Dawn Patrol : A dud of a mission. Afternoon Mission a bit more lively . Our flight 0f 3 were in heavy cloud cover and came across a flight of 3 monoplanes on our side of the lines. A nice little mix up with a lot of banging away on the machine guns then they broke up and became lost in the overcast. Except for the e/a that dropped on my tail, he just hung back there as we twisted about. Finally Archie started popping off as we got lower. The E/a turned and went home.
Wulfe, good news! The weather is finally improving. This should help with Lemoine's drunken stupor. Get this man up ASAP! Same goes for Fullard. The man's compulsive obsessive behavior isn't healthy when he's bored. As for Devienne, doesn't he know purple is the "in" colour? Can't wait to see what he's coming up with to impress the ladies. Lederhosen, congrats on that double decoration. One Iron Cross in each hand for balance. Well done! Carrick, shouldn't you be chasing the Eindeckers, not the other way around?
11 May, 1916 04:55 morning mission Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux 26 confirmed kills
Finally the weather improved sufficiently to resume operations. They’ve encountered two Aviatiks while escorting the N-12 on its way to bomb the Jametz aerodrome. Gaston and his wingman discussed their new tactics against the bombers and now was the time to test them. Gaston would be the bait and Thuillier the hunter. The trick was to come close to the two-seaters and taunted them. They would start shooting at him, but he would be too far away to do any damage, meanwhile his wingman would shadow the enemy behind the cover of the clouds. When the time came and the enemy's attention was concentrated on Gaston, Thuillier would revealed himself and take out the Boche. It worked perfectly. By the time Gaston and the rest of the flight would make a large circle around the Aviatiks and come behind them, his wingman would be out from behind the cover of the clouds and firing at one of the Huns. Gaston could see the bomber roll over and fall away from formation. When Voscadeaux came close, Thuillier was already attacking the second machine, but ran out of ammo. That's when Gaston stepped in and finished the job by sending a few long bursts into the cockpit area. The machine keeled over and dropped straight down into the forested area south-west of Sivry aerodrome. Once the last of the German planes was smoldering on the ground below, the mission could continue. The target area was devoid of any enemy activity and after the bombs were dropped everyone returned home. When they all have landed, Gaston and Denys congratulated each other on a successfully executed attack. It would be their new modus operandi.
Gaston, along with Thuillier, Barnay and Boillot, were tasked with escorting the ‘A’ flight on a bombing run of Sivry aerodrome. They encountered two Aviatiks on the landing approach over Sivry. Voscadeaux led the charge and was met with the return fire. He was immediately wounded by the first salvo on his first pass. The lucky bullet went through Gaston’s right calf. The pain was unbearable and Gaston had to disengage and try to bring his machine back home. He successfully landed his plane at the aerodrome and was taken to the field infirmary. The medic had a look, cleaned the wound and had it dressed as best as he could. Fortunately there was no need for hospital stay. Gaston would move around the base on crutches for the next 10 days. Doctor’s orders. On a positive note, Barnay and Boillot brought down one Boche each. The men are starting to show initiative during Gaston’s absence.
"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."
Appointed acting section leader, then posted to 0815 take off for Patrol. Over No Mans Land , I spotted 2 e/a lower so we corkscrewed down for a bounce. Not a great line up and they spotted us 1 e/a turned for Hun land the other towards our side. We swooped down on the 2 nd e/a. It became a turning fight down to the deck. " Goonie " Lt. Cyril Goon got the kill , but we all fired.
I am finding real life duties cutting my flight time, like many others, so struggling to keep up. I will have to limit myself to one flight per day and skip the extra flights WOFF is throwing my way.
Aleck A. MacKinlay RFC-29 May 2, 1916
My two claims have been confirmed. I have been surprised that the two deaths at my hands has not weighed too heavily on me. I think tiredness and the loss of so many of our own pilots has hardened me to it all. They were trying to kill me, and I killed them.
A patrol of enemy lines this morning. Our group of four DH2s was not interfered with.
May 3: Patrol friendly front lines. We tangled with three Fokkers and got the better of them; McHard got one and I claimed one driven down out-of-control. McHard's was confirmed but mine was rejected as we did not see him crash and no other witnesses on the ground could be tracked down.
Fullofit - Mon Dieu! Another wound for poor old Gaston - and Violette, too! I daresay both are looking worse for wear by this point...they both need a nice, long rest! Here's hoping Gaston has a speedy recovery. I wonder if that was the same Aviatik crew that saw off Ortoli and Devienne the other day...
Carrick - Nicely done! Scratch one more Eindecker. The bosche must be running low on them by now...love the shot of the three D.H.2s converging on their target.
77_Scout - two victories! Very well done! Interesting reaction from MacKinlay...seems like even those with the purest intentions aren't free of the war's influence. Bad luck about the third claim.
Sgt. James B. Fullard, Escadrille N.31 Ochey Aerodrome, France
May 11th 1916:
It was still dark as Georges gently shook me awake, the flicker of the lamp catching in the rough, aged lines of his face. Quinchez sat on the edge of his cot, nursing a tin mug of cocoa. “Sorry to wake you sir, but you are scheduled for the dawn patrol in an hour”, Georges informed me as he pressed a second mug into my hands. Groggily I thanked him, and he turned to leave, pausing by the door to tell us that “there are croissants and squeezed orange juice waiting in the mess”.
Jensen and little Devienne were lounging at the table. Croissant-in-hand, Devienne waved a hello at us. “Know where we’re going today?” I asked. “ɴᴏᴍᴇɴʏ” was Jensen’s answer. Quinchez couldn’t contain his smile. “My first war flight! Tell me about Nomeny - is it a hot shop? Do you think we’ll run into any Fokkers?”. I saw my and Victor’s eagerness in him. “ɪᴛ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ǫᴜɪᴇᴛ, ᴛʜᴀɴᴋғᴜʟʟʏ”.
We made our way to the hangars and changed into our flying clothing, before heading out to the flight line. “Mon Dieu! Whose machine is that!” Quinchez cried as he spotted Devienne’s red-winged Nieuport at the end of the flight line. Swelling with pride, the youth replied “Which one? Oh, that one? Well, that’s mines!”. Jensen and I shot each other a look of amusement. “A fan of Navarre’s?” Quinchez asked, and Devienne’s face suddenly matched the colour of his wing. “Oh, er, yes”. I stifled a laugh. Jensen then turned to Quinchez. “ɪғ ᴡᴇ ʀᴜɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀɴʏ ʙᴏsᴄʜᴇ, sᴛᴀʏ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏʙsᴇʀᴠᴇ”. Quinchez raised an eyebrow, but reluctantly agreed.
As we clambered into our machines I peered upwards at the skies. The clouds were rolling swiftly towards the lines. High winds today I thought to myself. The call to ‘switch on’ came from Thierry at my nose, and I obliged. A moment later my motor roared into life in harmony with the others’ machines, before dying down to a smooth idling. Thierry made the motion of flicking water off his fingertips as he walked around to my side. “You hear that?” he cried over the engine. “Even with a replacement, she’s singing!”. I flashed a grin and waved him away. As he backed off, smirking back, he cried “Remember, Fullard! If you damage that Coucou again then the Bosche will be the last of your worries!”.
With our chocks away and our mechanics clear, Jensen led us on our take-off runs. His wheels came up, with me and Quinchez next. At the rear of the pack was Devienne. The long, uncomfortable climb out was harsh, with the winds buffeting us to and fro. We sat stiffly frozen into place by the unforgiving cold.
Jensen pointed us towards the lines, and we settled into formation. Over Toul I spotted a lone aeroplane circling, about 300 meters above us. As we approached it I got a good look at its side profile, and recognised it as an Aviatik. Hastily opening the throttle to catch up with Jensen, I pointed the machine out and he nodded once, pulling away to the side and steepening his climb angle. We watched the lone German closely as we slowly spiralled upwards. Suddenly, he snapped around to the West. He had seen us. Jensen opened his throttle to full, giving chase from below, with the rest of us in tow.
The German had a good head-start on us, but he was many miles behind our lines and slowly drawing nearer in our sights. We caught up to the fleeing Biplace over the Hasoy Forest, and I quickly closed in from under his tail, snapping upwards to fire a pensive burst at him. Just as I did so, an artillery round burst sickeningly close to my head, and in surprise I stalled on a wing, dropping back below the Aviatik. “Damned idiots!” I cried out in contempt for the A.A. gunners below. I climbed up again and fired a second, longer burst into the Aviatik, before looping around for a second attack. The flight stayed in position behind me, readying themselves to take over should I break off. I got in close again and fired off the rest of my ammunition into the Aviatik. As I curved away to the side, I watched as the observer wildly swung the gun to follow me. At the same time, the Aviatik’s propeller slowed to a halt, and the German machine slowly began to sink down into the clouds below.
I signalled to Jensen that I was turning for home., and swung my Nieuport back Southwards. Switching off the magnetos after landing, I made my way to the H.Q building to make my report. As I sat at the writing-desk, the door to de Villeneuve’s office swung open. “Oh, hello Fullard. Didn’t expect to see you back already. Engine trouble? Your coucou sounded okay as you were coming in”.
“No, no engine trouble, sir. We encountered an Aviatik and I fired off all of my ammunition at him. I thought it unwise to continue unarmed, sir”. “Là! Là! All of your ammunition?! Well, did you get him?” “Yes, sir. His engine stopped over Forêt de Hasoy. I saw him gliding down. There’s no way he could possibly have made it back. The others saw it, and there was an artillery battery firing at him, so they must have seen as well”. “Well, if it is how you say it is, then congratulations! I’ll telephone the battery at...Hasoy, you said?”. “Thank you, sir”.
I headed back to the mess where I found Ortoli, Chaput and Lemoine. The latter had his head buried firmly into his hands, and was groaning in agony. “Merde! Merde! Merde! I’ve killed myself! Why would you let me drink so much, tu Salauds!”. Ortoli let out a hearty laugh. “Don’t blame us, you drunkard! Nobody had a gun to your head!” Slumping forwards onto the desk with his face down, Lemoine let out another dramatic groan. “I want to go back to bed…” he muttered.
“Hey, Fullard! How did your patrol go?” Chaput asked. “I got a Bosche. An Aviatik, I stopped his engine for him”. “Congratulations, mon ami! Your fifth, no? l’As Americain!” “No, only my fourth. If it gets confirmed, at least”. “Mais oui. Well, here’s hoping!”
It was suppertime when Georges brought me the news that, indeed, the A.A company had watched me bring down the German machine. It had glided down through the clouds and become entangled in the trees below. Apparently, both German airmen were wounded, but alive, and after being retrieved via ladder from the tree they had chosen to inhabit, they were carted away to some prison camp or other. At the news, Quinchez cried out "Fullard got a Bosche? Mais, I didn't even see him!". The rest of the patrols had been quiet, except for Ortoli’s afternoon patrol, which as he explained, “I could hear Lemoine’s moaning over the drone of my engine!”.
March 5, 1916: My young brash wingman James Edith returned to the squadron yesterday, recovered from his leg injury was nothing to show for it on a slight limp. We went on an easy patrol behind friendly lines and reacquainted him with the operation of his DH2. No enemy contact.
Today's mission was a bit of insanity. The Major sent James and I to attack Loos junction railroad station. The target was heavily defended and machine gun fire was intense. After hearing the bullets hit my engine I ran for home. James followed on his own and we both arrived safely back at Abeele. Our top cover was not so lucky. Both Berkeley and Gillingham did not return. It was Gillingham's first mission; he only had 1 hour of flight time. What a waste to send such a rookie over the lines so soon.
March 11, 1916: The better part of a week was washed out with rain. Unbelievably, as soon as the skies cleared we were sent back to Loos Junction! Apparently lessons are hard learned by command. I shot up a locomotive and we all returned safely, after dodging a veritable hail of tracers from the ground batteries.
Wolfe, there has to be more than one Aviatik out there, otherwise that crew’s score would be higher than Gaston’s. Poor Devienne, he tries so hard. Why is everyone making fun of him? Is it his stature that no one takes him seriously? It’s almost as bad as Lemoine, but that character can only blame himself. Congrats on that Aviatik confirmed claim. One more to Acedom! Fingers crossed. Don’t want to jinx it.
Scout, ground attack is a thankless job, but somebody has to do it. Too bad about your flight mates. Looks like their sacrifice was all for naught.
"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."
Lederhosen, Willi must look pretty sheepish right now. Avoid Nieuports and stick to DH2’s. Consider calling yourself “lucky” for the rest of the day.
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."
Finally back at the Huns: 1005 hrs took off to attack an Aerodrome damage ? 1050 Hrs; Balloon mission a dud clouds went down to deck at target area cirled around while enemy gunners shot at us so RTB.
Carrick, some days you win. Other days you get bupkis.
15 May, 1916 Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux 27 confirmed kills Injured
Gaston sat on the wooden bench in front of one of the hangars rubbing his swollen foot. He found it odd that his calf was shot through with a bullet, yet it was his foot that was giving him most grief. The sun was out and bathing everything in its warm light. Voscadeaux enjoyed sitting outside without the need to turn his head in all directions or squint his eyes to look directly at the sun in search of enemy. Just a quiet day at the aerodrome. Then he heard it. A distant rumble of aero engines. At first low then becoming closer, louder, much higher in pitch. Un unmistakable sound of Nieuports coming back after a mission. This was Gaston’s favourite part. Like a little boy his heart rate increased as the machines came lower and lower over the airfield. It was another line patrol and his wingman, Lieutenant Denys Thuillier, was leading the ‘B’ flight in his absence. He counted 3 scouts, but there should be 4. One of them probably had an engine trouble and had to land at another airfield. As they landed one by one, Gaston recognized them by their markings. There is Boillot with his large B, then D for Dagonet and finally de Geuser with a G. Thuillier was missing. That man just loves playing hooky. The pilots disembarked from their Nieuports and were walking slowly towards the office to make their reports. “- What have you done to my wingman?” Gaston accosted Dagonet as they were walking by. Dagonet stopped and slumped onto the bench beside Gaston. He exhaled heavily. “- I’m sorry Gaston, Denys is dead...” he choked and said nothing more. Gaston instinctively thought Dagonet was joking. He didn’t believe it. “- Oh Henri, stop pulling my leg. Can’t you see she is injured?” But he soon realized it wasn’t a joke when Dagonet didn’t smile back. “- It was a new type of Boche machine. It is a two-seater biplane, but flies and fights like a Nieuport. It came at us from behind, out of the sun and went straight for the leader. Poor Thuillier didn’t even see it coming.” Dagonet explained. “If their bombers fly like our scouts then I think we’re done for. We better get new planes soon if they roll out their new scouts and they’re as good as this new bomber.” Dagonet was looking defeated. “I’d better go. I have to make the report. I hate this part.” He stood up and squeezed Gaston’s shoulder, leaving him alone to deal with the loss.
"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."
Lederhosen - close call! Gotta watch out for those Bebes...
Carrick - Glad to see Keith back up and at em!
Fullofit - Ah, rotten news about Thuillier, I was looking forwards to hearing more of him. So, the hated Walfisch have reached your neck of the woods...time to start treading lightly!
Sgt. James B. Fullard, Escadrille N.31 Ochey Aerodrome, France.
May 16th 1916:
We were blessed with Temps Aéronautique on the 12th, and spent the day lounging in the mess and tinkering with our aeroplanes. In the morning I found little Devienne with a most worried look on his face, sitting over the recently-arrived communiques with coffee in hand.
“Everything alright, Devienne?” I asked. “Le Violet’s been wounded…” “What? Is he okay?” “Shot through the calf”. “Ouch. Well, in that case, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You Frenchies are a tough lot, I’m sure he’ll be knocking down Bosches again in no time”. “I hope so…”
As we were sitting down for supper that night, the rain was still beating heavily on the roof. In-between sips of pinard, Lemoine remarked “This is pretty good, no? Perhaps we won’t need to fly tomorrow either?”. With a grin, Ortoli replied “Lemoine, you lazy so-and-so! I’m almost starting to think you don’t even like flying!”. The portly Frenchman grinned. “Enfin! He understands!”. Devienne wiped his mouth down with a napkin, then turned to the pair. “Well, I hope the rain doesn’t stay too long. I still haven’t got my first Bosche yet!”. Quinchez nodded in agreement. “Me neither! In fact, I haven’t so much as seen a Bosche!”.
Unlucky for my two victory-hungry compatriots, Lemoine’s weather forecast was spot on. In fact, the rain hasn’t stopped for the past four days, and was still finding its way into our rooms through the (now numerous) holes in the roof this morning. Poor Jensen appeared in the mess soaked through, the victim of a leak springing right above his cot.
After breakfast, Georges arrived with fresh mail. I waited with baited breath for the order, but no word from l’Escadrille Americaine came. I frowned, considering that perhaps they had reached their quota of pilots. I hoped not. One letter did arrive for me though, with no return address. My interest piqued, I opened the letter and laid it flat on the table before me.
“Dear James,
Sorry that I haven’t been in touch before. Until I saw your name in the Communiques, I did not even know that you and Michael were in France. I am here with Jack Brown and Tommy Jones from back home! Do you remember when they left for the war, how jealous we were?
Good news! The British are planning a big push soon, and we are meant to be part of it. We are being sent to the Somme. I had hoped to visit you on my next leave, but the distance might be too great. However, if I ever receive a good length of rest, I shall endeavour to visit you at your aerodrome.
I could not find the details of Michael’s posting, so I haven’t been able to send him a letter also. Please write him for me, and tell him I am doing well.
Lovingly,
Your brother Andrew”.
I stared at the letter for a long time. Andrew. Images flooded to me of the morning, back in San Francisco, that we had awoke to find a hastily written note from Andrew that he had made for the Foriegn Legion, against our parent’s wishes. Young Andrew, headstrong, the first to go. Mother was inconsolable, father was furious. It was only two months later that Michael and I had made a similar escape, sending away to Washington D.C for our passports in secret and making for France the night they had arrived.
Immediately I rushed through the narrow corridor, nearly barrelling poor Chaput over, and fetched pen and paper, frantically scribbling a short letter to Michael, before filling an envelope with both my and Andrew’s letters.
Bupkis, They got Goonie this morning. According to his wingman in A Flight, they spotted 3 Monoplanes coming from the East to attack my flight of 3 a/c as we escorted 2 Be's on Recon. He said they just slipped in behind and he flamed. We could see the fight but were chained as Close Escort so could not help. No e/a were shot down.
James and I were assigned an escort mission, protecting an FE2b observation mission over the lines east of Armentieres. A clear day so we had no problem hooking up with the observation aircraft. On station, two Aviatiks passed overhead but we ignore them; protecting the FE2b was more than enough reason to avoid another harrowing attack on Aviatiks. Reconnaissance missions give me a great sense of purpose; if there's a fight then it will be a fight to defend my fellow fliers and I will have no qualms about killing an enemy pilot to do so.
Three dots next appeared in the eastern sky. Our observation aircraft turn to the west, obviously running from danger. It was three Fokkers diving in to attack. James latched onto one of them immediately and sent him down in flames. I chased after another that was pursuing our FE2B but had to break off when I realized the third enemy was on my tail. A long turning dogfight ensured the against this green painted machine, which was well flown. I could only get in short bursts as we twisted and turned, but eventually caught him in a slow turn and hit him hard in the cockpit area. He slowly spiraled down trailing wispy black smoke and crunched into the hard mud of no man's land.
I put in a claim and the James put in two. The recon plane returned home safe and sound so it was a good day's work.
After supper I was informed that my claim had been confirmed; my fifth. I guess that makes me an ace, the first in RFC-29. Some of the boys are quite excited and wanting to make a big deal out of this, but I hate the attention and headed off to bed early for some quiet contemplation. Shockingly James' two claims were rejected despite my emphatic confirmation; apparently our gunners on the ground were given credit. Ridiculous.
Regretfully, RFC-29's newest ace has died in combat. 2nd Lieutenant Aleck A. MacKinlay was shot down over enemy territory northwest of Lens this morning of May 12, 1916. He was ambushed from behind by a lone Eindekker as he retreated from yet another attack on Loos Junction. With aileron control cables severed, his DH2 slowly overturned and dove earthward from low altitude, killing him instantly.
Oh, no, Scout, terrible news...sorry to hear about Aleck, I was really starting to enjoy his story! At least he downed No. 5 before going West. Here's hoping your next man is more fortunate!