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Originally Posted by Hasse
Maybe it's just me but I think that everybody's recent entries have all been particularly enjoyable reading. I imagine Fullofit's pilot will be the first one to score 50 kills! Seems Willi is going to be stationed at the same field as Julius, who just got his second kill confirmed. Bertincourt is home to both two-seater and scout units, and Jasta 1 will be formed there later this summer.

Have a nice trip, HarryH!

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Originally Posted by MFair
Hasse, it’s not just you. The level of writing here is fantastic. Actually, when I get my coffee in the morning and open up the iPad and there are no new stories it’s a bit of a letdown! I can’t wait to see everyone’s next adventure.
Harry, hope you have an enjoyable and safe trip.

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Thanks Gents. It was a tough one. Once my gunner was shot and the second one showed up I knew I was toast. Oh well, war is hell.

I would like to come back as another American as I really don’t know how to be anything but who I am, a southern country boy who likes to play cowboy, but I think I will come back as a Brit. I’ll be starting soon enough. Y’all don’t think I’m going to brood and let you have all the fun do you? Me thinks not!

Thanks again Gents.


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Carrick, good luck with the move. Hope everything goes well.

HarryH, also good luck with the trip. Wine tasting, hmmm? Is she a blonde or a redhead?
Too bad about the claim, but it looks like the old fox Boelcke saw right through von B. Great pic to go with the story.

Lederhosen, looks like a cushy job away from danger. Wonder if Willi’s mother pulled some strings? Hopefully this is really a temporary gig. People with Rosenstein’s talents are needed at the front, especially now.

Hasse, I wouldn’t be too sure about Voscadeaux hitting the big 50. The Boche are actively hiding to deny him this distinction.

MFair, OH CRAP! I didn’t see that one coming. Sorry to see Jericho go. I think you need to invent his long lost brother. I’m pretty sure that letter from his mother Jericho just received revealed that she had an illegitimate son. That was why his uncle was such an S.O.B. - it was his. Looking forward to the next incarnation.


28 June, 1916 06:40 morning mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
44 confirmed kills

It was a foggy morning. Voscadeaux’s flight escorted the ‘A’ flight on a bombing run over enemy troop camp north of Verdun. The mission was a success and no enemy scouts were encountered.

28 June, 1916 14:40 afternoon mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
44 confirmed kills

Voscadeaux and his merry men escorted the ‘A’ flight on another bomb run. This time to the enemy lines NW of Senard. No contact. Uneventful mission, except for the Boche troops excitedly running away from the bomb blasts.


"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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Oh, man. I'd just stopped by to have a flick through the most recent stories, and this is what I find? Absolutely gutted that Jericho's gone west. He was such a unique, well-crafted and interesting character - with so many stories to tell! I shall sorely miss him.

But, another American, you say? Hmm. I can think of one unit that you could ask to join...

[Linked Image]


We have a rather nice Villa, you know... wink


I won't be around for the next week (and just when I'd caught up to the correct date!), but looking forwards to getting back to it when I return.

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Wulfe, hurry back!


29 June, 1916 04:30 morning mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
44 confirmed kills

Wouldn’t you know it? Another ‘A’ flight escort mission to bomb Sivry-sur-Meuse aerodrome. (Sorry Harry!) Another by the book mission. No contact with any other planes.

29 June, 1916 12:30 afternoon mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
44 confirmed kills

Finally, here is something different! No more babysitting jobs for Gaston. The two-seaters have transferred out of the unit at noon. Escadrille N37 is now purely a scouting outfit and the first orders are to fly near Thiaucourt aerodrome on a CAS mission above the enemy troop camp.
The clouds rolled in over the target providing cover for all enemy scouts. Gaston was already used to empty skies when he finally noticed some spots in the skies that could be a flight of enemy machines. They have flown into a clearing surrounded on all sides by a wall of clouds, like a giant gladiatorial arena with Flak explosions going off like fireworks. The enemy came from the north, most likely an uneventful patrol. Gaston gave the signal to attack and turned toward his foes. There were three of them, that would make it one a piece for him, Frougier and Vouillermoz. Each of them picked a target. Voscadeaux selected the leader and fired a few shots as they were passing each other. He was sprayed with rain as he flew through a small cloud and lost his target from view. Gaston banked hard and his Pig stalled. His plane dropped some altitude but he recovered. He was now looking for his opponent, but could only see towering clouds. Then a flash of light, a glint on the Fokker wings betrayed his location. Gaston followed and closed the distance. He fired and the Eindecker went into a spin. Gaston suspected a ruse and kept close by. The sly German levelled his scout and continued in the direction of the airfield below. Voscadeaux dove on him and fired a long burst, then another. The Fokker lurched then spun again. Gaston kept his eye on the Boche expecting another trick, but the monoplane continued to spin further down, until he hit the ground with so much force that the mud he had hit splashed in all directions like a big cloud of dust. Gaston looked around for his wingmen, but couldn’t see anyone. He decided to turn back, hoping that the other two pilots have done the same and they all will meet up over the aerodrome. Gaston put in a claim hoping against all odds that les Poilus in the nearby trenches could corroborate his story.



"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, like others here I am gutted by the news of Jericho's death. The man will be missed, he'd become such an integral part of this campaign. Yet another brave soul off to sing with the Choir Invisible.

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Thanks Lou, I had a good time with him. Talk about immersion, I really had a bad feeling about that mission when I opened the throttle up

End of the month stats
Capt. Mark A Jericho
RAF 3
Gone west
Bit the big weenie
Gone under
Christmas was cancelled

I’ll be back with another pilot soon Gents!


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Originally Posted by MFair
Bit the big weenie

I thought Jericho was more of a schnitzel man. readytoeat


"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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30 June, 1916 05:00 morning mission
Senard, Verdun Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
44 confirmed kills

The Fokker claim from yesterday’s afternoon mission has been denied. No one has seen the splash of mud. It must have looked like any other shell explosion and simply hasn’t been noticed.

Capitaine Marcel Feierstein looked over the rowdy bunch of pilots assembled in front of him. They were chatting amongst themselves and paid little attention to their C.O. A large map of the sector was hanging behind him. He grabbed the long wooden pointer and raised his voice:
“- Attention Gentlemen ... and Capitaine Voscadeaux.” He was met with some chuckles and one loud jeer from Gaston.
“- You saw the N12’s leave yesterday. Now it’s our turn. Our Escadrille is being transferred to a new location. We are leaving the Verdun sector and moving to Arras sector to reinforce the Somme offensive.” More booing came from his audience. Feierstein raised his hands up in a sign of surrender. “- I don’t like it anymore than you boys, but orders are in and we do what the Army tells us, so start packing. Voscadeaux, you will take your wingman and Lieutenant Dagonet and you will fly ahead. I want to make sure the path is clear for the rest of the squadron.”
“- Capitaine, where is our new home?” Gaston was curious.
Feierstein raised his pointer to the map behind him with the tip resting some 310 km WNW at the City of Amiens.
“- Oh! Oui, Mon Capitaine!” Gaston’s voice betrayed a hint of disappointment.
It took them 2 hours to get to the new ‘drome. Thankfully there were no mechanical failures and the enemy did not bother them either. It would be unfortunate to get into a fight in enemy territory and have to land somewhere else than the home base. They’ve finally arrived and the Amiens Cathedral could be seen from afar towering over the rest of the city. It will be a great navigation landmark for any lost pilots, including himself, thought Gaston as he was preparing to enter the landing pattern behind Dagonet. He was relieved to finally have arrived as the constant scanning of the cloudy skies for an enemy ambush drained him completely. It was near his final approach that Gaston scanned the sky above for the final time. Two Fokkers were screaming down towards him from high altitude. No one had noticed them and the shock and surprise of them appearing above was complete. Voscadeaux avoided the attack just as the Huns swooped down. He gave chase after the first one and let his two flight mates occupy the other one. He finally positioned himself behind his enemy but the Eindecker pilot was in a class of his own, skillfully dodging Voscadeaux's attacks. His diving technique nearly cost Gaston his life. As he followed his target in a dive, the French Ace noticed his plane vibrating and after looking around he realized why; the fabric on the wings was ripped and flapped in the air stream. Gaston quickly backed off and lost sight of the Fokker. He continued to fly in the general direction where he saw the Boche last, hoping to catch up with him. Finally he saw puffs of exploding shells ahead. That's where the enemy was. Voscadeaux followed and closed the distance quickly. A train full of soldiers was steaming ahead along his flight path. He could see many heads sticking out of the compartment windows, following the hunt. The German pilot did not expect a renewed attack and was flying steadily east, trying to avoid Archie. The sun was the last thing he saw, unless he survived Gaston's barrage. In that case spinning ground was the last thing he saw before crashing into it. On his way back Voscadeaux saw the other Fokker forced to land near the airfield. The soldiers have already surrounded the enemy machine. Gaston quickly landed at his new base and let a sigh of relief. “- That was some welcoming committee!” He thought to himself as he switched the magnetos off. After the prop came to a stop, two members of the ground crew came running to help him unbuckle his harness. The one that arrived first gave Gaston a smile, “- Welcome to Cachy, Capitaine Voscadeaux!”



End of June stats:

Capitaine
Gaston Antoine Voscadeaux
Escadrille N37
Cachy, Flanders Sector
44 confirmed kills
178.27 hours
Nieuport N16


"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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Stats as of the end of June:

Randolph Arvid Swanson
Lieutenant
70 Squadron, R.F.C.
Fienvillers, France
Sopwith Strutter
18 confirmed victories, 34 claims
155.86 hours
96 combat missions
MC & Bar, CdG

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1 July, 1916 14:10
Cachy, Flanders Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
44 confirmed kills

Yesterday’s Fokker claim has been denied. Archie batteries claimed it as their own. Gaston wasn't surprised. Different region, same pile of dung.
They would not fly far from their aerodrome on the first mission. Both A and B flights would have to get used to the new surroundings before going over the lines. Therefore, both flights have been assigned a milk run - a patrol over Grivesnes aerodrome, just south of Cachy.
The weather was improving and instead of steel grey skies with heavy dark clouds they were greeted by a blue sky with light clouds. A much needed improvement. Among these clouds they’ve spotted a trio of Fokkers patrolling east of Grivesnes. Gaston was happy. Finally a steady supply of Fokkers for him to play with. He gave signal to attack as the Eindeckers turned to face the Nieuports. Voscadeaux started to chase the leader but left him be when he saw two of his wingmen attacking him as well. He switched to another Fokker and chased him all over the sky until another wingman decided to join him by getting uncomfortably close. Gaston again abandoned his target and noticed in the distance smoke trail behind a cloud. He dove in and followed the wisps of dark fumes. As he punched through to the other side of the cloud he saw an Eindecker in front. He had only seconds to line up a shot. He took it and banked for another pass. He aimed again and as he squeezed the trigger he watched the Boche fuel tank explode midair and come down in flames. Two Nieuports passed him by when this occurred. Voscadeaux was sure they've seen his kill. As he turned around to get back to base he noticed the two French scouts were chasing yet another monoplane. Gaston joined them just as one of Nieuports disengaged. The French Ace fired a few rounds at the already smoking Hun. The last of his wingmen seemed glad Gaston took over and made his way to the nearest aerodrome as well. It was Voscadeaux and the Boche now. The German scout's propeller stopped rotating and the desperate pilot glided in spirals to avoid French fire. Gaston had only fractions of a second to line up his shots before the Boche would bank to avoid him. He was now only meters from the ground. Gaston fired his last salvo and watched heavily smoking Fokker bounce along a forest clearing and came to an abrupt stop against one of the trees. He saw the Hun pilot unstrap himself and jump out of his machine. He then made three huge leaps into the tree cover and that was the last Voscadeaux saw of him. He was glad to be back at the base. He could see now he had his work cut out.



"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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Lederhosen, good luck in Bertincourt!

Harry, I wonder what Konrad is up to. I’m even doubting his dad is really sick. You’ve got a good villain going there.

Fullofit, I wish France were more imaginative with gongs. Gaston deserves them all! Collins is happy to have N37 so close.

MFair, the next instalment is dedicated to Jericho.

An Airman’s Odyssey – by Lt James Arthur Collins, MC

Part Forty-Eight: In which I lose a friend


Now the pace became intense. The guns continued without let-up. If anything, it seemed even more guns were in action. In our little billet, Madame Poidevin sobbed quietly to herself in the kitchen. Her husband, mercifully deaf, sat in the parlour and held his hand over his chest. “Je peux sentir le tonnere,” he said, feeling the pulsing air.

We flew three times a day. Invariably the first patrol was an attack over the lines, often an aerodrome or rail yard bomb run. The second was more of the same or a reconnaissance. The third was generally training for a new sport called “contact patrol,” in which we flew with a klaxon horn affixed to our undercarriage. When we sounded the klaxon, the soldiers below were to send up flares so that we could report their position to headquarters. To do this we dropped a message with a streamer attached on a target sheet laid out by the headquarters. It was working well in practice. Sergeant Wilson opined that no man in the actual assault would send up a “braw shiny effin’ Verey licht tae tell the Jerries where he wis.”

[Linked Image]
Attack on enemy reserve trench near La Bassée

On 28 June we flew over the front north of Boisselle. The ground over the first two lines of enemy trench was obscured with smoke and dirt from a thousand explosions, the very air rippling with the concussions. Our Moranes were hurtled about the sky by near misses from our own howitzers. I landed at seven-thirty and had breakfast in the hangar. A simple canteen was set up in one of the sheds with tea, biscuits, and boiled eggs. That way we would not have to walk into town between patrols. I strolled over to C Flight’s hangar. Jericho was leading Jordan over to hit the aerodrome at Bertincourt. That place was home to some very keen Huns, and Jordan was still new to this work. They were due back around eight.

At ten after eight, the Ack Emmas were glancing at a clock that stood on one of the work benches. By eight-thirty I was mouthing a silent prayer when a faint intermittent buzz emerged from the continuous rumble of the barrage to the east. Over the poplars at the north edge of the field, a Parasol was blipping its way home. We watched, breath held, as it touched down, bounced lightly, and rumbled up to the shed. It was Jordan. His observer, Chilton, was slumped forward and barely visible. “Help me, for Christ’s sake,” Jordan was screaming. The mechanics placed a step-ladder beside the machine. The first man up pulled Chilton back against his seat and quickly turned away, suppressing a heave. His eyes were watering and he shook his head and jumped down. The Technical Sergeant appeared and ordered the others off the ladder. He looked at Chilton and called for the men to fetch a groundsheet, a rope, and water. Jordan walked past me in a daze.

“Where is Jericho?” I asked him.

“With Chilton,” he replied and continued to the squadron office. I returned to my hangar. We were not due to take off until eleven-thirty. I slumped on a stool and lit a cigarette until one of the riggers told me that one could not smoke in the hangar. I went outside in the drizzle.

I went to see the OC Squadron and told him I’d see to Jericho’s possessions and write his mother. Major Harvey-Kelly replied that I was welcome to write Jericho’s mother but that I should wait a day or two as it was his duty to break the news to family once everything was confirmed. But there really was no hope. Jordan’s report was detailed. He’d seen Jericho's Morane fall vertically from 2500 feet and was sure Jericho was unconscious the whole way down.

We flew north to near Monchy at mid-day and attacked a rail yard.

For the next two days the barrage and drizzle continued. On the morning of 29 June we bombed a Hun battery position near Thiepval. Several Fokkers attacked us and our lone escort, a French Nieuport scout. Wilson chased one off and damaged another. I turned our machine to try to get the coup de grace on the smoking Fokker, but we could not catch him before he passed low over the enemy lines, and there was simply too much iron in the air to follow.

Before our afternoon flight that day, I visited Jericho’s billet and went through his things. He had a package of letters and photographs from Camille. I put them in a manila envelope without looking at them. I would try to find the girl and give them to her. Jericho had told me that as soon as he got leave he planned to marry her. I collected what money he had, a considerable sum in fact, and placed it in the manila folder. The flying kit and non-personal effects were left in the room for the others in his flight to share. I found a wooden box with a few personal items: a locket with a woman’s picture – his mother, I presumed, a Bible, a gold pocket watch, his MC. I placed whatever other personal effects it would be appropriate to send home in the box. It would go to the squadron office to be sent in the post. Finally, I found his Colt Peacemaker under his pillow. It probably would not make it through the mail. I placed it in my pocket and headed out of the house.

After leaving the squadron office, I wandered over to the stables. Corporal O’Toole, the groom, was there. I asked after Moon, Jericho’s horse. The animal was well, he said. I went to see him, and stroked his muzzle. The sad brown eyes knew something was wrong. I slipped the corporal a couple of pounds and instructed him to take good care of Moon until we figured out what would become of him without his master.

And then it was time to fly again. That day and the next. It all blurred together.

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End of June stats

Lt James Arthur Collins, MC
3 Squadron, RFC (Morane Parasol)
161 missions, 186.79 hours
5 confirmed victories
11 claims

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27 Juni 1916
Bertincourt, Flanders
KEK Nord

What was supposed to be a few hour drive had taken almost the whole day. Movement by road was quite slow Willi thought to himself. The driver of the lorry wasn't very chatty either. This sort of irked Willi in a way. It wasn't so long ago that he himself was a “Ranker” but now peoples attitudes towards him had changed with his promotion. Oh well.

Finally Bertincourt came into view. A “Jäger” green Fokker stood out among the pigeons sitting before their tent hangers. So the mystery pilot is also here. The Lorry driver stoped at the gate to ask directions to the “Office”, and with a smart salute towards Willi the guard let them pass.

After stretching his legs and rump from hours of sitting, Willi walked a little closer towards the green Fokker. Not impressed by what he saw Willi turned to walk back and report in. Then from within the tent hanger a voice called out. “Are you the pilot from Kasta 14?”

Willi turned to respond, “Jawohl Herr......”
“Parschau, Otto Parschau, KEK Douai”
“Is that your green Fokker Ltn.?” Willi asked.

“Yes, yes it is. Strange color I know but I was given this one as is. Seems my predecessor was a Major in a Jäger Battalion before joing the Luftstreitkräfte.”

“That would explain the color I guess.” Willi said.

“Still, you fly a strange bird too, am I right. A big fat whale with teeth if I remember.” smiled Otto.

“I don't mean to sound rude Otto, but I really should report in and introduce myself to the CO.”
“Ahh, but you already have my dear man.” Otto said. “Jawohl, Ltn Otto Parschau, the new acting Kommandant of KEK Nord. The old man, Hauptmann Viebig is returning to FFA 32.”

“Oh-ha, I wasn't aware of that Herr Ltn.”
“Otto !”

The two men walked over to the Adjutants hut. Inside, three others were arguing with the adj.
“Problems again Adj? Let me guess, our Julius has been denied another one, correct?” Total silence crept into the office.
“Willi, these miscreants are Ltn's Müller, and Leffers, and our Ostv Julius Schreck. Good men, but I wouldn't run up a tab for them at the mess if I were you. Gentlemen, this is Ltn.Willi Rosenstein from Kasta 14. I don't think I need to explain who he is. I'm sure we have all seen his Roland over the front.”

Hand shakes went allround, but as Willi reached for the hand of Julius, he noticed that the young man just kept stairing at the medals on his tunic. Willi had only worn them when he received them. True they looked good, but they only seemed to attract lint and charges.

“Let me see here Willi.” Otto said while looking at documents from Kasta 14, “You have 16 confirmed from 49 combats.” Looks of amazement went round. “That makes you our leading pilot here. Tomorrow I'll let Julius show you his new Halberstad-scout. It has two wings by the way Willi.”




p.s wanted to write more and better, but with 2 kids and the summer holidays just starting, even this was a struggle




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Last edited by lederhosen; 07/02/19 06:13 PM.

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Raine, that was a beautiful tribute to a fallen comrade. Simply wonderful writing.

lederhosen, Welcome to the Somme! There should be plenty of opportunities for Willi to score here.

Julius is now flying a Fokker E.IV. At this rate, he will probably get access to the Halberstadts when the rest of the unit receive their first Albs! But I can always change things with the mission editor mod, of course...

For some reason, Julius is now having better luck with his claims. On my old PC, almost all of them were getting rejected.


14. NUMBER THREE

”Before the world grew mad, the Somme was a placid stream of Picardy, flowing gently through a broad and winding valley northwards to the English Channel. It watered a country of simple beauty. . . Then came the pestilence.”

- A. D. Gristwood, The Somme (1927)

Near Thiepval, Late Afternoon of July 1st, 1916

Early in the morning of July 1st, the long-expected push on the Somme sector had finally began. All German flying units in the sector had already been on high alert since the 24th of June. The week-long artillery preparation had finally come to an end and the British and French infantrymen on both banks of the Somme river had left the cover of their trenches to break through the German lines of defense. The situation on the ground was chaotic, and Julius and his comrades had very little information on the course of the battle. They only knew that the enemy was making an extreme effort, and the British and French air services were operating on their sector at an unprecedented intensity. For each German airplane, it seemed like the Entente powers had three of their own.

It was imperative to try to suppress the enemy reconnaissance flights, so the Fokkers and Halberstadts of Bertincourt were sent to patrol above the positions of 52. Division and XIV. Reserve-Korps.

***

Julius was flying with Gustav Leffers northwest along the Thiepval Ridge. The pair of machines was staying close to an altitude of 2500 meters in order to have the best chance of making a surprise attack against any British two-seater they spotted above the lines. Julius was glad that the wait for the start of the enemy offensive was finally over. He knew perfectly well that the end of the war was still nowhere in sight, but he also believed that the enemy would have to exhaust himself further before there could be any hope of peace. Verdun must have nearly broken the French; maybe this offensive will do the same for the British, Julius reasoned. His thoughts were interrupted by a signal from Leffers, who was wiggling the wings of Halberstadt – enemy machines below! After a quick search Julius was able to spot three British Blériot two-seaters flying in a Vee formation several hundred meters below them. If they had seen the two German aviators above them, they made no move to show it. Leffers signaled for attack, and the fighters began their descend towards the British. Leffers went in first with Julius following close behind him.

One of the British observers opened fire at the German fighters. He was then joined by the two others. But their fire was hopelessly inaccurate, and their slow and cumbersome machines were easy targets for the experienced Germans. Julius waited until the two-seater on the left completely filled up his gunsight before pressing the firing switch on his control column. The Spandaus of his Fokker E.IV barked fiercely above the roar of the engine. There was time only for a couple of seconds of accurate fire until the speed of his Fokker took Julius beneath the enemy formation. There Julius manoeuvered into a position that allowed him to shoot at the two-seaters from below, safely out of reach of the guns of the observers. Again the Blériot filled up his view, and again the Spandaus performed their deadly ballet. Suddenly the enemy two-seater burst into flames and turned wildly to the left, now clearly out of control. Julius stopped his attack and watched in horror as the Blériot disintegrated, its pieces raining down in a cloud of black smoke and reddish flames. He had never seen anything like it.

Meanwhile, Leffers had suffered a serious gun jam which effectively prevented him from shooting down either of the remaining British machines. He nevertheless chased them for a while towards British-held territory, but then gave up the pursuit. He and Julius had in any case completed their mission of disrupting enemy reconnaissance flights, so they returned to Bertincourt for debriefing.

The chaos in German communications caused by the enemy offensive delayed the confirmation of Julius’s third victory until the next day. When the news finally came, Julius didn’t feel as excited as usual. The sight of the burning Blériot kept bothering him.

The war was rapidly destroying what remained of Julius’s idealism.

[Linked Image]






"Upon my word I've had as much excitement on a car as in the air, especially since the R.F.C. have had women drivers."

James McCudden, Five Years in the Royal Flying Corps
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Hasse, my Jasta only has "1" EIV also, so I'll keep an eye out for him


make mistakes and learn from them

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Raine, as always great storytelling. A friend is gone, yet life goes on.
Lederhosen and Hasse, the two of you better watch out. Capitaine Voscadeaux is about to pay you a little visit.


2 July, 1916 05:10 morning mission
Cachy, Flanders Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
46 confirmed kills

Both Fokkers from yesterday have been confirmed! This is more like it.
This morning Gaston led the 'B' flight over the lines to attack Bertincourt aerodrome. It took some circling through the Flak to find the place. He gave the signal to attack and they all started shooting up the tents. After several passes Gaston noticed a monoplane attacking one of his wingmen. Where was their escort? He followed the monoplane but couldn't catch up to this particular Eindecker. Gaston wondered what the Boche had for breakfast that made him so quick. He also noticed he had an additional Spandau on the cowling. If there are more of these, then N37 is in trouble. Gaston was about to give up his futile chase, when the enemy banked to slot into the landing pattern. He has not noticed Voscadeaux behind him. It took one long, well aimed burst to cut his controls and the Eindecker spun into the ground. Gaston quickly made his way back to the base, not wishing to encounter any more of these new birds.



2 July, 1916 13:30 afternoon mission
Cachy, Flanders Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
46 confirmed kills
Awaiting 1 claim confirmation

The afternoon mission required the ‘B’ flight to patrol friendly front lines near Courcelles. The ‘A’ flight would provide cover. Clear skies, weather wise and Hun wise. They’ve returned to base after an uneventful flight.


"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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3 July, 1916 04:50 morning mission
Cachy, Flanders Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
46 confirmed kills
Awaiting 1 claim confirmation

It started like any other day. A simple patrol, this time just south of Arras. The sky was clear with low hanging morning haze beneath. The ‘A’ flight followed Gaston, weaving from side to side. They were approaching the patrol area and Voscadeaux continued to observe the other flight for any signs of trouble. He was sure it will be just another uneventful mission. He looked to his left, there they were, the ‘A’ flight. He looked a minute later to his right and sure as the sun setting in the western sky, there was the ‘A’ flight. Gaston thought to himself: "- These guys are having too much FOKKERS!" his musings were interrupted by a trio of Eindeckers which appeared out of nowhere. This should be no problem, there were 5 of them in the ‘B’ flight alone, plus the ‘A’ flight.
"- Where the hell is the ‘A’ flight?" Gaston quickly looked to the other side. "- There they ar... Merde! More Fokkers!" They were now outnumbered and no ‘A’ flight in sight! It was an ambush and Gaston fell for it. Now he had to fight his way out. Enemy and friendly machines swirled around him. The French pilot quickly assessed the situation and determined which enemy plane was his greatest threat. There was one aiming straight for him, but his wingman was just waiting for Gaston to go after his leader. The Boche would then be in a perfect position to shoot him down. They were well coordinated. Voscadeaux was now locked in a turning flight with these two opponents. He had to be patient with his attack and wait for the enemy to make a mistake. The leader banked the other way, but his wingman didn't notice and continued his circuit. Their formation was broken and Gaston swooped down on the leader, pummeling his plane. He was sure he had him, but his wingman was now back and maneuvering on Violette's six. Gaston quickly switched his targets. He was cursing he wasn’t able to finish the leader off. He almost had him! He had to start from scratch, but it was easier now with only one enemy following him. They continued to circle each other but Gaston was gaining height at the same time and finally converted it into extra speed in dive to get on the tail of the monoplane. He saw it now. These were the new E.IV's. No wonder he had so much trouble with them. His Lewis started to chew on the Fokker. Quick bursts, just to see if the aim was true. Pieces of debris falling off the plane told him he was on target. Just one more burst. The Boche kept on going. One more burst should do it. No, the enemy was still in the air. One more. Nothing. That was it. Gaston had his 194 shots and he blew it. He had to watch as the Hun slipped away. He returned to base alone. Seems everyone else had just as little luck, but at least they’ve all survived the ambush. They will have to be more vigilant and not depend on their escort so much.



3 July, 1916 13:05 afternoon mission
Cachy, Flanders Sector
Escadrille N37
Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux
46 confirmed kills
Awaiting 1 claim confirmation

It was an interesting patrol over Bertincourt aerodrome this afternoon. The ‘A’ flight was on escort duty and kept close by, so Gaston didn’t think much of it when they came for a closer look while high over the airfield. Except it wasn’t the ‘A’ flight, but a bunch of Rolands. They attacked as they were going by and Gaston took a few hits from the gunner, but retaliated with a barrage of fire of his own before running out. Barnay and Boillot brought down a Walfisch each. Gaston's wingman, Sergent Frougier had to put down behind the enemy lines. He is presumed to have been captured. He is still on the blackboard, but nothing stays there long. It is all written in chalk for a reason.



"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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So sad to see Jericho go out in such a brutal fashion. I liked him, MFair, better luck with your next pilot.

This story takes place at the start of June.
----------------------------
After a few days in the mining cottages of Auchel, 32 squadron moved once again to Treizennes.

This field was set up in parkland south of the little strip of village that was Treizennes itself. The parkland belonged to the owner of a couple of factories nearby, as did the 'château.' This wasn't a real châteaux but was called one anyway. Instead it was a recently built country house and was quite nice.

Stanley hoped that he would be staying there, as indeed A flight and the CO's staff were. However, the owner, Monsieur Schatzmann wouldn't have it.
“Too many!” the little old man declared when it was raised.

So it was that B and C flights once again found themselves in workers' cottages. Some of the pilots were resentful of this, but Stanley set out his cot in an attic with a smile on his face.
“Why are you so happy Wags?” Bill (Lewis) asked. “Isn't this a bit off, A flight in that Chateaux and you, the son of an Earl, washing in a foldaway basin?”
Stanley neatly stowed the case that held his belongings and sat back.
“Not at all. This is pretty good compared to some of the places that I have had to sleep as a soldier.”
“What's the worst you've had then, Wags?”
Stanley's eyes looked far away for a moment. Then he looked at Lewis solemnly. “The Metropole hotel. So many Whitehall mandarins. You simply cannot get a table.” He sighed theatrically, “terrible!”

The first operational flights took place the day after arriving at Treizennes. Lewis landed in the afternoon with a wild and exhilarated look on his face.
“I found a Hun two seater,” He told Stanley, in the recording office. “One of the new ones I think. I dived on him but he ran for it.”
“Good work Bill,” Stanley smiled.

That evening, things turned a bit more sombre in the mess as word got around that Lt Stubbs had been hit by Archie and hard tried to land at Erevin-Capelle. Witnesses at the aerodrome there said that the DH2 had descended to 100 feet, but suddenly zoomed upwards and then dived into the ground. The pilot was dead when they reached the wreck. Strangely, there only seemed to be a few scratches on him.

Stanley’s own first offensive flight came the next day. The instructions were to meet FE2bs from 18 squadron over Bruay before escorting them to photograph the enemy rear positions near Monchy.

An hour and a half into the flight, there was a terrible bang and a crash. Stanley's aeroplane started shaking terribly. He realised that it was a cylinder missing. Waving to the Fees, Stanley left the formation and headed for home. Gliding as much as he could.

Stanley knew he had to put down somewhere immediately. Luckily he was close to Mont St Eloi and was confident that he could make the field there. There was a row of trees and beyond that the sheds of the aerodrome, but engineless Stanley neither had a choice, nor any concern as he knew that he would clear them.

[Linked Image]

The undercarriage plucked at a branch on the tree as he passed. The DH2 kept flying forward, but the collision had wrecked the undercarriage and the machine crumpled as Stanley hit the ground. Wood splintered and canvas ripped in a horrifying cacophony.

Men and officers ran toward the crash. The single seat machine was now unrecognisable as a modern weapon of war and looked more like a rag and bone man's haul.
The pilot was sat in the cockpit holding his face. His gloves were wet with blood.

“Hello there! Are you alright?”
Stanley looked at the people peering in at him. “I banged my head on the bloody Lewis gun! That's going to be a shiner!”*

[Linked Image]

-------------------------------------------------------
*I was really lucky. The crash was a bad one, but the roll of the dice gave me only four days in hospital. I was complacent about the landing and didn't pay as dearly as I might have.

The picture of a wrecked DH2 on a trailer is that of FE Hellyer, one of 32 squadron's pilots who crashed it on the 15th June 1916. Because of time I won't be covering that, but Hellyer survived and went back to England for recovery before returning to France.

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