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End of April:

Randolph Arvid Swanson
Lieutenant
70 Squadron, R.F.C.
Farnborough, Hampshire, England
Sopwith Strutter
12 confirmed victories, 23 claims
112.30 hours
67 combat missions

.


[Linked Image]

Three RFC Brass Hats were strolling down a street in London. Two walked into a bar, the third one ducked.
_________________________________________________________________________

Former Cold War Warrior, USAF Security Service 1974-1978, E-4, Morse Systems Intercept, England, Europe, and points above.
"pippy-pahpah-pippy pah-pip-pah"

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Lt. Mark Jericho
128 hours
104 missions
Morane
2 confirmed victories, 6 claims
Lahoussoye Aerodrome.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
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Wulfe, it is tough to lose a wingman, especially in a stupid way, even one as bloodthirsty as Metayer. Man, oh man, ramming your opponent is becoming fashionable. Glad it was nothing more than a lost claim and pride (and a plane). It was another nail biter! Sounds like Fullard has made up his mind about the transfer. Good luck with that. It will be interesting to find out which brother survives the longest, which one will have the highest score, which one will get the girl …

1 May, 1916 05:00 morning mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
23 confirmed kills

Gaston didn’t get much sleep last night. Delbee’s crash kept replaying in his mind throughout the night either awake or in his nightmares. He knew exactly how many times he himself came to finishing like his wingman. He had to occupy his mind. He had to fly. The morning mission took him and Adjutant Barnay over the Auve aerodrome on patrol. There was no contact with the enemy. Gaston requested another patrol to keep himself busy.

[Linked Image]

1 May, 1916 13:20 afternoon mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
23 confirmed kills

Gaston was tired, but flying kept him sane. He volunteered for a lone wolf mission. The plan was to patrol friendly front lines north of St. Mihiel salient and catch any unsuspecting Huns brave enough to cross the lines. The strong winds buffeted the little scout and made Gaston work twice as hard to keep his mount level. He never reached the patrol area. Two Aviatiks crossed his path just north of Verdun City. He hated them with all his might. He wanted them to be gone. To be erased. Voscadeaux stalked carefully his prey and attacked when he was sure of greatest damage. Round after round went into the leading machine. He could see the Boche was in trouble and could barely keep his crate level. Even his wingman abandoned him. He just needed that final push to go over the edge. Gaston aimed again and closed in for the kill. That’s when a sudden gust of wind pushed his Nieuport into the two-seater, damaging his starboard wing. Was it fatigue? Rage? Bad luck? Gaston kept his Violette under control and watched as the Aviatik lost power and crashed into the dense Hesse Forest just south of the Verdun rail yard. He looked at his damaged wing and thought to himself: “- Gaston, tu es un idiot! Was it worth it? Is your life worth one more victory? One more number?” He was angry with himself, but this was more than just another statistic, just another award. He knew that each destroyed two-seater equaled two pairs of eyes that will not observe the troop movements anymore, two pairs of eyes that will not correct shots falling on French soldiers, two pairs of hands that will not drop any bombs, one gun less to shoot back at him. He felt compelled to shoot them all down, no matter what the cost. No matter.
When he landed back at Senard, his mechanics couldn't believe what Gaston had done to Violette again. It would be another sleepless night to put everything back together.

[Linked Image]


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


Same Routine. Banged away at 2 High flying Recon types. I would fire lose speed they would pull a little bit higher, Repeat, Repeat. Since we were at max Height, We gave up after the 3rd Drum. Hits ?

2nd mission: Balloon attack. I seemed to be the only one firing ( My flight gave me the gas Bag ? ) The German Sausage went up in Fire and smoke seen for miles. Easy to confirm.

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Amazed by some of the hours the Morane boys have put in. Fantastic.

Fullofit - !!!!!! That's the most iconic aircraft on the front! For god's sake, take care of it!! Another scarily close call for Gaston, and another heart palpitation for myself.

Carrick - good job on busting that balloon! It takes a brave soul to face off against low flak and fly through a fireball...



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

3 Victories (1 Claim Pending).

May 1st, 1916 (Part 1):

Yesterday, as de Villeneuve had commanded, I awoke early and had my breakfast in the mess. I was alone, save for the eccentric little chauffeur Pierre, who was waiting for me with newspaper in hand, smoking a pipe. He grinned as I walked in. “Là! Là! So, you wrecked your bus, eh? Not to worry. I have a friend at Lemmes who works on the planes. He’ll see to it that you get a fine replacement”. I smiled and nodded, but was a little too tired to reply. My dreams had been populated by rookie Fokkers and careless wingmen.

After we had our breakfast, I clambered into the passenger seat of Pierre’s fiat and we shot off down the country roads at a disturbing speed. The chauffeur made smalltalk with me as we took corners on two wheels and roared down straight roads. Outside, the landscape was a blur save for the faraway trees.

After a hair-raising two-hour drive, we pulled into the aerodrome at Lemmes. It was a large depot, with two separate rows of hangars - one housing Nieuports, Moranes and even two or three of the new English ‘Sopwiths’, and the other housing a gaggle of Caudrons, their towering shapes looking like great beasts resting in the shade. We were met by a slender Lieutenant who, after greeting us disinterestedly, led me to the hangars where the Nieuport Scouts were kept. A scruffy little mechanic with a thick black moustache was waiting for us there, to whom the Lieutenant barked “Dupont! This pilote needs a replacement Nieuport. See to it”. The mechanic nodded once and gestured me into the hangar with a stiff and badly-rehearsed formality. Once the Lieutenant had disappeared, the act was immediately dropped.

“So, you need a Nieuport. You’ve come to the right man! We have a few to choose from. What is it that you wanted? A 10, or an 11? There are a few Nieuport 16s here also. Man, they are fast! But the engine makes them nose-heavy. I saw you arrive with Pierre - you are a friend of his? We’ll have you in the best machine in this depot! Any friend of Pierre’s is a friend of mines”. He winked affably as we stepped into a hangar packed tightly with Nieuport machines. I looked hungrily at the N.16s - with a more powerful Le Rhone engine than the 'Bebe' - but I decided to stick with what I knew. “I’ll take a Nieuport 11” I said to Dupont, the mechanic. He broke into a grin. “A wise choice! The N.16 is faster, but the ’Bebe’ is still the greatest aeroplane ever built by France. Perfectly weighted and still plenty fast for the Bosches. Now, have a look at this one here” - he gestured to a Nieuport 11 that sat in the far corner of the hangar.

“This machine is the best we have, of any type. Not once have I seen her engine fail, and she sings in the air like no other. This, here, is a coucou you can trust. Even the gun is a keeper - on the range it shoots true and hardly jams. Monsieur, if you want a Nieuport 11, it must be this one. Take my word!”.

Admittedly, I saw no outward difference between the Nieuport in front of me and the other N.11s strewn around the hangar, but I had come to trust the judgement of French mechanics and agreed to take the machine back with me. Grinning, he called upon another mechanic to wheel the aircraft out and ready it for flight. As I climbed in, Pierre waved to me and clambered back into his Fiat. “Race you back!” he cried out of the open window, firing up the motor and roaring off onto the country roads once more. Dupont spun my prop, and stepped aside. “Bon Voyage!” he mouthed. I gave him a wave, and lifted off into the sky.

It took me an hour and a half to return to Ochey, and at one point I was sure I could see Pierre’s little Fiat darting along the roads as I flew. I quickly realised I had been right to trust Dupont’s judgement - my new machine felt light and responsive, and the engine never once missed a beat as we flew. I touched down at Ochey, and my ground crew appeared by my side. Thierry whistled approvingly, and grinned. “Now, that is a healthy sounding coucou!. I followed as they wheeled it into the hangar. “Thierry, do you think you could paint my ‘F’ on the side?” I asked him. To my absolute shock it was Souris, the quiet little rigger, who answered. It was the first time I had heard him talk since my arrival at the Escadrille. “Non,” he started, “I have something better suited for you”. I raised an eyebrow inquisitively and he responded with a nervous smile. “Just leave it to me, M’sieur”.

That evening, just as we were finishing our supper, Messier appeared to inform me that the C.O. had put me down for a solo patrol at first light, to test my new machine over the front. After he left, Ortoli nudged me in the ribs. “Just be careful, Fullard. Solo flights are dangerous business. If I were you, I wouldn’t stray too far into the mud”. I thanked him for the warning and turned in for the night.

The next day I found my Nieuport awaiting me on the field, and for the first time I saw Souris’ handiwork. Grinning from ear to ear, I clapped a hand on Thierry’s shoulder as he stood waiting to swing my prop. “Tell Souris it’s perfect!” I said, gesturing to the new embellishment. The mechanic smirked. “He’ll be glad to hear so. The poor young fool was up until just an hour ago working on it by lamplight”.


I climbed in, started my engine and waved the chocks away. As soon as Thierry was clear I gunned the throttle, and my new machine shot forwards like an arrow down the airfield before effortlessly curving upward into the sky. Briefly looking over my map, I decided to make my line patrol at Pont-à-Mousson. The sky was beautifully blue and calm, and I merrily cruised along, curving left and right, pitching up and curving out into shallow dives. My new machine responded easily and willingly to my commands.

[Linked Image]

As I approached the lines I straightened out and started making long, thorough sweeps of the sky ahead. I decided to take Ortoli’s advice, and stayed close to our own trench lines. I had twenty minutes of eventless flying, and was just beginning to think that I was the only one enjoying the flying weather when I saw a Fokker sailing along low, above his own front lines. Excitedly I turned to give chase, but quickly realised that dropping to near-ground level above the Bosche trenches was suicidal, and so I swung back to parallel him, watching his every movement intently. I was patient. After several minutes, the Bosche abruptly swung his nose to the South and started to drift across and into our lines. I tried to bite back my smile as I dropped my nose to follow.

As the Bosche turned to the East I dove down sharply, dropping under his tail to approach from below and behind. He flew on, unaware. I closed slowly, my heart racing. As I pulled up to get squarely behind him, I saw his helmeted head still pointed forwards. For a second, I recalled the helpless Fokker pilot that had been my 3rd victory, but I blinked the image away and carefully lined up my nose. Holding my breath, I pressed down on the trigger. Bullets slammed through the fuselage and wings of the Fokker, and I saw a flash of pink as his head spun around to look back at me. For a moment I saw his mouth agape in horrified shock underneath his flying goggles, and then he curved away to the side. Effortlessly I zoomed up, hanging in the air above him like an eagle before the attack. However, before I tilted my nose down for my second attack, I saw the Bosche’s propeller start to windmill, then slow to a stop. I flew above and behind him as he glided down, ground-looping once before coming to a halt.

[Linked Image]

I circled twice, watching with satisfaction as the Fokker pilot shakily climbed from his machine, patted himself down as if disbelieving that he hadn’t been struck by a bullet himself, and finally put his hand over his eyes to shade them from the sun as he watched me circle. I gave him a casual wave, twisted away, and headed for home. Smoke still rose from the downed Fokker, and as I looked back over my shoulder I saw the first licks of flame from under the cowling. Lucky so-and-so...if he was 500 meters higher he would have burned!

I landed back at Ochey and made my report. De Villeneuve smiled coyly as I handed it to him and he scanned over it. “So, the new machine’s a keeper, then?” I laughed, saluted, and headed to the mess for lunch.

Last edited by Wulfe; 05/02/19 05:26 PM.
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Sgt. James B. Fullard
Escadrille N31
Ochey Aerodrome, France

3 Victories (1 Claim Pending).

May 1st, 1916 (Part 2).


At ten minutes to Two Ortoli, little Devienne and I made our way towards the hangars to gear up for the mid-day patrol. We were to penetrate the enemy lines at Lac de Madine - a job none of us particularly fancied. As Ortoli shared out cigarettes beside our machine, Devienne unhappily piped up. “Man, why do they keep sending us over the lines? We’ve seen enough Fokkers on our own side, and I could really do without the artillery snapping at me”. Ortoli laughed. “Mon Dieu, Devienne! I thought you wanted to be l’As des As! You need an attitude adjustment, my boy! I’ll bet le Violette has no problems going across the lines”. The youngster sighed. “Oui, Ortoli, you’re probably right, curse you”. I smirked. “If it makes you feel any better, we can let you have all the attention of the Fokkers”. Devienne thumbed his nose at me, before nimbly climbing up into his machine. Ortoli and I boarded our own Nieuports and together we ascended into the blue.

We were overflying Puvenelle forest when I noticed two strange machines flying in the opposite direction to us, slightly higher. Inquisitively I peered at them - they were a type I didn’t recognise. They had a round, bloated fuselage that resembled a cigar, and low, closely spaced wings. The pilot’s head protruded from above the upper wings, and behind him I made out the shape of an observer. I alerted Ortoli and Devienne, and slowly we climbed up at a distance, warily trying to identify the unknown machines.

[Linked Image]
Hmm. Looks like trouble.

As we crept into a climbing circle, a single white puff appeared below the two machines - then another. Artillery. They were Germans! What were they doing so far into our lines? Immediately we sharpened our angles of climb, scrambling upwards to meet the two Bosches at their level. They had slowly begun to circle with us now, and our two formations sized each other up. Seemingly disinterested in us, they insolently turned South again to carry on with their work. I felt anger flare at their rejection of our challenge, and turned to follow. Ortoli and Devienne turned with me, and we gave chase.

The first thing I took in about these strange cigar-shaped biplaces was that they were much faster than Fokkers. We were catching them, but we were closing agonisingly slow. I made a mental note that I would have to attack from below - I had no intention of catching a bullet like I had done with the Aviatik. As they grew larger in our windscreens, I noticed that they were painted in a dull green and grey camouflage.

Suddenly, to my disbelief, they swung around in a spiralling climb and pointed their noses right at us. They wanted a fight! As they screamed over our heads I saw their gunners stand to their weapons. One looped over and started to circle with me. I realised with a start that these planes, again unlike the Fokkers we were used to, were highly manoeuvrable. I took in its details - the rounded fuselage, the slight angle to the wingtips, the large fishlike tail, as we spiralled with each other, neither of us managing to gain any ground. However, after the second turn I saw his machine stall on a wing and snap out of the turn for a second, before wrenching himself back into the spiral. It was enough for me to get behind him, and I fired two speculative bursts at him. I was stunned when the seemingly cumbersome biplace rolled onto its back and looped away with frightening agility. What the hell are these things?! I thought to myself, trying to follow the manoeuvre. On my right wing, some fabric tore away with the speed. I gritted my teeth and cut the throttle, exiting the dive and assessing the damage. Nothing too serious, but I wouldn’t be able to dive quite as aggressively.

[Linked Image]
First encounter with a Roland. Scary stuff...

As I turned above the Bosche, I saw Devienne and Ortoli twisting and looping in a similar fashion with the other machine. My opponent circled to face me again and pitched his nose up at me. In a moment of panic I saw tracers from a forward-mounted machine gun firing upwards at me. I climbed up out of reach of the guns of this ferocious new opponent.

Again I came down behind his tail, and again he expertly curved downward and away. We looped and rolled ever-downwards, and at one point the enemy machine stood on its tail. Now I’ve got you, I thought, letting loose with the Lewis, but I’d forgotten about the rear gunner and cried out in alarm as tracers impacted my own machine. The Biplace looped away again, and the moment was lost.

I chased him to ground-level, and finally he straightened out. In one last desperate moment I pulled up behind the tail of the enemy machine, and the observer and myself fired wildly at each other. Fabric and wood splintered away from both our machines, but then in a sickening moment my gun fell silent, out of ammunition. I curved away as the enemy machine tried to climb back up - but Ortoli and Devienne had gotten their man, and were now closing in on my opponent. I watched from the side as they attacked. I saw the palm tree on the side of Ortoli’s machine appear at the Bosche’s tail, and there was a flash of tracer before the Bosche finally fell into a spiral, crashing into the earth below.

Shaken, I turned for home. My machine, which this morning had sounded healthy, was now dropping and rising in revolutions at random intervals, shuddering slightly as it flew. In the windscreen were two large bullet holes, and I could see sections of bullet-perforated and torn fabric along my planes. As I pushed my throttle up to gain some speed, I felt a sudden snap, and the throttle lever shot forwards - but the RPM dropped to idle. Panicked, I worked the throttle lever back and forth, but it swung limp and unresponsive in its mounting. The cable had snapped! Frantically I glided my machine down to ground level, and the moment I touched down the propeller fell silent. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the machine rolled to a stop, and thanked it profusely for seeing me down safely. After a moment of sitting in my cockpit, simply happy to still be drawing breath, I climbed out and checked my map. From what I could tell, Toul aerodrome should be nearby. I walked for a little while before eventually seeing two Caudrons circling down to land.

I headed in their direction, and sure enough Toul was below. Over my head came another Nieuport attempting to land, and as I stared upwards at it I made out the red heart on the fuselage side - it was Devienne. I ran towards the aerodrome, and arrived in time to see his badly shot-up machine being rolled into a hangar. I ran up to his side. “Devienne! Are you okay? What happened to Ortoli?” the youngster’s face was pale white.

“What in hell were those things?”
“I’ve never seen them before. I hope I never do again…”
“You and I both. Merde, I need a cigarette”.
“What happened to Ortoli?”
“Oh, right. I saw him shoot down that second Bosche and turn back for Ochey, but then my motor started running low so I put in here. I was damned worried when I didn’t see you after the scrap - I’d seen you and that observer going at it, and I thought for sure he was going to get you, the way your coucou was soaking up tracers. You Americans are crazy”.

I telephoned Ochey to let de Villeneuve know that we were both safe, but that both of our machines were too damaged to fly home. Anger flickering in his voice, he agreed to send out two breakdown crews to ferry our machines back. “Two machines lost in one afternoon. What the hell happened out there?” he asked, testily. “A new German type. It’s a Biplace but flies like a scout. It’s fast and manoeuvrable” I responded, and there was a long silence at the other end of the line.

“Sir?”
“Yes, I’m still here. Okay. I’m sending Pierre out to get you and Devienne. I want full reports from both of you about this new type the instant you get back”.


Last edited by Wulfe; 05/03/19 08:50 AM.
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Wulfe, that is an excellent skin. My complements to Souris. Looks like someone is getting ready for the Medal of Honor and how is it that Fullard bends a wing and gets a new, even better plane, while Voscadeaux has to patch his for the umpteenth time? I know, I know. Iconic aircraft. That was one lucky Hun by the way. Should keep James’ conscience clear.

Eek! Walfisch are in the area! Be careful with those. These things are better than anything else in the air. That stinger in the tail is something else, but I don’t have to tell you. What a shame about your new shiny Nieup. Thierry and Souris will have their hands full. By the way, you are at Toul - Gaston’s old stomping grounds from the Caudron era.

Wonderful storytelling!


2 May, 1916 05:05 morning mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
23 confirmed kills
Awaiting 1 claim confirmation

Voscadeaux watched Adjutant Delbee carry out his attack. He was getting too close to the Aviatik. Gaston yelled: “- Stop! Don’t do it. Don't be greedy. That Boche is not worth your life!”
He watched in slow motion as his wingman rammed into the German plane.
“- ...pitaine Voscadeaux. Capitaine Voscadeaux. Réveillez-Vous! Elle est prête. She is ready, Capitaine!"
Gaston was being shaken awake by one of the mechanics. He looked around dazed and realized he must have fallen asleep in the corner of the hangar late last night helping the riggers with Violette. He reeked of dope and stale wine. Mostly dope. His throat was dry. The Ack-Emmas worked all night to fix Violette's wing and did their best. It was all ready in the morning, except there was no time to paint it. Violette looked like a Frankenstein's monster.

[Linked Image]

This morning they’ve been tasked to patrol friendly lines north of Verdun. The visibility wasn’t the greatest but a solitary Aviatik was unlucky enough to cross their path and be on the receiving end of a warm welcome. As soon as Gaston gave the signal Boillot’s and Garrigou’s collided with each other but both made it back to base. Voscadeaux was left with de Geuser who attacked the two-seater singlehandedly while Gaston looked on. It was by now a familiar story. De Geuser had spent all of his ammo but not made much damage. Gaston was next to attack. Something was wrong. His shots went all over the sky, despite Violette coming very close to the Boche. The Aviatik continued to float towards the ground and finally crashed behind enemy lines south, of the observation balloon. Gaston watched the stricken bomber sink into the mud as the nearby Flak battery attempted to chase him away. Once at the aerodrome, Gaston found out it was a loose mounting on the machine gun’s base that was the culprit for his terrible aim.



2 May, 1916 13:05 afternoon mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
23 confirmed kills
Awaiting 2 claim confirmations

It was windy and the heavy, dark clouds hung low over the landscape. Gaston volunteered for a lone wolf mission. He was reluctantly allowed to patrol over a relatively safe area over Verdun aerodrome. As he struggled to get up to altitude, Voscadeaux noticed two Aviatiks overflying the city. He followed them while still gaining altitude. He was nearly at their level when out of nowhere two Nieuports jumped and shot up the Huns, then left. The Boche machines continued on and Gaston could have his pick which machine to engage. He went after the one that looked more wounded. While making his initial pass Gaston stalled Violette in a bank and had to scramble to regain control. The Boche gunner took advantage of the situation and was able to place a few rounds into the violet scout. Gaston was undeterred and continued with his attack. He was rewarded with one Boche machine with severed control lines. The Aviatik could only fly in circles. Add to that a pinkish hued vapor emanating from his engine and now the German machine could only spiral down. Gaston didn't stick around to see how that ended. He noticed the other Aviatik running for home. He quickly went after the Hun, but lost him in the clouds. It was also then that Violette refused to go any further. The engine lost power and was running on low revs. It was time to get the poor girl down. Gaston found a piece of road and set his sick plane down.


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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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Due to heavy losses, Willi was asked to move to Flanders

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Last edited by lederhosen; 05/03/19 06:42 AM.

make mistakes and learn from them

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.

Lederhosen, I hope Willi enjoys Flanders, it may be a bit busier than he is used to.

Fullofit, if there is anyone in the French Air Service that deserves a fresh new mount it is Gaston. He needs to pull rank.

Wolfe, very glad James survived his first encounter with the Walfisch. That is one dangerous Hun plane to go up against.

Carrick, it's tough to go after those Hun two-seaters from below, in particular with a DH-2. Keith will need to take his time and climb above them if he can so that he can dive on them with some speed.

MFair, congrats on Jericho's bump to Lieutenant, a well-deserved promotion to be sure. Too bad though about that stolen kill, we've all been there.

Scout, condolences on the loss of Aleck's squadron mate Safer, it's always hard to lose a man and even worse when he's one of the best in the outfit.


Wonderful, wonderful reading and videos gents, really top hole stuff. Made my morning cuppa' just that much more enjoyable. Many thanks.

.


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


Lieutenant Swanson has been busy at Farnborough getting in what time he can with the two Strutters they've been alotted. The news as of this morning however is that 70 Squadron will now be moving up to Northolt to continue their preperations. Apparently General Trenchard has been raising holy hell around HQ about the lack of planes for his newest unit and has managed to get them another ten spanking new Strutters. However, for some reason, these buses have been delivered to the Northolt aerodrome rather than to Farnborough. It was decided that instead of bringing the planes to the squadron the squadron would be brought to the planes. It did make sense, Farnborough was already a very busy place, both in the air and on the ground, and Northolt has space to spare and very little activity at the moment. So kits are being packed and equipment is being loaded and the unit should be set up in its new digs by tomorrow afternoon. The big plus is that there will now be enough planes for all the pilots and G/Os to practice on regularly, and possibly get at least one flight of 70 Squadron up to full strength so that it can be sent along to France.

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Lou, pull rank? Gaston is still getting used to it. They keep changing so fast. At this rate he should make general by 1917.
Looks like Swany is on vacation, gallivanting all over England with no Hun in sight. By the time they decide to send No. 70 to the front, the Strutter will become obsolete. Can’t wait for those Brits to make up their minds to come across the Channel and help.


3 May, 1916 05:45

Feldwebel Hans Grünn was sipping his morning coffee. It was still warm and the mug kept his hands toasty. 750 meters above the ground the air was chilly despite a fine May morning. The Drachen he was occupying with Gefreiter Schultz was overlooking the northern part of Madine Lake in the back end of the St. Mihiel salient. He was looking forward to taking a dip in the lake later today. The brisk swim in the cold water was always invigorating.
“- Hey Junge! What are you scribbling down there? Another love letter to that French chippie?”
The young Gefreiter sitting on the floor of the balloon basket with his back propped against the wall, was writing on a notepad in his lap. He pulled himself away from his work with an annoyed look on his face, “- She’s Belgian, not French.”
“- Bah! You say sauerkraut, I say pickled cabbage. Give me a Bavarian wench that can handle my Bratwurst! You know what I mean?” The older soldier made a loop out of his thumb and forefinger by touching the fingertips together, then pierced the loop with the forefinger of his other hand. He made rude noises while reciprocating the finger inside the makeshift ring. Schultz rolled his eyes and got back to his letter. Feldwebel Grünn was already amusing himself elsewhere with his daily practical joke: “- Let’s see what we’ve got in our bag today.” Every day he would bring an object and drop it on the unsuspecting Flak battery crew below. If the object missed, laughter and mocking taunts would be heard from below. If the object found its mark, very often the response would be several blows to the tether cable with a metal mallet. The vibrations would upset the balance of the balloon and the occupants. More often than not laughter was the typical response to Feldwebel’s pranks.
“- Aha! An army boot!” Grünn pulled the shoe out of his bag with exaggerated theatrics and begun to aim at the head of one of the soldier’s below.
“- Do you hear this?” The young German raised his head from his notepad. “It sounds like an aero engine.”
“- Nah, I don’t hear anything. You must be imagining it. Now stop moving or you’re going to throw my aim off!” The old German was holding the boot by the shoelaces over the side of the basket.
“- No, seriously. I can hear an engine!” Schultz insisted.
“- Maybe the flyboys across the lake at Thiaucourt aerodrome are starting their day early today?” Hans Grünn was lining up his line of sight along the shoestring. He kept the other eye firmly shut. “Just a few degrees to the right ...”
“- Listen, listen! It’s not an Oberursel! I can tell the difference!” The young man was on his feet. The two men were listening intently. The rumble of the engine was getting closer and then it stopped. Silence. A violet silhouette of a Nieuport emerged from the clouds hanging over the balloon. The silence was replaced by the dreaded “whoosh” of Le Prieur rockets being fired.
“- Mein lieber Gott!”

[Linked Image]

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


May 3, 1916.

Posted to a Defensive Patrol. Amid the heavy cloud cover and gray overcast , We found a few holes and went up to 3000ft for Patrol . Ran into 2 Recon types. I fired off 1 drum ,but no hits then reloaded. I saw my wingmates ( Harry and Dickie ) shooting at one that dove into a cloud bank the other just nosed over for home and was gone.

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That screenshot with the rockets is incredible....

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Originally Posted by Wulfe
That screenshot with the rockets is incredible....

Wulfe, there's no dodging that one.


"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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2 missions today....enjoy

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Last edited by lederhosen; 05/04/19 02:18 PM.

make mistakes and learn from them

I5 4440 3.1Ghz, Asrock B85m Pro3, Gtx 1060 3GB
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Keith Cunard Mallory
Sgt, Rfc
29 Sqn, Ablee AF.
DH-2's
2 Kills


Solo Patrol : Went up alone and found a 2 Seat on our side of the lines, Archie was have-in a go with Bursts all over. I made one long pass firing 1 drum of ammo. I got the Ob as he was slumped over the side of the e/a. I pulled off to reload and lost him in the white fluffy stuff.

Afternoon: Flew as tail end charlie on a defensive Patrol of 4 a/c, we had no contact.

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Great stories gents! Wulfe, that is one fine looking machine. My hats off to all keeping the story telling going on this thread. Real life is keeping me very busy at the moment. I will be in full swing again in a few weeks. Keep the stories alive gentlemen, always enjoy them.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
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I am a bit behind...

Aleck A. MacKinlay
RFC-29
April 29, 1916

Strutters. It's a new Sopwith type and we got to escort two of them from RFC-5 to attack Lomme airfield. We got to study a spotting guide so were able to recognize our charges when we met them. Tangled with an Eindekker over the target but he did two 'falling leaf' escape maneuvers and landed safely.

The afternoon flight was a doozie. Our airfield attack on Haubourdin was spoiled by a trio of high Eindekkers that swooped down on us. I dispatched an amateurishly flown tan machine that was shooting up Cromwell (he owes me!). A green Eindekker then engaged me and he was a fantastic pilot, turning so expertly that I could not get a shot in. He finally bolted for Phalempim airfield and I gave him a burst from behind but he pulled a wing-over stunt and promptly disappeared. Gone! No wreckage, no smoke, no parked aircraft. I put in a claim for the first Eindekker, my first downed aircraft.

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

Horrible dream last night, They were coming to get me.


https://youtu.be/iOhjtLFIrms

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Aleck A. MacKinlay
RFC-29
April 30, 1916

Badly mauled by an Aviatik over Houplin airfield. Just barely able to coast over our trenches with a dead engine. The German gunners seem to all be top notch shots and I have decided not to attempt close-in attacks ever again.

On the positive side, my Eindekker claim has been confirmed, which was expected given Cromwell saw the whole episode up close and personal.

End of April stats in screenshot below.

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Scout, glad you were safe. Those rear gunners are good.
Carrick, winter is coming.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
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