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Yes Carrick, tushie lifts. They're quite cheeky.

And Fullofit, you know perfectly well they did not have TrackIR during Queen Victoria's reign. (pfffft, TrackIR in the 1800s --- ridiculous)

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Lou, this is the Queen of England we’re talking about. I’m sure she could order one from the Amazon. They had expeditions there all the time. It would take the entire month’s allowance, but I’m sure she could afford it. And the chocolate implants too.


"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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Carrick: mic drop


Fullofit, assuming the Queen could get one from the Amazon she would also need the whale oil to coal oil converter, and you know how laggy those make the tracking. They've been known to cause the dreaded blue triangles as well. She'd be better off using the mouse for tracking, provided the Royal Cat hasn't killed it.

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You boys are in rare form today!

I’ve been out of sorts for a while but will pick up Jericho’s story tomorrow.


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Lou, imagine all the smoke effects!
MFair, please hurry. We're waiting for the sane one.
Carrick, Ain't that the tooth (cavity)!


"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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And now for something completely different...

An Airman’s Odyssey – by James Arthur Collins

Part Thirty-Nine: In which I am puzzled

Life at Hounslow was pleasant. We were required to fly only a couple of times a week, barely enough to keep our hands in the business of night flight. Other than those excursions, we were welcome to take our machines about the countryside on “navigation exercises.” These chiefly consisted of stunting and hedge-hopping about the countryside, interspersed with putting down near the home of any young ladies spotted from on high.

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Departing on a "Navigation Exercise"

The nights were becoming shorter and the Zeppelins seemed no longer to be interested in London. There was a raid on the east coast, but the klaxons at Hounslow remained silent. “A” Flight was dispatched to Sutton’s Farm, on the far side of the city, so I lost my chum Billy Leefe Robinson. We could, however, get away to the city once or twice a week and there we would rendezvous at Rector’s on Tottenham Court Road where Billy held court on the dance floor and I tried to chat with the girls in queue for him, playing Oliver to Billy’s Lucifer.[1] Alternatively, Tubby and I would take in the shows. After his last trip to see the Bing Boys, every time we headed for the West End, he’d want to go back. He’d bought the sheet music and would practice interminably on the mess piano (whereupon I’d offer to pass the hat to buy him lessons).

On 2 May, I had a curious and embarrassing encounter with the press. Major Higgins called for me after breakfast.

“Clean yourself and your flying gear up, Collins, and be at my office with your gear at ten. We have some fellows from the Daily Express – terrible rag – coming to see you. Don’t say anything stupid, will you please.”

“They want to see me, sir? As in – to tour the squadron?”

“No, dammit, man,” he explained. “Apparently, they think you’re a wondrous sight to behold – a wild Canadian defends London. Not at all wondrous, if you ask me. The RFC is bloody well infested with your lot. If the war goes on another year we shall all be playing hockey and using foul language like lumberjacks.”

The press team arrived as scheduled. I spent a good four hours posing for photographs in my machine, posing both in flying kit and in my best uniform. I was interviewed about my service, but as soon as I mentioned my time in France, the lead pencil-wallah would ask about “the time I nearly downed the Zeppelin.”

“I fired at the thing and did no harm that I could see,” I explained.

“But it did smoke, correct?”

“Not really. It...”

“Turned away from the city?”

“Not really. It...”

“Climbed away in fear?”

“Not really.”

Undaunted, they ran a full page story later that week. The headline read “Gallant Canadian chases off night raider.” Every man in the mess had a copy and took great pleasure in pinning the clipping to any wooden surface. For a while, the nickname “GC” (for Gallant Canadian) caught hold.

I visited the Savoy Bar twice. On this first visit Jimmy the bartender still had no news about who might have called me back from France. On the second visit, 7 May 1916, Jimmy confided that Captain Baring, Trenchard’s eccentrically brilliant ADC, was in the house. Baring was acting as a liaison to a group of visiting Russians and would be attending a dinner there the following night. [2]

So it was that on the evening of 8 May, I begged away from Houslow, claiming a need to attend to some urgent banking, and made for the Savoy. At the hotel desk, I presented a calling card on which I’d scribbled a request for a brief meeting at Baring’s convenience, whereupon the clerk paged a porter to bring the card to Captain Baring’s room with my compliments. Within minutes, the good Captain joined me in the bar, resplendent in full evening dress. He greeted me as a long-lost friend and I ordered champagne. We chatted about 3 Squadron and he told me about Swanson’s magnificent display of flying at Candas. Then he glanced at a gold pocket watch and asked, “How may I help you, Mr. Collins?”

I explained about the sudden transfer to Home Establishment and the sense that strings had been pulled on my behalf. “Who asked for me to go to England?” I asked him. “I need to know.”

Baring appeared conflicted. “I have given my word that it should remain confidential,” he said at last. I pressed him as hard as I dared.

“Please, a hint,” I begged. “I need to get this move undone. I shouldn’t be here.”

He gave me a kindly look and then a broad and impish grin. “Gripping tale in the Daily Express the other day, what?”

“Captain Baring, please – just a hint.” I was pleading pitifully now.

Baring finished his champagne, checked his watch again, and stood up. “You’ve had a hint already,” he said and excused himself.

NOTES:

[1] In the 1916 musical revue "The Bing Boys are Here," Oliver is the shy brother while Lucifer is the -- well, you can guess.

[2] General Trenchard and Captain Baring travelled to London on 7 May 1916. While there, Baring was temporarily attached to a visiting Russian Parliamentary Delegation. Among his many talents, Baring was an accomplished Russian translator with some significant diplomatic experience.

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Still lagging behind, but trying to catch up...

Sgt. James B. Fullard,
Escadrille N.31,
Ochey Aerodrome, France.

May 18th 1916:


Our patrols have been tense. Rumour has it that the dreaded Roland has been appearing over the front in larger and larger numbers, and are not shy of coming into our lines to look for trouble. Chaput, who seems to have a friend in every Escadrille, claims that losses to Rolands have been unnervingly high.

It was with this information in the back of our heads that Quinchez, Devienne, Ortoli and I climbed into our machines on the morning of the 18th, outbound into the depths of the Bosche lines. Even as we flew from Ochey to the front we scanned constantly, dreading the appearance of the hated ‘Walfisch’.

The lines were eerily quiet as we crossed over the front. I made long, slow scans of the horizon, expecting at any moment to spot Bosches coming in to attack. Below us, the mud abruptly transitioned back into greenery. Ortoli looked back at us and signalled - Keep a look out. Over Thiaucourt the artillery started up at us. Their aim was good - one round went off close enough to Devienne to rock him to the side. He looked over at me nervously as we begun to weave.

It wasn’t long before the artillery attracted attention. From the North came the razor-edged silhouettes of two Eindeckers, climbing up to meet us. Ortoli and Devienne had seen them too. We turned to face the two brave Germans. As we approached, the Artillery was still firing up at us. Chasing the Eindeckers to the ground would be suicide. They tilted their noses up as they came underneath us, and in response I rolled over onto my back and pulled my Nieuport into a dive. The eindeckers broke in opposite directions, and I picked out my target, quickly looping onto his tail.

My opponent circled to the left, denying me a shot, and we turned on the edges of our wings, staring upwards into each others’ faces. A moment later, there was a flash of red as Devienne arrived, followed by Ortoli and Quinchez. I gritted my teeth - four pilots attacking the same opponent was dangerous.

The German was very good. Avoiding two successive attacks from Ortoli and Quinchez, he pulled his Fokker into a climbing spiral as my three wingmen snapped at his heels. Unluckily for him, I was waiting for him. I pulled my nose around to face him, and at the same time Ortoli stood his Nieuport on his tail. Two simultaneous bursts tore through the enemy machine and he rolled onto his back, hanging nauseatingly in that position for a moment, before spiralling down towards earth. I watched, circling, from above as the Eindecker fell out-of-control.

Hungry for a victory, Ortoli dove after the falling machine at a horrendous speed, and I thought for sure his wings would come away. With my mouth agape I watched as, realising his mistake, he pulled slowly out of the dive, his wingtips quivering like autumn leaves. As he pulled up and straightened out I felt as if a ton of weight had suddenly been lifted off my chest, but now the Artillery was giving him its full attention. There was nothing I could do for him now. I turned back towards the lines, watching with my heart racing as Ortoli frantically danced his way through the hailstorm of shrapnel.

A moment later, with a lurch, I realised I had lost sight of him. I led Devienne and Quinchez out to the mud and anxiously circled for a few minutes. Finally, to my immense relief, I spotted Ortoli’s Nieuport emerging from No-Mans-Land. After reuniting, we flew home.

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Ooooh Raine, and still the intrigue continues. Love it! Good thing though that Swany wasn't around to hear that lumberjack put-down, things could have gotten ugly.

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Wulfe, you snuck in while I was posting. James' wingman Ortoli made a very foolish move when he followed his target down. He got lucky this time, though he may not feel that way after the riggers get down dressing him down.

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Raine, looks like James has an anonymous guardian angel. James may even get a VC in the process. A meeting with the King would be something else for a Gallant Canadian. I wonder who he knows at the Daily Express? That was the hint, right?

Wulfe, man, those new Boche kites do keep the Escadrille on their toes, don’t they? Close call for Ortoli. I wonder if he’d be so keen to follow a Walfisch? Great air battle description BTW. Any news on the transfer? You need to talk to Collins. Apparently he knows people that can arrange this sort of thing.

Gaston’s convalescence period is over. He will rejoin the war effort first thing tomorrow morning.


"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
3 Kills


May 20, 1916.

A short flight today. Something went wrong after take off and I landed in cow pasture near a Church. The DH sunk in the soft ground and we spent the day having a horse team pull it out to the Road then the Airdrome

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Scout, bad luck all around. Hope you get back in the fray by fall. Have a great summer.
Fullofit, Gaston is still up to his devil may care attitude I see. Back to the grinder.

Nice stories all! Here is Jericho's latest.

Lt. Mark Jericho
May 20, 1916.
Lahoussoy Aerodrome

As Jericho walked to his Morane his mind was wandering. Swany was gone and now James had left. He did not even get to tell him good by. Would James ever get word to his mother about his whereabouts? How would he get word back if he did? His left arm still ached from the fall from his horse. Two weeks ago he had taken Moon to Amiens to see Camille.With all the traffic on the roads Jericho figured he could make better time on Moon. He was right. As the Lorries and troops plodded along the roads he breezed past them on the swift gelding. The two days with Camille were wonderful. She had taken a job in a hotel as a maid. It was not much but with what Jericho could spare she was doing alright. She had learned enough English for them to communicate well. That was good for Jericho still only knew a few words of French. As far as Jericho was concerned, she did not need to talk. Her eyes said all he needed to know.

On the way back to the aerodrome Moon stumbled and Jericho had gone arse over tea kettle onto the ground fracturing his left arm. That did not sit well with the Major as it put Jericho on light duty for almost two weeks. This was his first flight since the fall and they were tasked with bombing Bertincourt. His observer/gunner, Barrus, asked "You feel up to it Lt.?" Jericho answered, "Hell no I don't feel up to it but whats our choice?" With that they climbed into the Morane. As they bounced down the runway Jericho pulled back on the stick and barely cleared the trees. Things just did not feel right. He shook his head to clear the cob webs. He was flight leader and had a job to do. They climbed out and met the 3 Nieport scouts that were to be their escorts and started climbing east to Bertincourt. As they were approaching the target Jericho looked up just in time to see 3 Fokker's come out of the clouds diving on them head on. He immediately dropped his bombs and turned west. As soon as he did he realized his mistake. The three Nieports pounced on the Eindeckers and had them by the tail in no time. "That's the most hair brain thing you have done in a long time Pard!" he said to himself. What could they do now? Go over and spit on them? His flight was right there and had dropped their bombs also. It was a long flight back to the aerodrome. When he reported to the Major at debrief on what had happened the Major just shook his head in disgust. "I know I messed up Major. I didn't think. Forgot all about the escorts being there. It won't happen again Sir!" Jericho said timidly, which surprised him as he had never been timid about anything in his life. The Major looked up at Jericho. "When you are flight leader, the flight and the mission is your responsibility Lt. If you don't think then at best the mission is a dud. At worst, my pilots could be killed. Do you understand." Jericho had been flying combat for almost 4 months and the Majors dressing down filled him with anger as this was the first real mistake he had made in the air. Any sense of guilt over his mistake was gone. He straightened up and looked the Major in the eye. "I said it would not happen again Sir" Jericho answered. The Major stared him back. "Good, because your afternoon flight is back to Bertincourt! It's important!"

At 1500 hours they were back over Bertincourt. Jericho's flight left it burning.

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MFair, it seems Jericho is feeling the strain of nearly five months at the front. I hope that temper of his doesn't get away from him again. Glad to see he was given a second chance to go back and correct his mistake.

Carrick, at least it was a picturesque cow pasture.

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


May 21, 1916.

Bad Day.

B Flight Offensive Patrol 0705 hrs. Mixed it with the 2 seat boys Knocked down 1 for 2 out of our 5 a/c damaged.
B Flight " " 1500 hrs. More 2 Seat a/c (3 ) a real punch out 1 e/a destroyed but we lost 1 a flamer then 1 missing + mine a write off. I took fuel hits, no fire I set a glide for our lines at 100 mph and made our side ,but landed hard thru Wire. A total write off.

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MFair, I blame it on a head full of Camille. There ain't enough room for a woman and a job well done. Shape up and do be careful. Camille still needs someone to come home. Glad Jericho can learn from his mistakes and hopefully improve.
Carrick, that was a hairy encounter. Do be careful and bring back King's property in one piece.


21 May, 1916 06:10 morning mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
27 confirmed kills

Gaston was itching to get back up in the air after being grounded for 2 weeks due to his injury. He had a score to settle, first with any Aviatik that comes his way and second, any of those new Boche aeroplanes that everyone is making such a big fuss about. He was still without a wingman. Adjutant Barnay and Caporal Tsu were assigned to follow him on a balloon busting mission north of Verdun. Everyone had their eyes pointed in all directions at all times, trying to spot any strange biplanes. There was no sign of any opposition from the German side, except for heavy Flak in the target area. Gaston’s Le Prieurs found their mark and so did the ones fired by his flight mates. The gas bag only needed a few more bullet holes to start spewing black smoke and eventually explode in a brilliant ball of flame, temporarily blinding Voscadeaux, as he flew through the cloud of smoke and sparks.



21 May, 1916 14:10 afternoon mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
27 confirmed kills
Awaiting 1 claim confirmation

Lieutenant Dagonet and Sous-Lieutenant Vouillermoz accompanied Gaston on line patrol romp over the front, north of Chalons. There was no contact during the entire flight, despite their best attempts to conjure up some Boche through the shear power of their vision acuity. Gaston’s craving of bloodlust will have the need to linger for the morrow.
A new man arrived in the evening - S.Lt. Henri Japy. He will be Gaston’s new wingman. The rest of the men in the Escadrille came to calling all Gaston’s wingmen “Chaussette” (Sock). Gaston gets a new one when there is a hole in the old one.


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From out of my arse take the camshaft,
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Carrick, that was a close call.
Lou, you would think a chap with a stellar record would get a little sympathy. He did own up to his mistake.

Lt. Mark Jericho
May 21, 1916

Jericho felt better today. He was back to his old self after 2 missions yesterday. He was leading 2 other machines to recon the area around Monchy. He had been assigned a new gunner, Lt. Phillips, as Barrus was on leave. He had plenty of experience but seemed a surly sort. Jericho was not too concerned as it should be an easy mission. Just over the mud Jericho spotted 2 Huns a thousand feet below headed east. He made a slow circle to keep his eye on them. Sure enough, they started climbing and had the Moran's cut off. Jericho was not worried as Griffen and Lewis, his flight mates, were experienced veterans that knew their way in a fight. It did not take long for the Eindeckers to climb up. Jericho turned toward them and the three Moran's attacked. As the Huns flew under them Jericho turned to give Phillips a shot and he heard the Lewis bark. Soon they were in a circle with one of the Huns but Jericho had the advantage as Phillips kept his fire up but the Hun could not get a shot. As Jericho looked back keeping the Hun in position for Phillips, he jumped as bullets hit the cowling and fuselage! He snapped his head forward just in time to see two more Eindeckers fly past overhead! "Where the hell did they come from!" he thought. He turned to see who was what and where and saw a Hun trailing smoke. "That evens things up a bit" he thought. Just then tracers flew past his head and he turned away and looked back in time to see an Eindecker diving past them. Jericho turned in to him and Phillips opened up again. Jericho had the advantage on this one also and after just a few bursts he saw the Hun go into a spin. He pulled up and turned but the sky was empty. Phillips signaled all clear. Jericho looked down and spotted the Eindecker still in a spin! "Go to hell you sob!" he shouted. Just then the Hun pulled up and headed east as fast as he could . Jericho looked around again and spotted a Morane above headed west. As the two met up he recognized Lewis's machine. Griffen was nowhere to be seen. They made a few circles and headed home. Just as Jericho was getting his nerves under control the engine sputtered and oil started to obscure his wind screen. He signaled Lewis that he was going down and switched off fearing fire. Picking out a nice field west of the mud he sat the Morane down easy. Once stopped Phillips said, "the bugger got me!" Jericho looked at the jagged cut in his flight coat. He helped him out of the machine and removed the coat. Looking at the would closer Jericho said, "Just a scratch Pard. No harm done." Phillips replied, "Well it hurts like the hell." Jericho laughed and said, "Of course it hurts Pard, got one just like it on my leg a few months back" They waved at Lewis circling above and he waved back and headed home.

Once back at base they learned Griffen had claimed the Hun Jericho had seen smoking. Jericho confirmed it. That night Jericho lay on his cot staring into the black. It had been a good day.

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MFair, that had to be some fancy flying. Glad Jericho is alright and his temp. gunner getting the badge of honour. It’s a nice reminder for him to shoot straight or get more of these. I wonder when Jericho will get a new posting? It’s high time to ditch that flying bucket.


"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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