mark, you're right, that was too funny. However, now I'm concerned that Carrick did not take Fullofit's funny, albeit sound, advice quickly enough as he's not posted since. Ka who? Kaboom!

Raine, an excellent collaboration between you and Maeran and MFair. Very well done!

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Scout, great video! That was some dandy flying to get out of a close call. Happy to hear it was just a slight wound.

Lt. Mark Jericho
Auchell Aerodrome
January 25, 1916

It was a clear beautiful day. Jericho, along with Chambers and Dickens had the morning show to drop a few eggs on Vimy Junction. Jericho was sure the Huns would be afoot also as the weather had prevented any flying the last two days. He was correct. After dropping the eggs and almost back across the lines Wharton opened up which startled Jericho. Looking back he knew what to do and made a climbing turn to right. As he did Wharton got a good burst on the Hun and he decided to take his leave. Dickens’s observer got off a few rounds at him also. Coming in to Auchell Jericho could see a Morane among the tents at the army base near the field. “That’s not good” he thought.

Back at the field the trio was given a “good show” as the report was we damaged the railway. They also learned the pilot and observer who came down at the army base were ok.

The mess was all abuzz as the news of Swany’s second confirmed victory was announced. “Well aren’t you the biggest toad in the pond!” Jericho said to Swany as he sat down next to him. Jericho felt good. He was among good people and the major had backed over the incident at Bethune even thoug he was guilty. Jericho respected the major before but now he had a whole new respect for him. All he had to do now was figure out how was going to pay James and Swany back for the hour of drinking in the mess. After all, it was his doing.


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Nigel Archibald Notting
Sgt, RFC
4 Sqn Rfc.
Allonville, Flanders


Jan 25 1916.


Wot a mess to clean up. I had just left the shed when that bomb went off. I say, wicked ! Just good luck and standard procedure of an empty bomb casing kept everything safe. Only the detonator went Bang and some loose powder went up in smoke. Oh well they will send up more.

Afternoon: I went up on an Arty adjustment mission had a wireless in the kite to telegraph the battery. It mostly went well with only 2 short rounds. Don't know if any PBI got hurt, but I am sure they blamed us.

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Raine, your report reads like one of the Barmy OFFers Club “meetings”. It was nice of the Major to cover for the trio ... and volunteer them to cover the cost of the party.
Scout, that was one determined Hun!
Lou, you’re racking it up. Congrats on another confirmed. (And another engine destroyed ...)
MFair, what can I say? Time to set up another tree-cutting wager to pay for all the drinks.
Carrick, close call!

Delicious stories y’all.

25 January, 1916 10:02
Toul, Verdun Sector
Escadrille C17
Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux

“Denied.” Capitaine de Bondy’s eyes were piercing Gaston again.
“But ...”
“No witness, no claim. I am sorry” CO was firm and Gaston could see there was no malice intended, just strict regulations. Rules are rules. He saluted and left the office. It appears his first victory celebration will have to wait for another time. There was no reason to celebrate anyway. Sgt. Armand Levy and his gunner Sgt. Louis Fraissenet were dead buried somewhere in the mud of NML.
They were bombing enemy front lines north of St. Mihiel salient at northern end of La Foret de la Reine. Gaston led the formation with Levy as his wingman. The new boy, Durand was bringing up the rear in the A flight. They’ve lost him halfway to the front with engine trouble. Thankfully he made it back in one piece.
Voscadeaux and Levy have just finished their bomb runs on enemy forward positions with some well placed hits when a pair of monoplanes came screaming down from the clouds above. They came in fast, too fast and Gaston was able to avoid the attack while they maneuvered for a better position. Becquerel’s gun harassed one that overshot their plane, but Gaston had to brake it off when the second Fokker was attempting to get on his tail. They jostled for position while the first German went after Sgt. Levy. The two pairs split and begun their one-on-one bouts. Gaston managed to keep the Hun in front of him, giving his gunner ample opportunity to get some good hits. Sgt. Voscadeaux didn’t realize how low their fight took them and was reminded by sudden fire from the ground. The Boche were having their revenge after just getting their trenches filled with bombs. Gaston had to break his attack off and his opponent went in the opposite direction, glad of the reprieve, but lost control and crashed into the ground near Fresno-en-Woevre. Levy wasn’t doing nearly as well. Gaston watched as his wingman’s plane made descending circles closely followed by the Eindecker. In the end the Caudron smashed into the ground in a great ball of fire. Gaston tried to chase the other machine, but couldn't catch up. Eventually he turned back and flew home alone. Escadrille C17 has lost another team.



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MFair, here's hoping Jericho can get a confirmed victory from his last outing. And I agree about the CO at 3 Squadron, a fine man who really looks out for his men.

Carrick, Nigel is lucky he was far enough removed from that "empty" bomb when it went off. I use the quotes because even a detonator can remove a fellow's fingers and possible take out an eye. Your man needs to respect the ordnance and not let the smoke out until a more appropriate time, say when such ordnance is landing on the head of some poor unsuspecting Hun.

Fullofit, another super little video, and Gaston handles that B/R bus of his as if it were a Nieuport scout. Bad luck he was not awarded his most well-deserved claim, the brass hats can be such killjoys. Even worse luck though concerning his squadron mates, yet another pair of graves.

Now then, as to another tree felling wager, I was thinking the same thing seeing as how Swany's wallet has gotten fairly thin as of late. Also, he is getting more than a little fed up with that stand of trees on top of the slag hill at the end of the runway at Auchel. Clearly someone who never flew an aeroplane in his life picked the location for that field.

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Great flying Fullofit! I envy the Caudron's forward-firing ability. Nice aggressive maneuvering!

Great stories from everyone else. I am a bit awed by the creativity and research on display.

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REMINDER :

Some of you will be approaching 25 hours at the front. Don't forget to reset your dot visibility distance when you get there. Have fun!

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Thank you for kind words Lou and Scout!
Lou, I suspect that Caudron's flight model may be a bit generous. It is true, you can handle it like you would a Nieuport.
Scout, Caudron is better than a Fee. Guns in front and in the back PLUS two engines for safety.
Raine, thanks for the reminder!

26 January, 1916 11:03
Toul, Verdun Sector
Escadrille C17
Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux

“Just get me to the front and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Yes, that was Sergent Durand, the cocky youth who recently replaced Sgt. Reille. Truth be told his bombs always seemed to find the target, as if by magic.
Gaston was watching in horror from his cockpit as Durand’s machine was engulfed in flames and plummeted to the ground. He was too far away to see if the poor boy was already dead, jumped out, or was trapped in the inferno. Voscadeaux closed his eyes when the wreck was about to hit the earth. Becquerel charged the rear gun. He knew they are next.

[Linked Image]

Earlier this morning, after mission briefing, Adjutant Guytant was going over their flight plan with young Durand listening in and impatiently shifting his weight, eager to get in the air. He would be the sole member of the A flight while Guytant would lead Voscadeaux in the B flight. The conditions were favourable with clear skies and excellent visibility. Once in the air Durand’s machine started slowly slipping more and more to the rear with an unknown issue. He didn’t turn back and dealt with the situation. Gaston thought it was brave of him but perhaps in his youthful enthusiasm a bit foolish. And then it happened. As they were approaching their target Guytant’s Caudron “wobbled”. It was not the usual signal to start the bombing run. Something else. Something was wrong. Gaston immediately begun to scan the sky. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He looked back again at Durand in the distance and he understood. The aeroplane was trailing black smoke. Gaston immediately thought Durand’s technical issue turned into something more serious and he was sure the young pilot should have turned back home long time ago. And then a second shape emerged from the smoke trail. One with a single set of wings. A Fokker! Voscadeaux looked forward to see what the flight leader would do, but Guytant continued on to complete the mission. Gaston followed and hastily dropped all his bombs on the trenches below. He then quickly made about face checking the sky for any additional Huns and watched as the Boche dealt the final blow to Durand’s machine. As the stricken Caudron fell to the ground, it shed its wings and the reminder of the fuselage resembled a meteorite belching flames and smoke. Gaston couldn’t imagine what the poor Durand had to endure on the way down. He didn’t have much time to ponder as the Fokker was now coming directly at him. Gaston knew there was no point running away. The monoplane was much faster, it would catch him and would be presented with best possible target. Voscadeaux decided to face him and make a stand. He searched for Guytant who was now flying as far from Gaston as possible. Well, at least he will save himself and be able to tell the Capitaine what had happened here. The Eindecker dove head on and ended up behind and below Gaston. As the Hun was regaining altitude, Gaston’s Caudron banked to get the enemy into the firing arc of his gunner, nearly stalling in the process. It was a close one! The German nearly collided with Voscadeaux’s plane in the attempt to gain a favourable position behind. They both tried to stay on each other’s tail by weaving from side to side. For a second Gaston thought he was a goner when the Hun managed to fire a short burst at him. The rounds went wide and the opportunity was lost. The Fokker had to dive to avoid stalling and Becquerel took advantage of that. Bullets ripped through the green fabric of the monoplane’s wings. Ernest continued to fire and Gaston knew they had him on the ropes. The Boche went into a spin and Voscadeaux looked on with glee. Lower and lower the Hun went. One more spin and he will crash and then ... nothing. The Hun levelled out! He faked it all! It was all a sham! Ernest in the front realized they’ve been had. He made a rude gesture and slumped back in his seat with disgust. Gaston didn’t want to give up and dove after the shyster but there was no way to catch him. He was further discouraged from his pursuit by the Flak bursts and reluctantly turned his plane around. On the way back home Gaston overflew the crash site with the crater still in flames.
Rest in peace Sgt. Ernest Durand. Rest in peace Cpl. Geoffrey Gisors. You will be avenged.
Voscadeaux returned back to base where a nervous Adjutant Guytant was already waiting. He was very relieved to see Gaston alive and felt guilty for leaving him alone with the German monoplane. Guytant offered to buy Gaston a bottle of best red available in town to thank him. Gaston gladly accepted the offer. He needed a drink and a way to honour the recently departed. The remaining four pilots of Escadrille C17 piled into the aerodrome’s Peugeot and went to town in search of best red wine they could find. Where would any army be without alcohol?


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Great stories they just get better

Sgt Nottings next project if he makes it thru the War

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Sounds like hard times are befalling poor old Esc. C.17! Good job on beating back that Fokker, and commiserations to your fallen colleagues. The No.3 Boys continue to astound me with their skill in those Parasols! Now those are some proper pilots... as always, some of the writing on display here just blows me away! Also, thank you Gents for the encouraging comments wink


Sgt. Graham A. Campbell,
No. 20 Squadron R.F.C,
Clairmarais Aerodrome, France.

January 22nd - 26th:


We decided to have our breakfast at the Vincent the following morning, before making our way to the aerodrome. Jacky-Boy didn’t come, still sore from being turned down the night before and not yet ready to attempt another pass on the young mademoiselle. At the door, Jeanne greeted us with her usual alluring cheer, and we took a seat near the back of the establishment, wading past the brown flying-coats, left either folded on the floor or draped over the backs of chairs, of the few R.F.C pilots that had stopped by early, like us.

I watched Jeanne as she skipped off to fetch the Coffee Pot, a faint smile betraying me, before turning back to my colleagues. Across the table from me, Reynard’s eyes flashed with malicious intent above a telling smirk. I reddened, but held his gaze. “What?” I asked, irritatedly. His smirk broke into a grin. “Ye told Jacky that ye fancy his waitress?” he teased. “Don’t be absurd, Reynard!” I retorted, which only elicited a hearty laugh from my red-haired tormentor. “Dinnae worry, it’s only you and half of the RFC!”.

The 23rd was a miserable affair. A day of torrential rain ambushed us early in the morning, and whereas Jacky-Boy and Jimmy Reynard didn’t seem fazed, merely throwing on their flying coats and heading out for the day, Switch-Off and I stayed in to write letters to Blighty and listen to records on a Gramophone for most of the daylight hours. A particular favourite of mine was “Roses of Picardy”.

The morning of the 24th saw us all scrambling madly out of our Billet and high-tailing towards the aerodrome. We had slept in, and were on track to miss our morning briefing! The Major was thoroughly unimpressed as we bundled into the briefing room, just as he had begun speaking. Like school children awaiting the cane, we stood before him sheepishly in a row. He merely sighed, and pointed his riding-crop towards a row of empty seats at the rear of the room. Our ears burning as our colleagues snickered away, we slumped down into the chairs, as Major Wilson cleared his throat. Just as he was about to start speaking for the second time, a telephone behind him rung. He let out another deep sigh, and for a moment I thought he was going to banish the telephone to the back row of seats as well. But, up it came off the receiver, and he spoke in a gruff voice. “Major Wilson, 20 R.F.C”. We sat with baited breath, as if watching a Shakespeare, as Wilson’s brow furrowed, and his moustache twitched. “Yes. Very Well. Good day”. The phone came down with a slam, as the Major whipped round to face us. “B Flight, a Hun machine’s been sighted over St. Omer. Go and get after him!”.

Immediately we bolted up out of our seats and ran towards the door. “Lucky git”, Jacky-Boy grunted as I flashed past him grinning. Edith and I quickly linked up outside, and Edith barked at the Ack-Emmas to roll out A6338. The ground crews had drilled scrambles back in Netheravon, and I was astounded at the speed in which our Fees were ready to go. Graves gave the signal, and we were off.

Not wanting to get caught underneath the marauding Hun, Graves led us to Cassell in order to climb. Frantically, we clawed our way up to 6,000 feet and turned South for St. Omer. Of course, as I’d half-expected, there was no Hun machine to be found. He’d probably cleared off before we’d even lifted! That wouldn’t stop Graves, however, who led us on a wild goose chase, going as far as Dunkirk, and the coastline, to try and find the offending Hun! Or, perhaps he fancied a joy-ride, and our searched provided a good excuse to do so. By any means, it was an eventless search.

That night, Jacky-Boy came back from a patrol of the lines, raving about getting into a fight with an Eindecker - the scrap was inconclusive, but he is the first of us to encounter the dreaded Hun monoplane. Most of us have seen the devilish machines from afar, but have wiseley avoided them. Not Jacky-Boy! As he tells the story, he rushed right at the hun upon spotting him over the lines. Switch-off swears it’s true as well.

It seemed that, after our four days rest, ‘A’ Flight and ‘B’ flight had switched roles. We now took the morning patrols and recons, while ‘A’ took the afternoon patrols. This has given Jacky-Boy plenty of time to visit Jeanne at the Vincent - a fact he wants us all to know! Every time he mentions it to me, I shoot Reynard a wary glance (much to his amusement). By any means, I was not concerned with Jacky-Boy’s antics as Edith handed me the all-too-familiar tub of grease. We donned our flying gear and applied the whale grease to our faces, before Edith readied the reconnaissance camera and we stepped out onto the airfield, headed for our trusty old bus, A6338. We had our final cigarettes of the morning, and climbed aboard.

We adopted our usual strategy, of putting the Recon Bus, flown by McNaughton, in between Graves & myself. Reid & Edwards stayed high and above us, scanning for any enemy machines. After climbing up around St. Omer, we headed towards Armentieres. By the time we reached the lines, the wind had picked up to the point where we were being blown two and fro like autumn leaves. Ahead of me, I saw Edith gripping the forward Lewis gun tightly, as if he feared the wind would carry it away. To our dismay, we also realised that our reconnaissance target was almost completely obscured by thick cumulus clouds, stretching on for several miles into Hunland, as if the Bosche had conscripted them! I made my contempt known to the Hunnish clouds, who responded by throwing another almighty gust of wind up at us.

Suddenly, ahead of me, three specks appeared just above the clouds. I strained my eyes, and it felt as though my stomach had fallen out of the nacelle like a bomb. Eindeckers! Two of them, beside an Aviatik. Edith had seen them too, and now he was gripping the Lewis gun not for balance, but in preparation. With baited breath, we watched as the Huns came right over the top of us, looming above our heads like hawks. Graves turned us away from them - now our top wings obscured them from view. Tensing up in my seat, I watched in bitter anticipation as Edith kept his eyes glued on the threat. At that moment, Archie begun to burst around us. The wind had carried us into German lines!

[Linked Image]
Eindeckers!

Edith remained fixed in position - the Huns either hadn’t seen us, or didn’t care to attack us. I thought back to the first time he had spotted the Hun, over St. Omer. Two Eindeckers & an Aviatik. Were these the same artists, I wondered? That time, they had ignored us, too. By any means, we were over our target, and I could see McNaughton’s observer readying the camera. I held my breath as his observer leaned out of the Nacelle to take the photographs, keeping one eye upwards. To our joy, the Huns abruptly swung to the South and disappeared towards Haubordin. We all collectively breathed out, before McNaughton finished his run and we headed for home.

Lucky old Pearson was approved for a 48 hour pass later that day, and, much to the disappointment of those of us hoping for a sing-song later, early this morning he took the train to Armentieres to revel in some of the city life. No such luck for the rest of us. Today we are off to Arras, on another recon. Maj. Wilson was unimpressed with the photographs that Carey Winchcombe (McNaughton’s observer) had taken, and to “Make up for it”, to quote our fierey C.O, we were being sent back over into Hunland again. We crossed at St. Vaast, our eyes peeled for the dreaded Fokkers. Below us lay St. Vaast, a desolated city of rubble and horror, eerily still in the morning fog. As I stared down at it, I saw the face of a building slowly fall away into the street, kicking up a cloud of dust. As I watched, I wondered where the inhabitants of this skeleton-city had gone, and felt a stab of remorse for the French Civilian, who had had war thrust upon their doorstep for a reason they probably would never fully understand. But, I had no time to dwell on the thought. McNaughton was beginning his run. As before, we watched from our machine as Winchcombe stood up, camera in hand, and leaned dizzyingly over the nacelle’s edge. I shall never envy the Reconnaissance observer. We made our run over the target (a small grouping of factories just outside of Monchy-le-Preux), and McNaughton signalled to us that he wanted to go around again. Fortunately, the skies seemed clear in all directions as Graves obligingly tilted his wings to the right and begun to circle.

As we banked lazily to the right, Edith suddenly turned to face me, pointing out ahead of us. I stared forwards, and...there! I couldn’t believe it! Slightly lower, crossing into our lines, two Fokkers, and an Aviatik! Why, it was the same Huns as before! They crossed underneath us, and to my annoyance Graves again failed to respond. Edith turned to me, staring intently at me. Without a word, I nodded, and brought our bus around to face the unaware Germans. My heart begun pounding as we crept up behind their formation, but, to my dismay, Graves and McNaughton had continued on with their second run. Well, nothing for it, then. We would attack the Hun alone.

Diving below the pack, I crept up on the trailing Fokker. Edith fired upwards into him and he immediately broke away, diving for the safety of his lines. We let him go, and settled in on the still-unaware Aviatik. In the observer’s seat, I saw the exact moment the Hun looked up at us, back down into his cockpit, and then suddenly back up at us in shock. Too late! Edith fired upwards into the Aviatik at point-blank range, and the observer jolted up in his seat, before slumping down, the rear gun falling silent. With the danger removed, I pulled up to sit on the same level as the Aviatik. It was then that I saw a sight I shall never forget. As Edith fired, the German pilot turned to face us with a look of stark terror on his face. He was young - perhaps eighteen or nineteen. A second later, there was a terrific flash, and the young Hun’s face disappeared behind a thick black wall of smoke, as the Aviatik burst immediately into flames.

[Linked Image]
An Aviatik's End

Just as this happened, the Observer, who had only been wounded, suddenly reappeared at his gun, and fired off one final defiant burst at us. I jerked in my seat, and skidded away to the right in alarm, hastily making for our lines. As I looked over my shoulder, I saw the Aviatik fall into a nosedive just West of Monchy. I turned back to see Edith behaving strangely in his Nacelle, rocking back and forth. I tapped him on the shoulder, and reeled back in shock as he turned to me, revealing a blood-soaked tunic. By god, he had been hit! He smiled apologetically as I pulled my map from my pocket, to look for the nearest Aerodrome to land at. As I unfolded it, I noticed that it, too, was red with blood. Suddenly I was aware of a dull ache in my left arm. I looked down, and my head spun as I saw my own tunic. Soaked, just like Ediths. I’d been hit, too!

We came down just South of Arras, behind the rear trenches, and fell out of our Fee. Immediately we were escorted to safety by a group of infantrymen, who had watched us coast in. Around this point, I must have passed out, for I only remember waking up in a casualty clearing station, in a bed alongside Edith’s, who was in a restless sleep. I hoisted myself up, crying out in pain as I did so, at which point a pretty young nurse arrived. “Just lay down”, she said in a soothing tone, “You’ve only been grazed. You’re very lucky”. I was in no position to fight her. As she lay me down, I mumbled “My observer…”. She smiled. “He’s okay, too. Just rest, now”.

My eyelids suddenly felt incredibly heavy, and I sunk into blackness.

Uh-Oh! Sgt. Campbell, and his roguish Scots associate have landed themselves in the CCS for five days each! Those boys want to be more careful...

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Wow Wulfe, that was a brave move taking on a flight of Fokkers and a C-type on your own. What happened to the second Eindecker? Hope Graham gets well soon and Edith still wants to fly with him. For some strange reason WoFF likes to rotate the observers after a spell in the hospital. Excellent story.


"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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Originally Posted by carrick58
Great stories they just get better

Sgt Nottings next project if he makes it thru the War


Carrick, is this the Grandmother Of All Bombs? eek eek2


"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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Some of your pilots are already well on their way to becoming aces! It's interesting how much action they are seeing. In Julius's career at FFA 32 in Bertincourt, it feels like a very different kind of war. I actually prefer it that way, because things will become so deadly as the war progresses. Already in mid 1916, the skies will be full of fighter squadrons, making life miserable for two-seater pilots.

I'm glad there have been no fatalities yet. Once you really get to know the DID pilots, it's always unfortunate when one of them becomes a casualty of war.

Anyway, here's my latest entry...

5. ROUTINES

“We know only that in some strange and melancholy way we have become a wasteland. All the same, we are not often sad.”

- Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front (1929).

Late January, 1916.

Having spent three weeks flying daily missions (weather permitting) with the Aviatiks of Feldflieger-Abteilung 32, life had settled down into a rather comfortable routine for Julius. Up in the air, one could almost imagine there was no war being fought at all - at least until one looked down and saw the trenches and shellholes spreading across the landscape like scars left by some hideous disease on the face of Mother Earth. The job of the Abteilung involved mostly photographic reconnaissance over enemy lines and rear positions and directing the artillery fire of the guns of XIV. Reserve-Korps in the Cambrai sector. Occasionally they dropped bombs on enemy positions, but it was intended as more of a nuisance to the British than as a serious attempt to harm their forces. The bombs were simply too small and their method of delivery too inaccurate to cause damage worth mentioning to the “Tommies” covering in their trenches.

Since his first encounter with a British B.E. 2 on early January, Julius had spotted enemy machines on several occasions. However, none of them had been looking for trouble, and because the job of the Aviatiks was not to hunt enemy airplanes, Julius and his observers had never attempted to intercept the British machines. It was almost like an unwritten agreement between the opposing forces to not bother each other unless absolutely necessary. Only the hunting missions of the Abteilung’s two Fokkers, flown by Leutnant Leffers and Offizierstellvertreter Martin Zander (another rising star of the Fliegertruppen) disrupted this peaceful coexistence in the sky. Leffers had managed to shoot down another B.E. 2 on January 19th, but the machine had gone down behind enemy lines, so the victory remained unconfirmed. Leffers had been disappointed, but he had nevertheless completed the mission assigned to the Fokker pilots: to drive the enemy two-seaters away from German lines.

Julius was enjoying his work as a pilot. Finally he felt like he was doing something useful for the war effort instead of just waiting in the safety of some training centre far from the front. The Army postal service was doing a good job with delivering letters to and from the Abteilung, and Julius was always excited to read words of encouragement from the letters Leni wrote her.

However, there were rumours circulating of a possible new offensive already being planned by the High Command. Were they only rumours? Or was the current rather peaceful situation in the West only the calm before the storm?

Only time would tell. In any case, Julius was firmly determined to do his best and not let down the expectations of his father, come hell or high water.

[Linked Image]


"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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Wulfe and Fullofit, a wonderful pair of ripping tales if ever there were! Well done both of you. This war is indeed getting dangerous.

Carrick, your man is going to end up scattering himself all over camp if he doesn't stop playing with those bombs. He has a death wish, me thinks.

Hasse, glad to see Julius is doing well, hadn't heard from him for a while.

Not too much to report on 2nd Lt. Swanson. Two quite sorties the last two days: a bombing of the German lines north of Loos, and a recce of the front at Arras. Not a Hun was seen in the skies, which suited Swany just fine.

.

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Originally Posted by RAF_Louvert
.

Not too much to report on 2nd Lt. Swanson. Two quite sorties the last two days: a bombing of the German lines north of Loos, and a recce of the front at Arras. Not a Hun was seen in the skies, which suited Swany just fine.

.


I find WOFF does a relatively good job of depicting the more peaceful nature of the early war in the air of this time period. But it does change quite rapidly as the year 1916 progresses.

Good luck out there! It's a long war, no need to take any unnecessary risks with Swanson's life. smile2


"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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Finally got a flight in. 24km over but no enemy...whew

Willi was given permission to paint his kit....

[Linked Image]
[Linked Image]

Last edited by lederhosen; 01/27/19 08:27 PM.

make mistakes and learn from them

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