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28 April, 1916 05:45 morning mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Lieutenant Gaston A. Voscadeaux
19 confirmed kills

Yesterday’s flamer was confirmed. Gaston was short one Hun to make it an even twenty. He had to remind himself not to take any unnecessary risks just to make it a nice, round number.
This morning’s mission took the ‘A’ and ‘B’ flights over the enemy front lines, north of Senard where Aisne River crosses the NML. The sortie went smoothly with no enemy contacts. They have lost Garrigou somewhere over the front due to mechanical problems. The ‘A’ flight dropped their bombs on the Hun trenches and they all turned for home for a well deserved breakfast. Gaston was looking forward to a warm cup of coffee and croissants.

28 April, 1916 13:40 afternoon mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Lieutenant Gaston A. Voscadeaux
19 confirmed kills

The afternoon briefing called for a patrol over the friendly front lines north of Verdun. The plans had to be quickly put on hold when a trio of Huns showed up over the aerodrome as the ‘B’ flight was taking off. Gaston was first off the line and gave chase immediately. One of the monoplanes separated from the rest and came down to meet Voscadeaux head on. They fought over Senard with the entire aerodrome looking on. The battle was short and the Hun crashed into the field. For the rest of the day everyone had to be extra careful when landing and not get tangled in the wreck. Gaston wasn’t finished yet and gave chase after the remaining two Fokkers. He caught up with the second one east of St. Menehould. That one also crashed into the ground after a short dogfight with the French Ace. The last of the three marauders crashed all on his own into the trees at the northern edge of Argonne Forest. Maybe he was caught by the small arms fire? By this time Adjutant Barnay joined Gaston and proceeded to the patrol area. They’ve completed their patrol route but didn't see any more Boches. It was an exciting end of the day to say the least.



"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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All caught up now. Great stories from all as usual. Fullofit, congrats on yet another eindecker. The French noted 'probable' kills (although they weren't officially credited). I wonder how many Gaston has + Probables by now?

Thanks, Lou, for the CdG! I am honoured.

Hit a bit of a writer's block at the moment, but hopefully Fullard will make a prompt reappearance.

Last edited by Wulfe; 04/29/19 03:08 AM.
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Wulfe, Gaston doesn’t bother writing claim reports for the “maybes”. They’re all claimed as certain kills. Unfortunately that band of no good, lazy, useless claim commission types doesn't see it that way and simply reject them. Can’t complain lately, though. Recently I find majority to be confirmed rather than not. But to answer your question, double the number.
You better uncork that writers block soon. I’m going through the Fullard withdrawal syndrome and it ain’t pretty. Cheers!


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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.

MFair, that was a nail-biter for Jericho, glad he made it through in one piece. Also, he should work on learning at least a little French, I'm sure Camille would help him with that.

Carrick, don't you hate it when the gun jams. It's always at the worst possible time.

Hasse, Julius needs to keep hanging in there. He'll get the E.IV eventually, let's just hope it's not after everyone else has moved on to the Halb.

Fullofit, Gaston just keeps tearing up the air Huns. I'm surprised they aren't all running away as soon as they see even a hint of the color violet. More super videos too.

Wulfe, I can empathize when it comes to your writer's block. I'm a bit dry these days myself. Plus, RL is not allowing me much time at all to actually fly, though Swany did at last manage a flight in the Strutter this morning.

.

29 April, 1916
Farnborough, Hampshire, England
70 Squadron, R.F.C.
Lt. Randolph Arvid Swanson, MC & Bar, CdG
12 confirmed victories

The rain and wind stopped today long enough for Swany to take the new Sopwith Strutter up and see what it could do. He was amazed. After months of fighting in and with the Parasol this new bus was a honest-to-god treat to fly. It handled beautifully, no more having to constantly watch the controls to keep things going steady and true. In fact, when it was trimmed out properly you could actually let go of the stick and it would fly on precisely where you had it pointed. Yet, it was not stodgy when it came time to stunt with it. It was agile and powerful, and after a slight dive you could pull it through a full loop with no real effort at all. And the cockpit was outfitted with every gauge and control a pilot could ever want or need in his kite. It even had an adjustable tailplane, and air brakes which could be used to reduce speed in a dive when bombing or for landing in shorter distances. But best of all, it had a forward-facing Vickers synchronised to fire through the arc of the propeller! Swany could at last shoot at the enemy without having to always rely on his G/O to do it. Simply fantastic. He couldn't wait to get it into battle. But wait he would, as there was currently a shortage of the new machines due to the fact that the R.N.A.S. was getting everything coming off the line. Swany's squadron had but two to practice with, (marked 'A' and 'B' respectively), and no indication from HQ as to when they might receive their full complement. Typical, more hurry up and wait.


Taking the new bus out for a get acquainted.
[Linked Image]


Now this is a real cockpit.
[Linked Image]


The first lap of the morning around Farnborough.
[Linked Image]

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RAF_Louvert, very nice pictures Sir. This must have been an exciting step up when a new, more advanced plane was received. Being a man of 18-25 at that time, this must have seemed like Christmas.

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indeed.

Seems our Bosch scientists are lagging in the tech department. Air power def. against us Huns at the mo.


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Lou - I KNEW IT! The second you mentioned your new posting I knew it would be with 70 and their Strutters. Swany's score is about to get a whole lot fatter!

Sgt. James B. Fullard,
Esc. N31,
Ochey, France.

3 Victories.


April 28th, 1916:

The first day spent in the medical tent had been mind-numbingly boring. I had watched, teeth gritted, as four yellowy flashes went past the open tent flap - four Nieuports tearing down the airfield and lifting off into a perfectly blue sky. And there I had been, stuck in a miserable cot with my arm in a sling.

As it turns out, fate decided to at least provide me with some good company in the tent. When the Nieuports returned, there was a sickening crunching sound followed by panicked yells, and a few moments later Lemoine appeared through the flap on a stretcher, unconscious and blood streaming down his face. As we later learned, he had been the victim of a buckled undercarriage and had smacked his head off the dashboard. Apart from a deep, but small, cut on the forehead, he was okay and escaped with just a concussion. Sadly for him, though, he, too was sentenced to four days in the medical tent.

Even with Lemoine’s easy humor to busy my mind, the days were slow to pass and filled with miserable dullness, which only intensified each time a patrol flashed past the tent flap. After the second day the doctor was content to allow me to wander the aerodrome for a few hours a day. It was during this time, as I found little Devienne in the barracks, that he excitedly told me a scrap of gossip he had coaxed out of Messier. I was to be awarded the Croix de Guerre, avec Palme de Bronze!

“Me?! But, whatever for?” I had asked, and after an audible “Ha!” he shot me a look of incredulity. “Man, are you kidding me? You’ve shot down four Bosches by the end of your first month!”.
“Two. Only two were confirmed”.
“All the same, Mon Ami, it is quite a feat”.
“Perhaps” I had replied, modestly.
The award was presented to me on the afternoon of the 27th. Not all pilots were present for the ceremony, and I still had my arm in a sling, but we couldn’t very well put the war on hold on my account. At the end, when de Villeneuve pinned the cross on my chest, I swelled with pride. Wait until Michael hears about this!

My arm was still stiff this evening as I pulled on my flying clothes, preparing for the evening sortie. As Souris busied himself checking the tautness of my flying wires, I felt a hand on my back as Thierry appeared behind me. “Fullard, come and see. I think you’ll like this”. He gestured to my machine and pointed out four small patches on the left side of the tail. Where the bullets of the Aviatik had perforated my machine, Thierry had patched the holes over with five small white circles of linen, each decorated with a small hand painted German cross. Grinning from under his thick black moustache, he said “See? She has battle scars just like you!”. I smiled, but thought to myself that, if I could help it, I would make an effort not to collect any more of Thierry’s decorative patches.

My Nieuport was wheeled onto the field and parked next to Metayer’s. Beside them stood the bulky shapes of three Nieuport 12s, belonging to Tartaux, Desmond and Papeil. I watched with interest as the six airmen hastily made their checks and scrambled up into their two-seaters. They reminded me of worker ants. Alongside my own machine I met with Metayer, who gave me his ghostly, empty smile and extended a hand. “Welcome back, Fullard. Good to see you again”.

We lifted first, followed by the lumbering shapes of the Nieuport 12s, and we circled up in a long climbing spiral. Once the two-seaters were happy with their altitude, we turned as one towards St. Mihiel and the lines. From what Ortoli had told me, the fighting had quietened down for the Poilus, but in the air it was ever-frantic, and to make matters worse the Bosche AA gunners had been getting increasingly accurate over the past few days.

Flying through the clouds by our compass bearings, we approached St. Mihiel cautiously. The mud peeked up at us from below the cloud base, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the rippling white shimmers of l’Etang de Refuge. Ahead of us, Tartaux’s observer raised himself up from his cockpit with camera in hand, and our flight begun to manoeuvre over the Bosche trenches, looking for a decent break in the clouds.

I noticed two Fokkers, their yellow surfaces contrasting against the murky grey-brown, gliding along below us. I signalled to Metayer, who waved in acknowledgement, and we begun to circle above them, carefully examining their movements and trying to decipher their intent, but the clouds closed up again and they were lost from view. I made a mental note to keep one eye out for them. As they continued on towards our side of the lines, I made my decision, and signalled to Metayer that we were going to attack.

I tilted my nose down into a dive and soon my flying wires were singing as the wind vibrated them. The trailing fokker enlarged in my sight picture, and with a tense hand I tightened my grip on the control column. The two Fokkers broke away, one skidding to the left violently and the second making a more measured curve to the right. I followed the leftmost Fokker, who immediately turned to face me. After one circle, I was behind him. The Bosche was clearly a beginner - his evasive manoeuvres were feeble at best, as he lazily tried to turn away, then climb up in a straight line. I got close and fired two short bursts at him, but my aim was off and so I skirted out to the side of him, cutting my throttle and allowing him to extend out ahead of me again.

As I fired again, a second burst whipped past my machine, and in alarm I looked around. It was Metayer, who had easily driven away the other Fokker and was now muscling his way onto my prey. By any means, one of us had hit the Fokker this time as he immediately slipped onto a wingtip and went into a sharp dive. I watched as the German airman tried to pull out of the dive, before going into an uncontrolled spin. Circling above, I watched with an uneasy feeling as the Fokker wallowed towards earth. The rudder and elevator rocked wildly as the Bosche tried to fight the controls all the way down, before finally impacting with the earth on the outskirts of St. Mihiel.

[Linked Image]

Sighing deeply, I rejoined Metayer and begun to climb again, looking for our Nieuport 12s, replaying the short-lived battle in my head. Why? Why would he only make those lazy turns? I asked myself, feeling a strange underlying blend of anger and shame creeping into my heart. It wasn’t long before we found the two-seaters again, and we steepened our climbs to reach them, escorting them until finally Tartaux signalled that he was heading back to Ochey.


We landed and I made my way to the barracks to write my report. As I penned the details of the fight with the Fokker, I couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that I hadn’t just shot down the helpless rookie Bosche, I had murdered him. As if realising my thoughts, Metayer, without looking up from his own report, said to me “Congratulations, Fullard, on your kill. That Bosche didn’t know what hit him”. I grunted in agreement.

Over supper that night I didn’t involve myself with the excitable chatter of the pilots, past being welcomed back to the table after my injury. Halfway through our meal, Messier appeared and, after being sufficiently insulted by the pilots, declared that the Fokker had been confirmed. “Your third!” Ortoli boomed, and slapped me on the back. I managed a weak smile.



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Lou, that is the point. All the Huns Gaston encounters run for home as soon as they see him.
And I must say, Swany is getting spoiled with all those fandangled toys attached to the front of the cockpit. Looking forward to that first encounter with the Hun. Are they in for a surprise!
Wulfe, congrats on that third victory. You will soon have to look for a longer ribbon for all those palms. I say it was a good thing that the Boche was a novice. Imagine if it were an Aviatik instead. You could have easily gone back to the hospital after just one mission. Fullard needed an easy target to get back in the saddle.


29 April, 1916 04:50 morning mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
19 confirmed kills
Awaiting 2 claim confirmations

There was a nice surprise this morning. Adjutant Delbee was back from the hospital and in flying form. There was another surprise waiting in his C.O.’s office. A promotion to the rank of Capitaine was to be bestowed on Gaston. This was to go along with his recent award of Légion d’Honneur and his third palm for the Croix de Guerre.
Gaston had this strong feeling of deja vu. He had just taken off and was in pursuit of a trio of Fokkers attempting to raid their aerodrome. He felt like it was just yesterday that this exact same situation played out over Senard. He wasn't wrong. The last raid occurred yesterday afternoon and now he watch through his wind screen as three monoplanes were escaping north. He was gaining on them and saw as one of them detached ... and drove straight vertically down into the ground. The troops below must have gotten him. Gaston could only hope the Boche was already dead before he hit the ground. There were two more Huns ahead that would join him if Voscadeaux would have his way. Gaston didn't have to wait long for the second Eindecker to split formation and turn toward him. They were now twisting above the troop camp and Gaston knew he daren't disappoint. Finally the Hunnish machine was riddled with bullets and was floating up-side-down to the ground. Another smoking crater was now decorating the camp. Voscadeaux waved to the troops below, who were waving back with their tiny arms, raising their tiny faces into the sky and shielding their tiny eyes from the sun with their tiny hands.

[Linked Image]

Gaston tried to find the last of the raiders, but by now he was probably half way to his aerodrome with the news of defeat.
“- It is good.” He thought, "- Let there be witnesses to this carnage. Let them think twice before sending more fodder for Gaston's Violette." He didn't like that term. Fodder was for beasts of burden. Violette was none of that. The ‘B’ flight reformed around the Nieuport 12 and escorted her all the way to the recon area south of St. Mihiel salient and back. No other Boche dared to show their tiny face.



29 April, 1916 13:10 afternoon mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
19 confirmed kills
Awaiting 3 claim confirmations

They've arrived over Sivry at the right moment. Two Fokkers were in the process of taking off. Gaston pounced on them while Delbee and Medeville took care of the aerodrome. The first Eindecker was hit and Gaston saw the pilot slump in the cockpit. The monoplane rolled over and crashed at the far end of the field. The other Boche turned back and was met with a barrage of bullets resulting in a fireball hitting the near end of the field. Now two columns of smoke marked where the aerodrome started and ended.
It was time to turn back. They were all low on ammunition. S. Ltn. Medeville received all the attention of the angry Flak and was brought down behind the lines. Upon landing, Gaston was shocked to hear of his demise. They will all miss his eccentric humor. Who will keep the machines flying while their owners are recovering in hospital? This man always took the opportunity to fly another man’s aeroplane. No more.


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"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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RAF Lou: I dont think that there is a good time for a gun jam is there ? I know as a cowboy shooter, one of my Revolvers went south so I had to leave instead of finishing my paid for Game. Another time at a range, I saw a person having trouble with the Bolt working on a M-1 Garand . Come to find out , He had stuck a 303 rd in a 30 06 hole . After the Range Safety guy applied a size 12 boot the op rod slid back an ejected the Incorrect size Rd. and He was asked to leave the Range. All in All jams are not good.

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Keith Cunard Mallory
Sgt, Rfc
29 Sqn, Ablee AF.
DH-2's
1 Kill

April 29, 1916.


Busy again, our section of 3 a/c were up 2 times to day.

Escort to Ypres with a Fe no contact.

Patrol: No contact.

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Looks like the buildup to the Somme is increasing the frequency of missions for everyone!

I continue to be amazed by all of your storytelling skills. Stay safe up there!


“With Major Lawrence, mercy is a passion. With me it is merely good manners. You may judge which motive is the more reliable.”
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Aleck A. MacKinlay
RFC-29
April 28, 1916

"Welcome back Second Lieutenant". Major Winters had asked to see me on my return to Abeele yesterday. "We have had a rough go of it while you were away. O'Keefe and Bell are gone ... they simply never came back from a mission a few days after your injury. Edith, Cooper and Rowle are all off with injuries. We have been desperately short of pilots, and half the boys still in the air are fresh. What a mess."

"I hope to get back into action soon sir."

"Good, because you will be on the mornings roster. Yes, yes, I know your arm is not fully functional", he had seen my look of surprise, "but it can't be helped. As long as you can operate the fuel pressure pump you should be able to manage. A damnable sight better than some of these new chaps, I wager."

So off we went in the morning. At least I was flying with McHard and Safer; two of our most experienced pilots. Brilliant visibility in the blazing sun for a patrol of our own lines. I knew we would see no action ... any Hun would see us miles away and be safely away. But I was wrong ... McHard spotted two Aviatiks below us and signaled an attack. Safer went nose to tail with the trailing machine but then spiraled away in a hail of defensive fire. My turn. Another bloody Aviatik on my first flight back. I pressed in on his tail three times, expending every bullet I had, with no apparent effect. I was getting shredded in return and the engine died soon after my last bullet was fired. I glided down and landed in a tangle in a farmers fence. What an inglorious return ... a written off machine and nothing to show for it.

We got news later in the day that Safer was dead, shot down by the Aviatik. This is a great loss ... he was the second most experienced pilot in the squadron. The airwar is supposed to be turning in our favour, but RFC-29 seems to have not gotten the message yet.

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After a long easter "Grounding" felt it was time to shoot someone.

Looks like Willi may be needed in Flanders????


Rank: Offstv
Name: Willi Aaron Rosenstein
Squadron: Kasta 11
Aerodrome: Frescaty. Verdun sector
Confirmed: 7 air victories; in 21 Combats
Flying hours: 110 Missions / 66hrs

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Last edited by lederhosen; 05/01/19 09:11 AM.

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Fullofit, is Gaston getting a bit cocky? Be careful mate.

Lou, I'm glad Swany has a decent ride. Good luck with 70.

Wulfe, I see the writers block is over! Congrates on the victory.

Carrick, I envy you in the DH2. One of my favorite rides.

Scout, Welcome back to the fray.

lederhosen, I feel your pain, same here.

Lt. Mark Jericho
April 28, 1916

Captain Barrus, Jericho's gunner, was about to explode. "Not Confirmed?!"

That morning Jericho and Barrus were doing recon east of Cappy with Griffen. Upon completing their mission 2 Fokkers were climbing from behind. Jericho didn't think they would follow them across the lines but they did. As they flew along the south side of the Somme near Fricourt they had caught up with them and made their attack. The dance had begun. Round and round the 2 machines went with Barrus hammering away with his gun. As Jericho looked around he saw the Eindecker start to boil black smoke! He pulled up as the Hun turned for home then turned and gave chase. They were down to 300 meters when Barrus let loose a burst that sent the Hun spinning to the ground. Jericho was so excited blipping the engine to keep the Hun in sight he stalled the Morane but pulled out of it just in time to see the Hun explode in a heap. He and Barrus were fit to be tied! They had shot one down on their side of the lines just a few miles south of an observation balloon. In their minds it was already confirmed.

The Major sighed. "Gentlemen! It's done. It seems the arty boys say it was their fire that brought him down and that's that! Jericho and Barrus headed for the door before the Major called to Jericho. "If it makes you feel any better, you have been promoted to Lt."


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BuckeyeBob, I’m with you. The stories in this thread are excellent. Can’t wait to see what will happen when the Germans finally get their Doppeldeckers. Will the Entente sink or swim?
Scout, flying with a wonky arm won’t be fun. And the Aviatiks strike again! I think this period should be renamed to Aviatik scourge, not Fokker.
Lederhosen, that Caudron wasn’t confirmed because it landed safely. It’s just a little banged up.
MFair, I’m afraid Gaston took the lion share of the confirmed kill allocations for the nearest future. There are only so many claims to go around. Congrats on the promotion.


30 April, 1916 05:05 morning mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
23 confirmed kills

All Gaston’s claims had been confirmed except one. The first Fokker to be shot down while taking off from Sivry aerodrome yesterday remained unconfirmed.
The morning mission consisted of artillery spotting over enemy front lines north of Verdun. The sun shone in Gaston’s face as it peered out from behind large clouds. Flak kept them company throughout the entire patrol route above the trenches. As they were leaving the area after completing their patrol Voscadeaux noticed a pair of stinkin' Aviatiks bombing the French lines. They gave chase immediately and caught up as the last of the bombs were leaving the bombers. Gaston gave sign to attack and positioned his Nieuport behind one of them. He opened fire and pummelled it until smoke started to spew from the exhaust stack. The two-seater slowed down to a crawl from all the damage and Voscadeaux’s machine came very close to colliding with his target. Too close and he was rewarded for it by return fire. The little French scout flew above the lumbering two-seater and turned around for another pass. Gaston watched Adjutant Delbee carry out his attack. He also was getting too close. The French Ace thought to himself: “- Don’t do it. Don't be greedy.”
He watched, as if in slow motion, as his wingman rammed into the wings of the Boche.
“-No!”
They were both plummeting down to their deaths. Gaston couldn't believe it. His wingman was gone. He watched in a blank stare as the pieces of debris from both planes floated down following the burning wrecks of the machines they broke away from. Voscadeaux gathered the reminder of the ‘B’ flight and guided them back home. The atmosphere at the aerodrome stayed muted for the rest of the day.



30 April, 1916 13:30 afternoon mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
23 confirmed kills

In the afternoon, they were ordered to patrol friendly front lines west of Varennes-en-Argonne. Voscadeaux knew this was a milk run, designed to keep the squadron’s morale up after losing one of the pilots. They didn’t want to risk losing another one on the same day. Gaston brought the formation as far as the Front and no further. The old girl came down with another failure. He left the ‘B’ flight to their own devices and turned for home. It only took a few more kilometers before the engine ceased and Gaston had to make an emergency landing on the road between Valmy and St. Menehould. The landing was rough. Good thing only the sheep by the side of the road would judge his landing attempt. The rest of the flight managed to find some Aviatiks to tackle. Adjutant Barnay claimed one, but was himself wounded in the process. Caporal Garrigou expended all of his ammunition but came back home empty-handed.


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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End of April stats:

Capitaine
Gaston Antoine Voscadeaux
Escadrille N37
Senard, Verdun Sector
23 confirmed kills
117.15 hours


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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End of April status:

Keith Cunard Mallory
Sgt, Rfc
29 Sqn, Ablee AF.
DH-2's
1 Kill

12.8 Hrs

MFair: I think at this stage of the War a 1 1/2 er is a lot safer ride then the DH 2.

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Keith Cunard Mallory
Sgt, Rfc
29 Sqn, Ablee AF.
DH-2's
1 Kill

April 30, 1916.

Up 2 times to day, Escort and Patrol : No contact.

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Fullofit - Gaston is unstoppable! Pity about the wingman...always nasty to lose one.

Carrick - always good to get a quiet day in. One more day survived, right?

77_Scout - Man, 29 is having it really rough at the moment...and the damned Aviatiks strike again! Stay safe out there...

MFair - oh man, having one on your side unconfirmed is the worst. Must have been the same balloon crew that denied Graham's claim when he dropped one practically on top of a Brit gasbag...



Sgt. James B. Fullard,
Esc. N31
Ochey Aerodrome, France.

3 Confirmed Victories.

April 29th, 1916:

Chaput sat, his legs crossed over one arm of his chair, sipping his coffee and flicking through the paper as Metayer and I walked through into the mess. His eyes flicked upwards and he broke into a smile. “Morning, you two. Have you heard the news? Le Violette got another Bosche yesterday. I think he can get his score to twenty by the end of the month”. I nodded and smiled, but I was distracted. Last night, I had laid awake comparing the young German I had shot down yesterday to Vertadier. I wondered how excited the Bosche had been, at the German equivalent of the G.D.E, waiting for his assignment. I wondered if he had been over-the-moon when he found out he would be flying Fokkers, as Victor and I had been when we were assigned to Nieuports. I wondered if the Bosche who escaped Metayer’s guns was a good friend of the one I had slain.

On the blackboard I checked the day’s sorties. Georges had woken Metayer and I up early, so I assumed we would have the first patrol of the day, and one quick scan of the board confirmed my suspicion. We were going to Pont-à-Mousson on a dawn patrol, with Jensen leading. Takeoff at 0600.

We polished off our coffee and croissants and headed out to the field, stopping by the hangars to don our flying gear. As per usual, our machines were already waiting for us, finely-tuned with their metallic noses glinting in the infantile morning sun. Jensen briefly went over our patrol route. Thankfully we had an easy one - behind our lines for the most part, only briefly crossing into the mud at Nomeny before turning for home. Jensen’s engine roared into life as his Nieuport begun to crawl forwards, and soon Metayer and I had lifted after him. The sky was clouded over, but the sinister grey hue had left them. It was a beautiful day for flying.

As we approached the lines we found ourselves darting in and out of towering cumulus clouds, our shadows flitting alongside us. As we flew into one cloud, my shadow rushed up to meet me and I was met with the strangest sensation - it was almost as though I was colliding with myself in mid-air. We broke through the top of the cloud, and I gazed out across an incredible scene. The clouds mirrored the landscape of Verdun, a sea of white rolling and cresting into towering hills and stooping into low valleys.


At Nomeny we dropped a little to watch the impressive flashes of an artillery barrage below. As we looked on, great chunks of mud were thrown thousands of feet into the air by huge explosions. I noticed a yellowy shape drifting low, along a road, and strained my eyes. It was a Fokker. I signalled to Jensen, but he was already turning our flight towards it. We dove, the Fokker closing fast, but then Jensen suddenly waved us away. Confused, I followed and shot him an inquiring glance. He pointed down intently and I strained my eyes, but only saw the Fokker. However, I decided to trust his judgement.

We returned towards our lines and saw another Fokker, this time much closer to our lines. This time Jensen didn’t wave our attack off, and before the Bosche could see us coming we were swarming around him like angered hornets. I fired a burst in the Fokker’s direction, but in a flash Metayer was past me and behind him, firing a savage burst into the Bosche’s back. He quickly spiralled down to escape, with Metayer hot on his heels. Nearly at ground level Metayer opened up his barrage once again, and the Bosche dipped his nose once more.

[Linked Image]

Metayer stuck to his man like glue, and the Eindecker tried his downward spiral again. However, he was far too low, and it was plain from the second he entered the manoeuvre that he could never recover in time to avoid the ground. But then, to my horrified disbelief, I watched as Metayer attempted to follow the manoeuvre. With my mouth agape I watched the Fokker smash into the ground. Behind it, Metayer, now realising his error, pulled up violently on the stick and I saw his wings quivering under the strain, before his undercarriage struck the ground and his Nieuport’s nose slammed down with a horrendous force. Through the explosion I saw sections of his wing and fuselage cowling scatter, kicking up a shower of debris as his machine was reduced to powder. I watched Jensen’s wings cut the cloud of smoke in two with his wingtips as he pulled up to avoid the fireball. In a state of numb shock, I circled around to form up with him. His face was pale as he looked over at me. After a few moments, he sadly shook his head and signalled to fly home.

Pale-faced and shocked into silence, we flew home.

[Linked Image]

As we walked into the mess, around lunchtime, little Devienne and Lemoine were sitting down each nursing a cup of coffee. “Good hunt?” Lemoine asked us. “ᴍᴇᴛᴀʏᴇʀ's ɢᴏɴᴇ” Jensen answered, unbuttoning his tunic and slumping heavily into his chair. The two looked at us, with shocked faces. “How?” asked Devienne.

“ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴀ ғᴏᴋᴋᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛ.”
Merde! But he was a fantastic pilot!”
“No, he was too hungry. Young fool”.
“ɪɴᴅᴇᴇᴅ. ʜᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ʜᴀᴅ ʜɪs ᴍᴀɴ. ᴀ ғᴏᴏʟ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴇ.”
“I really thought he’d stick around…”

Lemoine took a generous swig from his hip flask, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic. “Damnit. He was your room-mate, right, Fullard? I’ll help you gather his things later. Merde”. I shook my head. “No, Lemoine, thank you, but I’ll do it”. We sat in contemplative silence.

Chaput took Metayer’s spot on our next patrol - an offensive patrol to Lac de Madine, on the Bosche side. The sky had darkened and greyed since the morning, almost in answer to Metayer’s shocking demise. Pathetic fallacy. We lifted apprehensively and turned towards the lines. Metayer was still stuck in my head as we reached the front, but a few pensive Artillery bursts around us soon snapped me back into our current situation. Alarmed that I should allow myself to be so distracted, I fervently checked the skies for Fokkers. Nothing made itself apparent. We followed our patrol route, weaving among the flak before gratefully turning for home. Just as we were roverflying Flirey, Chaput suddenly rocked his wings feverishly and went into a dive. Jensen and I shot each other a look and went after him, quickly making out two silhouettes crossing a cloud near our lines. Two Eindeckers. We picked our targets out and closed, as in my head the image of Metayer’s crash played on repeat. My heart beat in double time, and in the back of my mind I vaguely noted that the initial thrill I had felt in my first pursuits had gone almost completely. My mouth felt dry as the Fokkers’ tails rushed up towards us.

The Bosches spotted us diving on their tails and made a vain attempt to turn back for the mud, but they were too deep into our lines; there was no escape for them now. They shot under us in close formation and we looped down to get onto their tails. The wind rocked my nose around violently as I lined up my shot on the rightmost machine, and I cursed it for its insolence. However, the two Fokkers weren’t attempting to evade us in their panicked run for home. Break, idiots! I willed them in my head as I got closer. They didn’t. I opened fire on the rightmost machine.

Bullets impacted the Fokker, who finally pulled away to the right. I followed, as Chaput and Jensen went after the other Bosche. Without any other options, the Bosche made a half-hearted attempt to engage me in a duel, but he was no match for my Nieuport, and I stuck close to his tail, firing short bursts into his machine. Suddenly his engine kicked out a cloud of black smoke and he stalled in front of me. In a panic, I tipped my nose sharply down, but I felt a horrendous lurch as our machines momentarily became entangled in the air, before separating with a jolt.

For one bizarre moment we glided down together, almost line abreast, before the Eindecker went into a dive and levelled out, attempting to make his landing. I watched as he collided headlong into the side of a gradient, immediately crumpling sickeningly and bursting into flames. I cursed, looking for a place to land. There was seemingly nowhere - trees, fences, valleys, hills, all conspired to crush my own machine in a similar manner. Finally, taking a shaky breath, I made for the top of a hill, hoping my machine would roll to a quick stop. As I landed, my Nieuport tilted sickeningly onto one wingtip, and I watched as the world turned sideways. Scraping along the ground in my strange position, I shut my eyes and awaited the inevitable.

I only opened my eyes several minutes later when I realised I had stopped moving. My machine lay propped on its side, the rightmost wings shredded beyond recognition. Laughing like a madman, I scrambled down from my machine. Just ahead of me, the thick black smoke rose from the less fortunate German flier.

[Linked Image]

After wandering towards the rear trench lines, I found an artillery unit at which I was able to telephone de Villeneuve and inform him of my situation. He sent Pierre out in his Fiat to pick me up, and I made it back at around 10 O’Clock. I made my report, but my victory claim over the Fokker was immediately rejected. As de Villeneuve told me in an irate voice, "A collision is not a victory, Fullard. It is bad flying. Tomorrow, you can travel to Lemmes and acquire a replacement Nieuport". Making my way to my room, I found that Lemoine had already organised Metayer’s effects neatly onto the bed. A chill ran down my spine as I looked at them. This room had very nearly lost both its occupants today. On my bed I found a letter from Michael. My eyes widened at the return address - Luxeuil aerodrome.

Hastily I tore the envelope open and read:

How are you doing, kiddo?

I am thrilled to hear of your first victory, but I am not surprised. Us Fullard boys are too tough for those Bosches. I have exciting news regarding myself - I have been reassigned to Escadrille 124 ‘Americaine’. No doubt your transfer orders will come through soon, they are sending away for every American pilot in France. You would be amazed at how many there are. All of the NCOs are Americans like us, although the officers and the C.O, Capt. Thenault, are all French.

I can’t wait for you to arrive here so that I can see you again in person.

With love,

Your brother, Michael.


Last edited by Wulfe; 05/01/19 12:31 PM.
Joined: Aug 2018
Posts: 321
Member
Offline
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Joined: Aug 2018
Posts: 321
End of April:

James Bradley Fullard
Sergent
Escadrille N31,
Ochey Aerodrome, Verdun.
Nieuport 11.C1
3 Confirmed Victories, 7 unconfirmed claims
11 combat sorties, 14.63 hours.

Last edited by Wulfe; 05/01/19 04:34 PM.
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