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Wulfe, an excellent chapter, which is what we've come to expect from you!

Fullofit, I'm glad Gaston has had a few peaceful patrols and hope he get a real scout soon. Lou, good to see you too have a patrol without Eindeckers. and congratulations on the fourth confirmed victory. Scout, same to you. A long patrol into Hunland is no fun in a BE. Loftyc, welcome aboard! Lederhosen, some great photos again. How long are you out for? I haven't tried the bombsight yet, but it looks pretty impressive. MFair, Jericho is quite the personality. Let's see what happens next. Collins has a surprise for him. And he's out until 10 March.

An Airman’s Odyssey – by James Arthur Collins

Part Twenty-Two: In which I ruin my new coat

The weather turned fair, with cloudless skies the colour of sapphire. Orders came for another raid on Bertincourt-Vélu. It was quite one thing with the protection of foul weather, but in this glorious sunshine it would be like driving through Berlin in a London bus emblazoned with signs saying “shoot me.” Of course Captain Mealing volunteered that he and I would go.

It was a long flight for we crossed the lines at 10,000 feet and approached the target in a long and shallow dive. Wilson and I let the bombs go at the same time as the captain, and we immediately headed west for our lines. Miraculously, the only other aeroplane in the sky seemed to be a lone Hun two-seater which passed high above, oblivious to our presence.

At lunch that day we received repayment for our time at the Curtiss School, and I thought of planning an outing – perhaps if the weather turned bad long enough we could get to Paris! And then, after the meal, I retired to my little shed to write letters. A knock came at the door, and Jericho came in. “Howdy, pard,” he said. I’d read of cowboys saying such things, but I’d never really heard them before Jericho. The cowhands in Saskatchewan when I was a boy were more likely to say “Hey, pal.” Jericho sat in a chair and waved off an offer of a drink. I put on a pot of coffee and he insisted on “doing it proper,” taking the spoon and coffee tin out of my hands.

“I got you something,” he said. He placed 25 pounds on the table.

“What is that for?” I asked.

“That little binge in Bethune a couple of weeks back when I caused a little disturbance.”

“Take that money back,” I insisted. “That was a heck of a night and I wouldn’t have missed it.”

Jericho stared at me, just like the Wild West gambler in the motion pictures before he shoots a fellow across the table. He insisted he owed me. And I was fairly sure he’d be insulted if I said no. We shook hands, had a coffee, and talked about the leave schedule. We each had at least another month to wait, I more than he. And then he left.

The following afternoon, after a late morning patrol up the lines, I went to see Major Harvey-Kelly. After some bartering I wrote a cheque to the squadron recreation fund, and acquired the fine horse Jericho had named Moon, plus a spare saddle and bridle and a year’s supply of fodder. I went to the stable, saddled the big gelding, and found Jericho.

“I have something for you,” I told him, and led him to Moon. “He’s yours, my friend. There is no way anyone else is going to have a say about this horse.” Jericho protested. “Fair enough,” I said. “I’ll put one condition on it. You have to ride with me when we get a chance, and help me improve. I ride like a sack of potatoes, I’m told.” Jericho stood stroking the horse’s muzzle for a long time before looking over his shoulder and saying it was too much.

“Not really,” I told him. “With your Puritanical temperance leanings, I’ll probably save a couple of hundred quid buying drinks in the mess before this war’s done.”

The next day, 28 February 1916, I shall remember. We were to photograph the Hun lines at Messines, for Cpl Wilson it was something of an examination. Both our machine and Captain Mealing’s would take photographs and the results would be compared. We approached close to our assigned patrol area when, about two miles off, two Fokkers headed directly at us. I turned away and made for our lines, but Mealing’s machine turned north instead. I saw both Huns turn towards the captain, so I turned back east and began to climb towards him.

Mealing now was heading west and he passed over our heads with a lone Fokker giving chase. Wilson fired a long-range burst at the Hun, who left Mealing and dived on us. We had a rare time for nearly ten minutes. It reminded me of a bullfight, for the Hun would charge us head on and I’d slip to one side to avoid his fire. Wilson would fire a few rounds as the Hun passed. Then we’d turn and do it all again and again.

We were losing altitude and the wind was blowing us farther over the lines. The time came for us to make a run for it. The Fokker closed in and Wilson got a few good cracks at him. I thought once the Hun was going down, but within a minute or two he was behind and below and we took a raking from his Spandau. A searing pain burned my right cheek and blood flowed freely over the long white goat fur of my new jacket. I put a gloved hand to my face and it felt odd. The Hun was behind us again and firing. I lurched our Morane from side to side. Wilson got only a few rounds off, as the poor fellow was being thrown about. I took off my glove and touched my face. I felt my teeth without opening my mouth and knew something was seriously wrong. The blood kept pouring down and I felt quite faint.

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"The time came for us to make a run for it."

It was a lucky thing that the Hun got windy and headed home, for I’d forgotten all about him in my desire to put the machine down on the first bit of friendly level ground, a field southwest of Armentières. The Morane, as was its custom, floated upwards at the last moment and nearly stalled. I stopped blipping the engine in time for it to recover. We touched down and I blacked out. Unable to focus, I held the blip switch down long enough for the engine to cut out. We stopped on a deep rut, the tail rose, hung in the air a moment, and crashed back down with a splintering crunch.

Some Tommies appeared and helped Wilson get me out. I felt sick to my stomach, having swallowed a great deal of blood. My lovely new goat-fur jacket looked like the remnant of a pagan sacrifice, thoroughly sodden and matted with crimson.

“Where are we?” Wilson asked.

“Just got here ourselves,” a soldier answered. “They call the village over there Sally-on-the-Loose.”

Sailly-sur-la-Lys, I realised. I laid down on the frozen ground and felt my face. There was a large flap of skin hanging down from my cheek. The underlying cheek, teeth, and jaw seemed fine. It was cold.

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Sheesh Raine, that’s disgusting!
Seriously, great story and full of suspense. Hope a pretty nurse can ask a doctor to take a look at your cheek.
Also, when Jericho asks you to take his money, you take it, Unless you want to get shot.


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Raine, good Lord! I hope our James has a top-hole surgeon who can do some fine small stitches to pull his cheek back together. Here's hoping he ends up with nothing more than an attractive dueling scar. They are quite the fashion in certain circles right now. And how generous of him to gift Moon to Jericho.

Fullofit, Gaston is not alone in feeling the frustration of dealing with the Aviatiks. Unless you catch one below you and nearby there is no getting to them.

Scout, glad to see Aleck is at last enjoying some good flying weather. And the gizmo was shipped off to London, eh? Too bad, looks like the waiting continues for a better mousetrap.

Wulfe, what a wonderful, sad episode. Jacky-Boy will be missed. Another brave fellow gone to sing with the Choir Invisible.

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1 March, 1916
Auchel Aerodrome

2nd Lt. Swanson had the bloodlust. He received the news yesterday afternoon, along with the rest of the squadron, that his good friend James Collins had been shot in the face by a Hun attacker during the morning sortie. James had managed to put his bus down in one piece near a town called Sailly-sur-la-Lys, somewhere southwest of Armentières. He was now at one of the hospitals, likely at St. Omer, though that had not been confirmed yet. When the orders came down this morning for a bombing run on enemy positions over near Lomme, Swany was ready to go. It would put him and the Captain very near where Jim and his G/O had been attacked yesterday. Swanson informed Craig that, should an opportunity arise to go after a Hun plane, he intended to do just that, after their mission was completed of course. The Captain nodded, then cautioned the Lieutenant to "Be smart about it". The senior officer trusted his pilot as he had proven himself more than capable in a fight. He also knew how Swanson felt about his friend.

B Flight took off shortly before 9:00 and climbed up into another beautiful winter's sky. They had company in the form of escort from a lone N10C of Escadrille 15. The group flew to their destination without incident and dropped their eggs on the enemy far below. What damage they actually did was unknown but if nothing else it rattled nerves in the German trenches. As B Flight turned to begin the trip home the French plane dove down past them to engage a brace of Eindeckers about 2,000 feet below. Swany signaled to the Captain that he was doing the same and pointed the nose of their Morane down towards the enemy planes. By the time he had given up enough altitude to reach the Eindeckers the N10 was off a fair way to the south chasing one of the Hun. The other appeared to be in trouble and was slowly losing height as he flew eastward. Swany turned on the enemy plane and quickly closed the gap between them. He didn't care one whit if the fellow was injured or in trouble, this enemy was not going to make it back to his own, not if the Lieutenant had anything to say in the matter. Brief moments later the Eindecker was within range and the Captain began firing on him. The Hun attempted evasive action but it was obvious his mount was not responding well. He hadn't a chance. It took only two passes before the Eindecker dropped down near a copse of trees, hit the ground, and burst into flames.

"My gift to you Jim", Swany muttered under his breath as he swung the Morane around and headed back to camp. He didn't care if they received credit for the downing or not, nor did he care about the dressing down he was likely to get from the CO for breaking ranks. This was revenge for his friend, pure and simple.


Bombs away.
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A sitting duck.
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Revenge for a good friend.
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Some excellent stories among the recent entries! Things are indeed getting dicey, as Wulfe pointed out.

Sounds like James will get a proper scar of war with which to impress the ladies. Close call!


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Lt. Mark Jericho
Auchell Aerodrome

Feb. 28, 1916

Jericho was in fine spirits today. His friend James had given him Moon, the fine squadron gelding. His only hitch was that he had to teach him how to ride. Jericho had never received such a fine gift. As they flew toward Nieuport to do some arty spotting with one Nieuport scout as escort Jericho could not wait to see the Channel again. He did not really know why. He just wanted to see it. As they approached the patrol area just as they had arrived over the lines their escort broke away after 3 Eindeckers that were coming in to spoil their plans. Griffen signaled to scrub the mission and the 3 Moranes headed west. One if the Eindeckers chased them as his friends kept the Nieuport busy. Dickens was lagging behind Jericho could see the Eindecker was not going to let go. Over Veurne, with the Fokker still on Dickens tail and gaining ground Jericho shouted "Enough of this S*#t!" and turned the Morane around to engage. Christian opens up as they meet and the Eindecker turns his attention to Jericho and Christian. Around and around they went with Christian getting in a burst when he could. Jericho was getting a little concerned as this Hun was good! Looking back he saw tracers coming up to the Fokker and saw Dickens below with his gunner giving the Hun a pretty good burst. That's all it took and the Hun retreated back over the lines. Griffen was no where to be seen which put Jericho as flight leader. Their escort was gone and they most likely had just enough fuel to get back to Auchell so Jericho made the decision to call it a day and they headed back to their home.

When they landed, after telling Christian he did a fine job, Jericho walked over to Dickens who was climbing out of his Morane. "I sure do appreciate you coming back Hoss. That Hun was on us like a tick!" Dickens replied, "You didn't think I was going to let you have all the fun did you ol' boy! Besides, I think the thanks go to you and your gunner." With that they shook hands and started walking to debrief. Swany yelled at Jericho and trotted over to him. "James is wounded!" Swany said. Jericho was stunned! "how bad?" he asked.
"Not sure, He got his bus down in one piece but all I know is that he was shot in the face. Swany replied.
Jericho was silent. James had given him the finest gift he had ever received and now he was wounded. "D@#n the luck" Jericho said as he kicked the ground.

March 1st.
C Flight had a new leader for today's show as Griffen had not made it back. He sat down somewhere along the coast with engine trouble. A Lt. Bagley would lead today. Bagley, Jericho and Dickens were to recon and arty spot northwest of Monchy with one escort. It was a beautiful day and Jericho would have been in fine spirits if not for the fact that his friend was lying in a hospital some where. The night before he and Swany had decided "someone's going to pay for this." Halfway through the recon two Eindecker's came out of the sun on to the flight. Bullets slapped the Morane and Jericho instantly took action and turned to throw off his aim. This Hun was good too. Jericho could not shake him and was totally defensive. With him throwing the Morane all over the sky Christian could not get a bead on the Hun. Fact is, he was hanging on for dear life. They were loosing altitude and Jericho's mind was racing with how to get out of this fix when their escort came down and drove the Hun off their tail.They were low over the lines with a bus full of holes but both he and Christian were ok. Jericho climbed west as fast as the old Morane would . He could not spot anyone and they were alone. Once back across the lines he let out a sigh. Then he noticed 2 specks ahead to the south. Thinking this to be Bagley and Dickens he turned in that direction. As they got closer archie opened up on the trailing speck. Once they got close enough he could see it was a Hun on the tail of another Morane. All he could think about was revenge. Before they could reach the pair the Hun broke off and Jericho could see it was trailing smoke. He set a course to intercept it. Obviously the Hun did not have full power as they were gaining on him. Closer and closer they came. Christian was ready. As they passed the smoking Eindecker Jericho could see the pilot slumped a little in his cockpit and Christian let loose a burst and the Huns propeller stopped. They made 2 more passes. Nether time did the Hun take any evasive action. Just before the Eindecker reached the lines he rolled over and crashed in a field. "Bad day for you Pard" Jericho thought with no emotion whatsoever.

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Last edited by MFair; 03/01/19 05:00 PM.

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What a bloodthirsty trio! Gentlemen, it is great to read how your three pilot stories mesh together. I enjoy reading them all.
Another quiet day for Gaston.

1 March , 1916 8:10
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux

The word is that the German advance had been brought nearly to a halt. The Boche have advanced too far and lost their artillery cover. With the warmer weather melting the snow and turning the frozen ground back to mud, it is difficult for the Huns to move the heavy guns forward. This last advance also brought them into range of the French artillery. No such luck in the air. More losses to Fokker menace. The task of regaining control of the air was entrusted to the Fifth Army’s aviation commander, Charles de Rose. Pétain’s instructions were simple: ‘Clear the skies for me, de Rose! I’m blind! Everyone is at your disposal – in the rear and at the front – so you can organize things how you like. Nothing will be denied you. But get a move on! You can see the situation with your own eyes. It’s quite simple. If we’re driven from the skies, we’ll lose Verdun.’

Capitaine Louis Joseph Marie Quillien was finishing his mission briefing. It was another arty spotting south of St. Mihiel and ‘B’ Flight would provide cover.
“- And finally, Sergent Voscadeaux, for your exemplary service and devotion to duty, you are hereby awarded the rank of Adjutant. Congratulations!”
Playful boos and jeers came from the back, especially from S. Ltn. Roze - his observer. Gaston was dumbstruck. A promotion! Why him? He hasn’t done anything extraordinary, doesn’t even have one Hun under his belt.
The briefing room was starting to clear. The C.O. was standing outside and wishing everyone good luck on their mission. When Gaston walked out and headed to his plane, le Capitaine stopped him.
“- Adjutant Voscadeaux, where are you going?”
Gaston didn’t understand the question. He responded with the obvious:
“- To ... the ... aeroplane, mon Capitaine?”
The Captain was amused:
“- No, no, mon ami. Our Adjutants fly single-seaters.”
Gaston’s jaw was hanging low in bewilderment.
“- Re ... really? I get to fly the N-10?”
Quillien enjoyed this.
“- Come, let me introduce you to your new mount.”

It was a quiet flight with no drama. Gaston was sitting in the cockpit getting used to his new office. It didn’t differ that much from the N-12 he flew, but he could have sworn he can see at least an additional 1000 m further in this new bird. He followed the obs. machine and kept close to it. Gaston remembers well what the two-seat crews feel when their escort flies off into the wild blue yonder. He promised himself he will not do that unless to go after the Hun.
Fog developed on the way back and it was hard to find the aerodrome in this soup. They were all able to land without any incidents. Things are looking up.

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Fullofit, nice read with historical context. Also, I am absolutely green with envy! Good luck with your new scout!


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Fullofit, congratulations on Gaston's promotion and, better still, on his move to the single seater scout. Now the fun begins!

MFair, it looks like Jericho exacted some vengeance yesterday too. Well done!

.


It was another beautiful morning for flying at Auchel, however 2nd Lt. Swanson and Captain Craig got to enjoy very little of it. They were tasked with another bombing of enemy positions, this time over at Vimy, but about 30 minutes into the sortie the Le Rhône in their bus started making a gawd-awful grinding noise and Swany had to turn around. He set back down at the aerodrome after shutting off the dud engine and gliding home. Shortly after their return Swany and the Captain were called to Major Harvey-Kelly's office. The CO wanted to ask them about yesterday's sortie when the Lieutenant had dropped out of his flight to attack the Eindecker.

"I'm sure you saw that the lone Frenchman had bitten off more than he could chew by going after two Eindeckers on his own and you were only coming to his aid", the Major stated calmly. "That is correct gentlemen, is it not?"

Captain Craig smiled as he answered in agreement with the Major's assessment. He knew precisely where the CO was going with this.

Swany was not as quick to pick up on the gist of it and gave an uneasy "Yes Sir".

"Ah, that's fine then", the Major replied. "I was sure it was that and not something like an act of vengeance for the wounding of your friend, Lieutenant Collins, because using the King's property for personal business or to settle scores would be a fairly serious matter. Plus, such actions put one's flight mates and one's self at unnecessary risk."

The statement made Swanson shift his weight nervously from one leg to the other as he stood in front of the Major's desk.

"So no worries then, we understand each other perfectly on this point." The Major grinned as he added, "And good job on knocking down another Hun, you gentlemen were given credit for yesterday's claim."

Swany breathed a barely audible sigh of relief as his muscles relaxed, then asked the question. "How is Lieutenant Collins doing, have you heard Sir?"

"I've been told he will make a full recovery and will have a hell of a scar on his cheek to show for it", the Major assured. "He will be a hit with the young ladies, I should think."

"Thank you Major." Swany felt as if a weight had been lifted from him, he'd been worried sick about his friend. "Do you know where they've sent him Sir?"

"Not yet. One of the hospitals in St. Omer I imagine, but I'll let you know." The CO added one more thing before dismissing the two men. "Swanson, you've only been with us for two months at this point, but in that time you and the G/Os you've flown with have been responsible for five confirmed victories. That is a damned fine record, and because of that I will be recommending you for a citation. No guarantees of course but I wanted you to know. I'm proud of you." The Major stood, came around from behind his desk, and shook the young airman's hand. "Keep up the excellent work, Lieutenant."

Swany was taken aback. He stammered out a, "Tank you, Sir. I vill doo my best", his Norsk accent coming on full force.

The CO gave a laugh, "I'm sure you will, and you can relax lad. And you best have your wallet at the ready tonight in the mess, I've a hunch you will again be required to buy drinks for us all. You're an ace now, my boy."

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Wow Lou, congrats! I’m sure that will be one heck of a party. And the two of you better visit your friend in the hospital this time around.


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From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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Lt Mark Jericho
Auchell Aerodrome
March 1, 1916

When Jericho and Christian landed, Christian had exclaimed with excitement, "We got him Mark!" Jericho turned to Christian with his head down. As he raised his eyes to meet his GO, Jericho said, "That was murder Pard, pure and simple." Christian was stunned. "Murder! "What are you talking about man!"
Jericho stood up straight. "Don'd get me wrong Robert, I would do it again right now, this was for James." The two stood looking at one another. Jericho continued," Look, that Morane he tangled with sent him packing trailing smoke. That crew will make a claim. Those archie boys who banged away at him, with no regard for us I might add, they will make a claim. That Hun most likely would have sat his machine down and been captured if not for us. Don't fool yourself Pard. We killed the b#!tard in cold blood and I'm glad for it. Now if you want to make a claim and give those office types something to argue about, go ahead, I will back you up and say what I saw. But for me, this was personal."
"I see your point Mark" Christian said. After a pause he added"The next one will be....how do you Yanks say it, Fair and Square?"
Jericho smiled, "You got it Pard"

That night Swany and Jericho had talked a bit about the today's events. After everything was said and done nether were happy, nor were they sad. It just was. Finally in the silence Jericho sat up and said, "Get your fiddle out Swany, lets do a tune."
"What do you want to hear" Swany asked.
"I want to hear myself sing Pard!" Jericho replied. "Now here's how she goes." Jericho hummed the tune and Swany picked it out on his fiddle. It took about 30 minuets for Swany to play the tune through. "You got her Pard" Jericho said. "Now here we go"

Let me tell you buddy
There's a faster gun
Coming over yonder
When the morrow comes

Let me tell you , buddy
And it won't be long
Till you find yourself singing
Your last cowboy song

"Now join in the Chorus" Jericho said and they both sang

Yippee-ki-iy-ah
When the round up ends
Yippee-ki-iy-ah
And the campfire dims
Yippee-ki-iy-ah
When a cowboy trades his spurs for wings

When they wrap me body
In the thin linen sheet
And they take my six irons
Pull boots from my feet

Unsaddle my pony
She'll be itching to roam
I'll be half way to heaven
Under horsepower of my own.

The both joined in again on the chorus and on it went.

When finished, Jericho looked at Swany and said, "Been a h@ll of a day Pard." Swany nodded and they spent the rest of the night in silence.

March 2,
C Flight was to bomb Loo's Junction at 1300. When told there would be no escorts Jericho and Griffen protested. "I thought the rule that came down was no missions across the lines without escorts Sir?" The Major did not blink. "There are no escorts available and this is war. If you spot any Huns, make a retreat. Is that clear."
"Yes Sir" They said as one.

They need not have worried. It was a clear day and the Huns did not come up to protest. A little light Archie was all they encountered. They plastered Loo's Junction. "Excellent work" as the Major called it.

The field was abuzz at the news of Swany's last claim being confirmed. When Jericho had asked about James at debriefing the Major had told him to ask Swany as he had been filled in and was too busy to tell a story twice. Once he found Swany and was told of James's injury Jericho said, "Whooo-we. I hope its not to bad, just enough to make the women swoon." Then Jericho added, "Speaking of making the lady folk swoon, I hear your the new fancy pants around these parts!" Swany smiled. Jericho put his hand out to Swany, "Congratulations Pard. Seems you got it all figured out."
"Ya" said Swany, "Right up to the part where we don't get killed." They both laughed.


Note: The song is "When a Cowboy trades his spurs for wings" by David Rawlings and Gillian Welch. Not exactly period but I like the song and it's my story.


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Nigel Archibald Notting
Sgt, RFC
4 Sqn Rfc.
Allonville, Flanders
Flight Time: 22.25 hrs

Mar 1 1916

Recon: No e/a contact.


Mar 2, 1916. B0mbardment Enemy AF. 3 a/c with 25 lb bombs.

The flight was in a loose V formation on the bombing run . I spotted 3 Monoplanes Taking off 3,000 ft below Then we dropped I broke left and nosed down for home. My other 2 a/c broke right and ran into a 3 e/a flight that we had not seen. Those two a/c never came back. I had a e/a climb up on tail as i ran for home and my Ob got off a string of 303 rds. Some must have hit because the e/a did a 180 and went home. The Sqn lost 2 BE 2's that day.

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MFair, that was one melancholic episode. What brought on such a brooding mood?
Way to go Carrick. Glad you were able to outfox that Hun.

2 March , 1916 8:04
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux

The weather seems to be improving. No more snow, or dark clouds today. Ltn. Dagonet, Gaston and Cpl. Dreux are to escort ‘A’ Flight to do some recon work of the front sector north of St. Mihiel salient. They’ve encountered 2 Aviatiks bombing the French lines over the northern part of the Foret de la Reine. Ltn. Dagonet gave the signal and the ‘B’ Flight went after them. Dagonet picked the leader and Gaston with his wingman slotted in behind the other Boche. Voscadeaux pumped his prey full of lead, but overshot when the Aviatik broke formation to try and save his skin. Cpl. Dreux who flew behind him finished the Hun off. Grey smoke was emanating from the engine as the machine went into an unrecoverable dive. The two aviators quickly turned their attention to the second two-seater, the one being taken care of by their leader Ltn. Dagonet. They watched as the two machines exchanged fire and their leader disengaged after being hit. Dreux was closer to the Aviatik and resumed the attack. The Hun was taking more fire, but suddenly Dreux broke off as well. This Hun was a crack shot, and managed to damage two of the French machines. It was Gaston's turn to finish what his wing leader and his wingman have started. Voscadeaux approached the two-seater carefully from below as not to give the gunner an easy target. He lined up and squeezed the trigger. Two short bursts and then ... nothing. Click, click. Gaston was out of bullets. He had to let the Boche go and curse his liberal use of ammunition with the previous Hun.
Voscadeaux was a sitting duck with an empty gun and turned his Nieuport west to get back to base as quickly as possible but then he noticed bursts of Flak nearby. It was the ‘A’ Flight still circling the target. Despite his better judgment he joined them until they’d complete their run. It was a gamble, but a single-seater watching over them still looked more dangerous and hopefully would deter any Eindeckers coming for a closer look. The bluff worked and no enemy machines were encountered. The N12's finally finished their recon flight and they all returned together to the aerodrome.
Gaston wondered if it would be possible to bring more ammo on board. He will have to look into it, but even if he could he couldn’t imagine how he would be able to reload his wing mounted Lewis. He would have to unbuckle, stand up and fight against the slipstream to fumble with his gun in his thick gloves, while the enemy shoots at him. It’s just not done.



"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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Carrick, you got to know when to fold’em! Glad you made it.

Fullofit, great video! Yep, with that limited supply of ammo in the 10 you have to be a crack shot or get close which in that case would not be advisable. As for the mood. I do not consider myself a writer. Growing up in the rural south USA I was not exposed to the King’s English. It’s more slang and abbreviated words. I watched the “Ballad of Buster Scruggs “ on Netflix last night. That’s where I heard the song and loved it. Read Lou’s report this morning and when I sat down at the puter that’s what came out. I write by the seat of pants.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
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MFair, don’t change a thing. This style works great for Jericho. I, like you, write whatever comes up during the mission. If it’s a quiet one, then the report is usually stingy. And I was not exposed to any kind of English when I was growing up. I was planning to watch the “Ballad” on Netflix. It’s just that 4th dimension - the time that I seem to be lacking. Cheers and keep those seat of your pants reports coming.


"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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Thanky kindly Sir! I highly recommend the Ballad. It’s a bit twisted.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
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MFair, I agree with Fullofit, don't change a thing. Your storytelling is colorful and has a real feel to it, and I enjoy it immensely. Also, love the tune. I've heard it before and it's a good'n! Another one Jericho could teach Swany would be "I'm Headin' for the Last Round-up", even though it too is anachronistic. But as you say, it's your story.

Fullofit, another fine installment and video. Ammo management will be one of the key tricks for Gaston when flying his new mount. Every round absolutely has to count.

Carrick, that was a tough mission for Nigel and his crew. Two Quirks lost in one sortie is hard to take.

.

The foul weather has returned. Swany and the Captain and two other crews of B Flight took off this morning in frigid sleet to do a recce of the front lines just west of Lens. Fortunately, the drizzle stopped shortly after take-off and the trio of Moranes made the trip amid low-hanging gray clouds. No Archie and no EA so it was a quiet, albeit a cold, outing. The Hun big guns were lobbing the occasional shell into the British lines, but apart from that there was little to report. After 20 minutes of scoping out the situation the flight returned to Auchel without incident. Much hot tea was needed to warm back up.


Foul weather has returned.
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Aleck A. MacKinlay

February 28 and March 1, 1916: The business of the squadron continues, with fine flying weather and a continuing lull in action at the front. Reconnaissance is the order of the day; one outing each morning with lots of aircraft visible in the distance over the lines but none approaching or interfering with our work.

I have reached 40 hours of active duty flying, with flying time accumulating more rapidly since my injuries and engine troubles abated many weeks ago.

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Hi All, I've been enjoying all the stories immensely and have been eager to join the fray. Finally, after weeks of enduring a crippled PC (the smell of my burnt out GTX 950 still lingering in the air) I am back up and running. So, apologies for my very late entrance to the party, but our illustrious leader (that'll be Raine) has set me up with a nice backstory for my RNAS pilot James Patterson. He'll be defending our shores from his base at Manston. This'll be mostly diary and letter based reporting, first post coming later today. Meantime, stay safe up there everyone! Looking forward to joining you.

H


System: i5 8600K @ 3.6GHz,16GB DDR4 @2666MHz. RTX2080, MSI Z370 mobo, Dell 27" G-SYNC @ 144Hz. 2560x1440

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System: i5 8600K @ 3.6GHz,16GB DDR4 @2666MHz. RTX2080, MSI Z370 mobo, Dell 27" G-SYNC @ 144Hz. 2560x1440

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