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Aleck A. MacKinlay
March 29, 1916

We awoke to see a steady fall of large snowflakes ... operations would probably be cancelled for the day. Not a bit of it; the Major was adamant that we must disrupt Loos Junction rail traffic yet again, weather be damned. Visibility was reduced but we were able to find our way (which we know well by now) and the enemy did not expect our arrival. We hit the target hard and slipped away with no interference. A good days work.

As we sat eating hot sausages and potatoes in the mess, Chris blurted out "You know, we probably killed twenty Germans on the ground this morning". He'd been thinking quietly as we ate, before this apparently random comment spilled forth.

" I know Chris, but it's different. I don't see those men. I don't have to look them in the eye and know that they are real." I had mentioned to him my worries about the prospect of transfer to a Scout unit, and my qualms seem to have become a sore point with him, which I only now realized.

"Well I have had to shoot at the buggers face to face, and it's no bother. Kill or be killed."

"Yes Chris, i understand. I would shoot to save myself and you from attack too. But hunting and killing a poorly armed two-seater ... two men like us?"

"You have to. Two men like us just killed a bunch of enemy soldiers on the ground. Are you going to let a Bosch aircraft do that to our boys?"

I had no reply, but just nodded my head quietly and finished my last swallow of cold tea. He was right, and both of us knew it.

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

March 30, 1916.


Recon gone Astray. My recon was interrupted by 2 Monoplanes engaging my 2 Escorts. I attempted to help,but ripped a little Fabric in a Over-speed trying to get to fighting height. No one was lost in the Melee. Both N 10's had holes and mine with damage.. Our Commandant said that the Monoplane boys are from Jasta 10 or 11 to avoid them as the a/c mounts many machine guns with 1000 rds of ammo.

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Another round of ripping yarns Gents! That was a close one Carrick.

Lt. Mark Jericho
Bruay Aerodrome
March 30, 1916
This was the third trip in a row to Haubourdin. Jericho knew the route by heart. Rain and snow had been their companions on all trips. The mission yesterday was a mess. They had climbed to altitude in cloud and rain. Over the rendezvous point it was socked in and the escorts never showed. Captain Griffen took them to the lines but they could barely see each other much less anything else. Griffen wisely chose to abort the mission and they returned home. Today was much the same but visibility was ok. They met their DH2 escorts south of Bethune and headed to Haubourdin. Again, Jericho was a nervous wreck looking for the Eindeckers who never showed. They dropped their loads and made it back to Bruay by noon. They had hit it good and Jericho hoped he had seen the last of the place for a while.
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Hasse, Tough luck with that jam. Better luck with the Spandau next time. Julius should inspect the ammo belts personally.
Scout, I agree with Chris. At least you don't have to bayonet your enemy. Horrible business.
Carrick, Jasta 11? You should count your lucky stars. Forward firing gun or no.
MFair, you are getting good at this bombing business. Time to tell Major you are now an expert at bombing Haubourdin. Does he have know any other places your expertise could be used to a good effect?

27-28 March, 1916
Somewhere north of Verdun, in enemy trenches
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux

Gaston was moving through the trenches trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He noticed some officers giving him strange looks. To his mind every soldier he passed wore the dead man’s face. The stahlhelm wobbling on top of his head partially concealed his identity. The infantry unit he had been following took him all the way to the forward trench lines and Gaston was desperately searching for some type of cover to lie low and wait for the arrival of the night, so that he may attempt his great escape under the cover of darkness. He could not find such a place, so instead he picked up a small wooden crate pretending to be delivering it. It seemed to work as everyone ignored him as he carried it from place to place. Gaston was starting to get a picture of the maze he was in and formulating a plan of his escape. He scouted some sections which were not being currently occupied as heavily by the troops. One of these will serve as his exit point. He was amazed how much better these trenches were constructed in comparison to the French ones. There was more space and the drainage worked! The dusk was near and Gaston made himself ready. He knew it would be a moonless night. The time was moving agonizingly slowly but Voscadeaux had to be patient. He was waiting for the last moment before the old sentries were relieved by the new ones. His chances of slipping by a sleepy guard would be greatest at that time. A flare went up from time to time to illuminate the No Man’s Land. His hearing became more acute as his eyes were rendered useless in the dark. Gaston took his place, ready to go over the top. Now! He slinked onto the muddy battlefield. He stumbled blindly forward, crawling under the barbed wire. Whenever the flares were fired he would freeze and play dead. Gaston was covered in mud from the recent downpour. If anyone would be looking, all they’d see would be a lump of dirt and not a man. He continued to crawl. Rats scurried away from his path. He came upon a corpse partially sticking out of the mud. Was this a Frenchman or a Boche? The maggots were feasting on the rotting flesh. The stench was unbearable and Gaston couldn’t help but retch. He moved quickly away from this place trying to hold his breath as long as he could. Another flare went up and now was slowly floating down on its little parachute. Voscadeaux couldn’t see the friendly lines. He still had a long way to go. A dog pattered nearby with what looked like a lower section of a leg with a boot still on. A growl warned Gaston that the prize was the dog’s alone and not to be shared. He kept on crawling. The mud was in Gaston’s mouth, his nostrils and his eyes. He couldn’t tell how long he’s been at it but the trenches had to be close by. He could hear voices, laughter. He had to be near. Gaston was exhausted, sleepy, hungry and thirsty. He was so thirsty. Just a little bit more. Finally he saw the outline of the friendly trench. With a feeble voice he called out for help. Almost instantly several helmets cautiously popped up above the parapet. A torch was aimed at Gaston and after a quick interrogation he was carefully pulled into the trench. He resembled a pitiful picture of misery. A man all covered in mud sat crumpled against the base of the trench wall. Two soldiers kept him under guard. The German uniform he was wearing instilled a sense of mistrust. A Caporal came running with a field medic in tow. The medic, half-asleep looked him over, asked Gaston his name.
“- Gaston Voscadeaux, Escadrille Trente-et-Septième.”
“- Hey Doc, is he alright?” The Caporal leaned and took a closer look at Gaston.
“- Trente septième ...”
The medic took another look. “- He’ll be fine. He’s just dehydrated. Someone bring him a cup of wine.”
“- Escadrille 37 ...”
The doc thought for a second. “- Better mix it with water.”


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Fullofit, I’m glad Gaston finally made it back! Great story of “the great escape.”


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Hasse - A great encounter, but hard luck about the stoppage! The Quirk that got away...the exchanging of rude gestures made me laugh. Knights of the sky, indeed!! You'll get 'em next time.

Scout
- Interesting development - the men of MacKinlay's squadron are growing restless of his sympathetic side, perhaps? I wonder what kind of dynamic he'll have with the scout squadron he ends up in...and indeed, how he'll fare in aerial combat! Looking forwards to finding out more.

Carrick - Jasta 11?! Be careful around those artists - let's hope you aren't reunited this time next year!! Good job hanging in there with them.

MFair - Glad Jericho managed to get a quite couple of days in, without those damnable Fokkers arriving to ruin the afternoon. Looks like some pretty accurate bomb-dropping, too - especially considering the weather! Good stuff.

Fullofit - Excellent news! Glad Gaston is back on the right side of the mud. What a great conclusion to one of my favourite story lines so far - I don't envy poor Gaston seeing the mud up close. But, rather selfishly, I could have happily read a few more episodes of Gaston's 'great escape'. I wonder how the whole ordeal will effect his cold, methodical approach in the air...


2nd. Lieut. Graham A. Campbell,
Awaiting New Posting,
London, England.

March 30th, 1916.


Once freed from my harrowing dreams, I stumbled down in a sleepless daze to the sitting room. Feeling down in the dumps about not returning to No. 20, I decided I ought to send Switch-Off & Jimmy Reynard some parting gifts, as well as a letter explaining that I would not be coming back. Turning off of Jermyn Street onto Piccadilly, I headed to Fortnum & Mason, the Department Store.

After much deliberation, I decided to spend the last of Aunt Ina’s money on two provision boxes for my friends, to be shipped to them at Clairmarais. No doubt a Batman would deliver the parcel to our billett. The box I chose for them was luxurious - filled with plenty meats, cheeses, jams & marmalade, and other condiments, as well as a carton of 100 cigarettes, a plentiful supply of rolling tobacco and some soap.

Before heading out from the Cavendish, I had prepared my note wishing them, and the rest of the chaps, the best of luck, and included a friendly wager that whichever one of us had the most Huns to their credit by war’s end would buy the rest of the chaps the first ‘victory round’ of beers. I concluded by mentioning I would write from my new squadron at first opportunity. I requested the letter to be sent within the same large wooden lockbox as the supplies. It was a melancholic feeling as the parcel was prepared and whisked away into storage - for it felt just like I had written some kind of obituary for our friendship.

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Heading to Picadilly Circus to watch the towering double-decker buses roll past, I told myself that I was being rather too dramatic. After all - we would still be in the Somme region together, and I could visit by air anytime I had a 24-hour pass! I managed to cheer myself up slightly, picturing myself arriving on my new machine, in my new uniform at Clairmarais. “My!” Switch-Off would say, “You look so different!”. I would laugh, and ‘order’ Jimmy Reynard, still only a Sergeant, to do 20 pushups for my amusement. Of course, he would then respond by introducing me to the intricacies of Glaswegian insulting. Of course, in these daydreams I was flying a De Haviland or Nieuport Scout.

My time in London was nearly up - tomorrow I would head to Mason’s Yard for my posting, and I would presumably be heading back to France with the start of April. I would sorely miss the luxurious decadence of the late-night parties at the Cavendish, and the long, inconsequential idle chats over alcohol, but none of London’s allure held a candle to the camaraderie I had come to know in France. I sorely hoped that the new squadron would turn out to be as fine a group of fellows as No. 20 was.

As evening came, I decided to indulge myself in my last night of revelry, and at the inevitable soiree in Rosa’s sitting room I let the brandy flow into my ever-depleted glass, knocking back the liquid and screwing my face up with each bite at the back of my throat. I loudly and drunkenly bragged of my encounters with Fokkers, to the enjoyment of the officers and the muted amazement of those among us who had not been to the war. Working like an artist off of the liquid courage, I swapped war stories with airmen, approached the many young ladies, and generally made an obnoxious nuisance of myself. However - this was London - to be obnoxious was to be interesting, to return from France was to be gallant and dangerous. Through these fortunate circumstances, the last moments of the evening were shared with a young lady whose honour I will not tarnish by elaborating further.

I found myself awakening, still slightly inebriated but now feeling the consequences of my decadence, in the first hours of morning, and strode out to the balcony, looking out over the rooftops of London. Against the deep, dark blue sky were one or two thin, wispy lines of chimney smoke. It was a magnificent city, and in that solitary moment I was proud to be fighting for it in the cold, relentless skies of France. I looked into Piccadilly, envisioning us all celebrating on our day of victory. I wondered how long the war would last - and what we would do after.

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Aleck A. MacKinlay
March 30, 1916

No escort today. Buckminster is the only Bristol pilot left and he will be needed elsewhere today. So just two BE2's flying alone. Recon down south near Lens ... this took us into the zone of Fokkers flying out of Douai so a worrisome mission. Corwin's engine acted up as we reached the recon area so Chris and I had to proceed on our own.

I kept hearing aero engines and was nervously looking about; nothing. Chris was busy trying to see anything useful on the ground through a fall of wet snow. Zip, zip bang! We were being shot at from behind. I quickly banked and a Fokker Eindekker appeared under our wing. I was furious that we had missed his approach, and roared through my muffler, "Not today you #%&*$#!" Having long ago learned that the Fokker is a poor flying machine, I through our BE2 onto his tail and stayed there. In a Scout machine I could have finished him in a second. "You can't out-fly me Fritzy! Come on and try!". Around and around I followed him, letting him know he was outclassed. I was hot, with a boiling temper, "Give it up, #%&*$# it!I'll saw your bloody tail off with this prop if I have to". Chris had several chances to take a shot to dissuade the enemy but refused to fire, shaking his head as if to say 'no good, can't make the shot'. Bloody hell! And still the German would not relent.

Off we headed for home, with our persistent German chasing us. Every time he would get close I would make a few quick turns, foil his crude attempts, and head back on our way. Finally, near Bethune, the stubborn idiot banked away and headed for home. I gave chase for a second with the idea that Chris might rake him from the side in revege, but quickly gave up the idea. Chris has shown not a bit of skill with the gun in all our flying together, and trying a stunt like that would probably just get us killed.

We arrived home with no more trouble than a few holes in the tail fabric. I was pretty livid with Chris' performance but kept quiet. Chewing him out would not do any good.


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It took a while to read all the reports. In my humble opinion, this recent patch of stories is the best we've seen so far in this DID campaign.

Fullofit, I'm glad to hear Gaston made it safely back home. And I was fortunate to read all the nasty cliffhangers only when the story was already finished!
Lou, as a Lutheran myself (like most folks in my corner of the world) I can sympathize with Swanson's philosophy. Excellent stuff.
77_Scout, maybe Aleck should give the BE.12 a try. I've heard it's great for hunting those Fokkers! He already seems to have the mentality required for the job.
Raine, Wulfe, Maeran, MFair etc. - ripping yarns everybody! Keep 'em coming!


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Lederhosen, your latest report on Willi was super That screenshot of the crashed and burning Nieuport is a keeper.

Hasse, a frustrating outing for Julius to be sure, though I suspect the crew in the Quirk were quite happy about his misfortune.

Scout, I think Aleck needs to request a new G/O, preferably one that knows how to take advantage of shooting opportunities.

Wulfe, great reports as always, and that contemporary provisions box list is excellent stuff. But come on man, we all want to know which unit Graham is being posted to!

Fullofit, I can at last breath a sigh of relief, Gaston is back with his own and relatively safe and sound. Outstanding telling of his entire escape saga.

MFair, looks like Jericho and his flight prefer getting down and dirty with those bombing sorties. A bit too low down for my liking, but to each his own.



Outstanding reading as always Gents. Thanks!

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31 March, 1916
Bruay, France
3 Squadron, R.F.C.
2nd Lt. Randolph Arvid Swanson MC
8 confirmed victories, 2 pending claims


The squadron is on the move again, this time 30-some miles south to a place called Bertangles West. 2nd Lt. Swanson is gutted and couldn't care less about the relocation. Yesterday he lost his G/O and friend, Captain Daniel Craig. It all began when the Major temporarily assigned a new man, Captain Lance Rankin, to ride with Swanson in order that he might show the fellow the ropes. At the same time Captain Craig had been temporarily assigned to a new pilot, 2nd Lt. Bayles, apparently for the same reason. Neither Swany nor Daniel were pleased with the situation, but orders were orders. The two new teams made up B Flight for the early afternoon sortie; a recce and bombing of the enemy lines along the eastern edge of Arras. Swany was tasked with leading the foray which would make this his third time in command of a mission. He was actually preferring the leadership role as he could make his own decisions about how best to cross into and out of Hun territory.

The flight to the target area went quietly enough. While the skies were gray and cloudy, there was no rain or snow and the winds were light. The two Moranes were still a mile or so shy of the lines when a trio of Eindeckers came diving down upon them. Two of the EA went tearing into Bayles and Craig while the third chased after Swanson and Rankin. Swany watched in disbelief as Bayles flew on straight and level while the brace of Fokkers lined up and opened fire. He could see Captain Craig hammering away with the Lewis at his attackers, and while his shots were landing he hadn't a chance. The Hun bullets converged and ripped through the British machine and its occupants; brief seconds later flames were licking along the fuselage of the Morane as black smoke began trailing behind. Swanson watched only a moment as his wingmen fell to their fate, he had his hands full with his own threat, (luckily just the one, the other two had clearly felt the final wrath of Captain Craig as they were now running towards home, each trailing grayish wisps of vapor).

Before they'd taken off Swany had briefed his new G/O on what he would do should they be attacked, and the fellow had assured him that he would be ready to make use of any shooting opportunities provided him; he was not. When the young ace began putting the Morane through its paces Rankin grabbed the coaming of his cockpit and hung on for dear life. Through a barrage of British AA the Eindecker bore down upon them and took full advantage of the lack of return fire from his prey, peppering the wing and fuselage of the Morane. Swany dropped his kite into a spin to buy a bit of time and as he pulled out he twisted himself around enough so that he could deal with his useless gunner. He punched the man in the back three times as hard as he could - BAM BAM BAM! The blows caused Rankin to let go his grip and turn around to face his pilot. Swany screamed at the man loud enough that he was actually heard over the roar of the engine and the rushing of the wind. "START SHOOTING AT THAT DAM'D FOKKER!" The killer look in Swany's eyes likely did more to convince the fellow to move than did the punches. Whichever it was, when the Eindecker came at them again, gun blazing, Rankin began to fire back. The fight went all the way down to within a hundred feet of the ground before the British team gained the advantage. Rankin managed at last to get a good shot in which caused the enemy plane to jinx suddenly then turn back towards the east. The Hun hadn't flown but a hundred yards or so when he went into a spin and smashed into the ground near a bombed out church along the outskirts of Arras, a smoky column marking his final resting place. Swany immediately made best speed back to Bruay, wrestling with the controls all the way home.


Once safely on the ground the angry young pilot fairly leapt from the cockpit and stomped off towards the Major's office. Captain Rankin had to run to catch up with him.

"Wait up Swanson, wait up!"

Swany spun round and stepped right into Rankin as he approached. "If you know vat's good for you, you'll back off."

The Captain looked stunned, but blurted out, "Now see here Lieutenant, I am your senior officer and ..." He was cut short by Swanson's reply.

"You'll be a dead senior officer if you don't get the hell out of my sight and right gott dam'd NOW! If you tink I'm kidding yust try me. I'll drag you back over to our bus, rip the Lewis gun down, and beat you vit it til you stop breathing."

By this time Rankin had gone white as a sheet and was at a complete loss for words. He stood stone still as 2nd Lt. Swanson turned away and continued on to the CO's office where he reported the loss of Craig and the new man. He also informed the Major that he'd sooner fly with a bag of axe heads, as they'd each be twice as sharp as Rankin, plus he could throw them at the Hun and likely knock one down faster than the Captain did. By this point Rankin had made his way to the Major's office as well and the three men had a long discussion. It wrapped up with the CO concluding that while he too was saddened by the loss of the two men, and while he also understood Swanson's feelings on the whole affair, it was still none-the-less required that a 2nd Lieutenant show proper respect to a Captain, even if said Captain may well deserve to be beaten to death with a Lewis gun. That task would have to fall on someone of equal or higher rank and with the proper authority to carry out such an action; a Major, perhaps. Rankin and Swanson were dismissed and told to fill out their AARs and claim forms, then go to the mess and have some hot tea and a bite to eat and see if they couldn't sort things out between themselves as they would be flying as a team for at least the immediate foreseeable future.


Craig and Bayles fall to their deaths.
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The useless G/O, and an Eindecker taking full advantage.
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A gray sky full of hate.
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The threat at last eliminated.
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Final resting place.
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Oh dear! After that, I imagine it's going to be rather awkward in the mess for a while.

Great story, nice screenshots.


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Wow, wonderful pics and yarns to look at with a Sunday Morning Cup of Java.

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Emile Benoit La Mont
Sgt, N 26
St. Pol-sur-mer, AF
Flanders.
March 31, 1916.


Off to the lines for a Recon with 1 Escort. We flew around in the muck till my Ob wanted head for Zee Home.

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Wulfe, A true gentleman Sir!
Scout, Great video, you had that Hun by the tail!
Lou, I prefer bombing from higher up myself but orders or orders. I can't wait to lead my own flights.

Lt. Mark Jericho
Bertangles West
March 31, 1916

The squadron got the word last night. Moving to Bertangles West. "That's some real bad medicine all around Pard" Jericho said to his friend Swany. Not only had he lost his friend and gunner, he would be moving 30 miles further from his lady friend. Swany did not answer and Jericho did not push it. He was well aware there were no words to ease his friends pain at the moment. Time was the only thing that would help and it was seeming as though both of them most likely had little of that left.

Jericho and Christian took off to take their Morane to Bertangles. It was cloudy but at least it was not raining. Just as soon as they had climbed out and gained some altitude Jericho noticed something was wrong with the engine. It seemed there was more oil than usual coming off the cowling. He looked around to get his bearings. It was just in time as the rpm's on the engine started to drop and then the engine froze with a thump! He looked back at Brauy and deduced they could not make it back to the field. He saw a road below and decided that was the safest bet. He circled down but with the wind it was hard to keep the Morane on an even keel but managed to set her down about 3 miles east of Bruay. "Well ain't that a sack of bricks" Jericho said as he unbuckled and made an exit from the cockpit. He gave Christian a hand down and they started walking back to Bruay. Christian said, "that's sure a long way to walk". Jericho was just not in the mood at the moment. "What the hell are you b@#hin' about! Your alive aren't you? Besides, this is just a hop, skip and a jump." They walked the rest of the way back to Bruay. After reporting the location of their Morane the Major told them to catch a ride in one of the Lorries and that they would haul their machine to Bertangles. "Major would you mind if I ride Moon to Bertangles?" The Major looked at Jericho and asked "You had rather ride a horse thirty miles than take a Lorrie!?" Jericho smiles, "Any day Sir!" The Major shook his head and replied "Then be my quest Lieutenant."

As he and Christian left the Majors office Jericho asked Christian, "Can you ride?" The Lt. replied he had done a bit of riding. "Good" said Jericho, "How about you taking Jim's mount, "I don't trust those sons of bi#@hes to get him there." Christian replied, "I'll give it a go Mark" knowing full well Jericho was not going to take no for and answer. "We will cut across country to save a little time."

Jericho and Christian set out toward Bertangles that afternoon cutting across the fields. Crossing one Jericho could see a fence ahead. He did not say anything to Christian and bumped Moon into a gallop. Reaching the fence, Moon cleared it with ease. Jericho pulled him up just in time to see Christian on Jim's mount clear the fence with no effort. "Whooo We" said Jericho, "that was as purdy a jump as there ever was." Christian just smiled. " I told you I have done a bit of riding." Jericho looked at Christian, "A bit! Amigo you don't jump like that with just a bit of riding."

As the sun was low on the horizon they spotted a farmhouse near Fervent and decided they should find quarters for the night. They rode up to the house and an elderly gentleman stepped out to greet them. Christian spoke to the man in French and soon they were talking back and forth. Jericho felt naked. Here he was in a foreign country listening to two people carry on and he had not one idea what they were talking about. Christian finally turned to Jericho and said, "We have a place to stay Mark. He said we can put the mounts in the barn." Jericho nodded to the gentleman and told Christian he would take care of the stock while he and the Frenchman got acquainted. When Jericho entered the house his stomach gave a growl at the smell of something good. An elderly French lady who Jericho supposed was the man's wife, wiped her hands on her apron and came over to Jericho talking up a storm and ushering him to a place at the table. The Frenchman looked at Jericho with wide eyes. He was taken aback with the friendliness of the two. "Whats up here Amigo" he asked Christian. Christian laughed at Jericho and said "I took the liberty of telling them you are a real american cowboy from the wild west of America." Jericho blushed and looking at the two friendly hosts said "I'm thinking my friend here might have blown a little smoke." Their two hosts looked at Christian who translated Jericho's answer. The both laughed and babbled something which Jericho could not comprehend. That's the way it went for a few hours before Christian explained they had a long way to go in the morning and needed to get some rest.

In the morning they saddled the two horses and thanked their hosts for a wonderful evening. As they mounted up the lady spoke and gave Jericho a rolled sack. Jericho looked at Christian for translation and he said "its some food for the journey". Jericho smiled down at the old woman. She reached up with her two hands to Jericho who leaned down and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Jericho tilted his cap to the lady and old man and he and Christian went on their way. Christian looked at Jericho and said, "I think the lady is sweet on you old boy!" Jericho did not acknowledge his comment but said "We're going to be late" and spurred moon into a gallop.


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Thank you Gentlemen for the praise. As wonderful as it is Gaston will try to avoid any foot trips in the future.
Wulfe, that was a nice gesture sending the provision boxes to your mates. They will definitely appreciate them. I, like Lou, cannot wait to see which squad will dear Campbell end up with. And finally a conquest! He is becoming a ladies man.
Scout, great video. That Quirk had no issues with being too stable to keep up with a Fokker. Hope one of those days the Devs can do something about it.
Hasse, you missed out on the cliffhangers? That sucks! Sorry to hear that.
Lou, that is a very tough pill to swallow when you lose a wingman, but to lose your excellent G/O, that's not a pill anymore. That's a suppository. Tough luck! And to get stuck with a moron just adds insult to injury. I feel for Swany, especially with the base relocation. Georgette will be heartbroken. On a positive note, congrats on taking that Hun out.
MFair, it was an very sweet story with the elderly couple, but I have to admit I was wincing when Christian was jumping the fence. Doesn't he know these things are made of titanium. This stuff is lethal to a horse.

28 March, 1916 14:25
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux
3 confirmed kills

Voscadeaux was back at Senard after being kept the rest of the night and the entire morning for observation at the field dressing station. The doctor from last night released him after Voscadeaux insisted he was fine and didn’t want to waste any more of their time (nor his). On his return Gaston was welcomed by the relieved Dagonet. They had him listed as MIA as no one saw his plane come down. Gaston was glad to be back and eager to get back in the air. A little drowsy from little sleep, but he just couldn’t stay idle anymore. He had a score to settle with the Germans. The next Hun that crosses his path will pay for Hugo’s son. He was introduced to his new wingman, Adjutant Auguste Adelus. The men shook hands and discussed what Gaston expected of all his wingmen - cover his derrière. The man seemed intelligent enough to understand what Voscadeaux demanded of him. He kept a small notebook with him in which he noted various things. Gaston hoped Auguste could remember orders and didn’t rely too much on his notebook. They would soon find out as the afternoon escort mission was announced. The ‘A’ flight needed to be escorted for their reconnaissance flight to front sector north of Chalons. Despite Capitaine’s objections Gaston insisted to be included on the ‘B’ flight’s active roster.
It was very cloudy. They had to punch through the cloud layer to see patches of blue skies, but not before Gaston's new wingman peeled off with engine trouble. Suddenly the ‘B’ flight was down to three machines. Ltn. Dagonet, who was leading them dove unexpectedly into the clouds and came up again, then again, but this time he had found himself on the tail of an Eindecker. He had no trouble following the Boche and fired at each opportunity he could get. Gaston tried to engage, but the dogfight was too close between the two adversaries and he wouldn’t want to risk a midair collision. Adjutant Boillot stayed out of it completely circling above. Then the unthinkable happened. The Fokker stalled in a climb and Dagonet smashed into him. This happened as the two machines flew out of Gaston's view and were obscured by his top wing. When they came into view, there were two trails of black smoke coming down to the ground. The ‘B’ flight was now down to two machines and Voscadeaux was the leader. They linked up with the single N12 of the ‘A’ flight and completed the rest of the recon. On the way back Caporal Soumaniat in the Nieuport 12 made an abrupt turn and signaled Gaston that something was wrong. Gaston's only wingman, Adj. Boillot was already circling back. Another Fokker was following them. Gaston begun to track it as Boillot made his pass. Few more turns and Voscadeaux was aiming at the intruder. As he was finishing him off and watching him fall with no control, he noticed another monoplane in an attack dive just above them. Gaston was able to avoid him with Boillot's help. All of a sudden the Hun found himself in a difficult situation with two French scouts gunning for him. Gaston gained some altitude and converted it into extra speed forcing the Boche on the defensive. He was now on his tail and firing. Voscadeaux was coming closer and closer with his Lewis gun causing greater damage with each second. Gaston was right on top of the German now and had to bank to avoid a collision. Adjutant Boillot was right behind and finished the job with a single well aimed burst. The Fokker crashed into the mud below and the two aviators made a quick trip home, where Cpl. Soumaniat was already rolling to a stop on the field. Each of the pilots filled out a claim form. Adj. Adelus was alright and talking with the mechanics, making notes in his notebook. Ltn. Dagonet called the aerodrome that he was also fine, somehow managing to land his stricken plane with only minor injuries. It was a lucky day.



"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."
Joined: May 2012
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Aleck A MacKinlay
March 31, 1916

Had to return to Abeele with a broken prop within seconds of takeoff. Norton and Buckminster completed the bombing mission without me and had no problems. My early return was actually fortuitous as my transfer papers arrived in the Squadron orders packet only a few minutes later. Given the timing, the Major scoured up a car and driver and I was on my way, kit packed, right after a quick lunch and a few goodbyes. All was forgotten regarding yesterdays rough flight with Chris and he wished me well. I hope he survives this mess ... he's a good man but a terrible gunner. I'll miss his company on the ground, but not in the air.

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Raine Offline OP
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Well done, 77_Scout. After the Campaign Gods PMd you, I was worried that you would become Fokker fodder before you made it to 29 Sqn.

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


April 1, 1916.

On Recon , I got into a fight with 2 Hun 2 Seats. I got Zee bad part of the deal. Their concentrated Rear Gun fire caught my lower right wing and broken a spar . Zee machine flew Drunkenly in the sky hard to control always losing height and pulling . Finally . I got her down and did a ground loop taking off more wing , prop, and wrecking the landing.

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Last edited by carrick58; 04/01/19 08:31 PM.
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Carrick, there is nothing wrong with that landing. That's how you're supposed to land in a Nieuport 12.

29 March, 1916 9:45
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux
4 confirmed kills

Gaston was pleased to find out his Fokker from yesterday was confirmed.

The mission for today was arty spotting over the front sector north of St. Mihiel salient. Caporal Mondeme was dilly dallying behind in his lonely N12, while Ltn. Dagonet took the ‘B’ flight ahead for an advanced sweep. It was a good move as the skies were teeming with hungry Fokkers. Right over the front the leader of the ‘B’ flight gave signal for attack and dove at something that Gaston couldn’t see from his position. He followed and soon noticed one of the monoplanes diving away for cover. He gave chase but as he checked his rear for any surprises he noticed Dagonet chasing two more Eindeckers. Voscadeaux instantly forgot about the fleeing Hun and joined his wing leader in the hunt. Gaston’s wingman, Adjutant Adelus was no help. He disappeared at the beginning of the action, chasing another monoplane. Each of the pilots settled on one target and chased it all over the sky. The Boche tried all sorts of tricks to shake Gaston off, but the French pilot would have none of that. He was not duped by the fake spins the Germans were so fond of and finally one of Voscadeaux’s volleys severed control linkages on the Fokker. He snapped a roll that could not have been faked and plunged toward the earth. A smoking crater was all that was left of the gallant foe just north of the Foret de la Reine. Gaston didn’t waste much time examining his work. He knew there were more Huns to be dealt with. He soon noticed two machines in the distance engaged in a fight with Flak going off around one of them. That had to be Dagonet still locking horns with his stubborn opponent. Gaston gave chase to support his wing leader. The pair disappeared into the clouds, but Gaston was already chasing two more Fokker-like shapes retreating toward Bechamps. He was now into enemy territory and little apprehensive, having his recent adventure behind the lines freshly etched into his mind. He followed nonetheless and soon was near the enemy aerodrome, when he noticed on his port side a monoplane getting ready to land. The Hun was oblivious to Gaston’s presence and soon found himself in Voscadeaux’s sights. His aim was true and his target was presently careening down into the field below. The crews and mechanics watching this battle above them must have been shocked to see their feared Eindecker being dispatched with ease by this new weapon their enemy had in the arsenal. The humiliation was nowhere nearly over when Gaston noticed one more machine circling the field. He was on him in a matter of seconds and prepared a hot-lead welcome. The Boche was good and put up a good fight after the initial shock of surprise. Gaston’s bullets found the engine and the Boche desperately looked for a place to put down his machine as his propeller came to a stop. Voscadeaux watched the Flieger struggle with controls but able to land the stricken Eindecker in a farmer’s field. “Until we meet again, Herr Boche!” Gaston begun to climb in the westerly direction being chased by the angry puffs of Flak. Once over the trenches, Gaston made a beeline for the aerodrome. As he touched down he saw Ltn. Dagonet circle the field. He came back empty handed. His Fokker slipped away. Adjutant Adelus, on the other hand, called in that he needed a lift as he had to put down on the road with a dud engine. The good news was that he bagged a Hun for himself. Good on him! Maybe there is a scout pilot in him after all? Gaston made his own claims on the tercet of Boches and went for lunch. It didn’t take long to confirm 2 of them. One was called in by the troops in the trenches who witnessed Gaston’s first kill and the other one was by none other than Dagonet himself who saw the Eindecker in the field as he was returning from his chase. No one could confirm Gaston’s victory over the airfield. Maybe he should telegram Bechamps aerodrome and ask? Regardless, these latest victories made Gaston an Ace! Le Capitaine was ecstatic and called Gaston into his office to congratulate him. There was also another reason. Gaston was to be promoted to Sous Lieutenant. He should think of painting his mount to mark this occasion. Gaston had already something in mind.



"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."
Joined: Jul 2014
Posts: 2,105
Raine Offline OP
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A request to DiD pilots

To ensure the Campaign Gods don't overlook your accomplishments, could each DiD pilot please post the following information as of 31 March 1916? Perhaps we can find a less clunky way to do this, but for now this will work. Please submit a similar report at the end of each subsequent calendar month.

Rank (in your story)
Name (First, Middle, Last)
Squadron (e.g. FFA 32, Esc N37, 3 Sqn RNAS, 16 Sqn RFC)
Aerodrome at end of month
Confirmed kills to end of month.
Flying hours since first posted to the front or active duty HE squadron..

Thanks,

Raine


Last edited by Raine; 04/02/19 12:01 AM.
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