MFair, sorry about Gilland. It's tempting to go rushing in, and easy to forget the basic rules of survival. Still, your man died in character at least! Better luck with the new chap.
What?! Konrad felt a little sorry for Strunze? Where is the villain I know? The real von B would have told him to shut up and be careful not to wet his bed! Congrats on the victory and promotion to boot. Soon Strunze will be flying the inferior planes.
Thanks Fullofit. Believe it or not, that's my first victory in any of the three campaigns I've flown in. It has literally taken me years to get even somewhat accomplished with this sim. I do play with full on difficulty and no aids, and that's my only excuse! As for Von B., everyone has their soft side
MFair, that’s unlucky, but realistic. Not every pilot survives through a second post. That inexperience will get you each time. Better luck with the next chap! Harry, I thought bad guys don’t have soft sides. Must be something from Konrad’s childhood.
"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."
28 July, 1916 12:50 afternoon mission Proville, Flanders Sector Kasta 17 Feldwebel Otto B von Kenobi 2 confirmed victories
Obi was in the hangar “working” on his plane. He decided to mark his first victory with a painting on the fuselage. He thought about it for a while and came up with a dead rooster to signify the French pilot. The rooster was on its back with its feet curled up in the air. The eye was in the shape of a cross in a typical cartoon fashion and the tongue hanging down from the open beak. “- What’s this?!” Artur Dietrich was standing behind startled Obi. “- Oh, it’s just something to remind me of my achievement. Do you like it?” Artur squinted and responded with his usual squeak: “- It’s highly irregular!” Obi wasn’t sure how to respond: “- You mean the shape or that it’s against the regulations?” Artur was getting annoyed: “- I don’t know shapes. I know regulations, besides you’ll have to paint another one to go along with this one. Your second claim came through! The potato-heads in the Arras sector witnessed your latest ... stunt. Congratulations! Now suit up, you’ll be going to Mont St. Boi to bomb their factories.” Dietrich made another squeaky sound and walked away leaving von Kenobi stunned. Gunther was reclining in the shaded corner of the hangar on bales of hay stored for the squadron’s mule. He was chewing on a blade of straw. “- Well, well! At this rate you’re going to run out of surface space on our bus very quickly.” He stretched out and picked himself up to get ready for the next mission. “- Obi, what are you going to do if you shoot down a Britisher?” Otto paused for a second: “- I haven’t thought of that. Do you expect to fight the Englanders any time soon? All I’ve seen in our area so far are the Rotkäppchen.” Gunther was putting on his tunic. “- All I’m saying you have to be prepared for any eventuality, French or British. You coming?”
Leutnant Thiede was in the lead as always. They hooked up with two E.IV’s from KEK Sud providing cover. Near the Front lines Thiede left the formation with a mechanical problem. Obi was on his own. At least the Fokker escort kept him company throughout the rest of the mission. Otto felt safe with the German scouts flying overhead. He arrived over the target with no way of knowing when to drop his ordnance. Until now, he simply dropped his bombs when his leader did. He knew that if he were to just drop his bombs in a level flight, they would most certainly miss. He had no bombsight, not even a small port to look through. Was he supposed to use some mystic power to help him aim at an invisible target? He had no such powers. Instead, he decided to aim his entire plane in a mild dive. He dropped one bomb at a time, then climbed back up, turned around and repeated the process. He was surprised that some of the bombs actually found their mark. Some missed completely. It wasn’t a total 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."
29 July, 1916 06:10 morning mission Proville, Flanders Sector Kasta 17 Feldwebel Otto B von Kenobi 2 confirmed victories
A new man arrived this morning. Vizefeldwebel Sieghold was placed in lead of Obi’s flight. Thiede flew on his own in Kette Eins. Suppose that’s better than letting the new man fly on his own. It was a routine bomb run of enemy factories at Mont St. Boi. They’ve arrived over the target and dropped their first bombs. Obi looked around for any enemy activity but didn’t see any, apart from angry bursts of Flak. They turned around for their second run. Again, Otto made sure they will not be ambushed by the enemy scouts. The bombs went off with little success. They went around one more time and dropped their bombs, scattering them wildly all over the French countryside. They were down to their final set of bombs. Just one more run and they’ll be back for lunch. Otto came behind the leader and was waiting for signal to let his remaining bombs loose when a Nieuport showed up out of nowhere and started to shoot at Sieghold. He could see them being peppered with bullets. Otto pulled the trigger and hit the intruder. The enemy disengaged, but von Kenobi had bigger problems now. He looked back to see another Nieuport on his tail getting in range. He instantly pulled on his yoke. The Walfisch went into a tight banked dive with the French scout easily keeping pace and firing volley after volley. Gunther’s gun was silent. In the corner of his eye Obi saw his observer fight with the machine gun. He was beating the breach with his mitts. The gun refused to cooperate. It was up to Otto to keep them alive. He made another crazy maneuver and it seemed to confuse his pursuer. They were now on the opposite sides of the circuit, chasing each other’s tail. At least the Nieuport wasn’t in a position to fire his gun, but neither was von Kenobi. It was a stalemate until one of them blinked. The German pilot had to do something and quickly , otherwise more French planes will show up soon. He decided to do another crazy stunt and stood his Roland on its tail, he then went upside down at the top of the climb and dropped like a leaf. They were now head to head with the enemy scout firing wildly but not hitting anything. “- Good. Good!” Otto thought to himself. He must be getting frustrated. “- Release your anger. Let the hate flow through you. It will only make me stronger!” The French pilot made another error and Obi was able to fire for the first time. The Nieuport started to evade. Either hit or out of ammo, von Kenobi smiled to himself: “- I have you now!” French scout was running away with Obi firing constantly at him. He knew he had little chance of catching the quick sesquiplane and soon gave up the pursuit. He suddenly remembered he still had one bomb left. Otto looked around and found the undamaged factory with all the smoking craters scattered around from the earlier unsuccessful attacks. His plane was now diving at the target. “- Los!” The final bomb was away. It was a direct hit! Obi could see fire spreading everywhere. Smoke and dust covered the factory and the surrounding area. It was a shot in a million. After returning home to Proville, Otto found out Vizefeldwebel Sieghold was taken to the hospital. That initial attack wounded him and killed his observer. The afternoon show was canceled. There weren’t enough active gunners to scrape up even one Kette. Something had to be done.
"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."
Adj. James B. Fullard, Esc. N.124 'Americaine', Bar-le-Duc, France.
July 31st, 1916:
I couldn’t control the shaking in my hands as I tried to light a cigarette, standing beside the wreckage of my Nieuport. Exhausted, I looked over the twisted and disfigured wings with fearful eyes. It was supposed to be an easy patrol - behind our lines over Verdun, early morning, back in time for a late breakfast. However, we didn’t anticipate what would happen.
As we overflew the great ruined city, a single aeroplane appeared, wheeling down from above us intently. Our formation scattered and awaited to see who would be so brave as to challenge five of us alone. As the Bosche descended, I suddenly understood his confidence. It was a Roland. Walfisch, some of us call it. A Bosche Biplace that flies like a scout.
Blanchon and I rushed at our attacker, and immediately we got into a turning battle with him. I pulled in to get onto his six, but the beastly Nieuport’s nose-heaviness pulled me into a spin and I dropped away. Above, I watched as Blanchon did what he could to evade his pursuer. In a dive they dropped past me again, and once more I was on the tail of the Roland. Bullets spat past me from the Observer, as a second stream of tracer snapped at Blanchon’s heels from the pilot. I responded, firing a burst into the German machine, but with its incredible turn I couldn’t get a good shot away. The Roland diverted its full attention to me, and Blanchon dove away. I was alone against the beast.
I circled onto its tail, the gunner and myself each firing inaccurate bursts, until my machine betrayed me again and fell into a second spin. The Bosche was quick to capitalise, and soon he was behind me. Thankfully, the German machine is heavy, and so I quickly climbed away and above, as he flew directly beneath me like a shark, waiting for me to dip my toes, waiting for my mistake. I steeled myself and prepared for another attack, but before I could do so, the Roland rolled onto its side. The manoeuvre was premeditated. Suddenly, tracer fire tore through my left planes, splintering spars and wrecking canvas. In an instant I was falling, in a left-hand corkscrew, out of control.
Strangely, I was calm. Level-headed. Kicking the rudder to the right and wrenching the stick to follow, I leveled out my stricken machine and floated down into a field. However, I could not fully rectify the left-hand lean, and the lower wing dug into the ground. As it sunk deeper, a portion suddenly snapped off and the machine righted itself onto both wheels, before looping to a stop.
My god. I thought to myself, If anything’s to kill me, it’ll be a damned Roland.
Don't you love it when an enemy plane drops right into your sights? Conversely, don't you hate it when your observer says "What, I drop your bombs for you and now you expect me to fire at the plane directly behind us too? When are you going to pull your weight?"
Also, some...interesting maneuvers, there, Fullofit! I thought for a moment you were actually going to pull off an outside loop in that beast!
The older I get, the more I realize I don't need to be Han, Luke or Leia. I'm just happy to be rebel scum...
Wulfe, welcome back! Glad you got your rig sorted out. It’s a shock to have to fly this piece of crap after the N.11. Just you wait for some Eindeckers. You’ll swear they’re cheating. So, looks like new wings and a fresh coat of paint for Fullard. Have you asked Thenault for a shiny new N.17 yet? Rick, I was going to honk at him for cutting in when I realized he’s playing for the other team. Yes, you have to use unconventional tactics to stay alive against those reputedly awful N.16’s. The AI has no problems keeping them in the air. As to the gunner, I think he had to step away to answer the call at the door. In reality he was probably locked on the other Nieuport flying somewhere nearby. Would be nice to have a button to tell him to switch targets if he’s unable to do it on his own. An outside loop? I guess I wasn’t drunk enough. As Obi says: “- If you only knew the power of the drunk side.”
"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."
Sounds like von K is in his element inside that Walfisch!
Adj. James B. Fullard, Esc. N.124 'Americaine', Bar-le-Duc, France.
August 1st, 1916:
Quietly we walked towards our awaiting machines, each lost in our thoughts, each dealing with our nerves. We had been ordered back to the rail junction at Verdun, in order to destroy it once and for all. I suspect the same thought crossed my comrades’ minds, as the one that crossed my own. The Bosche will only repair the junction by the end of the day. What good are our machine-guns against infrastructure anyway?. I climbed into my cockpit and paused to watch the flight leaders’ streamers flickering in the breeze. Rather than returning to the Depot at Plessis, I had taken ownership of one of the squadron’s unassigned Nieuports. To my disgust, it was another N.16.
To my surprise, as we had pulled on our flying equipment, Blanchon muttered to me that he didn’t want to go up. Had a bad feeling, he said. I was sympathetic, but firm. “Blanchon, old pal. None of us fancy this job, but we’re all going and that’s the end of it”. With a defeated sigh, he relented and followed me to the flight line. In his cockpit, before we embarked, I saw his staring straight forwards, devoid of his usual cheer. It was like that, sometimes. Sometimes the nerves got the better of you.
Lawrence Rumsey, who was not to know any better, was excited for the attack. “Sticking it to the Bosche in his own backyard”, he referred to it as. He’d soon discover who was sticking it to who when the artillery started up at us. I’d asked McConnell to keep an eye on him. Last in our formation was Bert Hall. I expected nothing of him. We’d be lucky if he didn’t turn back halfway and tell us all he’d had engine trouble.
The sky was shining blue as we approached the lines, with huge lumbering clouds quietly rolling towards German lines. I watched their edges for hidden Germans, and before long I had seen three Eindeckers circling over Verdun like vultures. The wind was rough, bad for shooting, and I didn’t trust my machine, but all the same I signalled an attack to my flight. We spread out and closed in on the unaware German Monoplanes. However, three more aircraft dropped out of the clouds, and suddenly tracer flashed. It was a gang of Nieuports, falling upon the surprised Germans. One monoplane quickly fell into a spin and disappeared, as my flight arrived to the battle. The Germans were now outnumbered Four-to-One.
A second German fell, caught between the tracer of three separate machines. The last remaining Bosche was lost in a storm of Nieuports, as each man tried to make the victory his own. In the end, I watched as a burst from my Lewis walked up his machine’s back and struck him between the shoulder blades. The machine quivered and fell fowards - right into the path of a Nieuport. I watched in horror as the two machines became entangled, and with a sudden flash of light a huge ball of flame erupted, fusing the two machines together as they fell to their fate. I felt nauseous. I had killed a comrade.
My head buzzing with guilt, uncertainty and disgust, I signalled that I was breaking away from the formation. Fog rolled into my mind as I came in for a shaky landing at the Verdun aerodrome, and after landing I had to be coaxed from my machine by a confused Mechanician.
When I eventually returned to Behonne, I was glad to find everybody safe and sound. I made my report and passed it off to Thenault, but he had already heard the details from the others. The first fokker I attacked remained a mystery. Too many streams of gunfire had hit it at once to say who had downed it. The second, however, was credited to me. I felt like a murderer as the image of the entangled machines flashed before my eyes anew.
Carrick, you’re getting perilously close to gong territory. Take care. Harry, congrats on the victory and promotion. I do hope Konrad isn’t going to mellow out in his old age. Fullofit, I hope many more chickens come home to roost! Great video of your last scrap. Those Nieuports were awfully persistent! Wulfe, good to see you back. Those Rolands are awfully tough. Keep Fullard well. MFair, again, I’m sorry to see your new man go so quickly, but new boys were the most vulnerable. Thanks for the PM and we’ll all look forward to seeing you back soon. I’m finally able to fly again, but have been impaired by joystick problems. Here is the latest from Collins...
31 July 1916 Lt James Arthur Collins, MC 3 Squadron RFC Lahoussoye, France Morane "L" 186 missions. 215.75 hours. 5 kills. 12 claims.
An Airman’s Odyssey – by Lt James Arthur Collins, MC
Part Fifty-One: In which I get a hint of changes to come.
The days after my return to active duty blurred one into the other. The great assault had stalled and now was followed by a series of minor pushes to consolidate jumping-off positions for operations that would try to crack the second and third lines. For us it meant flying three or even four times a day, either spotting or conducting contract patrols. The latter were starting to prove a little more successful even though the PBI were still not too keen to show their positions by flares. Mainly we flew our little Parasols through the storm of iron our guns continued to pour on the enemy and tried from a few hundred feet up to distinguish mud on khaki from mud on grey.
Our days were spent entirely at the field. We would send a tender back to the village to pick up soup or sandwiches from the ladies Defossez and bring them to us. And at night, we staggered back to our billets with seldom a stop at the flight Mess.
On 22 July, I flew a contact patrol with Wilson and “Pete” Portal up to Pozières. We were climbing away to the southwest and heading home for breakfast when I heard Wilson’s Lewis gun firing away. I quickly banked to the right and only afterward glanced back just in time to see the blue streamlined blur of a Roland two-seater flash past in a dive. At least some of Wilson’s rounds must have found their mark, for the Hun turned east and was gone from view in mere seconds. Off to the southeast of us I saw a second Roland tumbling down as Portal’s machine plodded on its stately way. His observer, Lieut. Gollah, shared Portal’s first victory.
But my own adventure was not yet over. The loud crack of machine gun rounds began to pop around my head and I could smell the phosphorus from tracer, reminiscent of an old Lucifer in a closed room. One of the newer two-gun Fokkers had moved in behind and I had to hold the Morane in a steady shallow bank to give Wilson a crack at it. By this time we were over our lines and the Hun soon quenched his appetite for fighting and headed east to join the Roland. It was the first time in weeks we’d had a real scrap. I wondered if the air Huns were coming back to life.
On 24 July, the Major asked me if I’d join him for a walk after my second patrol. He asked about my impressions of the flight, especially Whistler and Portal. I told him I hadn’t seen Whistler in a real scrap yet, but he seemed solid and was a marvellous pilot. He was very mechanically inclined and forever working on little improvements for his machine. Portal oozed competence, I said, and had quickly won credibility with the airmen and respect from the technical staff. He then told me he was sending me to 2AD at Candas to provide some instruction to newly-arrived pilots. “Give them the information they’ll need to succeed and stay alive, Jim,” he said. You’re in charge, so design the program as you see fit.” And then he told me that I would be recommended for posting to HE soon. “You’ve been out seven months. It’s enough.” I tried to protest but he shut me down. “It might take a few weeks to come through, but expect it.”
I asked about Sergeant Wilson. “He’s a solid man. They are expanding the school at Hythe to produce more armourers, technical staff, and to train observers better. I’ve recommended him, although the General thinks postings to home schools are a bit of a dodge. We’ll see.”
Bit of Bad Luck. I have been busy fixing up the maintenance area and Fuel point Muck and filth everywhere, Do wish thet would give some Defaulters or Security people to put on it. I did manage to get in the morning flight. My 3 a/c section was nearing the lines when I spotted some Archie down to the port side at about 3000 ft. I had lost the boys in the clouds so dove to have a look see. There was a Recon type nosing down amid puffs of smoke Heading for Hunland, I dove to get in a side pass firing off 16 rds then Bang a Jam. By the time I polled clear and got the Lewis working he was gone.
Stanley had spotted the two Aviatiks from a few miles away. He had gently corrected course to intercept and the rest of C flight had obediently followed. There was little cloud cover this morning, so Stanley was not surprised when the two German machines turned and tried to run. He was confident that he had speed and numbers on his side.
Sure enough, the DH2s swept in and von Poellnitz sent the first Aviatik into a fatally vertical dive. Stanley clearly saw the pale aeroplane smash into the ground below.
They were not far from the German aerodrome of Riencourt and Stanley hoped that the wreckage would put the wind up the German airmen there.
The second Aviatik was a team affair, as Poellnitz, Lewis and Aldridge all took bursts at it. Stanley made a sweep as well, but paid for his lack of caution when a burst from the observer's gun peppered his left wing.
Suddenly the DH2 wanted to do nothing but roll left. It was all that Stanley could do to haul the stick right and use rudder to help pull the wounded machine level. He knew he was out of the fight.
The Aviatik was a wreck and soon the pilot lost control of what remained of his machine and span into the ground. The DH2s formed up on their hobbling leader and made for home.
Stanley saw a pair of Fokkers above them. He thought that the superior numbers in his flight would keep them from getting involved. Perhaps the Germans were incensed at the death of their comrades, or perhaps the smelled weakness. In any case, the Eindeckers dived.
Stanley could not dodge much in his crippled aeroplane. Bullets smashed into his odometer and he swore that one pulled at the leather of his jacket. Had he been hit? He couldn't feel it, but he thought that perhaps you don't feel it in the heat of battle. He wondered if he would feel the pain before that final bullet.
More bullets hit the engine behind him, which began to make a terrible noise and shudder. But the Fokker was chased off by Poellnitz and Aldridge and Stanley found himself alone.
Not quite alone. Lewis formed up on his right and gave him an encouraging wave.
The DH2 could not muster up the power to climb and Stanley did not know why no-one shot at him while he and Lewis flew perilously low over No Man's Land.
After what seemed an eternity, three DH2s put down at the advance landing field of Bellvue. They had been joined by Aldridge after crossing the lines. Stanley landed fast, tail up. He was terrified of a stall on landing. No matter, the DH2 quickly slowed to a halt after the fuel line was stopped.
Lewis ran over to the Pegasus badged machine where Stanley sat, staring into space.
“Are you alright Wags?” Stanley blinked and turned to look at the concerned Welshman. “Quite alright, thank you Bill. That Eindecker nearly finished off what the Aviatik started.” He patted the side of the cockpit. “She pulled through though. Good work.”
Wulfe, that’s some terrible luck with that other Nieuport, at least he didn’t fly into you. I thing a trip to the town is in order to take things off your mind. Raine, looks like no one wants you to fly those Parasols, even the Major. Carrick, remember - short bursts and carry a big mallet. Maeran, any landing you can walk away from ... those Aviatiks continue to be a thorn in the side. Very nice nacelle art.
30 July, 1916 06:00 morning mission Proville, Flanders Sector Kasta 17 Feldwebel Otto B von Kenobi 2 confirmed victories
Thankfully a new team arrived last night and the operations could continue. Gefreiter Joachim von Frankenburg was added to the roster. This morning two Rolands were being readied for a recon mission of enemy front lines near Arras. They didn’t get far though. It smelled bad from the beginning. It was an ambush. Three Nieuports attacked from behind as the two German machines were taking off. Obi”s Walfisch took a few hits but nothing serious and it was nothing compared to what the Roland team was dishing out. The French raiders quickly realized they were outnumbered 2:3. Yes, the odds were against them. Fortunately for the French, their machines were quicker and they could perform a tactical retreat at will. Otto attempted a pursuit but it was futile.
"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."
31 July, 1916 12:35 afternoon mission Proville, Flanders Sector Kasta 17 Feldwebel Otto B von Kenobi 2 confirmed victories
They took off on time for some arty spotting near Arras. Obi followed Thiede as always. They flew over the train tracks. The 12:30 to Douai was steaming below and Otto allowed himself to follow it for a while as they were flying to their initial waypoint. He could see soldiers in the compartments. The windows were open and the sun beat down on them. Arms and heads protruded from some of the windows. The soldiers were smoking or trying to get some fresh air. Otto looked up just in time to see a gaggle of Nieuports fly by, nearly colliding with the Roland. Otto’s hands jerked the plane instinctively, but it was too late. One of them was already on his tail, firing. The plane was responding sluggishly. Von Kenobi could see holes appear in his plane’s lower wings. He dove to shake the Frenchman off. It worked for a while, but as Otto was pulling out of the dive he realized his crate was not cooperating and continued to pull him down closer and closer to the ground. More rounds slapped into the fuselage, shuddering and shaking the entire craft. In desperation Otto placed his machine in a quarter roll. That seemed to slow down his descent and finally he was able to regain control just above the ground. Gunther was firing wildly at the enemy. It looked like he was successful in repelling that last attack, but the Nieuport pilot was persistent and returned after regrouping. Gunther continued to fire, but the return fire was damaging the Walfisch even further. Obi decided to dive further down. He saw a lorry drive on the road beneath. They were at the same height level: the lorry and the Roland. Otto could feel the wheels scraping the dirt on the road. Finally a burst from Gunther’s Parabellum found the following scout, which immediately broke off his attack and turned back west. Von Kenobi pulled up just in time to avoid the trees growing on each side of the road. He looked for the safety of the home airfield. He could see smoke rising nearby, then the shapes of the hangars came into view. They were safe. A dot was circling above the ‘drome. “- Thiede was probably already in the landing pattern.” Obi thought to himself as he was approaching the field. Then, all of a sudden, bursts of Flak appeared around the dot. It wasn’t Thiede after all. Scheiße! He was heading straight for a trap and he could do nothing about it. He had to land and soon! The familiar silhouette of a Nieuport loomed above. “- Maybe he’ll just fly by. C’mon, nothing to see down here. This isn’t the Roland you’re looking for. Move along!” Obi was willing the scout above to ignore him, but it didn’t work. The shape above banked and the wings reflected the sun on its surface. The Nieuport was diving. He will be in range soon. More fire. More holes appeared on the surface of the German plane. Bullets tore through the windscreen and the gauges, glass and wood splinters hitting Otto’s face. Gunther was their only hope now. Obi could only fly level now. He was a sitting duck and the Nieuport was just behind. Von Kenobi kicked the rudder and aimed for the aerodrome. He will drag the Frenchman across it, hopefully the gun batteries are awake and perhaps can deter the persistent Gaul. He saw Gunther fire the machine gun again and again. The ground artillery opened up as well. The Nieuport pilot finally gave up. Otto watched the little scout make an about turn and disappear. Von Kenobi let out a jubilant whoop. Gunther slapped him on the shoulder to let him know the danger was over. All they needed to do now was a lazy circuit around the aerodrome and land. That’s when the engine started to lose power. There will be no circuit. There will be no landing at the aerodrome. They will land now, anywhere - just as soon as they clear the trees ahead. They barely made it. The sick Walfisch creaked and rattled as it bounced along on the farmer’s field, coming finally to a stop. They were done for the day.
End of July stats:
Feldwebel Otto Bernhard von Kenobi Kasta 17 Proville, Flanders Sector 2 confirmed kills 26.42 hours Roland C.II
"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."
After home-leave for 2 weeks, Willi was glad to be in the seat again. Starting to notice the limitations of our engine speed when it comes to chasing down aircraft. Realy have to get between returning EA and the front lines to have hope in hell of getting to grips.
Fullofit: Obi must have been a stunt man before the war, great aerobatics!
Wulfe:Bitter sweet victory indeed! Good story.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - EMPTY SKIES, A PILOT DIES
Konrad Berthold von Blumenthal July 25th, 1916. Sivry-sur-Meuse, Verdun. Fokkerstaffel Sivry
There was a gloomy silence in the officer's mess that afternoon. Word had reached the squadron from an observation post just west of the Meuse, close to the lines. Following the early morning mission, a Fokker monoplane had been spotted limping low across the front with its engine on fire. The pilot apparently was in the process of trying to jump free from the cockpit, even at 300ft from the ground, but he appeared to be having trouble getting free of his harness. The machine crashed into a small copse and soon became a smoldering mass of debris. They had sent out a party to examine the wreckage. They weren't able to identify from the charred remains who the pilot was, but for the presence of a small pocket watch, badly damaged but bearing a still legible inscription on its back....
"To my darling Kurt, forever my love".
There was no flying the following day. Instead the Fokkerstaffel gathered at the nearby cemetery to honor their fallen colleague and say goodbye. Konrad stared at the group of men, heads bowed, and thought to himself, even Strunze didn't deserve to suffer such a terrible death. He wondered if Strunze's wound had played a part in preventing his escape from the burning craft. He'd certainly been carrying a pronounced limp since his return from hospital. And what had caused the engine to catch fire, he wondered. He resolved to speak to his mechanic and ask for a full inspection of his machine, as soon as he could track the annoying little man down.
The next two days provided little excitement. No Caudrons or Nieuports to be found. Konrad wondered who his new wingman would be and when he would arrive. Until then he had the hut all to himself once more.