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10 March, 1916 11:11
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux
2 confirmed kills

Gaston's Aviatik and the Fokker from the previous day have been confirmed.

Gaston’s mission for today was to protect the two Nieuport 12’s of the ‘A’ Flight on a bombing run to enemy front lines south of St. Mihiel salient where Meuse River crosses the NML. The target is close to the Boche Thiacourt aerodrome, so it could potentially be a dangerous area. They have lost Adj. Barnay during the climb to altitude to a mechanical failure, but apart from the Flak, it was quiet over the trenches. The Boche must have been entertaining somewhere else that day.

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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
Sgt, RFC
4 Sqn Rfc.
Allonville, Flanders


March 10, 1916. THEY GOT ME ! PESKY MONOPLANES KIA

Nigel was doing a Arty Spot over the lines when monoplanes showed up. Didnt see them till they attacked, My Ob shot a one and got off 47 rds We got away only to fly under another which dived . The e/a's focus must have been intense because while firing he Rammed. Most of the top wing flew off the BE 2 while the e/a went up in a torch both crashed KIA.

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Raine Offline OP
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No!!! Too bad, Carrick. When you are ready to fly your next man, PM me the details and I'll send your squadron assignment.

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Oh no! Carrick, not right before the transfer to a scout unit! Tough luck, buddy. RIP Nigel.


"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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Argh! What rotten luck, Carrick! I'm sorry to see Nigel go West! Gaston - keep knocking 'em dead!!

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

March 9th, 1916:

On the morning of the 8th, we received some brilliant news - Normie’s been given ‘B’ flight! It seems that Graves has assumed command of ‘A’. Normie’s first show as the flight lead came only two hours after the Major gave the news - we were on a reccie show over Ghistelles, all the way past Nieuwpoort and into Hunland. We knew well by now that the Hun gave us the most trouble up North, and so our excursion to the coast was met with apprehension. Especially so for me, as I had yet to form a bond with my new observer, Lieutenant Ricard. For the most part, Ricard was a perfectly decent sort, polite, and had a decent wit about him - but he possessed neither the charm and fearlessness of Edith nor the cold professional approach of Ackart (at least - before he went loopy). That being said, a man will soon show his quality in the air, and I only hoped as we boarded our buses that Ricard would see us through.


Eventually, we were settled into position, running our engines to warm them up as snow had fallen overnight again, and at the sign of the Very light going up Normie pushed his throttle forwards, the streamers on his struts jerking awake and slithering behind his plane like two red snakes. Reid followed, and I took up my position at the back of our formation. As we banked left to cruise towards our climbing point, I could swear I saw Normie beaming, leaning out the side of his cockpit and straining to get a glimpse of his streamers on either side of the engine.

As we flew, still low yet, I watched my shadow dancing over the wooden fences that separated the farmers’ fields, and at one point as we passed an old church I smiled as a pair of children attempted to chase it, to no avail. Once they had tired themselves out, they stopped and turned to wave at us. Ricard held up a gauntleted hand in response, beaming at them. We got into our formation, and begun to climb just East of St. Omer. Strangely enough, on such cold days you almost wish you were in the thick of it, just to take your mind off of the bitter chill. Ahead of me, Ricard huddled into his flying jacket, shivering and rubbing his legs. I longed to release the controls and do the same. As we spiralled upwards, I saw three more Fees approaching from the direction of Clairmarais - I assumed it must be Graves, taking McHaig out to see the lines for the first time. A third plane was with him, but I could not figure out who. We waved to them as we crossed close to each other, before going our separate ways. At 6,000 feet we turned for the front.

Soon the coast had come into view, and I watched the sunlight creating flashes of light in the waves beneath the clouds. How peaceful they looked, and beautiful beside the unmarred French countryside. For a moment I found it bizarre that we should be in the middle of a war here, but my gaze was quickly faced back towards the ugly scar of no-man's-land. I searched high for a sign of the hated Fokker, but nothing made itself apparent to me, so I stopped to adjust my mixture. In the freezing temperature, my glove begun to stick to the metal lever, and I came dangerously close to Reid’s tail while unsticking it. Falling back into formation, I held a hand up to Reid in apology. To my surprise, he seemed amused.

We passed by Dunkirk, and then Nieuwpoort, and soon we were crossing into Hunland. Very far to the East I saw the vague shapes of machines going about their work over the lines. One machine, alone, was gradually approaching. After staring at its shape for a while, I decided that it was an Aviatik. Pushing the throttle to full, I raised my nose and begun to climb to the German’s altitude, before signalling to Reid. He tried to wave me back into formation, but my blood still ran hot over the loss of Jacky-Boy. I begun to separate from our formation, facing the Hun as I climbed. Ricard had now seen the Hun also, and readied himself at his gun.

As we got close, the German spotted us and immediately turned for his own lines, going into a shallow dive, but by that point it was too late - our Fees would easily catch the slow German biplanes, and I was soon diving below his tail, lining up a shot for Ricard. I got close - so close that I could trace the intricate patterns of the Hun’s flying wires - and Ricard opened fire. In disbelief, I watched as his tracers went completely under the enemy machine. Pushing the throttle forwards once more, getting even closer and gritting my teeth - by this point we could practically have used bayonets - and thankfully the tracer found its mark. Suddenly, a thin trail of black smoke rolled out from the engine, and the Aviatik’s speed dropped drastically. Dipping my nose, I went underneath and to the right of his machine - we were practically wingtip to wingtip, and on the side I read the serial number of his fuselage - C.318.

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Reacting, the Hun tried to swing away, and a hail of bullets hit our machine, but Ricard, unfazed, let another drum of Lewis go, and suddenly the lower right wing of the Hun machine buckled and tore away. I watched as the plane looped downwards, its propeller coming to a lethargic halt, before climbing back towards the lines, satisfied. It was then that I realised I had dropped low in my chase, and was flying nearby a Hun balloon - and we had just shot down the only thing keeping the Archie from firing at us. As soon as the Aviatik fell away a torrent of archie came up at us, and I desperately weaved my way back towards the lines. Rickard flinched with every near miss ahead of me, ducking partly down into the nacelle of his turret by instinct.

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Thankfully, we soon made it back to the lines, and I begun to climb back up with the intention of relocating my flight. I came back up to 4,000 feet, and headed back into Hunland, alone. Only a minute or so in, I spotted a sickening sight - three ‘Fees’, being stalked by a trio of Fokkers! I watched in desperation as the scouts attacked, with the Fees immediately banking around for home. One Eindecker was content to let them go, but the other two continued to give chase. Desperately I climbed to try and reach the fight, to intervene in some way, but I was too far below, so instead I swung back out towards the mud - if I could not catch them, I would have to head them off at the pass!

Fortunately, the Fees had gone into a shallow dive, giving me more of a chance of intervening. Climbing for all old A6333 was worth, I tried to run in front of the nearest Fee - but was forced to watch, dismayed, as my colleague and his pursuer cut across my path. Then, something happened that I had not considered - one Fokker swung around to face me.

He rolled onto his back and swooped down to meet me. Ahead of me, Ricard defiantly charged his Lewis, as I pointed us towards the dreaded monoplane. We circled once, sizing each other up, before tightening our turns. I was the more daring of us - pushing my bus to the edge of stalling, I pulled behind the German and Ricard immediately opened fire. The Monoplane dropped its nose, before going up into a zooming climb - all the while, Ricard’s Lewis spat its hatred at the Hun. As his aircraft lost speed, I came so close that Ricard could have reached out and touched the Monoplane’s tail. Instead, he fired a constant burst - before the Lewis abruptly fell silent. I watched the Monoplane drop into a spiral, as Ricard fumbled in his Nacelle for another drum of Lewis ammunition. Frantically, he turned to me and shook his head - he was out of ammunition!

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There was nothing for it - I watched, enraged, as the German machine wallowed through the sky back towards its own lines, its propeller stopping just as it crossed over into Hunland. We had him dead to rights! Seething, I turned for home.

Upon returning to Clairmarais, I frustratedly pulled off my flying gear. “What a bloody show, eh, Campbell?” Ricard asked me with a grin, and I nodded. “We showed those Huns. That’s for ol’ Jacky, eh?”. Rickard laughed. “That fellow in the Monoplane looked right back at me as I was firing - you should have seen the look on his face! If only we had been in the camera bus I would have had a fine souvenir!”.

We stepped into the mess, and to my surprise Graves came bounding up to me. “Brilliant, Campbell! Rickard! Simply brilliant!”. I looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?” I asked. “I saw you send that Fokker packing - that’s the right stuff, by god!” he exclaimed. As it had turned out, Graves had been carried across the lines, along with McHarg and Pearson (who was the third Fee I had seen) by the wind, at which point the Fokkers had fallen upon them.

Grinning, Graves turned to the bartender. “Three whiskeys, neat! We must celebrate!” he roared, but then stopped. “No - hold on. We have to put in your claims!”. Before I knew it, I had been bundled back out onto the aerodrome and was being marched to the Adjutant’s office. Graves tore the door open, with a now-excited Rickard tumbling in behind him. Excitedly, they begun to yell at the poor Adjutant the details of our scrap. “He was chasing my bus first! And then, and then -” “Yes! We got behind him, and I fired right in to his back, I say! He turned around, and -”

The adjutant slammed a fist onto the table. “QUIET, you rowdy lot!” he boomed, red in the face, before slumping back into his chair. “Now just what in the blue hell is all this fuss?” he asked, in a calmer tone. Rickard went to speak, and the Adjutant held a hand up. “One at a time. Please”. For the next ten minutes, we explained what had happened. “One Fokker, claimed as shot down and witnessed” the Adjutant muttered to himself, as he jotted down our recount on a sheet of paper. “Okay. I’ll phone it in. Any other claims?” he asked. Although expecting nothing of it, I told him of the Aviatik. “Ah, yes. Lieutenant McNaughton mentioned seeing an F.E.2 bring down one of those. Very good. Is that it?”. Dumbfounded, I nodded.

That night in the mess we held a binge like we had not held since our arrival. Songs were sung with fresh enthusiasm, bottles of alcohol disappeared into our stomachs, and for a moment we had gone back to our jovial selves of three months ago. Even Switch-Off had overcome his grief for the night, and was in his usual overly-drunken state. Eventually, McHarg and I carried him back to our Billett.

This morning, I awoke with a headache to a furious rapping on the door. “Coming!” I roared, but the knocking persisted. “Curse you, you’re worse than the Hun!” I cried out, irritatedly rolling out of bed and blearily pulling the door open. In front of me stood Jimmy Reynard, a broad grin on his face. “Worse than tha Hun? That’s nae way te speak te a pal!” he said, a cheeky smile on his face, before throwing his arms around me. I begun to laugh - both in happiness and in relief at the return of my friend - before stepping aside to let him in.

“So glad you’re back, Jim. Oh - just so you know - briefing is in an hour”.

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What a busy morning!!

HISTORICAL NOTE:

It seems that Mr. Leffers' luck against Fees would not improve! After reaching the respectable number of 9 victories and being awarded the coveted Pour le Merite, Gustav Leffers would eventually be killed in a dogfight with a flight of F.E.2bs of No. 11 Squadron while flying a captured Nieuport XVI Scout on December 27th, 1916.










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11th März 1916

Willi flipped the magneto's and the fuel tap off. As the air-screw stopped, Willi's ground crew parked the Aviatik under the hanger.
The adjutant was waiting and gave a casual nod indicating that he wanted to talk to Willi.

Not waiting for Willi to disembark,
"I see that no Franzmänner were around this morning."

"No Sir, none at all. Still... it was a clear day for a Recce. Plates should be quite good Sir."

"Yes as always......Willi your things have been packed and I have travel orders for you here. Your to clean up and turn your stores in ASAP. All maps just leave them here with your riggers. Bit short on the notice I know, but orders came in as you were up. Seems Verdun needs new Pilots, and quite quickly too I might add. A transport is waiting for you. When you get to Metz you are to report to Frescaty, Kasta 11. It's run by a Hauptmann Manfred Gustmann. Aviatiks again but rumor has it that newer type "C" aircraft have been alloted to them."

"Yes Sir"

"Willie..... I hope you find what your looking for at Verdun. We all wish you the best of luck."

They shook hands and parted. Willi still a little dazed, turned his maps over and thanked his crew.


make mistakes and learn from them

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Bad luck Carrick!

Aleck A. MacKinley
March 6, 1916

Another bombing mission to Loos Junction. Easy to find our way to the railyard as we have been there so many times. I lead, and Hunt followed, with a close escort by Brown in his Bristol. We saw a few distant aircraft but no intervention by the enemy. Damaged the main rail sheds based on the smoke from fires we started. A good days work.

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Wulfe, another stonking story! Congrats on the double confirmed kills.

11 March, 1916 12:00
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux
2 confirmed kills

It was another poorly organized mission. They were to bomb enemy front lines north of Verdun. Except no N12’s were available to conduct the attack. The C.O. distributed 3 "P1" hand grenades to each scout pilot in ‘B’ Flight and asked to make a personal delivery care of Kaiser. Ltn. Dagonet commanded the show and he brought all 4 of them over the trenches of the enemy. Gaston struggled to break the thin wire holding the "spoon" lever on the pear shaped grenades. He nearly dropped one inside his cockpit! This whole operation would have been much easier if he could use both hands, but he needed one to fly the plane. Voscadeaux couldn’t tell if there was any damage being done after dropping their ordnace. Probably just as much as the soldiers in the trenches were making by shooting at them from too high up. Everyone returned home safely without encountering any opposition.

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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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Aleck A. MacKinlay
March 7, 1916

Clearing weather, but bloody cold. The French countryside looks resplendent in white ... even the trenches look to have been freshly whitewashed and made clean. We had a short artillery observation mission and quickly brought effective counter-battery fire onto some bothersome German guns. With three BE's in formation and a couple of Bristols sweeping ahead, the German aviators were wisely absent from our area of operations. Or perhaps the Hun are all moved away to Verdun?




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Wulfe, the story about Acker was a cracker. Well done! Lou, congratulations on becoming an ace. Swany’s progress had been remarkable. Even though Morane pilots are at a premium, he’ll be moving soon if this keeps up. HarryH, I love the looks of the journal. I hope you get some Zeppelin-hunting before too long. MFair, those spurs are beautiful. Your friend must have been really special. Fullofit, better luck with the claims soon, I hope. Carrick, I’m sorry to see Nigel go, but I’m looking forward to your new pilot.

Hasse, great to see such a great chapter from Julius. I’ll look forward to seeing him back in action. Lederhosen, congratulations on your promotion and victory. Fullofit, I loved the videos and photos. And the double victory over the Aviatik and the Fokker is the best cure for Campbell’s loss of Jacky-Boy! Scout, good to see Aleck iin the air again..

Collins is back in action, or inaction as the case may be.

An Airman’s Odyssey – by James Arthur Collins

Part Twenty-Four: In which I return to the war and nothing much happens

“I’m not much in favour of anaesthetic for little things like this,” the doctor explained as he drew another suture out of the inside of my mouth. I’m sure he had his reasons, but they escaped me. At least the process was quick.

The scar was really rather dramatic, an L-shaped red welt from the side of my right nostril up to the cheekbone and then downwards in a ragged line to my jaw. I should have to work on the story I’d tell the girls.

Mark Jericho was my saviour over the next few days. Major Harvey-Kelly and the RO swamped me with administrative work – “bumf” they called it – while I was restricted from flying, but each day I was able to get away to ride. Of course I’d ridden before. What Canadian farm boy hadn’t? And so it was that I was a little miffed when Jericho had me riding with my arms folded and my feet out of the stirrups. Did he think I’d fall off the #%&*$# thing? But it wasn’t long before I began to understand his approach. He called it “finding your seat.” The cynic in me wanted to tell him I had a fair idea where it was, but after a half-hour on Moon I was riding with a better feel and in greater relaxation that I’d known before.

Over the next few days I settled into a genuine rhythm with Moon, and then I repeated the process with Vulcan, one of the former cavalry chargers in our stable. Vulcan is not as tall as Moon, but he is broader in the beam. He was slower to react, but steady. Jericho and I would ride for an hour or so every evening before dinner. I must admit I was too much of a prig to emulate the American’s relaxed, rolling style on horseback, but I will announce to the world that the man is a marvel with horses. He reads them, and when he talks to them, they seem to listen and understand. I’ve never seen the like of him. And the fellow is a smith to boot. He has fashioned a pair of fine polished cowboy spurs for me. Beautiful work, although I question whether they go with the uniform. But wear them I shall.

Cleared to fly at last on 10 March 1916, I joined Captain Mealing on a patrol to drop bombs on the front near Vimy, where Empire troops are relieving the French, who are being hard pressed farther south at Verdun. We were to meet with some Bristols from 11 Squadron, but missed our rendezvous and continued alone. The Huns, however, were nowhere to be seen.

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Back in action

Sergeant Wilson, as he how is (again), is very proud of his achievement in becoming a recognized observer. He keeps telling me he wants to bag a Hun and I keep telling him I’ll be quite happy if he merely scares them off. Swanson is our star turn. He has five Huns to his credit already, while I haven’t even placed a claim yet. If my luck holds, I will be back in England before I see the next Fokker.

On 11 March, the Major led Sergeant Bayetto and us deep into Hunland to drop bombs on the aerodrome at Avelin. It was a dark and cloudy morning with high winds and bumpy air all the way. The Parasol was thrown about for two hours, nearly all of which was spent on the edge of a stall. Wilson and I spotted two Hun two-seaters over our lines as we returned to Auchel and I turned towards them, but they were too high and too quick and I had to give up the chase. I am getting to know Sergeant Bayetto and wish circumstances allowed us more opportunity to talk and socialise. He races automobiles and is an engineer with Fiat – all with the sort of dashing good looks of a genuine ladies’ man. His father is the head chef at the Carlton in London, and he has promised me that I will be taken care of in the dining room should I stay there whilst on leave.[1]

NOTES:

[1] Sergeant, later Lieutenant and Captain, Hyppolyte (Tone) Bayetto was born in London in 1892, the son of Hyppolyte Paul Bayettos of Torino, Italy, and his Belgian wife Rosalie. The elder Bayettos (Tone later dropped the S) was the headwaiter (Collins had it wrong) at the Carlton Hotel in London. Young Tone worked for Fiat and raced cars, and in 1911 he moved to India, where it is thought he worked for an automobile manufacturer. He took his Royal Aero Club certificate in 1913 and joined the RFC with the rank of Sergeant. He was posted to France in September 1915 with 1 Squadron before transferring to 3 Squadron.

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Lou, We will take Moon for a real spin soon.

Hasse, good to see you back after your stay at hospital.

Fullofit, great video as always, congratulations on your confirmed victories.

lederhosen, congratulations on your victory and good luck with the transfer.

Carrick, bad medicine all around. Don't dally too long getting back into the air.

Wulfe, ripping story as always. Really loving them and 2 victories to boot!

Raine, glad your back Pard. Good description of that scar.

Scout, I am beginning to appreciate those calm flights.

It seems some of us have found the eye to bring down some opposing aircraft. Good on you.

Lt. Mark Jericho
Auchell Aerodrome
March 11, 1916

C Flight was coming in from their mission to bomb Douai aerodrome. As the 2 machines came bounding down the field the ground crew for Jericho and Christians machine were seen looking into the sky waiting for their machine to come in. It was no where in sight.

Griffen asked Dickens "Did you see what happened to Lt. Jericho?"
Dickens answered "I don't really know. After those Fokkers hit us and the escorts scared them off, he was behind a bit but looked ok. After we went through the cloud, I did not see him again!"
Griffen looked at the ground and then back at Dickens, "We were about to cross the lines at that point. Maybe he had to sit down somewhere."
The two went to debrief to fill out their reports.


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Raine Offline OP
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MFair -- ohh! This is too much of a cliffhanger. I'll be checking in to the forum every 30 minutes until your next post!!!!

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MFair, you better have a happy ending explanation for this! And a scar to go with it.


"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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Oh no, a cliffhanger! I hate them! skyisfalling

I hope Jericho is okay.

Excellent stories everybody.


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

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MFair: Very suspenseful a real Cliff Hanger

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Emile Benoit La Mont
Sgt, N 26
St. Pol-sur-mer, AF
Flanders.

Mar 11, 1916.

Being the New guy, I was assigned to a solo flight of the lines and Our Area. The a/c a N 12 was very much like our teaching machines at the Central Air Depot. Very slow, can hardly climb and don't dare to dive in them. Maybe all this air stuff is non sense, and I should have stayed with the de la police Militaire behind a desk.

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Hasse, I will try to refrain from any cliffhangers in the future!

Lt. Mark Jericho
Over the front
1:00 oclock

C Flight had just made their bombing run on Douai aerodrome and was forming back up when 3 Eindecker's came down on them. Jericho saw tracers flash past and turned out. He was face to face with the 3 Hun machines. They flew over him to the other two Moranes in the flight. As he came about 360 degrees he saw the French escorts come down on the Eindeckers. "Gotta love those Frenchies!" he thought. In an instant the Huns and N10's were down below having it out and the 3 Moranes were forming back up to head the 8 miles back to the lines. Going back they were bucking a headwind which was slowing their progress and bouncing them all over the sky. It was then that the Archie opened up in earnest. Jericho had seen worse but this was as accurate as he had seen. Suddenly a burst near the machine flung it sideways and Jericho felt something hit him in the back of the head. He felt as though he had been thrown from a horse. He was fighting to keep his head as his vision blurred a bit. He could also feel warm liquid running down the back of his neck. He did not know how bad he was hit and was concentrating on keeping the Morane in formation. After a few miles he could see the lines ahead under the clouds. When they went through the cloud back he tried to hold everything steady. It seemed to go on for ever. When they came through the other side the lines were just ahead and Jericho sighed in relief. It was a brief respite as the engine sputtered and quit. Jericho's vision was a bit blurry but he could still think. Evidently their fuel lines had been cut. He switched the magneto's off and started looking for a place to come down. Could they make it to the other side? He wasn't sure. As the Morane slowed in the headwind Jericho put the nose down to gain flying speed again. He did some fast guessing and knew they were not going to make it over the lines. He could see the faces in the grey uniforms as they flashed over the German trenches. They must have caught them by surprise as there was little rifle or machine gun fire. He finally saw the remnants of an old road and made for it. Between the head wind and no power the Morane swung side to side as it approached the ground. They hit the road and bounced, coming down on the left wing and then if by a miracle they were upright and rolling to a stop.

As soon as they stopped both he and Christian unbuckled and jumped out of the Morane to the ground. Christian started to crawl for the friendly trench when he saw Jericho was having trouble getting up. He grabbed Jericho by the shoulder and started pulling him. "You got to get up Mark! They will start shelling this place soon!" Jericho finally found his legs as they began to crawl toward the English trench. A German machine gun opened up and they went into a shell hole for cover. "Can you make it?!" Christian asked. "I'm good" Jericho replied. Then the German guns started shelling the Morane. It gave them the cover they needed and begin to crawl toward the trenches. 6 of the English 4th Army came over the top and helped them the last few yards into the trench. "Are you hit Mark!" Christian asked Jericho. " Back of my head" was all he could say. Christian looked and saw the torn leather of Jericho's flying helmet. "Easy mate, Let me have a look" Christian said as he eased off the leather hood.

Two corporals helped the two to an aid station near them. "Thats a nasty gash old boy" the medic said. "Another half inch and your war would be over" he added. Jericho replied "Just get me stitched up Doc. I got a whole new appreciation for that d@#ned Archie! I sure do appreciate your help."

Jericho and Christian arrived back at Auchelle that night. Christian relayed the medics words to the Major that Jericho was not to fly for 3 days and to make sure there was no sign of concussion.

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Aleck A. MacKinlay
March 8, 1916

A glorious day, with blinding sun and views to the edge of the earth (or just about). Back again to Loos Junction. We are arriving there more regularly then the scheduled Hun troop trains I suggested to Chris. The Major is giving these missions a high priority and we are always well protected by a sweep of Bristols ... all three of them this fine day. It really is down to a fine art now, and rather routine with nary a peep from the Hun, other than a few feeble bursts of Archie. They must hate us down there in Loos, and I really feel we are having an impact on the enemy's local supply situation.

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Raine, looks like Collins is ready to get back in the air.
MFair, you gave us a scare and the German Flak gave Jericho a scar! Great story, glad he's alright.
Carrick, French career! Looking forward to seeing Emile in the air.
Scout, I can sense the Bristol lust. Hope you get to fly one soon.

12 March, 1916 12:00
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux
2 confirmed kills

Great weather is still holding with only some patches of snow still visible. Today Voscadeaux will experience something new. ‘B’ Flight will attack a rail yard at Jametz Junction. A single N12 in ‘A’ Flight will fly alongside and observe the damage. It will be Gaston's first strafing mission.
Ltn. Dagonet was leading the van with Gaston following close by. They attacked the large buildings first. After his initial pass Gaston could see smoke coming from the structure he had just attacked. He could only imagine what kind of damage he had inflicted but it had to be significant. On his second pass he fired at the sheds housing the engines and the wagons, but no visible damage could be seen. His third pass didn’t go as well as Gaston had to weave to avoid return fire from the ground machine gunners. His lower port plane was hit at the tip. Gaston was forced to circle the rail yard after that last run until everyone formed behind Ltn. Dagonet. On their way back they were followed by Flak all the way to the front lines. The mission was deemed a mild succes with some buildings being damaged. HQ was happy with the results and no doubt will order more attacks like this in the future.

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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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Raine Offline OP
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MFair -- huge relief. Maybe there's a chance to go for a ride into Lillers. Collins is buying the first round. Coffee for Mark, something else for Jim!

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