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Raine,

Good to know, I may have to add that one to my own library. I also love the accounts of daily life in the various air services of WWI.

I do not have a copy of "Canada's Fighting Airmen", not yet. I've run across several examples over the years, in various conditions. Prices here seem to range between $20 to $35 and when I find a nice, clean 1st edition I do intend to grab it. The price of that signed edition is a bit too steep for me as well, but thanks for letting me know about it - much appreciated.

Lou

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Just an update: G.A. Campbell's career is still going, but has fallen behind a bit with that pesky old 'real world' (a Hunnish secret weapon, no doubt). Luckily, I have a nice long break just around the corner, and hopefully will be caught up presently! I've still been reading everyone's excellent recounts, and was saddened to hear of our first campaign loss (even if it was a Hun!).

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Great read all! Just went through the latest lot.
Raine, I hope Collins can make an observer out of Wilson yet. It would be a shame to discard him like that. Waiting with anticipation on the exam.
BTW, what’s this rubbish with Gaston is French so he can go for it? He’s married, with two children. Love and marriage, go together like a horse and carriage, and all that. nope
Scout, that is some Skunkworks going on in Hanger 1! Hopefully they will figure out soon enough that moving the MG out of the pilot’s reach isn’t a good idea, when they are faced with their first gun jam. I still expect Aleck to be able to take it up for a test flight.


"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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Nigel Archibald Notting
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4 Sqn Rfc.
Allonville, Flanders

Feb 20, 1916.

Bad weather no flights.

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Louvert: 2 tablespoons of Rum a day for Medical reasons till the Sqn can find some Wine.

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Carrick, these few drops of rain? It's just drizzling.

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

Gaston rose from his chair after this morning’s briefing. He approached his C.O.
“- Capitaine Quillien, may I have a word with you?”
“- Certainly Gaston, but make it quick. We’re about to leave soon. What’s on your mind?” The C.O. always had time for his pilots.
“- It’s about the mission, mon Capitaine. You’ve said this will be a patrol behind the lines - over enemy airfield. We have no offensive weaponry on board and we have no escort. What are we supposed to do if we encounter the Germans?” Gaston was concerned with a rather unpleasant Fokker rendezvous.
The captain made a sour face, “- Let’s hope they’re Aviatiks and that you know how to handle them. I thought you wanted to be a pilot.” He gave Gaston a pat on the back, winked and strolled off to his office, leaving Gaston with a half open mouth. He wanted to protest, but couldn’t find the words. Le Capitaine was right, he will not be always safe. He must be brave ... and run away from Fokkers when he sees them.
By now Gaston was used to this strange occurrence: as soon as they cleared the dark, low hanging clouds there was an entire new world above. Blue skies, bright sun and white fluffy clouds. Their mission flight path not always took them above these dark clouds, but when it did, it was a treat.
After a lengthy cross country flight the Porcher aerodrome appeared ahead of them and above it 2 dots. Gaston’s greatest fear has just materialized in front of him. All his hair stood up on end, even on his back. The pit of his stomach was filled with ice and then it did a somersault, despite Gaston’s control column and his hands being frozen solid in the exact same position for some time now. Gaston found it hard to swallow his saliva, as he had none at the moment. He was about to turn around with his tail between his legs when he noticed the dots had two sets of wings. Not Fokkers after all. Le Capitaine’s words rung out in Gaston’s ears. “Handle” them!
Voscadeaux and his wingman Cpl. Papinet begun to stalk the two German biplanes. They’ve snuck under the unsuspecting Huns and engaged. Gaston’s Nieuport was faster than the Aviatik and easily overtook the lumbering crate. As it did, S.Ltn. Roze opened up with his Lewis MG. He landed solid hits and the startled German pilot banked left but the engine stopped and he was forced to level out and only use his rudder to attempt an escape. Gaston knew the Boche was a sitting sausage. Roze just needed to pepper it a little more. He brought the Nieuport around for another pass. The alerted Hun gunner was prepared for them this time and machine gun fire hit Gaston’s port wing. The lucky shot severed control cables and Voscadeaux found himself struggling for control of his bus. He disengaged immediately and steered his wounded bird west as best as he could. Once they crossed over the front lines and the trenches below, Gaston fiddled with the fuel mixture controls. To his astonishment his plane stabilized when the motor revolutions were reduced. The torque, or lack thereof was doing the work for him and the Nieuport refrained from further banking. He couldn’t see Papinet anywhere near so he decided to continue back to base on his own. Later they found out that Caporal Papinet’s machine was also hit and he had to put down in the field, thankfully on friendly side.
Gaston brought the damaged Nieuport safely back to base but didn’t claim the Aviatik. They couldn’t tell what had happened to the Boche. If they couldn’t tell, then no one else could either.

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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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Fullofit, glad to see that Gaston was able to nurse his bus back home. Those Aviatiks are not easy prey, even when they are sans power.

Carrick, if I may paraphrase Ulysses Everett McGill, "No thank you. Two tablespoons of rum would only arouse my appetite without beddin' her back down."

Wulfe, sorry all that "real life" stuff is getting in the way of your WOFF fun. Hope to see a report from Campbell soon.

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Lou, who would have thought they can shoot at you from above? My poor gunner can’t shoot forward or down. This madness has to stop!


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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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Aleck A. MacKinlay

Feb 20, 1916: Big news from several directions.
-The Hun have launched a major attack on the French near Verdun. Chris was right; a big battle WAS brewing and we are not in it.

]-The Major announced that we would see the arrival of a new pilot later in the day. Captain Jake Brown arrived as expected in a brand new Bristol Scout, and after reporting to the Major took her up for some stunt flying over the airfield. The man is an amazing flier, pulling off maneuvers I have never seen. Quite exciting! The man has already downed three enemy planes and I am keen to meet him and hear some stories.

-Our final bit of news was less exciting ... we are being converted to a dedicated observation squadron. Lorries are expected to arrive from St. Omer tomorrow, bringing several BE2c's and taking away all the Fee's. The mechanics are busy breaking down several of the Fees already in preparation for the change. Our Bristols will remain for use as escorts.

Feb 21, 1916: We had a bombing mission to Loos Junction Railroad Station. 'Crazy' Kaleb lead the parade and I followed; we hit the target soundly. We had all three Captains out in their Bristols to sweep the area ahead of us, and thank God for that as they ran into two Eindekkers and shot them down. We saw none of this and only heard about it when we returned to Abeele to find them talking excitedly outside the Officers Quarters.


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

They were all roused from their slumber by a not too distant fusillade of incessant German gun batteries pummelling some poor Poilus in their dugouts. Gaston was in particularly foul mood, as it was just past 4 in the morning. He knew there will be another recon mission to find out what the Boche are all up to. He hoped to catch a few winks before it was light outside, but the racket was too great for any kind of rest. Gone are the days when he could fall asleep in any condition. He got back up and went to the mess for an early breakfast. He wondered if there was any citrus left and found a large grapefruit at the bottom of the basket. He cut it in half and poured sugar on each cleaved side. Yesterday’s Le Figaro was laying on the corner of one of the tables. Gaston grabbed it and begun to read the headlines while scooping the flesh of the fruit with a spoon. “- Hmmm, Major-General of the armies, de Castelnau - his old boss, was visiting Verdun to assess the defences. Maybe he can order those blood-sucking Huns to stop making so much noise at such an ungodly hour.” He finished the second half of the grapefruit and set to brewing coffee. He took a whiff of the milk sitting in the jar and decided it was still safe. The bread was stale, but no matter. He will fry it in a pan, add the milk and voila, good as new! The dawn was just around the corner, better get a move on. They’ll probably want to get out there as soon as possible. The shelling continued.
“The possible” happened to be at 10:00 and just as Gaston predicted, they were sent to reconnoitre the situation in the St. Mihiel salient. This was an important mission and both flights were manned with all available airplanes. Three per flight. Gaston led Cpl. Soumagniat and Cpl. Dreux in ‘B’ Flight, while the ‘A’ Flight was commanded by Adj. Barnay and remaining spots filled by Sgt. de Geuser and Cpl. Tsu. Unfortunately Adj. Barnay had to turn back at first waypoint with engine problems. He set down in a field damaging the plane in the process.
It was cloudy over the target, but still plenty to see. Gaston hasn’t seen a scene like this before. Shells exploding along entire length of the front as far as the eye could see. Smoke rising high up in the air obscuring sections of front. Dirt being thrown in all directions covering trenches. Man and beast trying to flee the steel rain. The aviators could hardly believe what was happening below. The gates of hell may have just as well been opened and none would be astonished more.
After 22 minutes of observing this chaos Gaston gave signal to turn back and report to base. This was not another attack, this was something much bigger.

[Linked Image]

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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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Nigel Archibald Notting
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4 Sqn Rfc.
Allonville, Flanders


Feb 21, 1916.

The field is still u/s as the ground is soaked. We roll them out off the Plywood flooring of the Hangers and the wheels sink down in the mud. The Weather man says that it should be cold tonight so the ground will harden for Air Operations.

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Lederhosen, I’m going to be curious about your experience with the Pfalz A1. Fullofit, far be it from me to question Gaston’s virtue, but I want details when he meets Nicole again. Details! And by the way, great job nursing your wounded Np10 back home.

77_Scout, I suggest that Aleck should make a bee-line to the patent office. I suspect his idea will be someone else’s by dinnertime. Sorry to hear his squadron has lost the Fees. Early 1916 is a tough time for the RFC pilots.

Wulfe, great to hear from you. I hope you get to really enjoy the bit of a break coming up. Carrick, forget the two tablespoons of rum. Collins has a tonic for you. Hope to see Nigel back in the air soon.

Here is Collins’s latest...

An Airman’s Odyssey – by James Arthur Collins

Part Twenty: In which I receive a lesson in interior design

We had finished a three-hour session on Morse and my pupil, Cpl Wilson, was being rewarded for his progress. It was “not on” to entertain the other ranks in one’s quarters, but I figured this was training and not entertainment, and my little hut was not technically speaking my quarters. In any event, Cpl Wilson swirled his Doctor Collins’ Soothing Tonic around a teacup and took another sip, declaring with a loud sigh that it “gaes ‘roon yer hairt like a hairy wurrum.”

The late afternoon sun streamed blue and green through the newly-installed stained glass window – a totally unexpected and generous gift from Swanson. He and Jericho bring no end of surprises, I thought, and mused silently on whether the lovely peacock window was an act of pure goodness or whether it was in some ways related to a certain cow I’d found manuring my Persian rug. Either way, it was a wonderful addition to my sanctuary.

I noticed that Cpl Wilson was staring at it, too. “Penny for your thought,” I offered.

Wilson took another sip. “It’s a braw windae, no? It gies the place a focal point.” I nearly fell out of my chair. The man is an art critic!

This was on the 20th. That morning we’d escorted the Major north almost to the Channel, with Sgt Bayetto’s machine on his right and ours on his left. We were at 6500 feet somewhere between Veurne and Diksmuide when Wilson began pounding my back (we’d given up on my speaking tube because it was too much of a bother in cold weather), and in the next second I heard his Lewis rattling away. Three Fokkers were climbing just under our tail. I’d never seen Huns this far over our lines. They had closed to within 200 yards and all three were lining up on our machine. In a heartbeat (a figurative term, for my heart had certainly stopped about this time) I banked hard left just as several rounds slapped into our wing near the right wingtip. We dived beneath the Huns and Wilson let loose another burst at the rearmost Fokker.

We had an escort of Bristol Scouts from No 11 Squadron and they quickly joined the fight. I gasped when a fireball erupted about 600 yards to the east. One of the Bristols had collided with a Fokker and both were falling in flames. And then it was over. The Huns dived away home and we went about our assigned business, watching over the Major’s machine as Lieut Theobald leaned into the gale with his camera.

The next two days were flying weather, although 22 February brought some rain squalls close to the ground. That day we bombed the aerodrome at Douai, but air-Huns were notably absent. We learned at lunch that the enemy has begun a massive push against the French at Verdun. The consensus was that this was a Good Thing for us, as the Huns would likely send more of their good machines farther south.

[Linked Image]
"That day we bombed the aerodrome at Douai..."

Despite the lack of enemy action, we lost Talbot and Gregg. Their machine was caught in a wind gust shortly after takeoff and fell into a small wood near Lozinghem. Talbot had a small white terrier, and the poor thing lies about the mess all day whimpering. It hasn't eaten all day.

The Equipment Officer gave Cpl Wilson a preliminary wireless test and he was able to send and receive Morse at about five or six words per minute, hampered only by his occasionally eccentric spelling. He was becoming comfortable with the Artillery Code though, and in the air little else would be transmitted. We’d flown a couple of simulated missions, done passably well except for the time we nearly landed with the antenna wire still deployed.

I arranged a tender to take Swanson, Jericho, and me into Bethune for drinks and dinner – my treat. It’s a thank-you to Swany for the window and a chance to chat with Jericho, who I hadn’t seen in a few days. Swany had told me an incredible story about how he came from Texas to volunteer in Canada. I needed to hear it for myself.

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Carrick, fingers crossed for flying weather.
Raine, another bit of wonderful storytelling. I’m glad Cpl. Wilson is doing well, but I could use a translation, as I don’t speak Gaelic. Some intense moments in the air as well. I’d have to give a failing grade to your escort for letting three, count them: three Eindeckers on your tail. And then this messy business with going and getting themselves killed. Case of too much, too late.
So you want details? I guess Gaston is the kind of a person that kisses and tells, but with his little war recently becoming much more intense, it may be difficult to arrange a meeting. Will have to wait and see.


"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 Fullofit
I could use a translation, as I don’t speak Gaelic. .


Actually, Wilson is simply speaking the lowland Scots dialect of English, and more particularly, "Glasgow patter" (like Billy Connolly with a few drinks on board).

“It’s a braw windae, no? It gies the place a focal point.” -- "It's a pretty window, isn't it? It gives the place a focal point."

"“...gaes ‘roon yer hairt like a hairy wurrum.” -- "goes around your heart like a hairy worm."


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Thank you! thumbsup


"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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22 Feb 1916


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Phew, that was some catching up to do with so many reports to read! Fortunately they're all excellent and entertaining stuff. Of course I was sorry to read of our first casualty in this DID campaign. Better luck with your next pilot!

The Battle of Verdun is now happening, but things are still quiet on the sector of FFA 32. However, Julius has had some serious engine trouble...

7. ANY LANDING…

“Two armies that fight each other is like one large army that commits suicide.”

- Henri Barbusse, Le Feu (1916)

February 21, 1916.

“Julius! Can you hear me?” It sounded like the soft voice of Leni, only somehow muffled. “Julius! Wake up!” Julius felt sleepy, but responded to the demanding voice and slowly turned his head towards the sound. His eyelids were heavy, but with some effort he managed to open them. It took a while for his eyes to focus. Everything was oddly blurry, but Julius thought he could see the heart-shaped face of Leni close next to him. Then she lifted her hand to touch Julius’s cheek… and suddenly she was gone. In her place, the dirty face of a young, moustachioed man appeared. Normal sounds and colours were now returning to Julius’s consciousness.

“Julius! Thank God you woke up! We went down hard and you must have hit your head. You were out for a couple of minutes. And your nose is bleeding!” Julius thought he knew this man. He was… Oberleutnant Weber? The observer?

Weber kept talking. “Can you speak? Can you stand up? The engine’s out, but there’s oil everywhere and I think we should leave the wreck before it catches fire!”

Julius attempted to speak but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. He had a strange taste in his mouth? Was it blood? Julius coughed and managed to clear his throat. The Aviatik was down and they had to move away from it. “Max… I feel a bit wobbly, but I think I can move. Help me up!” Weber grabbed Julius under the arms and with some difficulty, succeeded in pulling him up. The wings of the Aviatik were still attached to the fuselage, but the crash had bent them into a strange position, especially on the right side of the machine. The cockpit was not in a straight line either, which actually helped Weber to lift Julius out of it. Julius felt very dizzy, but with Weber’s support he was able to slowly walk away from the wreck. The ground was covered with a layer of snow, but it was very wet, thanks to the dismal weather of recent days, which had made flying either impossible or extremely challenging. The highly variable temperature and humidity levels had possibly caused the engine failure of Julius’s Aviatik. Fortunately they had been flying behind friendly lines, so Julius had been able to bring the stricken machine quickly down. However, the landing in the soft terrain of Flanders had been anything but smooth.

Slowly but surely the two men made their way to a fence lining the road leading from the front towards Bapaume. Exhausted by the effort, Julius finally collapsed down against the fence. They were now a safe distance from the Aviatik. Julius felt like he was about to vomit. Weber supported him just in case he lost consciousness again. “You don’t look too good! But we made it this far. I can already see some Landsers coming our way. We’ll get you to a hospital! Hang in there!” Weber’s voice slowly faded away as Julius passed out for the second time.

When Julius regained his consciousness, he was lying on his back on a stretcher that was lifted up on two wooden supports. “He’s coming back now, Herr Stabsarzt.” An unknown voice spoke somewhere close to Julius. Then a portly fellow with a bald head and eyeglasses appeared next to Julius. He was wearing a green uniform and had a white band with a red cross around his left arm. The man reminded Julius of his father, except that he was fatter and shorter than the hard-boiled Prussian staff officer.

“Can you hear me?” “Yes, I can.” “Good. How many fingers do you see?” The man lifted his left hand in front of Julius’s face. “Three.” “Very good! Now that you’re back with us, I imagine you must be feeling rather confused. This is the main dressing station of 28. Reserve-Division, and you, my young friend, have just survived a hell of a crash! Fortunately you were wearing a helmet. It just may have saved your life!” The doctor stopped for a second and smiled encouragingly at Julius. “Based on what your comrade in arms told me, I presume you have suffered a concussion of the brain. But I will have to examine you better to make sure, so lie still and try to calm down.”

The doctor turned away to get some medical tools from his assistant. Something made Julius look to his left. A dark shape was lying on a stretcher some distance from him. The side nearest to him was covered by a blanket, and Julius thought he could see a pair of feet sticking out from under the other end of the blanket. The shape was not moving.

Julius turned his head away and closed his eyes.

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Hasse, hope the concussion doesn’t have any lasting effects. Sounds like your pilot is about to meet some pretty nurse soon. Great story, glad Julius is still with us.


"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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Hasse, wonderful write-up. That was a close one for Julius, I hope he recovers quickly and fully. Love the old photo.

Lederhosen, a trench of death from the looks of it. Also, if your Pfalz AI handles like our Morane L, I wish you luck when it comes to fighting off multiple attackers with it.

Raine, another great episode. Talbot and Gregg will be missed around camp - two more crosses in the graveyard, two more horrid letters for our CO to write. Glad Collins is enjoying the window. And Cpl. Wilson is right, it does give the place a focal point.

Carrick, I feel your pain when it comes to the weather. Very dreary.

Fullofit, looks like things are heating up in Gaston's sector. He best be ready for a long siege, it doesn't look like the madness will be stopping any time soon.

Scout, sorry to see Aleck is having to trade in his Fee for a Quirk. He'll need to prepare for a lot less air-to-air battle and a lot more bravely running away. Must be nice though to have escorts that actually engage the enemy and drive them away for you. Good screenshot looking through the bombsight.

.

The dreary weather has allowed only two sorties for 2nd Lt. Swanson and his G/O in nearly a week. The first, which occurred two days ago, was a very uneventful visit of the Hun aerodrome at Houplin. No EA seen in the air, little damage done to the target. This morning's sortie however was nearly another ender. He and Captain Craig were sent to recce the trenches east of Givenchy and then up to Neuve-Chapelle. They had barely climbed to their working altitude of 6,000' and begun their job when a lone Eindecker came zooming down on them from out of the sun. Swany took immediate evasive action while the Captain jumped to the gun and began his work. The Hun circled around for a second pass and Swany turned into the threat to keep him from getting a shot. The two planes approached, each turning as tightly as they could. In the last moments before the merge, a wind gust joined the fray, and both pilots suddenly had to take evasive action to avoid a collision. They were not successful, and the left wingtip on each craft caught the other. The Eindecker immediately fell into a spin while Swany managed to keep his mount under control, but barely. He looked over to see the entire wingtip smashed, yet amazingly the bulk of the wires were intact and keeping the wing in place. Further assessment showed that, despite the now minimal ability to warp the wing, the plane could still be controlled by judicious use of rudder and elevator. Swany slowly got his bus pointed back towards camp and began looking for a suitable nearby landing spot. The young pilot gingerly brought the Morane down in a large open field near Givenchy. Amazingly both he and Craig were uninjured, and after they'd climbed out of their busted mount the Captain stated that he had seen their attacker crash just west of the trenches they had been planning to recce. Swany wondered if the Brass Hats would see fit to award this claim to them or rather give it to some infantry unit who had taken potshots at the Hun plane as it was falling out of control. He realized, at least for the moment, that he didn't really care. He was just glad to still be alive. This flying business was turning out to be far more of an adventure than he first imagined it would be, and the shine was starting to wear off of the whole affair.


Beware the Hun in the sun.
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The Captain gets in a shot.
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The second pass coming.
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What one would call "a bad merge".
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Praying for things to hang together just a little longer.
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A very, very good landing.
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Some very exciting stories gentlemen! You all really do set a high bar.

Lou, Oh my word! That was way too close Pard! Wonderful screen shots to go with the story.

Lt. Mark Jericho
Auchell Aerodrome
47 combat missions
9 engagements with the enemy.

Jericho was in a real funk. The weather had been crap for weeks. The constant flying in rain, snow and sleet was not doing much for his mood. To add insult to injury, his old OG Captain Whorton had returned to duty. Jericho was glad to see him well. He was a good man. Little did he know that within 48 hours he would be dead. Killed by a Hun bullet while flying a gunner for Capt. Gridder.

Moon, the beautiful horse that Capt. Gibbs had acquired for the squadron had been one of the few things that brought Jericho joy. It reminded him of a simpler time before circumstances had landed him in the middle of a war in France. He spent much of his off time working with Moon and taking a stroll around the base.

It seemed every day they were over the lines bombing some rail junction. For the past week that is all they had been doing. Lucky for him and his OG, Lt. Christian, most had been uneventful. Jericho and Dickens had just returned from bombing Athies Junction. As usual the weather was crap but it had cleared over the target enough for them to see what they were supposed to hit. Just after the drop their 3 escorts had dove on 4 Fokkers. They had done well in keeping them off but the flight behind Jericho's had taken some damage from them. Jericho saw his bombs totally miss the target but enough of the others had hit it to garner the mission a "Well Done" from the Major.

Jericho was told C Flight would bomb Vimy Junction on the morrow. "What else is new?" he thought to himself.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
BOC Member since....I can't remember!
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