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


Feb 6 1916.

I say, Back at it. B flight put up 3 machines for Rail yard Bombardment. I was Tail End so spotted some bomb explosions. Then back to the flight line. The Crews all gathered around the Flight Leaders a/c equipped with a gun in the rear seat instead of our standard machines to compare notes on the attack.

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5 February , 1916 9:04
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux

Gaston couldn’t decide if he liked or loathed his N12. On the one hand it was fast. It went like stink compared to the lumbering Caudron. He could also see directly ahead with no one obstructing the view. But that was it. The observer was now in the rear. Gaston couldn’t see what the other man was up to or what was happening behind the plane. He couldn’t even communicate anymore, be it by sight or sign. There was also no gun firing forward anymore. Something Gaston missed the most. He can’t point the machine at the enemy anymore and “shoot” using his observer as the extension of his trigger finger. He has to rethink the entire aero battle strategy.
For now it is what it is. And what it is is a reconnaissance mission to front lines north of Verdun. They’ve been going back and forth for the past 15 minutes looking for any troop movements. The Flak keeping them company, jolting them up and sideways with every near miss. Another perk of a tiny aircraft, being thrown about like a leaf. Durand tapped him on the shoulder. What did the kid want now? He turned back with great difficulty to see what the fuss was all about. The young gunner was gesticulating and saying something, but Gaston couldn’t hear a word and just nodded, then turned back to flying this death trap that will lose its lower wings, God forbid he had to dive. Another tap on the shoulder. This time Christophe was holding a glove to his nose. What is he doing? Squeezing his zits? He better not squirt one of those pimples on him. And that’s another thing. Now with the engine directly in front of him all this castor oil seems to spray right in his face and the smell...
The engine coughed, stuttered and switched off with the prop windmilling as if to swallow the last gasp of air before suffocating. Surprised Gaston begun to check the instruments. The air whistled all around him with the Flak suddenly making much more racket than usual. Gaston heard a yelp from the back seat. Durand was getting very excited: “- Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! We’re going to die! We’re going to crash. We’re going to burn alive and then crash! I don’t want to die! Au secours! There is petrol everywhere. We’re going to burn!”
Petrol? Gaston checked the gauge. The tank was empty. One of those Flak near misses must have punctured the fuel lines. Why did he not smell it? He pointed the crippled Nieuport south in the direction of French positions and checked the altitude. It wasn’t great and it will be close. Durand continued his histerical rant and Voscadeaux had to order him to shut up so he could concentrate on bringing the airplane down. They were low and overflying a large forest. If it were a Caudron, they would have already been dangling off the tips of those spruce firs below, but the little plane kept on gliding until it gently touched down in a clearing SW of Hesse Forest. This was a wonderful machine, a beautiful little plane that brought them safely to earth. Gaston was wrong. He loved this plane.
The farmer that owned the nearby field gave Gaston a ride to the Verdun aerodrome in his Lefebvre tractor while Durand stayed with the machine. He came back with the repair team, who plugged the leak in the tank and filled it with enough petrol to get back to base. They were back at Senard before the evening.

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The stories are getting better and better! It seems like all are having some close calls. Nice reading Gents.

Lt. Mark Jericho
Auchell Aerodrome
Feb. 7th, 1916

A few days ago the Major had called Jericho into his office. When he arrived there was another Lt. in the room. He was about Jericho's age and well built with a cheerful face. The Major spoke immediately. "Lt. Jericho this is Lt. Christian. He will be your new observer. With our losses lately I am placing Captain Whorton with a less experienced pilot."

Jerico was a little taken aback but recovered quickly. "Yes Major" he replied.

With that the Major motioned the two to the door saying "I'm sure you two have a few things to discuss."

Jericho and Christian left the office. "How many hours do you have Lt.?" Jericho asked.

"15. And please call me Robert if that is fine with you." Christian replied.

"Alright by me" Jercho replied. "You can call me Mark. Lets find a place where we can discuss signals and such. The Huns have been really pesky lately. Are you a good shot?"

"I've scored very well on the range. I have not had the chance to see how I do on a real machine in a fight."

Jericho tried to hide his surprise. "Well Pard, I'm sure we will find out soon enough."

That afternoon Jericho walked over to James's new "ready shack." He walked up to Swany and James. "Well boys, I got me a brand new observer! 15 hours and never been in a fight! Seems like a good sort but we'll see. I sure hate to lose the Captain even though he could'd hit his butt with both hands. Can't tell you how many times I put him in a perfect position and all he ever did was knock off a few feathers. Good man though."

"Well good luck to you old boy. Who knows, he may be a crack shot!" replied James.

The night before Jericho's 1st flight since his slight wounding he had discussed tactics with Swany. Swany had given him some pointers on how to deal with multiple Fokkers. "Turn into them staying level and give your observer a a shot as they pass over but all the while keep inching west. Whatever you do, don't try to out climb them. They will beat you every time" Swany had told him.

"What about three of the bandito's?" Jericho asked.

"Bandito's?" Swany asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"Bandito's! Bad men! The d*#mn Fokkers Pard!"

"Oh, ya! You might want to start praying then!" Swany replied laughing.

Jericho and his new observer flew 2 missions on the 5th and 6th. His observer seemed to do well but as they had no contact with the enemy he had not been tested yet.

On the 7th, their flight of 2 machines took off at 1200 hours to bomb Athies Junction. 2 DH2's from 24 squadron were to be escorts. Jericho could not wait to see one of the new fighters he had heard about. The flight circled at the rendezvous point but the DH2's never showed. "This sure is a bad start" Jericho thought. Nearing the target, Jericho could see 4 machines and he knew it was the 1st flight in combat over the target. He warned Christian and concentrated on staying in formation. As they drew closer he could see 2 Fokkers and the other 2 Moranes of their squadron. Just before his arrival the Fokkers broke off and the two Moranes flew by heading west. One of them was smoking badly. The Archie was light and they had a good drop on the target and headed home without any further contact.

Arriving back at Auchell Jericho could see them removing the observers from the other 2 Moranes. As the ambulance sped away his mechanic told him that both pilots had been nicked, one observer killed and his friend Capt. Whorton was badly wounded.

Jericho turned to Christian pointing to the ambulance in the distance. "Let's hope your a good shot Robert, cause that will be you, me, or both if you can't drive those blasted Germans off."

Last edited by MFair; 02/07/19 01:27 PM.

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Gone a day ahead, as I may not be able to write tomorrow! As per usual, brilliant stuff from everyone.

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

February 8th, 1916.


On the morning of the 6th, I was called into the Major’s office. Sheepishly knocking on the door, I heard the gruff rumble of the Major as he commanded me to “Step in”. Following his order, I stood nervously to attention at the foot of the grand oak desk, in which the Major stood behind, a glass of scotch rolling around in his hand. “Campbell. I have some things for you”. Me? I thought. “Firstly, your wound stripe” he continued, and produced a small patch, laying it flat on the table”. My eyes flicked downward at it, and I felt strangely prideful. “Secondly, good news for you. I have here for you a 48 hour pass, a small reward for getting the squadron’s first confirmed Hun”. A small, square piece of paper was placed next to the wound stripe. I stood dumbly, staring down at the sheet. After an uncomfortable half-minute, the Major raised his eyebrows. “Well? That’s all!” he said. “Thank you, sir,” I mumbled, scooping up the pass and the stripe and clearing out.

Outside, a broad grin broke out across my face. A 48-hour pass! Without further ado, I found a Corporal idle enough to drive me to St. Omer, where I was dropped off outside Jacky-Boy’s hotel. Inquiring at the front desk, I found out which room was his, and climbing the ornate marble stairs I found it, knocking on the door. Jacky answered, and a surprised smile crossed his face. “What’s this? Moving in?” he asked, gesturing to the small suitcase I had brought with me. “But of course! I’m on leave, don’t you know!” I replied. He laughed, and stepped aside to let me in. Jacky-boy’s own suitcase had already been packed, as he was due to return to Clairmarais later in the day. We lounged about indoors until it was time for him to leave, at which point I escorted him downstairs, and wished him luck back at the squadron.

That evening, I walked through the tall rows of houses and shops, hunting for souvenirs to send home, and to take back to the squadron. Stumbling upon a vineyard, I decided to purchase two bottles of red wine for the Ack-Emmas, to thank them for breathing new life into 6338. For my rigger and engine fitter, I bought a third bottle, for them to share. Next, I found a knitting shop, and purchased myself a cozy scarf, striped red, white and blue, which was thicker and longer than the old knackered white scarf I currently owned. After finding an establishment to have my dinner, which was an exquisite meal of chicken, potatoes, vegetables and a small amount of silverskin onions, doused in a thick gravy, I retired to the hotel, where I informed them that I had taken ownership of Jacky-Boy’s room. They seemed not to mind - the halls had seldom been filled since the outbreak of war.

On the 7th I had a most welcome surprise, as somebody rapped upon my door. I opened it to find the familiar beaming face of Edith, his cap cocked lazily to the side of his broad brow. “Morn’ boyo! The Major’s given me two days aff. A’m next door to ye!” he boomed, and I grinned. As he placed a hand on my shoulder, I noticed that he, too, wore a wound stripe.

We visited Jeanne in the Vincent for our lunch that day, stepping in past the little gingham-check table and sitting by the unoccupied piano. The Cafe was surprisingly quiet, with only two or three other people dotted around the tables. Jeanne sat with us a while, as she had no work to keep her. She was very curious about flying. “So, Graham, what is it like to soar above the sky?” she asked me, wistfully, as if in a dream. “Well, it’s very cold, and unless you’re in a pusher then it’s quite filthy, too”. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Pusher?”. “Oh, yes, our Fees - the aeroplanes we fly, that is - have the propeller in the back, and it pushes us through the sky”. She nodded, beaming. “I see!”. Now, she turned to Edith, her eyes quickly running over him. Not turning her gaze, she then asked me “and who is your friend? We have not met before, I don’t think?”. “Oh, of course, where are my manners! Jeanne, this is Ken Edith. Ken, this is Jeanne”. Edith smiled, extending a bear-like paw towards her. “Charmed, hen”. Before she took his hand, she jumped up in her seat, wearing a look of surprise. “Oh, Capitane Edith! It was you who flew with Graham and shot down the Hun! Jack has told me about it!”. Edith’s smile faded slightly. “Aye, terrible shame, that. Poor devils burnt aw the way doon”. His gaze became distant, as Jeanne shook his hand.

After a pleasant lunch, we returned to the hotel. As we passed, the receptionist called out to us. “Monsieur Campbell? The telephone went for you. A Monsieur Reynard says you must call the squadron immediately”. Puzzled, I thanked her, and took up the phone, dialling the Adjutant’s phone.

“Adjutant, 20 Squadron”. A sharp voice barked. “Yes, hello, it’s Sergeant Campbell. Sergeant Reynard called me earlier?”. “Yes, that’s right. Hold - I’ll fetch him”. After several minutes’ waiting, the familliar voice appeared at the other end of the line. “Cammie?”. “Yes, Reynard, what is it?”. I heard a tired sigh from the other end of the line. “Bristow’s been shot. So has Burr. They got the Loos show the day, and ran inty a Fokker. They got their bus hame, and were bustled inty an ambulance as soon as they got doon. I don’t ken how bad it is. I thought you should know, is aw”. I went cold, my feet suddenly being made of lead. “What! That’s awful! Do you know where they were taken?”. “Naw - A’ve been trying to ask aroond, but nothin’ so far. A’ll ring if I find oot”. The initial shock begun to pass, and I cleared my throat. “Well, thank you for calling, Jimmy. I do hope they are both okay. See you soon”. I hung up.

Edith looked at me, questioningly. “Bristow and Burr are shot” I explained, “had a scrap with a Fokker over Loos”. Edith’s head lowered, and he sighed deeply. Finally, he muttered “Hard luck, poor buggers”.

In the early evening, Edith and I resolved to head back to the aerodrome, to see if there was any news. To our shock, we found the mess in an uproarious state, with a binge in full swing. Faces drunkenly grinned as they belted out tunes to Pearson’s piano, and Switch-off appeared, staggered into me, hugged me, and handed me a drink. “What the bloody hell is this?” I demanded of him, and he pointed over to Reid, and his observer, Billinge, who were being hoisted up by some of the chaps. “They’ve gotten a hun! A Fokker!” Switch-off cried, before breaking into a fit of inebriated laughter and skipping back into the folds of the binge. Edith and I looked at each other, and let out a mighty cheer. No. 20 Squadron had shot down a Fokker! It felt exactly like we had pushed a needle into the heart of the Kaiser himself.

As Reid later explained to me in his drunken excitement, two of our machines had been charged with ferrying a B.E over Roulers on a Reconnaissance show. The B.E crew had been ordered to take aerial photographs of the various roads and rail junctions in which the Hun was supplying reinforcements and munitions to his troops. As they had circled overhead, Billinge spotted no less than five Hun machines coming towards them. Two were Eindeckers, and the other two were Biplane machines.

“Aviatiks?” I asked him, and he shrugged. “Well, we didn’t have a chance to find out, dear boy! As soon as we had seen them, one of those brutish Fokkers went straight after the poor old B.E! Well, the Hun made the mistake of crossing our front, and Billinge gave him a burst as he went. Immediately he slipped away, and his engine begun to smoke - he dove down, and was gone! The second Fokker was a cheeky fellow, and potted away at us, but he was a bad shot and didn’t stick around for our reply. Just now, the Adjutant came by to tell us that it’s been put down as an Out-of-Control!”. Grinning, I heartily congratulated him, and decided that the mess was as hot a place as any to spend the remainder of my 48 hours. Shamefully, poor old Bristow was completely forgotten during the celebrations.

Today, ‘B’ flight had the morning reconnaissance show over Loos. Normie flew the camera Fee, with Bristow’s seat being occupied by Carey Winchcombe. It was half past Eight when we crossed the lines, making our way into Hunland. The sky was shrouded in an ominous cloak of dull grey, and the wind seemed to be offended by our intrusion, as it whipped harshly into our faces as our buses strained to push forwards. More than once, our machines were nearly stalled by the force. As I scanned downward, I noticed that the ground war was no less miserable, as between the gaps in the looming grey clouds below, the occasional staccato flash of an exploding artillery shell would appear, followed by a rolling cloud of debris.

Our Fee received a particularly hard knock from the furious air, which sent us pitching towards Normie. Yelping in surprise, I ducked under him, the undercarriage of his plane sailing over my head, before breaking out to the right and pushing the throttle full forward. I could still see my flight by the time I had recovered, and strained against the weather to settle back into position. Before long, Graves fired the wash-out signal, and we all hastily retreated home.



HISTORICAL NOTE:

On February 7th, 1916, No. 20 Squadron R.F.C's first victory was recorded by 2.Lt. G.P.S. Reid (Previously of the Seaforth Highlanders) & Lt. F. Billinge (previously of the Manchester Reg't). The victory was recorded at around 9AM, and was awarded as an out-of-control. Reid & Billinge were crewing FE2b A6331 at the time. The nature of the victory matches the description in this installment of Graham's career! The victory would mark the first of many for 20 Squadron.


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Wulfe, excellent story and historical note!


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Aleck A. MacKinlay
Februrary 7, 1916

Fly to St. Pol-sur-Mer airfield to pick up a package? My first thought was to protest to the Major that he should send one of the junior pilots but quickly realized that I AM the junior pilot. My next thought was to suggest that Miller would be a better choice, and that I could be of more use exploiting my new found bombing skills, when he informed me that Miller would be accompanying me in a second BE2. Apparently this 'package' came in two parts and both were rather heavy. I could see that there was no getting out of it and off we went, flying with empty forward cockpits. Chris was happy to have a day off and he and Miller's observer went off for breakfast after predicting with a devilish grin that i would never find my way home without him there to help me navigate.

We arrived at St. Pol-sur-Mer and reported to the adjutant. He told us the packages would be ready to be loaded in about half and hour and would we like a quick tour while we waited, otherwise we could just warm up and have coffee. Well bloody hell, we took the tour ... we had seen Nieuports on the field as we landed! We saw lots of Nieuport 10c variants that RNAS-1 is using for offensive reconnaissance, but what really caught our eye was two new single-seat scouts that the RNAS-2 lads have just received. It's a slightly shrunken N-10, or so it looks, but packing a Lewis on the top wing. Makes our Bristol Scouts look quite the folly.

Returning to our aircraft with a severe case of envy, Miller's front seat was stuffed with a medium sized black tin steamer trunk all strapped down. I asked were my package was and was told 'here he comes now', as a smallish middle-aged man struggled toward us in a flying coat and boots that were obvious far to big for him. I could see through the open coat that he was wearing a rumpled black suit; some type of civilian or politician I guessed. 'Who's he?" I asked the adjutant. "Not really your business, Lieutenant. , but you can call him Mr. Davis. Please see him safely back to RNAS-6 and keep inquiries to a minimum."

Back we went with our guest and his trunk, arriving at Abeele with no issues. We were met on the field by Major Mills and he had Mr. Mr. Davis put up in the officers quarters. I have no idea what the fellow is here for, but I am sure we will all know in short order ... everyone knows everyone else's business here within a day or two.

I didn't dwell on it, rather Miller and I rushed off to the mess to eat and warm up, but mostly to tell everyone about the Nieuport 11's we had seen and moan loudly (mostly for show of course) about how #%&*$# lucky the RNAS pilots are.

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I continue to be amazed by the top-notch writing and story-telling skills displayed in this thread. Plus, all of you seem to be having a great time! Kudos and thank you to everyone!


“With Major Lawrence, mercy is a passion. With me it is merely good manners. You may judge which motive is the more reliable.”
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Nigel Archibald Notting
Sgt, RFC
4 Sqn Rfc.
Allonville, Flanders


Feb 8, 1916.


All Flights Canx due to weather over Targets. Not wanting to get tagged for a Work Detail, I skipped over to our Anti Aeromachine Out post to check the new Equipment for detecting Aero planes

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6 February , 1916 9:11
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux

The orders for today’s mission were simple: Fly over the enemy camp stationed on the banks of the Meuse River in the St. Mihiel salient and spot for the artillery. Make sure to stay in the area for 24 minutes before returning to the base and report. Take Caporal Dreux with you as your wingman in ‘B’ Flight to gain more experience. Don’t worry. S.Ltn. Medeville and Adj. Barnay will fly top cover in the ‘A’ Flight and protect you.
The flight to the front was pleasant with blue skies increasingly being infested with clouds as the planes approached their recon area in the west. Gaston “parked” his Nieuport over the camp and Christophe occupied himself with observing the troops and the fall of ranging shots falling woefully far away from their intended target. Once the allotted time elapsed, Voscadeaux and his wingman gladly returned to clear skies back over Senard.
While in transit Gaston noticed the City of Verdun in the distance. He realized it was the first time he ever saw it from the sky. The city was impressive and he was glad the Boche never came this far and failed to do any damage. He will have to make the point to fly over it one day and see the multitude of forts protecting this area.

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7 February , 1916 9:02
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux

Back to the St. Mihiel salient for more arty spotting. Gaston was paired with Caporal Papinet in ‘B’ Flight for this run. S.Ltn. Medeville in ‘A’ Flight provided top cover. It was very misty and the visibility was poor. They flew along the lines and observed shells falling near the enemy camp. Durand made some notes and signaled for a return to base. It was “une mission tranquille”. Gaston thought to himself that if it continues like this, he’ll ask one of the mechanics to install a shelf on top of the front cowling, so that he could put his feet up and enjoy the sightseeing trips they are being sent on.

8 February , 1916
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux

No flights today. Sleet and snow continued to fall throughout the entire day. Gaston occupied himself with inspecting the 7,7 rounds, discarding any that looked suspect and loading the good ones into the Lewis pan magazines. By the end of the day he had a bucket full of discarded rounds. Why do the British call them .303?

9 February , 1916
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux

Still no luck. More snow. Today Gaston decided to work on the Étéve machine gun mount in the rear seat cockpit of his Nieuport 12. Christophe complained recently it was getting stuck. Voscadeaux, with the help of one of the mechanics disassembled the mount, lubed all moving parts and put it all back together. He tried it out and found it to be smoother than a greased up monkey slipping on a banana peel thrown on a melting iceberg.

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Aleck A. MacKinlay
February 8, 1916

All flights cancelled this morning due to steady snowfall. I tried to interest a few of the other pilots in a trip to Poperinge as I have never been. I got no interest from anyone. Apparently the town has only two decent restaurants and that the entire place is typically overflowing with PBI on rest leave from the nearby front around Ypres. Besides the snow is expected to continue like this all day and perhaps into tomorrow so roads will be a disaster in short order even if we could scrounge an automobile.

Several of us had a long leisurely lunch in the mess and I tried to get some news about our mysterious Mr. Davis. Both Hunt and Miller indicated that our Mr. Davis was so-far spending the day in Hanger One with the chief mechanic and Captain Buckminster, occasionally beating a path through the snow back and forth to the metal fabrication shop. Hanger One is where the squadron's two Bristol Scouts are stored so it seems there must be some connection with those aircraft. I've been told the stories of Hawker and Strange brainstorming inventive ideas with regards to a forward firing machine gun on the Bristols here at RNAS-6 last year so i wonder if he is here to examine their handiwork for the higher-ups? If so, he seems to have taken his time getting here.

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Another marvelous hour plus catching up with everyone's adventures here. And while it's been said several times already, I'll repeat it none-the-less: the writing quality and storytelling abilities in this thread are superb! Thanks as always to all of you for sharing these wonderful tales.

Swany is recovering from a wounding he received during his outing two days ago which found the young pilot and his G/O, Lt. Christopher Dent, bombing the Hun aerodrome at Phalempin. No sooner had they done the job when three Eindeckers set upon them. It was a turning, twisting fight all the way back to the mud before their attackers finally gave up and turned away. Unfortunately, by this time, not only had Swany been grazed but Christopher had taken two bullets through his right shoulder, leaving his arm on that side hanging more or less useless. As soon as they landed the intrepid pair were rushed off for medical attention where it was determined that the senior Lieutenant will be out of the fight for a good long time, perhaps even permanently, if he is not able to regain full use of his arm. 2nd Lt. Swanson was far more lucky and will need only a week or so to heal as the bullet that found him skittered along an upper rib on his left side causing little more than some torn flesh and tattered, bloodied clothing. Swany is feeling fairly crushed at the loss of his flying partner, despite Christopher's assurance that there was nothing he could have done differently that would have changed the outcome in the slightest.

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Scout, it seems we have a mystery eary in this Campagn.

Lt. Mark Jericho
Auchell Aerodrome
Feb. 10, 1916

Jericho eased his damaged Morane for a landing at Auchell. After rolling to a stop the adrenaline poured from his body leaving him exhausted and limp. He laid his head back and pulled his goggles off letting out a big sigh. "That was too d#%n close Robert!"
"It certainly was" Robert replied as he examined the two holes in his flight jacket where a bullet had gone clean through missing him by a fraction. Jericho was going back over the fight in his mind. He, Gridder and Dickens had gone 10 miles behind enemy lines to bomb Avelin aerodrome northwest of Lens. "Why do they keep sending us over there without escorts" he thought. The wind was buffeting them all over the sky and Archie was light but very accurate. After dropping their bombs while forming back up , three of the dreaded Fokkers attacked from the clouds. The formation immediately broke up with Gridder loosing altitude and smoking. Jerico's new observer, Robert Christian kept up a good rate of fire at an enemy Jericho could not see. He did see the other Fokker coming to join the one already on their tail.
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The two airmen were soon taking hits from their antagonist as Jericho turned right and left to stay out of their aim and give Christian a shot. One soon gave up as Christian sent it packing trailing smoke but the other was hanging on like a Mississippi tick! All of the maneuvering had caused them to loose a lot of altitude and Jericho was getting concerned as he was running out of air to maneuver in. They were at 1500' when Christian got in another good burst on the last Hun and sent him on his way.

Something was not right with the Morane. The engine was not holding full RPM and it was all Jericho could do to hold her level. Any attempt at climbing would cause a stall. Low behind the lines with an engine not giving full power, Jericho used all his skill to get a little more height out of her. Crossing the lines this low was suicide. By the time they reached the lines he had gained a little and they crossed without a problem. Jericho relaxed a little but not much much. He was still having a time keeping her airborne, They soon spotted Auchell and he made a beeline for the field not even thinking about circling.

As he climbed out of the plane, Robert reached up to give Jericho a hand. "I tell you what Pard. That was some d@#n fine shooting! You saved our a@$es today! You did fine for your first combat."

Robert was still sticking his finger in the hole in his jacket. "that sure was close" he said to no one in particular.

Gridder and Dickens were ok but their observers did not fair as well. One was badly wounded and the other killed. The flight was given a "Congratulations" for a good mission. "Congratulations for what!" Jericho thought to himself.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
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Guys, this little war is definitely on. I don't remember the Fokker Scourge being this extremely dangerous in previous careers. What gives?
Lou, you need to buy your human shield, um … I mean your observer a drink. He probably saved your life and will lose his arm in the process. I hope it was the left one. Wonder if the saying: "give one's left arm" came from this? Or was it the right one?
MFair, glad those holes are in the leather, not the hide. wink

10 February , 1916 8:00
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux

The mix of snow and sleet continued, however to a lesser degree. After two days of being grounded Gaston was ready to take to the air in any kind of meteorological conditions. The command was of the same opinion and flights resumed, despite continuing pockets of inclement weather. To be honest, they could thank constant artillery requests for the non-fly orders being revoked. They were in dire need of spotting aircraft back in the skies doing the ranging missions for them.
Voscadeaux’s orders took him and Caporal Papinet NNW of Senard. The snow stopped as soon as they were only a few kilometers away from the aerodrome. It was hard to believe that blue skies and warm sun were only a step away. Gaston enjoyed the sunlit sky and became upset when he realized their flight path would take them back into the clouds and more snow. They made two passes over the target in the frigid conditions aggravated by snowy gusts and turned south as soon as they could. As a consolation they were not harassed by any Fokker attacks. But poor Durand bore the full brunt of the winter’s angry onslaught. His back faced the slipstream throughout the entire trip and the wet snow clung to him making his leather coat stiff. When they landed, the ground crew had to help the half-frozen gunner out of the rear seat. Gaston was unaffected as he hunched down behind the wind screen wiping the snow accumulation off the glass with his glove.

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"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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Lou, that is bad with Swany being out for a few days and his observer on the critical list. Hope you get back soon.

Fullofit, yep, it’s getting pretty dicey up there. It’s definitely the Fokker Scourge!


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I agree, for whatever reason this particular DiD campaign is seeming a lot more dangerous.

Fullofit, I feel Gaston's pain when it comes to that wintery weather. Snow, sleet, and wind is all we've been having up here in "The Land of 10,000 Lakes".

Mark, I see your pilot is having his share of the Einies Three as well. Must be the latest Hun tactic.

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Lou, has the Colorado Low reached your part of the woods yet? We’re bracing for it like a new Hun offensive.


"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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11 February , 1916 8:00
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux

The sun was blinding Gaston as he steered his Nieuport east on another recon mission to the St. Mihiel salient. He didn’t mind it one bit, especially with the murky conditions below. He’d rather have sun in his face than mist up to his ears. His observer also preferred sun to snow, especially after the events from yesterday. He was starting to sneeze and a long dribble of snot was hanging frozen from his nose. The lad is catching a cold after last mission.
They’ve overflown the sleepy camp they were to observe with nothing new or exciting to report. It was nice to have Sgt. de Geuser in ‘A’ Flight follow them all the way along, instead of flying off somewhere, who knows where and do who knows what. The two flights returned home as one. Cap. Durand went straight to bed with shivers, after developing a fever.

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"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
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And assemble the engine again."
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Nigel Archibald Notting
Sgt, RFC
4 Sqn Rfc.
Allonville, Flanders


Feb 11, 1916.

Posted for a Recon along with Sgt Kelly as Flight Leader. I say just plain bad luck. We had just got over the lines when The Ob in the other a/d waved to look below and I spotted 2 Monoplanes coming up fast. Kelly waved t o head home and that was the last I saw of him. I got one e/a attacking me ,but he went home after my gunner got off 19 rds. at him. We took a few hits ,but made it back. I heard that we had a sqn of machines with front firing guns. I need to trans fer.

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Wulfe, wonderful stuff once again. I fear for Jacky that his Jeanne is not a one-man woman. And congratulations on your first confirmed victory!

Maeran, true-to-life flavour in your story about McLoughlan, and a great vignette on the Military Service Bill. Well done!!!

77_Scout – another milk run to Loos. So many of our pilots are filling that airspace. I wonder if something’s up there? And who is the mysterious Mr. Davis?

Fullofit, glad to see you warming up to the Nieuport 12. I share your feelings about the weather.

MFair, good luck with your new observer. He’s held up well in his first mission, but you have been a bit of a Fokker magnet recently.

Carrick, good escape on that last flight!

Lou, speedy recovery. I hope Dent isn’t out of it completely. You made a great pair.

Jim Collins has finally completed his "ready shack." He's been luckier than most of our other pilots in avoiding Fokkers.


An Airman’s Odyssey – by James Arthur Collins

Part Seventeen: In which I bring some taste to a rather vulgar crew

On 7 February, Captain Mealing led us south to the Somme valley again, and again we dropped some bombs on enemy second and third line positions. Really, I thought, the Huns are so well dug in and our bombs are so small that it scarcely merited the fuel. In any event, that big Aussie Mealing was once again a good luck charm, as we saw no Fokkers and the Archie was unusually light.

The weather closed in the next day. My little shed was now fully closed in and roofed over, and I finished putting putty around the two windows in the morning. After a little wheedling with Major H-K, Mealing and I managed to purloin a Crossley for a plundering expedition, and I coaxed Cpl. Wilson away from the blacksmith to drive us. We made our way down rutted roads where ice and mud conspired together to defeat our passage towards the front. Several times military police tried to bar our way there. Captain Mealing told them we were on the hunt for a German aeroplane which we had downed, and we were permitted to continue. Finally we came to the village of Cuinchy, now within the range of German guns, and could go no further. The village had been shelled to rubble. It was perfect. Wilson found a house with a reasonably intact Persian carpet. Soon after I stumbled upon the thing I most craved – a wonderfully baroque French cast iron coal stove. The thing was covered in pale blue enamel and stood on four ornate legs. Its bulging grated front bore a blue and white enamel handle, and upon opening it, Mealing opined that it was large enough to accommodate wood in a pinch. It took all three of us to lift it onto the tender. Another half-hour’s work brought an ebony-inlaid coffee table, a small bookstand, and two dowdy old armchairs, complete with antimacassars. The final triumph was a copper oil lampstand with a fine porcelain tower painted with a Chinese scene.

I noted a number of Welsh and Northumbrian fellows from a tunnelling company in the village. Mealing and I agreed there would be a push here in the spring. Cpl. Wilson’s comment on tunnelling was limited to “Bugger that for a lark.”[1]

We stopped in Bethune on our return trip, where I found a shade for the lamp and Mealing and I went for tea at the Globe. It took some search to retrieve Cpl. Wilson, who’d been told to meet us at the Grand Place at three-thirty. He emerged from a side street close to four o’clock, quite unable to drive home. He blubbered a bit about a “braw wee dicky burd o’ a lassie” who’d over-served him and then turned down his offer of marriage.

I still slept at my billet with the Poiriers, but the little den I’d built (well, actually it was 60% Swaney and 30% Jericho) was a brilliant sanctuary. I set up my folding cot there for days when I might have to wait for the weather, and it promised to be a spot where I could retire to read or write letters when the constant grinding of the mess gramophone got on my nerves. Jericho’s brackets looked smashing on my shelves. And Cpl. Wilson proved surprisingly handy at rigging a pipe to my artful stove.

I didn’t put a lock on the door, although I considered it on the 10th, when I retired to the hut after lunch to discover a large brown cow had been forced into the hut and had done no favours to the Persian rug. I suspected Jericho, mainly because he led a chorus of mooing whenever I entered the mess.
Wilson and I had the early patrol on the 11th, when Sgt Bayetto and his observer, Lieut. Theobald, joined us in escorting Captain Mealing’s machine to drop bombs on positions around Pozières, down near the Somme. We flew through several snow squalls and saw no other aircraft. Over Bapaume we saw some Archie flashes and puffs in the mirk, but the enemy had to be firing blindly at the sound of our engines.

[Linked Image]
"We flew through several snow squalls and saw no other aircraft."

On our return, I found that the little hut now had been adorned with a sign over the door reading, “Madame Foufou’s House of Pleasure.”

NOTES:

[1] These were likely men of the British 170th Tunnelling Company, which worked most of the winter to mine the nearby Hohenzollern Redoubt. They were stationed in and about Cuichy.

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Raine, Jim's hut has come along nicely. To the parlor stove, Swany had been trying to find just such an item for the digs but was having no luck, so he's quite glad to see that one has been located and installed. As for the cow and the sign, may as well expect such things regularly when one calls attention to one's self by building one's own hut.

Carrick, good luck on Nigel's transfer, though I wouldn't hold my breath on that.

Fullofit, always nice to see the sun in the dead of winter, even if you have to climb above the clouds to do it. To your question about the weather here: it was a deep freeze last week and now we're getting more snow. 20" so far this month alone with another 6" on the way today. Still, I'll take it to the -32F temp and -60F windchill we had earlier. How's it been over your way? Do you deal with lake effect snow there or are the winter winds generally blowing from the west and north?
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