I've been terribly busy with real life again, but I'm doing my best to catch up with everything. Wulfe, I'm sorry about the loss of Graham. I enjoyed reading about his adventures. His final flight was quite realistic - no big drama, just bad luck with a stray bullet. That happened to so many real pilots in the Great War. Better luck with the new guy!
It's going to take a while to read all these reports...
Oh, and here's the latest from Julius!
11. FIRST BLOOD
"Well it is quite simple. I fly close to my man, aim well and then of course he falls down."
- Oswald Boelcke (October 1915)
April 1, 1916. Early morning, somewhere over the Somme.
Julius could clearly see the French Nieuport approaching the observation balloon that was watching over the left flank of the German 2nd Army. Sunlight reflected off the enemy plane’s surfaces. Julius was flying a couple of hundred meters higher than the unsuspecting Frenchman, who was steadily closing in on the German balloon. Julius cocked his machine gun, reduced the engine’s throttle and pushed his machine into a shallow dive. It was the perfect moment for an attack. Rapidly the Nieuport grew bigger in his view. Julius aimed at the cockpit of the Frenchman and pressed the firing switch on the control column. The Spandau barked angrily over the engine sounds of the Fokker. This time there were no stoppages. After his disastrous earlier encounter with the English two-seater, Julius had made sure the ammunition belt of his Spandau was in tiptop shape for every mission. He kept firing at the Nieuport for what seemed like an eternity. Finally the French plane turned left, banked over and went into a deadly spin, clearly out of control. Watching over the left side of his cockpit, Julius could see the hapless Frenchman crash down in No Man’s Land. It was a brutal crash, and the Nieuport crumbled into a shape that barely resembled an aircraft. There was no fire or explosion.
Julius returned to Bertincourt with his heart racing and his sweaty hands gripping the control column. After making a successful landing, he switched off the magnetos and the rotating Oberursel engine slowly came to a halt. Everything was quiet. When his mechanic approached the cockpit, Julius grinned broadly at him and shouted excitedly: “I got one! I shot down a Frenchman!” Soon a small crowd had gathered around Julius and his monoplane. Julius then gave a report of his encounter to Hauptmann Viebig, who telephoned the 2nd Army headquarters and requested confirmation of Julius’s claim of victory. A nerve-racking wait followed. After two hours, the telephone rang. The flying troops staff officer (Stabsoffizier der Flieger) of the 2nd Army informed Bertincourt that the ground troops responsible for the observation balloon had indeed witnessed Julius’s air combat and could confirm the exact location of the downed Nieuport in No Man’s Land. Unfortunately the wreck was out of reach, but there was no question about the veracity of Julius’s report. Julius was both relieved and excited by the news. He had finally succeeded in his goal of becoming a victorious aviator.
That night there was a celebration at Bertincourt. As Julius finally retired to his bed for the night, the elation felt over his first victory was somewhat lessened by the troubling knowledge that earlier in the day, he had killed a fellow human being. Julius did his best to ignore this feeling of guilt and tried to get some sleep.
"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."
James McCudden, Five Years in the Royal Flying Corps
Then there is a problem - we do not have free slots for assignment of personal skins to non-HA, non-player pilots in WOFF. There is one slot for player skin, five slots for squadron skins and five slots for HA skins per A/C type. That is all :-(.
That’s too bad Triple-J, thanks for looking into 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."
Congratulations, Hasse, on the confirmed victory!!
So - while we’re on the subject, can you assign custom skins for HA’s then? I’ve been thinking N31 needs a little makeover. Problem is, all the HA’s use a default skin for the N11!!
Congrats Hasse! Hopefully it’ll be the first of many. Please endeavour to get many more Brits and less Frenchmen, k? Wulfe, yes you can assign a custom skin to each HA, that’s why we have over 6,000 skins. Just make sure it’s in the proper .DDS format and the file name matches the HA’s name.
"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."
More Brits, less Frenchmen, and Certainly no volunteer Americans!!!
Sgt. James B. Fullard, Escadrille N.31, Ochey Aerodrome, France.
April 13th, 1916.
By the time I had awoken, the tap-tapping of the rain against the roof of our barracks had escalated into a thunderous drumming. As I stirred in my cot, I heard the sound of little Devienne cry out down the hall “Bonnes nouvelles! It’s perfect flying weather!”. Cheers erupted from the other rooms, as Lemoine’s voice came next, boldly declaring “I shan’t leave my bed until suppertime!”.
After allowing myself a little more shut-eye, I finally climbed out of my cot and changed into my uniform, wandering through into the mess, which was empty, save for Georges who sat reading a newspaper with a deep frown on his face. “Morning,” I offered, and he folded the paper. “Good morning, sir. Sleep well?”. I hadn’t - my mind was racing throughout the night with thoughts of my fight with the Eindecker, and of Victor’s self-inflicted demise, but I replied “Yes, thank you” anyway. He smiled and told me he was glad. Gesturing to the paper, I asked “anything interesting?”. He sighed sadly, and shook his head. “More news of Verdun. The battle rages on still, no side gaining an advantage”. He stared off into some private memory. “If it wasn’t for this lame leg of mines, I would be there” he said, before looking over at me and smiling. “But, perhaps I should not test my luck too much”. I wanted to ask him about what had happened to his leg, but thought it would perhaps be too personal of a question. By any means, it was the first I had heard him mention it since my arrival at the Escadrille.
The pilots emerged around lunchtime, as Georges and another Orderly laid out bowls of broth and, again, plates of buttered rolls. I assumed my usual position next to Ortoli and, as yesterday, was welcomed to the table with a friendly slap on the back. I appreciated Ortoli’s willingness to make me feel welcome. The conversation turned towards Lemoine’s Nieuport flight yesterday, and the pilots were thoroughly amused as he went into detail about the harrowing flight. Suddenly and quite to my surprise, Chaput exclaimed “But, wait, we hardly know a thing about our Americain!”, before turning to me and asking “Tell us! what brought you to our merry little war, Fullard?”. The pilots turned to me with eager faces, and for a moment I felt strangely embarrassed. Setting my spoon on the table, I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Well, you see, when I was younger, my brother Andrew became a racecar driver. I used to go down to watch his races, it was fascinating to me. The speed, the machinery, the engines roaring out their powerful songs as they sped around the tracks. At first I thought I wanted to be a driver myself, but one day I happened to read one of the New York papers that my Old Man was subscribed to. There was a story in there about flying, and immediately I knew I had found my love. It seemed amazing to me, that man had finally gained mastery over the air and, like many of the boys in the neighbourhood, I wanted desperately to be a pilot”.
Ortoli, with a grin on his face, gestured to the pilots around the table, remarking “I suppose then you didn’t know that Pilotes looked like this”. There were chuckles and feigned protests as Ortoli batted away a roll, thrown by Lemoire. Little Devienne fervently hushed the pilots as Chaput excitedly said “mais continue, Fullard!”.
Smiling to myself, I went on. “Well, by the time I had turned Eighteen, the European War had broken out. It was all anybody my age could talk about! And, of course for me, I was immediately drawn to the idea of war flying. My two brothers and I were obsessed - we just knew that we had to take part, but of course the States wanted no part in the affair. Some of our friends back home, in San Francisco, sent away for their passports, and headed to France to volunteer. John Fitzsimmons went into the Belgian army, and Desmond, who was Andrew’s closest friend, went to fight in the Foriegn Legion. A few of our friends crossed into Canada and enlisted with the English”. (At the mention of England came some hisses and boos from the pilots).
“We had made our minds up by the end of the first year. We had to enlist. In secret from our parents, we sent away to Washington D.C for our passports. Of course, Andrew was the first to go - he left for the Foriegn Legion in February. But, naturally, our parents were distraught, my mother most of all, and so they forbade us from following after Andrew”.
“Ah, but your passion must have overcome them, no? That’s how you were able to leave?” Lemoine cut in. Immediately, the pilots joined in a chorus of “Shhhh!” as Ortoli shouted “Wait and find out, Lemoine, you toad!”. The redheaded Sergeant raised his chin in discontempt for his colleagues, but fell silent.
“Not quite,” I continued, “but we had made our minds up. Michael and I received our passports and kept them hidden, planning our departure. One night, it was August 11th, we crept out of the estate and ran across the Bay to board a ferry. During the long voyage, six months, I convinced Michael that he should join the air service with me, and we trained at Avord together. A week before I was posted here, he was sent to N.15”. Chaput’s eyes widened, and he made the curious French gesture of flicking water from his fingertips. “N.15! But they are right on the lines at Verdun! That’s a hot shop for veteran pilotes, never mind a beginner!”. Nervousness took a hold of me as he said the words. “But he’s okay…?” I half-asked, not entirely convincing myself. Ortoli placed a hand on my back. “I’m sure he is. Have you written him yet?”. I brightened up. “Yes! Although, I don’t know where, or how, to send my letter”. Chaput rose from his seat. “Ah, Mon Ami, Georges can have the letter posted for you! But you must write down the name of the Aerodrome. Good thing I know where N.15 hangs out!”
I rushed back through the corridor to my room, fishing out my letter to Michael and bringing it to Chaput, who, in one fluid motion, deftly wrote down the address of N.15’s airfield. Later in the evening, as Georges appeared to declare that Supper was ready, I asked if he may post the letter for me, and offered him ten Francs to do so. Smiling, he closed his palm over my outstretched hand, saying “No need for payment, Sir. I am, after all, your Orderly. I will gladly post your letter”.
Supper was the same meal as lunch, much to the distaste of the pilots, but as Montdidier, the head Cook for our Barracks, appeared to explain, the rain had gotten in through a hole in the roof and the pantry had been partially flooded. Swirling his spoon through the broth, little Devienne turned his nose up. “If this is what we are forced to eat, I shall just go hungry” he declared. Beside him, Jensen frowned. “ ɪᴛ's ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛʟʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ. ᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ, ɪɴ ғᴀᴄᴛ. ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴇᴀᴛ ɪᴛ, ᴅᴇᴠɪᴇɴɴᴇ ” he said, before raising his bowl to his lips and, to the awe of the rest of us, drinking his share in one long motion. We chatted away idly over our bowls for the next hour. Chaput asked me one or two questions about San Francisco, and asked me how I was fluent in French. I explained to him that my mother, Dame Wilma Addington-Fullard, had inherited both the Addington wealth and estate upon her father’s death, and how my brothers and I had been afforded a well-rounded education as a result.
After we had finished eating, with not much else to do, most of us rolled into the long corridor, bidding each other goodnight as we slunk into our rooms and curled up in our cots. Only Lemoine and little Devienne stayed up. Sure that the ‘Good Weather’ (that is to say - the rain stopping us from flying) would hold up, they decided to celebrate their ‘holiday’ with a bottle of wine. I felt my eyelids become heavy as I listened to their muffled laughter, and soon I felt the Barracks slipping away.
Lemoire...Lemoine...I need to start getting these names right! But, writing for a French outfit is a fun change of pace after the R.F.C boys - even if the weather's dud!
Wulfe, that was an exquisite story and kept me engaged even though there was no mention of any air battles. I am making the curious French gesture of kissing my fingertips with an exaggerated “Mwah!” As I said before, Theophile Lemoine is my favourite character. I picture him as Gerard Depardieu as Obelix.
"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."
Gaston lead Adj. Boillot in the ‘B’ flight on escort duty of the ‘A’ flight Nieuport 12 to perform a bit of arty spotting over enemy front sector north of Verdun. It was Adjutant Boillot again who spotted the enemy first. Two Aviatiks were lazily crossing the front to do some damage of their own. Voscadeaux and his flight mate would not allow it and proceeded in the direction of the Boches. They've reached them just as the Huns were releasing their bombs, or they’ve released their bombs because the French planes have reached them. Voscadeaux started to attack the trailing one and used all of his ammo, but didn't do enough damage to bring it down. Adj. Boillot had to finish the job as Gaston watched from a safe distance as the light blue machine nosedived pulling behind a gray plume of smoke. Boillot also used up all of his ammunition while chasing and attacking the other Aviatik. At least everyone came back home without any wounds from the Boche gunners.
The entire front was bustling with activity. The explosions going off every second with the accuracy of a Swiss watch. They skimmed the bottom of the cloud layer all the way to their target, the enemy camp north of Verdun. This was an effective way of seeing nothing above you, but gave you an eagle's eye view of what was happening below. And what was happening below was of particular interest to Gaston and Medeville. A trio of machines with black crosses were patrolling the front at a significant distance and much lower. Voscadeaux gave the signal and the attack commenced. The two French sesquiplanes lunged at the foe below trading height for speed. The enemy, as if anticipating the attack, darted between the clouds to obscure their presence. One of those clouds proved to be very effective. The French team lost sight of their intended target and begun to circle in search. It was no use, the Fokkers have disappeared. Gaston was angry with himself for letting them slip away when he noticed some movement east of their position. Far in the distance he could see a shape of an aircraft. Was it one of the Fokkers? They turned to face it. Voscadeaux checked on his wingman. He was just fine, obediently following behind and just further back another machine was following as well. It was a trap and Gaston fell for it! Medeville hasn't seen the Hun on his tail yet. Gaston quickly changed direction to face the hunter. They were now prop to prop, each firing at the other one as if jousting. Voscadeaux skillfully placed Violette at the rear of his opponent's craft and nearly expended all of his ammunition before the Boche fell to his death. No sooner this occurred when the original Fokker came into view above Gaston's Nieuport. It surprised even Gaston to see the new enemy to start spinning out of control after being hit with a handful of bullets. He crashed close to the other crater. The French ace gave signal to regroup and after S. Ltn. Medeville formed up, both proceeded back to Senard for a well deserved meal and a hearty drink
"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."
Emile Benoit La Mont Sgt, N 26 St. Pol-sur-mer, AF Flanders, France
April 13, 1916.
Ace of Aces. Here at N-26 it means stealing kills. I was part of a 6 a/c Offensive Patrol with our Star Ace and his wingman got in a Jam with 3 Monoplanes . I circled down to help and fired Zee nachine gun more to scare off the e/a than to hit zem. I put on a fresh drum and went back at it. I spotted one low and slow under me so dropped the nose .cut zee power and dropped on zee tail. Tacka ,Tacka, Tacka. 47 rds fired some hi The e/at puked smoke and started a slow turn. I circled and reloaded . To my Horror, The Ace of Aces came creeping up behind shot at my kill. He got the credit and there was a big party in zee mess. I took a walk.
Man, the stuff that can happen in a few days! I have a lot of catching up to do. Lederhosen, I feel your pain. Back pain is a terrible mistress. Wulfe, I am truly sorry for your loss. You had put in a lot of time into that pilot. I'm glad to see you are back in the saddle.
Lt. Mark Jericho Lahoussoye Aerodrome Jan. 13, 1916
No one knows what got into Jericho upon arriving at Lahoussoye on the 10th. Almost 4 months of combat flying surely had taken a toll, even though he had not shown it until today. He had thrown a cursing fit to anyone who would listen. Most did not. Unknown to him, his friends Swany and Jim had asked the Major to give him some time off saying he was a danger to himself and anyone else who was in the air with him. The Major had reluctantly agreed. He called Jericho and Christian into his makeshift office at the new field. Jericho was told he had 5 days leave and Christian was to accompany him. Christian was to go because in the Major's words, "I don't think the civilian population is ready for the likes of Jericho."
And so it was that Jericho and Christian found themselves eating at Godbert's in Amiens. They had secured a room at the Hotel Belmont on the 11th. They had toured the Amiens Cathedral which Jericho had marveled at. He had never seen anything so beautiful back in America. The town itself was full of military types with the big push coming in the summer. Most were there to escape the war for a moment. Christian was a year younger in age than Jericho but coming from fine English stock he was years ahead of Jericho in sophistication and social graces. They made quite the pair. Their bond was known only to those who had fought together with complete trust in the other. Their lives in each others hands. It had been a nice change to tour and talk without the worry of death. This evening they were having a fine meal at Godberts. The cheerful patron had greeted them as they entered the lobby and finding out Jericho was American jabbered on and on as she led them to their table. They had just finished their meal and were waiting for the desert when a well dressed young lady, who had been sitting a few tables away, walked over to them and spoke to Jericho in French. They both stood up and Jericho looked at Christian as he was totally ignorant of the French language. Christian looked at the lady and back to Jericho and said, "it seems you two might know each other if you are the man who helped her out in Bethune a few months ago." Jericho looked at the lady. She was pretty but not beautiful and had the saddest eyes he had ever seen. "If she is the lady who's" he paused for a moment, "who's companion was a disrespectful toad, then yes, I am the same." he said. As Christian translated to the lady what Jericho said she smiled and leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "My, my, my old boy" said Christian. It seems the lady might be a bit fond of you." Jericho blushed. "Would you just shut up and ask her if she would like to sit down" Jericho said as he pulled out a chair. Camille, as they learned, sat down with the two officers. "So how did you two meet?" Christian asked Jericho. Jericho who did not take his eyes off Camille said, "I'll explain later Amigo."
The desert came and Jericho ordered another for Camille. As they all three started to eat their desert an Army Captain came up and spoke to Camille in French as he looked down in disgust at the two airmen. He especially looked down on Jericho who was in one of his only two uniforms and both were getting a little trail worn as opposed to Christian who was the picture of a British officer. Jericho did not like the man's demeanor at all as the Captain and Camille talked back and forth. As Christian could understand what they were saying he quickly figured out that Camille was this man's "date" for the night! "Jericho, she is a prostitute!" he whispered. Jericho snapped back still looking at the Captain, "I know that! Just ask her if she had rather stay here or go with him!" Christian asked Camille for Jericho and she looked up at the Captain and explained that she was "unavailable" tonight. The Captain looked again at the two airmen and told them in no uncertain terms that she was his for the night wether she liked it or not. Jericho stood up very slowly. Christian was not sure what to do but stood up also. Jericho looked at the Captain and said, "You need to pull in your horns Captain. The lady seems to like the company she has. So, why don't you be puttin' some yonder between you and me." The Captain glared at Jericho. "You little prig! Either you sit down now or I will teach you a lesson in manners!" Jericho took a step closer to the Captain and said "I came into this world covered in someone else's blood, I damned sure don't mind goin' out that way!"
Christian immediately stepped between the two and said to the Captain. "Sir, I can appreciate your situation but as you can tell this man is an American. I have been flying with him for three months and i can assure you, he is not bluffing! Now, as you know, as of a few days ago, prostitution is illegal in France now so that puts you in a bit of a pickle. So, if you please, you can let this one sail and find another or my friend here can be shot for striking an Officer. But, since he will not stop at just striking you, you will not live to have the satisfaction of seeing him shot! There is no gain for you here Captain." The Captain looked past Christian at Jericho and then back at Christian. "She's not worth it" he said in a huff and turned away. Christian looked back at Jericho and Jericho smiled. "That was some smooth talking there Amigo. I would have killed the SOB." Christian anwered, "I know, that's why I could not let it happen! Who would look after me back in the air." They both laughed and sat back down. Camille knew some english and her and Jericho were having a fine time when Christian said "It's getting late. You think you can find your way home Mark?" Jericho laughed. "I found my way from Mississippi to Montana, Canada and then France. I think I can find a hotel that's right around the corner."
With that Christian bid Camille and Jericho good night.
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end. BOC Member since....I can't remember!
Way to go Jericho! That will be one expensive dinner I expect. Hopefully he can get a discount. It will be a nice distraction during his time off and much easier on the eyes than Christian, I bet. Carrick, it always sucks when someone else takes credit for all your hard work. And then has a party to rub it in. Don’t you worry, he will eventually get what’s coming to him.
"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."
Aleck A. MacKinley April 12, 1916 RFC-29, St. Omer Confirmed Kills: ONE!
One of the replacement pilots arrived yesterday; 2nd Lt. Cutting. My God, the lad has only an hour of flight time in a DH2 and seems scared out of his wits. He went along with A-Flight this morning to get some flight time in. A rough start for him as it was horrible flying weather (rain and windy).
We had our first balloon busting mission this morning. James and I were lead in by Pat Jameson and the foul weather might have helped us as the enemy gunners protecting the balloon were none to accurate. Pat and James made one pass each and buggered off. I decided to stick it out and after firing about 200 rounds, the balloon exploded on my third attack. The fireball was huge and I flew through a part of it but no damage done. No remorse in taking down the balloon as the occupant had parachuted away on our first attack. Phone calls to forward units of 2nd Army near Lens confirmed the kill ... my first!
Fullofit - Sacré bleu, Gaston is a killing machine - and a dead eye! How you can be so accurate I'm sure I don't know. I'm thankful he's on Fullard's side! By now every Bosche in the Verdun region (and a few in the Somme) must be having nightmares about seeing Violette coming their way...maybe except for the Aviatik pilots, who seem to have figured out something that the Eindecker boys haven't. I got a good laugh out of your likening of Lemoine to Depardeiu's Obelix - you hit the nail on the head
MFair - glad to see our favourite hotheaded cowboy back, and up to his usual tricks again! I suspect that the miserable little infantry captain can't quite appreciate quite how close of a call he's had...lucky that faithful Christian was on hand!
Scout - Great stuff! MacKinley gets his first confirmed and keeps his conscience clean in the process! I wonder if there might be a future in balloon-busting for our Glaswegian airman....
...as for James - MORE RAIN! I'm itching to get out on patrol again and put some hours in..
Sgt. James B. Fullard, Esc. N31, Ochey Aerodrome, France.
April 14th, 1916.
We were met with another morning of heavy rain, much to my slight disappointment and everybody else’s sheer jubilation. As I settled down for breakfast, I expressed to Ortoli my concerns that I had done little of anything regarding the war since my arrival in France. With a hearty, bellowing laugh he called out “Do you hear that, boys? Fullard is worried he’ll miss the war! Well, don’t you worry, mon ami passionné, there will be plenty fighting to be done in the springtime. But, I must tell you! After a month or two in the thick of it you, too, will pray for days such as these!” I found it hard to believe him - it felt cruel, to be left idle at an aerodrome with no chances to fly, and I found myself slightly bitter over my expectations, when compared to this damp reality. During our idle chatter I became lost in thought, replaying the events of my single dogfight, and the exhilaration I had felt. I longed again for the chance to experience the thrill I had felt in that battle.
The day passed as had the last - idly the pilots chattered among themselves, played cards, and wrote letters home. We were cured temporarily of our boredom when Georges brought the fresh mail into our mess, distributing it among its recipients, but no word came from Michael. As little Devienne paraded a letter from his Parisian sweetheart, holding it up closely to an uninterested Lemoine’s face, Ortoli flicked through the latest newspaper, tutting and shaking his head as he read of the carnage that continued to drain the life of Verdun, and the French armies defending it.
Later in the evening, Tartaux, the pilot of the missing Breguet, arrived back at the aerodrome, drenched and stained with blood. After Lemoine and I had broken away from the front, he had lost sight of us and turned East. It turns out that the two Fokkers that had broken away from our fight were not running for home as I’d thought, but instead they had been observing Tartaux’s undefended Biplace, stalking it from a distance before, sure that Lemoine and I had exited the area, they came down in screaming dives, attacking Tartaux and his observer. The man in the back seat was quickly shot and fell unconscious, as Tartaux fought tooth-and-nail to rid himself of his attackers. Despite his best efforts, his engine was shot through and ground to a halt, at which point Tartaux was forced to attempt a landing in no-mans-land. His plane came down heavily and was destroyed, with both men being thrown clear. Fortunately, Tartaux had little more than a sprained elbow, and, waiting until darkness, he was able to escape back towards the French lines. Regrettably, his observer, Bertillon, was dead.
“Good old Tartaux!” Lemoine cried, “The Bosche will never get that old wolf!”. “Yes, but such a shame about poor Bertillon” “Which one was he, again?” “ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴏɴᴇ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴀɪʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ᴇʏᴇs, ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ sᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴇᴇɴ ”. “Ah, oui. Bertillon”. “You wait and see, I bet Tartaux will be up and flying tomorrow again!”.
As I climbed into my cot that night I tried to picture the face of the young observer, standing beside the Biplace Nieuport on the morning of my first mission, but I couldn’t remember it. I wondered how many of the pilots could still picture Victor’s face.
Fullofit, French plane sightings have been very rare in Julius's sector. It's mostly British machines he sees up there - if he sees anything, that is. It has been a very quiet sector until now. However, I expect things will change when the Battle of the Somme begins. And Gaston seems to be doing great down there at Verdun. I like the garish design of Violette!
Lousy weather, so no flying. Time to read some more reports!
"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."
James McCudden, Five Years in the Royal Flying Corps
Wulfe, I doubt Gaston is this accurate. It is more of a dumb luck, a fluke if you will. And I doubt the Germans are aware of Violette. The ones that were lucky enough to see her are now pushing the daisies. I am glad Tartaux made it back and can tell his story. Too bad about Bertillon. If it weren’t for Jensen he would remain faceless even now. Hasse, Julius should count his lucky stars he doesn’t have to deal with the Nieuports on daily basis. They outclass Einies completely. Hopefully the Halbies will show up soon.
12 April, 1916 06:50 morning mission Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Lieutenant Gaston A. Voscadeaux 16 confirmed kills
The balloon from the day before was finally confirmed as were the two Fokkers from yesterday. Gaston's tally stood at 16 now, but the best news was that Adelus was out of the hospital. Gaston welcomed his wingman and gave him back his notebook. He added: “- Don't lose it again. This is important.”
The first flight today involved escorting the ‘A’ flight to enemy front lines north of Verdun area. The target area was entirely covered by clouds. They've lost contact with ‘A’ flight somewhere over the front and the only indicator the N12 was still circling around were the sporadic bursts of Flak some 200 meters below. Eventually they descended below the clouds and rejoined with the N12 on the way back. It looks like a bigger storm is brewing. The French fliers were glad to be back on the ground.
12 April, 1916 14:55 afternoon mission Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Lieutenant Gaston A. Voscadeaux 16 confirmed kills
The afternoon mission found Gaston escorting the ‘A’ flight on reconnaissance to Martincourt aerodrome. If Gaston thought the weather during the morning sortie was as bad as it gets, then he was sorely mistaken. This weather was atrocious and even Adjutant Boillot flying next to him wouldn't ... be ... able ... to ... see... He couldn't finish his thought as two Aviatiks jumped out of a cloud ahead of them with the Boche gunners firing their guns at the entire French formation. Fortunately none of the rounds hit any of the planes and Gaston was chasing after them presently. He picked the trailing machine and commenced his assault. He landed solid hits and came around for another pass but a lucky bullet went through Violette's wind screen and hit Gaston's left arm. The pain was intolerable, but Voscadeaux was too enraged to pay it any attention. The Aviatik went down trailing grey smoke while Gaston gave the sign and turned back for home. The rest of the flight continued with the mission. He remembers little of his trip back. At one point he found himself flying parallel to the frontlines after passing out. When Gaston landed, he lost a lot of blood and was too week to get out of his machine. The mechanics noticed something was wrong and came running. One of them yelled: "- Il est blessé! Aidez nous!" Gaston knew he was home. He allowed himself to close his eyes.
"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."
And there's a second reason for me to dislike Aviatiks. As much as I love Gaston's entries, they terrify me. I said before he was like Fonck...but perhaps he's more of a Nungesser? By any means - congratulations on Sixteen confirmed victories! It'll be the Legion d'Honneur for you, I think. Try to leave some Bosches for Fullard!
The silver lining, of course, is that Gaston's impending hospital stay will put him well out of harm's way for a while, meaning my heart rate can go back to normal.
Wulfe, it seems you have fell right back in stride. I’m going to enjoy Fullard’s adventure.
Fullofit, your going to die young if you don’t stop going head first into every fight my friend. Glad it is only a minor wound. Let us know how many pretty nurses are at the hospital!
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end. BOC Member since....I can't remember!
Wolfe, if putting Gaston in hospital will keep you out of one then so be it. I can live with that. And don’t worry, there’s more where these came from. Plenty enough for James, I’m sure. So you say 16 is some kind of achievement? Wish we had a score board of the top aces at current date. Like there used to be in RB. MFair, it was a touch and go there for a while. 50/50 chance of survival. Now that he’s on the ground and being taken care of, the chance of survival have increased. As soon as he wakes up, Gaston will let you know if there are any pretty nurses (and how many), although the pretty ones are way too young for him and the old ones ... well, what are the chances?
"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."