Lou, that was some display. Great description of the show and the pictures to go with it. How did you get the Eindecker and the Parasol to sit beside each other?
Loftyc, tough luck! New aerodrome, new machine, new gunner. I have a feeling the gunners under the balloon must have been on their tea break. As to your gunner, remember there is no animation of the gunner switching guns. You will see the rear gun move, that’s about it. If he’s not using his front gun, he may be still using the rear one. It’s hard to tell. But if you are patient, don’t rock the plane too much and he is not aiming at some other target behind you, he should eventually switch to the front position. Sometimes he will not shoot no matter what. I call that a catastrophic gun jam.
Carrick, too bad about Emile. Good luck with Keith. Beware of the spins.
MFair, no disrespect intended, just simple facts of life. There are good chances that one of those Captains would have been the carrier.
Great story Mark and thank you for sharing Skillit’s bio with us. I definitely wish to live as long.
Wulfe, the book is dirt cheap on Kindle $0.99 Oh, I am thinking James is planning a transfer already. It would be too bad to leave the gang at Ochey. You bring so much life to the aerodrome, even on the boring days.
Châlons-sur-Marne Hospital
Gaston woke up to the sound of murmurs, coughs, moans of pain, sobs and prayers. He had no idea where he was. He was laying in a bed. He overheard an exchange between two men occupying beds closest to his. “- What am I to do now?” “- Cheer up. It’s not that bad. At least you are alive.” “- What sort of life will I have? Look at me. My arm is missing!” Gaston’s heart suddenly started to beat quicker. It felt as if someone placed a cannon ball on his chest. “- My arm!” Gaston remembered. He was shot in his left arm. Hundreds of maimed bodies flashed through his mind. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel his arm! He could sense the blood pulsing quickly through his veins. He reached with his right hand to where his left arm should be. He felt for it. There was something there. With fear feasting on his stomach he squeezed lightly. A jolt of pain went through his body. Gaston grimaced, but after the pain subsided he grinned with relief. He still had his arm. Gaston was flying through the air in Violette. He was dreaming again.
———
“- Shhh! He’s waking up!” A female voice jolted Gaston back to consciousness. He opened his eyes and saw an angel. She was hovering above his head, wiping his forehead with damp cloth. “- Don’t you move, I’m going to get the doctor!” The angel vanished. Another figure appeared, much less angelic in appearance. Gaston couldn’t keep his eyes open. His eyelids were made of lead. His children were laughing. His wife smiled and extended her arms to hug him.
———
“- You are very lucky Monsieur Voscadeaux. The bullet missed the bone. You will simply need more rest to regain your strength. You have lost a lot of blood. I will prescribe heroin for your pain and we will have to wait and see.” The doctor was a frail man, almost transparent in complexion. His gaunt face was decorated by an unkempt goatee. His bald head reflected light coming through the hospital tall windows. Gaston was sitting on the bed propped up by the pillows. He watched the reflection dance on the good doctor’s bald brain-case and realized that the clouds were replaced by the sun and the blue skies. He had the sudden urge to smell the exhaust fumes and feel the castor oil on his face. “- Doctor, how soon will I be able to leave this place?” Gaston expected a simple reply. “- Well, that depends entirely on you, Monsieur. When you have enough rest and you feel strong enough.” The spindly doctor was cleaning his spectacles with a cloth. “- But Doctor, the war could be over by that time. Is there anything you could do to speed up my recovery?” Gaston’s voice betrayed impatience. The doctor placed the spectacles back on the bridge of his nose and leaned closer to Voscadeaux: “- I am conducting experiments on the effects of tobacco smoke enemas. If you want to try ...” “- Let me stop you right there doc. Nobody’s blowing smoke up my tuckus!” Gaston was not amused. The disappointment in the doctor’s voice was palpable: “- In that case, rest is all I can suggest. If you need anything else, just let the nurses know. Good day.” He pointed at the two girls standing against the wall, chatting with each other. Gaston cast his gaze in the direction the doctor pointed. One of the nurses was the angel and her friend was the opposite.
———
Voscadeaux’s arm was starting to feel much better. He was able to move it without too much pain. This morning he completed a set of 100 bicep curls with his left hand. The two nurses continued to observe him from across the room raising their hands to cover their mouths and whisper to each other. This was always followed by a series of giggles. Each time this occurred Gaston was under the impression somehow his private parts were showing from under the covers and he reached under the blanket to check, which in turn evoked more giggles. The doctor came by earlier and announced that Gaston was ready to be released. Voscadeaux was looking forward to it. He would be back at the aerodrome tomorrow.
"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."
Fullofit, you had me going there for a minute! I thought Gaston had lost his flipper and would be known as Capt. Hook! Lederhosen, it seems he has your number.
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!
MFair, “Capitaine Crochet, at your service!” Has a nice ring to it. I’ll definitely have to warn Gaston not to get hurt again or it’s the hacksaw for 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."
Fullofit - as to be expected, great story once again. You had me going as well for a second! I thought Gaston was about to become L'as à une main! I love the description of the hospital - it was thoroughly unpleasant to read (in a good way). I really got the sense of the behind-the-action misery and lingering horror. That doctor sounds like a dodgy chap - I wouldn't do much flitting in and out of consciousness around him, if at all Gaston can help himself...by any means, I'm looking forwards to his return.
Lederhosen - Dellouin again! It seems that you have something of a rival on your hands. Better be careful of that one...
Sgt. James B. Fullard, Esc. N31, Ochey Aerodrome, France.
April 18th, 1916.
For the third day in a row we were able to enjoy luxuriously long sleeps, with the rain still frantically trying to put an end to our rooftop. Over our breakfast Lemoine complained in-between mouthfuls of food that the tar-paper roof above his room had started to leak, and we tried to sympathise amid our badly-hidden amusement as he told us that he had awakened to find his boots filled to the top with rainwater.
Keen to avoid another slow day of boredom, little Devienne declared that he was heading to the hangars to paint his machine with a personal insignia. With a cheery grin on his face, he told us “I shall have a heart on the side of my machine, so that the Mademoiselles will know exactly that Devienne is here wherever I should land!”. Lemoine let out a hearty laugh. “What mademoiselles! Are you going to put Pierre in a wig and drive him someplace quiet?”. We erupted into roars of laughter, save for Devienne, whose childlike face had turned beet red, and Metayer, who was contented only to present us with his ghostly smile.
Despite the mockery, we all agreed that painting our machines was a fine idea (at which the offended Devienne brightened up a little) and would serve to fend off some of the boredom, and so we made a dash through the thick mud and icy rain towards the hangars. Lemoine stayed behind. As he told us, “I'm not going out in all of that! Besides, I don't know what I should paint on my ship”. “How about a glass of Pinot?” Ortoli had asked cheekily, and Lemoine thumbed his nose at him.
I found Thierry and Souris quietly humming war songs to themselves as they worked with an expert patience on my machine. As I entered, Thierry sprung up from his work, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Fullard! How about this rain, eh? Magnificent!” he kissed the ends of his fingertips. “We’ve been left in peace to work on our machine uninterrupted! I tell you what, your coucou is now the finest in the Escadrille, or my name is not Thierry Le Goff!”.
Grinning, I thanked them both for their hard work, and then told them why I had come over. Obligingly, Souris scoured the hangar for a bucket of paint, eventually coming back with a brush and a tin of cockade-red paint (the same we used to paint our roundels). Thierry watched interestedly as he smoked his pipe, as with paintbrush in hand I set about my work. Of course, there was the problem of actually choosing an insignia. No ideas sprung to mind, and so I eventually settled for a modest ‘F’, for Fullard. After congregating in the mess, we discussed our embellishments. Devienne had his heart, Jensen had decided on the inscription ‘Viking’, and Ortoli had gone with a palm tree, to remind him of his Mediterranean home.
At lunchtime came shocking news. Lt. Auger had gone up in his Nieuport, despite the terrible weather, to personally deliver a combat report to the Headquarters at Pau. As we sat over our Croissants and Orange Juice, his orderly made an appearance. He retained his usual formal mannerisms, but his voice was strained as he spoke to us. “Gentlemen. I regret to inform you that today Lieutenant Auger was involved in a serious air crash while on the way to Pau. He has been taken to hospital with severe wounds. Operations will resume as normal, and your replacement Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Lucien Couret de Villeneuve, is scheduled to arrive by the evening to assume command of Escadrille 31”.
We looked at each other in stunned silence. “That fool, what business did he have that couldn’t wait until the weather was off?” Lemoine asked, taking a long swig from his hip flask. Jensen let out a deep sigh. “ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ғɪɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅᴇʀ. ɪ ᴏɴʟʏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜɪs ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅs”. The men murmured their agreement. Chaput, shaking his head, said “He was always too bold for flying”.
The mood was down for the rest of the day. Listening to the drumming of the rain, I recalled just two days ago the Lieutenant calling Metayer and I to his office, expressing to us his gratitude. I thought of his mannerisms in the air, as I had watched him fight, and how expertly he handled his machine. It seemed a tongue-and-cheek joke to suggest that he might crash of his own error. There was not much talk around the mess table as we sat down for supper. We didn’t meet our new C.O. that night.
Historical Note:
It was actually on April 16th, 1916, that Lt. Alfred Auger had his crash. He was indeed hospitalised and replaced as C.O. of Esc. 31, but he recovered and went on to fly with Les Cigognes, the famous Escadrille 3, where he would go on to score 7 confirmed victories, and another 14 unconfirmed. He was sadly killed on July 28th, 1917, after a fight with Jasta 8 in which he claimed his final victory over Gustav Stenzel, J8's C.O. In the dogfight he was shot in the neck and bled to death not long after landing his machine.
Wulfe, poor Lemoine. Why does everything bad happen to him? It was a good idea to get the machines painted. Gives the bored pilots something to do. I thought Fullard would come up with some variation on stars and stripes. Looking forward to good weather to see the new N31 livery. Too bad about the C.O. though. C’est la Guerre!
"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."
Keith Cunard Mallory Sgt, Rfc 29 Sqn, Ablee AF. DH-2's
April 14, 1916.
Flew on Patrol today. I was posted as wing man to B flight's Leader Lt Smyth. He said stay close to him . Over the lines we spotted E/a's attacking 2 Be types so joined in. I was got off 9 shots at the Bosche in the Melee then stalled and spun out. I was able to recover ,but I was shook up. coming back up out of the Overcast, the sky was empty so RTB. Not a great beginning at all.
I instantly knew it was bad. The nacelle of the DH2 was riddled with bullet holes, every guage shot out. And the blood ... lots of blood.
The Aviatik gunner had got me good as I broke off my attack. I had to get down quick but needed to get back over our lines. I made a full power diving beeline west. Then the engine died. Panic set in.
Fortunately I quickly found that the DH2 is a good glider. Barely able to see through the red haze enveloping my eyes, I glided down ... down and down, praying not to pass out before landing. Green fields finally loomed ahead and I landed crudely near one of our balloon companies. I don't remember anything after that.
I awoke after dark, completely disoriented. A young fellow in an orderly uniform passed by and was able to tell me that I am in a dressing station in Givenchy, lucky to be alive. I have a hole in my left shoulder right below my collar bone. I lost much blood but the wound is clean and he reassured me I would be fine with a couple of weeks rest. I asked if they would be sending me home. He said that would be up to the doctor, but guessed that I would be back to the war soon enough. "Sorry about that." he said as he moved on. That was all I could take in and things faded back into blackness.
Carrick, looks like Keith could use some more training on the machine. You don’t want him to go into a spin during a dogfight. Best of luck! Scout, those Aviatiks are a bad news. I’m glad Aleck was able to bring his machine down before passing out. Don’t agree to any tobacco smoke enema experiments while at the hospital!
19 April, 1916 Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Lieutenant Gaston A. Voscadeaux 16 confirmed kills
Gaston arrived back at the aerodrome yesterday with little fanfare. His arm was still in a sling and the rain curtailed any flying activity for the day. Today was no different. All flight were cancelled. He was on the base for two days already but hasn’t seen his wingman, Adjutant Adelus. He visited the C.O.’s office to inquire his whereabouts and the answer he received came in as a shock to him. “- I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but Auguste never came back from the mission you were injured in.” Capitaine Feierstein’s face was of a battle weary man. His eyes were hollow pits, highlighted by dark circles and exhausted from stress. “German machine dropped a note the next day that his machine was found crashed behind lines. His body was still inside with a bullet hole through his head. At least it was a quick death. We will all miss him.” Gaston wasn’t ready for this news. He stood there in Feierstein’s office not able to say a word. “Oh yes, they’ve also dropped this along with the note.” The C.O. rummaged through his desk drawer and took out a black notebook. It was the notebook Adelus used to note all the instructions Gaston gave him about aerial combat. Voscadeaux picked it up and thumbed through it. The page with the Rules was torn out. “- Funny.” Gaston thought to himself. He imagined some Boche using the rules to teach his pilots Voscadeaux’s rules of air fighting. He was certain the Hun would claim it as his own and call it his commandments or ... dicta.
"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."
Woah - sounds like the DH2 boys are falling upon rough times! Scout - sorry to hear about your man, but at least the hospital stay will put MacKinlay out of harms way - and who knows, he might even get to take a pass at a pretty French nurse or two. Carrick - the DeHav can be a moody little ship, but you'll get the hang of it! Once she starts doing what you want, it's bad news for the Eindeckers!
Fullofit - glad to see the purple plunderer back on the front. Tragic news about Adjutant Adelus though - one of the funny things about the DiD challenge is that you develop a certain keenness for your wingmen, and it always comes as a nasty shock when one of them goes West. I remember when Graham Campbell's old pal Jacky-Boy was killed - I'm still gutted about it! Commiserations. Nice touch with the the notebook story....that dicta might just come back to haunt us, though...let's hope Gaston can shoot down the certain pilot that got his hands on it before he can transcribe his dicta...
Rain, rain, rain and more rain at Ochey. Operations cancelled for the 19th and 20th. Fullard continues to whittle away the days chatting idly with the NCOs of N31. Although a rest is nice, he hopes the sun comes back before too long...
Keith Cunard Mallory Sgt, Rfc 29 Sqn, Ablee AF. DH-2's
No Paint in the hanger except Gray.
Finally had a chance to fly today and went up on two Patrols.
1st, No contact
2nd. Found 3 Monoplanes and mixed it. I say Jolly good fun til one dropped on my tail . much twisting, turning and almost stalling into the tail spin. At last the e/a went home short of fuel ? some of our 4 a/c had holes , but made it back.
Wulfe, the problem with the wingmen is that they don't tend to stick around. Their careers are just as much DiD as our own, except they seem to take even less care of their own lives than Voscadeaux does. The RL weather here seems to reflect the one in WoFF. As to the particular Boche that stole Gaston's dicta, I can't say I've seen him gallivanting around in an Eindekker. Not this, nor any other career I've flown. Immelman yes, but not this guy. What's up with that? Carrick, Time to show the Hun what's what. You go get 'em!
20 April, 1916 05:50 morning mission Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Lieutenant Gaston A. Voscadeaux 16 confirmed kills
A new man arrived late last night, one Adjutant Albert Delbee. He would be Gaston’s new wingman. He was amused when Delbee found out he would be the wingman to Le Pilote Violet. Secretly Gaston would prefer someone more experienced like Adjutant Boillot, but he also understood someone had to mentor the neophytes and Boillot was already experienced enough. Delbee on the other hand was straight out of flight school. So green that he was the best camouflaged part of the aeroplane. This morning was the first time Gaston saw his mount since that fateful afternoon. He could see that despite his mechanics’ best efforts the blood stain on the side of the fuselage showed prominently. He was amazed how much the port side of Violette is suffering. First the lower wing, now this fuselage blemish. The morning patrol to enemy front lines NW of Verdun near Aisne River was uneventful. There was no Boche contact and everyone was back safely home. Perfect first mission for Delbee.
20 April, 1916 13:35 afternoon mission Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Lieutenant Gaston A. Voscadeaux 16 confirmed kills
As the members of his flight formed behind him, Gaston watched the flashes of lightning in the distance. Spring was in full effect and light rains with occasional storms seemed to occur frequently in this area.
Voscadeaux led his new wingman, Adj. Delbee, Ltn. Dagonet and Cpl. Garrigou east to attack Bechamps airfield. As soon as they approached Bechamps, two Fokkers welcomed them by attacking from above. Gaston was on the tail of one of them while the rest of the flight took care of the other one. A column of smoke rose from the NML and Gaston wondered if this could be one of his flight mates. He had a strange feeling that he is being stalked. He kept looking back while following his target. There it was, another Fokker neatly sitting on his tail. Voscadeaux reacted quickly and let his current victim go, while at the same time shaking off his pursuer. It was a tough fight and Gaston was nearly out of ammo when finally the Eindekker's prop stopped in place and the Boche was now gliding down. One more pass and he was going down in flames. Gaston noticed Ltn. Dagonet follow and fire at his target. He yelled to get his own, but it was a useless gesture. With little ammo remaining on board, not much damage was done to the aerodrome and he ordered his flight to form up for their journey back home. He was glad that all of them were able to re-form. That earlier column of smoke he saw must have come from some other poor soul.
"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."
Carrick - Sounds like a good scrap! Gotta watch for that DH2 stall...
Fullofit - Thunderstorms! You get those in WoFF?! Scary...kill hungry wingmen can be pests! Perhaps Dagonet is jealous of Gaston's steadily rising reputation? I'm really enjoying the 'evolution' of Violette. She's a character just as much as Gaston is.
Sgt. James B. Fullard Esc. N31 Ochey Aerodrome, France
1 Victory.
April 21st, 1916:
After five days of continual rain, N31’s holiday came to an abrupt end. Messier appeared before first light to rouse Ortoli, Jensen, Metayer and myself - we had the dawn patrol into Enemy Lines at St. Mihiel. His presence was met with the usual barrage of insults.
“Merde, I hate dawn patrols most of all! Flying on an empty stomach, in this cold! And it’s even still raining!” Ortoli moaned as we headed out into the pre-dawn light from the Barracks. As if in answer, my stomach rumbled. “Well, at least we have something to do” I replied, trying to keep a positive spirit.
Our machines were waiting for us on the field. As I went to board my own, Jensen grabbed my arm. “ғᴜʟʟᴀʀᴅ, ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴀ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ. ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏʀᴇᴛ ᴅᴇ ʟᴀ ʀᴇɪɴᴇ. ɪᴛ's ᴀ ʜᴏᴛ sʜᴏᴘ”. I nodded solemnly, and he patted me on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of me. We started our engines in the rain - much to Thierry’s distaste - and we were off.
The ice rain whipping into my face was a horrible shock after those days spent in the comparative warmth of the barracks, and within five minutes of blistering cold I was sure I could feel the frostbite nipping at my face. Constantly I wiped my goggles as we climbed, as my vision became obscured and blurred by droplets of rain. The journey to the lines was hard - the Easterly wind kept blowing us off course, and several times we almost lost sight of each other in the clouds, but eventually we reached the familiar curve in the lines at St. Mihiel. The ground was becoming hard to see through the thick, intrusive clouds, but below we could make out the flashes of artillery shells bursting in the mud.
As we crossed over the trench-divide of no man’s land, I heard a strange whomp-whomp around us. Peering out the side of my cockpit, I was surprised to see little black balls of smoke appearing around us. At once I realised that it must be anti-aircraft fire. At first I was in awe, I had never before seen AA shells in the air, but quickly I found myself on edge as the artillery slowly begun to close in around us. Jensen, well used to ‘Flak’, brought us into a weaving climb to escape the barrage.
The walls of cloud became ever-thicker around us. This is no good… I thought, how can we possibly even see anything in this weather?. But, it wasn’t long before I sighted a flight of three Eindeckers below us, struggling up in the ice rain just as we had done at the start of our patrol. For an instant I felt a certain sympathy, that they might also have been rudely shaken from their warm, comfy beds as had we, before reluctantly coming up, but I soon put those feelings aside as the thrill of facing the enemy took hold. I dove under Jensen’s nose so that he could see me and rocked my wings, pointing downwards over the side of my cockpit.
Lazily, Jensen pointed his nose down, and we followed. Soon we were spiralling down at incredible speed, keeping our eyes affixed on the unaware Bosches. I picked my man out and dove at his tail. They had seen us - their formation split apart like sparrows scattering from a hawk - but I had my man clearly in my sights, and I curved around to follow his turn. However, he was a superb pilot and no amount of manoeuvring could earn me a clear shot. A second Nieuport joined my chase, flashing past me towards my tail. I turned to follow him with my eyes - and saw a second Fokker lining up a shot on me.
Immediately I spiralled up and away from this new Bosche, and we started to circle each other. My Nieuport won out - this Bosche was not as elusive as his counterpart, and I saw bullets strike his machine as he rose his nose up in a bizarre manoeuvre, standing his machine on its tail and hanging in the air in front of me, before spinning away. 100 meters below me, he came out of his spin and turned for home - but I was soon behind him again, and fired another burst through his machine. Immediately it quivered, and fell into a sharp nosedive. He attempted to recover again - but this time the damage was done, and his machine begun to spiral sickeningly fast. I watched him fall all the way down, crashing into the trees of Foret de la Reine.
Out to my left I saw four Fokkers in a line, and for a moment felt a surge of panic - but they were headed away from me, seemingly turned off the idea of an attack after witnessing the demise of their companion. I looked around for my flight nervously as I turned my machine for home.
The flak was hellish during my escape - my Bosche had fallen not far from an Observation Balloon, and its batteries spat their contempt at me as I timidly weaved past. I was low by this point, and thought for sure that I had had it. Then, to my right, I caught a glimpse of a pair of Nieuports receiving the same rough treatment as myself. I guided my Nieuport towards them, immensely glad to be in the company of my colleagues once more. As I drew closer I saw the palm tree of Ortoli. The second machine bore the ‘Viking’ inscription of Jensen.
We arrived back at Ochey and climbed out of our aeroplanes, and I made my way towards the C.O’s office to report my Fokker. I was sure it hadn’t been seen, but I thought I would take my chances. When I arrived in the little white building, I was surprised to find Metayer in the C.O’s office. Overhearing him, I realised that he was putting in a claim of his own. He’s a devil, that one… I thought to myself, as I knocked and entered. The new C.O. was a gaunt figure, with tired, sunken eyes. From behind an oversized pipe his lazy eyes looked over me. “Yes?” he asked, with a sigh. I told him about our fight, and my Fokker. He smiled thinly. “Well, it seems I’ve inherited quite the Escadrille” he said to himself.
We finally had our breakfast, but as I ate i couldn’t help wondering about the fellow I had killed. The solemn meal his friends were having in their leaky, rain-dampened barracks. I wondered if they were swapping fond memories of him in their grief, or if they were simply trying to ignore the fact that he would never again sit with them. It was a strange, distant, and unwelcome thought. Ortoli seemed to echo my thoughts.
“So, you said you got one, Fullard? And you, too, Metayer? Man, you two are dangerous! Poor hopeless souls probably never dreamed they would meet us on their side on such a miserable day! Jensen and I nearly had one, but he was a crafty one and faked a death-spin. I saw him snap out of it near the tree level, and turn for home”.
“Good thing you never followed him,” I said, “I saw him too, with three of his friends lurking above the woods. You would have been outnumbered two to one!”. Ortoli blinked. “Really? Well, that is a good thing!”.
We settled back into our regular routine - cards and idle chat. Lemoine and Chaput came back from the mid-day patrol and joined us. They had seen nothing, and Lemoine was complaining that he should have to take his ‘poor little ship’ up into the rain. At Four O’Clock, Messier reappeared to inform Metayer, little Devienne and I that we were to fly the evening mission. “What! And miss Supper! Curse you, Messier, why do you always bring me the worst news?”. The orderly ignored the question. “You’ll be escorting Tartaux’s Biplace over the lines, to the airfield at Mars-la-Tour, where those damned Fokkers stay. He’ll drop his bombs on the field and you’ll keep him clear of any Fokkers. C.O’s orders”.
“Mars-la-Tour? At Foret de la Raine?!” Ortoli cried out. “We’ve already kicked that Hornet’s nest this morning! It’ll be crawling with Fokkers!”. I felt a chill run down my spine. Messier shrugged indifferently. “Not my problem - bring it up with the C.O!” and with that, he left. As we reluctantly got to our feet, Lemoine said to Devienne, a strange air of seriousness in his voice, “Be careful, mon petit ami. Devienne waved him off.
We geared up at quarter-to-five, and climbed into our Nieuports, under the same scrutiny from Tartaux as we had been afforded on our last trip together. From out the corner of my eye I caught him give me a curt nod. I hoped that was a good thing. Our three Nieuports took off first, and Tartaux followed.
Fortunately, some of the cloud had since been blown away to the East, and, although the rain stung at our faces and froze on our flying coats, we were able to see clearly enough as we came towards St. Mihiel for the second time today. I was instantly alert, expecting at any second to see Fokkers en masse diving towards us from the North, or the East. The skies were quiet as we approached the Bosche aerodrome.
As Tartaux lined up his bombing run, I noticed a lone aircraft, silvery in colour, making its way towards his Nieuport 12 - but it wasn’t a Fokker. It was an Aviatik - a Bosche two-seater. He had seen Tartaux, at 3,300 meters, but hadn’t seen the three Nieuport 11s at 3,600. The others had spotted him, too. As one, we banked towards this lone defender and pushed the noses of our machines down.
However, as a torrent of AA fire opened up on us we swiftly reconsidered our strategy. By any means, Tartaux had finished his day’s work, and the Aviatik, who had now seen us, was spiralling down towards the aerodrome below like the devil, and so the four of us turned back towards our side.
As to be expected, my Fokker could not be corroborated during the chaotic first scrap of the morning, and nor could Metayer’s. Fortunately for my roommate, however, he was awarded two days’ leave in recognition of his "fighting spirit", as our new C.O. put it.
A strange thought occurred to me as I lay down in my cot that night. I wondered if the Bosche I had shot down that morning was complaining like Ortoli about his morning being disturbed, or if he was trying to keep a positive outlook like me. For a moment I felt a vague sadness for my fallen foe, but quickly I brushed it aside.
Wulfe, don’t you find it much more immersive when you can recognize each of your flight mates by their markings? Too bad this is not possible for some squads with mostly non-HA pilots. So, it’s aqua-dogfights for Fullard and Co. Some exciting battles between James and les Boches. Great descriptions and some close calls. Too bad the kill was not “homologuée”. Better not dwell too much on your fallen foe. It helps to think of them as terrible monsters drinking newborn’s blood for breakfast. Yes, lightning is built-in, but deactivated. Need a mod, or ME to reactivate it.
21 April, 1916 05:45 morning mission Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Lieutenant Gaston A. Voscadeaux 16 confirmed kills
Gaston's yesterday's claim was denied and awarded to Ltn. Dagonet. The man is without scruples. The Command decided to put an end to the Boche’s unrestricted overflights above Verdun. To that end Gaston was to patrol the area over Verdun aerodrome. This morning there was a lot of activity over Verdun City and as usual Adjutant Boillot was the first to spot two Aviatiks. Voscadeaux directed his flight mates to attack. He followed and made a solitary pass at one of them, then let the rest of the boys take care of the two-seater while he watched. He then proceeded to attack the Hun’s leader, who seemed to know what he was doing. He kept flying in spirals, not allowing Gaston a clean shot, but eventually he ran out of altitude and headed for home, low over the Argonne Forest. This was Gaston's cue. He nearly emptied his stores before the two-seater went down among the exploding anti-aircraft fire. He was sure the artillery boys will want a piece of his claim. The other Aviatik was burning somewhere nearby as well, but Boillot had to put his machine down due to battle damage. As Dagonet was forming up Gaston spotted a trio of Eindekkers high above, probably searching for the pair of Aviatiks they were supposed to protect. Voscadeaux estimated he had about 30 rounds remaining and hoped the Fokkers will simply fly overhead, but one of them wanted revenge. He swooped down attempting to take Gaston out, but the Old Fox was vigilant and would not allow such an easy victory. The Hun saw Voscadeaux's tail for a second and then had to fend off not just Gaston, but also Dagonet and Delbee. The pilot of the violet machine observed as his two wingmen made the Boche think twice about leaving the safety of high altitude. When the time came he engaged and took a position behind the monoplane. He had to make each bullet count. Voscadeaux closed in and fired. Black smoke belched from the Oberursel right after the initial burst. Gaston pressed his attack until he was out of bullets. The Fokker could not stay in the air and begun a spiraling descent with the smoke betraying his each move. In his growing annoyance Gaston watched as Dagonet arrived and fired at the falling Boche. Gaston couldn't tell if he even hit the machine as it was about to crash into some trees below, but he was certain Dagonet will definitely claim the monoplane. He liked the man less with each instant.
The balloon attack was a walk in the park. Gaston and Adjutant Delbee had no problems finding the gas bag north of Verdun. There was no Fokker opposition, even the Flak boys seemed to have been caught napping. Voscadeaux fired his rockets which were soon followed by Delbee’s salvo, but it was Gaston's repeated machine gun attacks that finished the sausage off. Only then the German ground crews responded with angry puffs of black smoke spiced with shrapnel. The mission would have been perfect were it not for the Violette's engine losing power on the landing approach. Gaston had to scramble to put her down in a farmer’s field. The poor girl had seen better days.
"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."
Keith Cunard Mallory Sgt, Rfc 29 Sqn, Ablee AF. DH-2's
April 21, 1916.
War doesn't seem to be fun. I got shot down today. 29 Sqn had 6 a/c up covering 2 seat types over the lines Mix it with 2 monoplanes coming up from port. I dropped down and circled until I was setting on the tail of one. I started to move closer when the 2 e/a that I hid not seen opened fire on me the ship took a few hits as I tryed to get away. They just sat back there taking turns firing at my kite. As we twisted and turned, my fuel tank took hits. The pair pulled off and headed home as I landed among a lot of tree stumps ripping off one wing. Finally amid a dust cloud , I came to a stop. After a long walk, I found a Road and later a Truck came by.
After four days in a serious care wing of No. 4 Stationary Hospital in St. Omer, I have been moved to a recovery ward. I was allowed to walk outside briefly, which is a big step up from my usual limited excursions to date (bed to water closet only). The fear of infection from my shoulder wound has passed and I am told it should heal almost as good as new. My left arm will have limited use for a couple of months. Hurts like hell to move it and the arm is well slinged to keep it immobile for now.
I have heard nothing from Abeele but apparently the squadron has been made aware of my condition and whereabouts. That all seems like another world right now, and I am simply trying to pass the days as quickly as possible until I get out of here. One of the fellows in the ward (Geoffery Wester-something or other) is a chess player and we have commandeered a ratty chess set from the staff and hope to play in the coming days. The white bishop has been lost and a salt shaker substituted in its place, and we have had to make a board with paper and pen but it will do nicely.