Harry, no worries. Konrad would really have to be off his map to meet my pilot. Just keep to your side of the mud. Raine, I'm using the 401 Rush Hour mod.
Tobias Chester Mulberry was born in Taunton, Somerset on 6 September, 1899. His father Francis, a career Navy officer, bound to a desk job due to an injury sustained during naval exercise, was happy his firstborn was a boy. A boy that will follow in his footsteps. Mother Gwendolyn was less ecstatic, secretly wishing for a daughter, left nursing and raising of her son to the hired nanny. The family moved to Bristol in 1909. Francis pushed his son to enlist with the naval cadets at the local academy, but once Sir George White established the British and Colonial Aeroplane Company, Ltd at the top of Filton Hill, young Toby was smitten with aviation and would spend all his free time at the flying grounds, observing the flight trials and running errands for the mechanics. He was only 12. When the war broke out three years later, his father’s influence gained him a clerk’s position at the Royal Navy offices. The clerk job did not sit well with Mulberry and after reaching a ripe age of 17 he was determined to enlist in RNAS, despite his father’s stern protests. During his interview he lied about his age and presented a forged letter of introduction from his father. He was offered a commission of sub-lieutenant contingent on his successful passing of the medical exam. The medical examiner’s report stated: excellent health, vision and hearing, only one descended testicle and abnormally large breasts complete with woman’s like nipples. He was off to officer training and then to the RNAS Training Establishment at Cranwell. It was there that his schoolmates bestowed upon him the nickname “Chesty”, which had nothing to do with his middle name. After earning his brevet Tobias obtained his marching orders. There was no one to see him off at the train station: neither his angry father, nor his indifferent mother came to say their goodbyes. He nearly convinced himself that he was better off in France. The train took him to the docks where a steamer was waiting to take supplies, materiel and men to France. Another train ride via Paris to Lyon. And finally a long drive in the back of an army lorry. Toby was ultimately there, with his bag in hand and eyes and ears wide open. In front of him lie the Luxeuil aerodrome of 3 Wing RNAS. His adventure was about to commence.
"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."
Welcome to the fray, "Chesty". Interesting character you have there, Fullofit. It seems as though both of his parents got partially what they wished for, or have I got the wrong end of the stick?
Manged to get up with the section, Posted to a line patrol. I was flying off to the Port-side when Tubby attacked a Recon type ( Knocked him down ) Myself and Skinney watched the Escort, but he stayed high then went home. Looking back , I noticed that Tubby was gone. I reported him as Missing over the lines.
Thanks guys for a warm welcome. The adventure continues.
Toby walked the full length of the airfield. After the four hour drive on the dusty roads he could smell fresh, clear air laced with pine from the nearby forests. The earth crunched underfoot, obnoxiously loud chirping of birds was filling his ears and his stomach was letting him know he wasn’t fed in a while. A group of men with their shirts off were reclining on folding chaise lounges attempting to tan their pasty torsos. They didn’t notice him as he approached. Their faces were covered with their service caps to shield from the beating sun. “- Good morning. Flight Sub-Lieutenant Mulberry. Pleasure to meet you all. Could you fine gentlemen point me in the direction the offices?” Without taking the cap off his face one of the men pointed left. “- You want to talk to Daddy, eh? He’s not in right now. You’ll have to wait.” “- Talk to Daddy? I beg your pardon!” Toby was confused. Another chap finally took his cap off and looked at the new arrival. “- Ahh, a fellow Englishman. How delightful! I’m Chris Draper. Don’t mind them. They’re ... erm, Canadian. They’re a good bunch, but rough around the edges.” Draper got up to shake Toby’s hand. “- And you’re mad, eh!” One of the suntanning Canadians interjected. “- You just stay down there, Art and continue your tanning. We don’t want you to get hurt.” Draper retorted. “- Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The man called Art stretched. “- He is right, you know. Daddy ... I mean Captain Elder is away, but don’t worry. We’ll get you sorted out soon enough. Come with me.” Draper grabbed his shirt and put it back on. They walked past the hangars. Mulberry could see the Ack-Emmas working on the aeroplanes inside. Petrol and dope mixed together to assault his sense of smell. “- Wow, Strutters!” Toby’s neck was craning to take in as much as possible. “- Indeed. I’ll bet you’ll be piloting one of these soon enough. Here we are. Have a quick wander inside and get your business in order. Glad to have met you. Cheerio!” And just like that Draper was on his way back to the rest of the gang. “- Thank you!” Mulberry yelled after him in gratitude. The office stood in front of him. He knocked and pushed the door open.
Luxeuil Aerodrome
Christopher Draper
Arthur Treloar ‘Art’ Whealy
"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."
Mulberry spent the rest of yesterday settling in. He was assigned a hut with one other pilot, who arrived just one week earlier. Ray was another Canadian from some god forsaken town named Nanaimo on east coast of Vancouver Island in British Columbia, on the very opposite end of the world. He seemed like a quiet sort, always scribbling in a notebook. Toby was glad he didn’t have to share his quarters with one of the loudmouths he’d met earlier. This morning he met his gun layer Ltn. Jeffrey Alford. A man only slightly older than himself, but not so old as to call the attempt at growing a moustache on his face a complete success. During the briefing he would be flying with two other crews; his flight leader FC Stearne Edwards and FSL George Gordon MacLennan. They would be going north, where most of the action took place, but they were ordered not to cross the lines. They would fly along the front lines and spot for the guns east of Luneville. FC Edwards ordered them to follow him at all times. “- If there is any trouble, head directly for the aerodrome here.” He tapped his thick finger on the map, over a place called Xaffervillers. Edwards saw concern in Mulberry’s eyes. “- Don’t worry. We won’t throw you in the deep end on your first sortie. This is a quiet sector.” Edwards tried to put Toby’s mind at ease. It was a long flight to the front. Mulberry wanted to make a mental picture of his journey, trying to remember the shape of the woods they’ve passed, the lake locations, and the roads, but it was too much. Eventually all the forests started to look the same. The lakes were too few and too far in between to make navigation reliable. He knew he’d be lost if he now had to return to Luxeuil on his own. It’s been a good hour of flying before the Front came into view ahead of them. He could feel the explosions ahead. There was no sound, but he could feel the deep rumble in his chest cavity. Toby had to shift in his seat. His buttocks were falling asleep. There was some movement ahead. Three shapes emerged from the clouds. Toby continued to follow the leader, but Edwards made a sudden move to the left. MacLennan followed and by the time Mulberry was able to follow, the enemy was upon them. Fokkers! E-types. So much for a quiet sector. Everything now was a blur. There were Strutters and Eindeckers everywhere. He saw a green monoplane attempt to get on his tail. He banked to avoid, but it was too late. Bullets ripped through the top port plane. Mulberry dove and picked up speed. The green Fokker followed. The tan dope machines began to flash in front of his view just for a second before disappearing again below, above and to the side of his machine. Monoplanes and biplanes alike. Toby couldn’t tell who was on who’s tail. Who was winning? Where was the green Fokker? Where was he? He is going to die, right here on his first mission! He made another turn. A Strutter appeared in front of him. Now it was gone. There! There’s the Fokker! He saw him in the window of the top wing. Toby forgot everyone else around him. He concentrated on the green Eindecker. He tracked him with his eyes. Just a little bit more and he would be in his sights. There! Fire! Fire now! Toby squeezed the trigger. He felt the vibration. He felt the gun firing. He smelled the gun smoke. The Fokker stood on one wing and dove away. The young pilot followed. He was scared. He wanted to run away, but the voice inside his head told him if he panics and runs, the Fokker will catch him and kill him. It was safer to follow the Hun. Let him sweat. Let him be afraid. He saw the green Eindecker run north below. Toby put his Strutter in a dive. The machine began to creak and the engine wailed in protest. Mulberry was now behind the Hun. He fired again and again. He saw the rounds connect with the airframe. He continued to fire until the Eindecker shuddered and went on its back, then dove for the ground. Toby lost him from sight. He turned around and saw a column of dust and smoke rising from the ground below. Was he dead? Was that the end of the green Fokker? Toby looked around. There was no one nearby. He saw No-Man’s Land to the south. He was in Hun land. His Sopwith flew on and Toby made a course correction for the friendly side. He was flying south looking out for any signs of his flight-mates. He was on his own. Mulberry remembered Edwards’ words. “- If there is any trouble, head directly for the aerodrome here.” Now, where was that field? He was flying over the Front lines now. He could see the enormous Laleau Woods in front of him. It wouldn’t be too long now. Toby was looking forward to standing on terra firma with his own two legs. He felt a tap on his shoulder. His gunner Alford was desperately trying to get his attention. Toby turned around and followed with his eyes where Jeffrey was pointing. His heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach. Just behind them, at four o’clock two monoplanes were tracking his movements. Two Eindeckers were coming closer on his tail.
"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."
Oh dear! Your new pilot, and already a cliff-hanger! Don't keep us in suspense for too long, Fullofit! I couldn't bear it if Chesty gets smoked on his first mission.
“With Major Lawrence, mercy is a passion. With me it is merely good manners. You may judge which motive is the more reliable.”
BB, this was done deliberately with you in mind. So much excitement in one sitting could be fatal. I do care about your ticker. Trooper, I don’t know about punishment. If one round in five ever came even close that would be a good ratio. It was probably one lucky shot. But you know what happens to claims behind enemy lines. We’ll just have to wait and see.
"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."
“- Wake up, Killer. You’re going to miss your flight.” Ray shook Toby awake. Where was he? Oh, his hut at Luxeuil airfield. Mulberry was slowly starting to remember the events from yesterday. It was supposed to be a routine patrol, except for the three Fokkers that met them face on. The flight was scattered and Toby had a one on one fight with the green Eindecker. He is still alive, so that means the green Hun had lost. He was on his way back to the closest aerodrome when he was pounced by two more Eindeckers. The odds were against him and he was definitely running away, but the Fokkers were quicker and would catch up with him. Toby hoped to at least drag them over the field to get some help from the Archie, but it looked like Huns would get him before he could get there. They were now directly behind him and he couldn’t see them anymore. Toby imagined the German pilots laughing out loud at his feeble escape attempt. He could feel them leaning forward to line their eyes with the crosshairs of their guns. He sensed them fondling their triggers. “- That’s enough! I’m not going to be shot in the back.” Toby made his choice and that choice was to fight. He put the Strutter into a steep bank and turned around to face his foes. They weren’t there. He looked around. A tan shape flashed in the corner of his eye and disappeared behind him. Darn it, they were still on his tail. He pulled the control column hard into his stomach, his Strutter began to creak again. He saw the Eindecker turn with him, then he saw something else: two guns on the Fokker’s deck. Jesus Christ! It’s an E.IV! He was as good as dead! Where was the other Hun? He took a quick look around. The other Eindecker was nowhere to be seen. Was he above them, just waiting to swoop down and take his turn? He then saw him. The Hun was flying away back home. He must have abandoned the chase when Mulberry couldn’t see them at his rear. That made Toby’s demise that much less certain. The Eindecker tried something different. He dove, hoping the Strutter would follow, but just at that moment, just when Toby was about to make that mistake and push the stick forward, he remembered something someone said some time ago, somewhere. “- Always above, never below ... yada yada yada.” He didn’t remember the rest, or who’d said it. Why did he even remember it now? He eased up on the controls and kept his machine above the Fokker. To keep him in view he had to bank his plane from side to side. When the Fokker flew underneath, he would switch his bank to the other side. The German pilot realized his mistake and attempted to climb to Toby’s altitude, but as soon as he did that, Mulberry had him in his sights and firing. The Fokker jokey had no choice but to dive back down again. This continued for a significant while, but it was to the British pilot’s advantage. Sooner or later some other plane will arrive and relieve him. The Hun must have realized that too and after a few maneuvers he disengaged and took a direct route back home. Toby was waiting for that. He dove on the helpless German and sent volley after volley his way. One of them caught the pilot in the back. Mulberry watched the German slump in his cockpit and then the entire machine dive into the ground below. They were over the No-Man’s Land again and Toby was in no mood to meet any more Huns today. He took his bird back south and towards Xaffervillers. It took the rest of the day to repair his plane and fly back to Luxeuil. The news of a confirmed kill came late last night. It was for the E.IV, the green Fokker remained unconfirmed as it was shot down behind enemy lines.
This morning no one seemed to remember his name. Everyone called him “Killer”. Toby wasn’t sure it was a term of endearment. Himself and two more Flight Sub-Lieutenants were selected to fly another arty spotting mission. This time directly east, all the way past Belfort. Toby didn’t even know the Front stretched this far. They called it the “Mission to Italy”, although it was an outright lie. His biggest surprise came when he was selected to lead the flight. As he flew over the Vosges mountain range followed by FSL John E Sharman and FSL George Gordon MacLennan he continued to wonder: “- Why me?” His roommate Ray offered earlier an explanation. “- Because you are the Killer.” It wasn’t the best explanation, but it was better than: “- The leader gets attacked first.” The view of the mountains was staggering. With the sun providing perfect lighting conditions it felt more like a tourist excursion rather than a military expedition. They’ve arrived over the front and despite this being the “quiet” sector, they could see explosions of artillery shells falling on their targets. It was quiet in the air and after taking care of the business the flight returned back home. Toby could get used to this kind of war.
"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."
Trooper, you have to be patient with Toby. He’s not versed in the fine art of the kill yet. Give him time and he’ll become efficient.
"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."
I'm not sure what level the AI was there, but he was pretty good, he wasn't giving much away... but Toby remembered to stay high for the most part and didn't give up that advantage. That's what I meant by 'it took awhile' Toby waited for that opening that would put him on his tail and eventually nailed him
Trooper, I see. Thought Toby was playing with his mouse for too long.
"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."
Up with the section on Patrol. My flight of three was at 4000 feet just the other side of No Mans Land when we spotted a enemy Flight slightly below. Going down for the bounce, we did not see 2 e/a diving up sun on us. Big mix up then turn and burn. I got off a drum at an e/a then had one drop on me. We ended up on the deck with Arty popping all about us. He turned for home and so did I. No e/a shot down just holes maybe. We lost 1 a/c forced down on their side.
Fullofit, great start to Toby's career! Those Eindekkers were troublesome, but not a match for the Strutter. Well done. Carrick, nice to see Mallory in action again. Good luck bagging the elusive No. 5
An Airman’s Odyssey – by Lt James Arthur Collins, MC
Part Fifty-Four: In which I receive cheering news from home
August is an idyllic month, and August in England is more so. Life at Hounslow carried on. A brief flight in the morning, sometimes a longer one if the sky was clear and the sun warm, followed by black pudding, eggs, toast with orange marmalade (no plum and apple here), strong tea. Escaping administrative chores, one could cycle or ride. I visited Tubby in a convalescent home at Putney and repaid him for my half share of the old Singer, so I was fully mobile once more provided I could scrounge the petrol. A new case of Yukon Gold arrived from Canada, so scrounging petrol became an easy thing to arrange. I tried calling my mother’s house in Grantchester. Mrs Winthrop, the housekeeper, answered. My mother was travelling, she said, but would not tell me where. My sister, Dorothy, was travelling too. I pressed. The woman would make a wonderful spy. I doubted she would yield her secrets on the rack.
"A brief flight in the morning, sometimes a longer one if the sky was clear and the sun warm, followed by black pudding, eggs, toast with orange marmalade (no plum and apple here), strong tea."
10 August was a beautiful and sunny day. I took my BE12 up. It was a lovely machine, likely more than a match for a Fokker. The cockpit felt wonderfully British after the spartan surroundings of the Morane. It smelled of leather and oil. Brass shone and coachwork gleamed. And instruments! Revolutions, height, speed, bank, oil pressure. It was a marvellous machine. “Jock” Ness flew another BE12 alongside, and Billy Leefe Robinson toddled after us in his little old Bristol. I set course southeast for the coast, arriving over Eastchurch and following the beaches to Hastings and a little beyond. We climbed to ten thousand feet, from which vantage the coast of France shimmered grey-silver at the edge of the world. In all of history, who has done this? A few hundred souls, a couple of thousand? Then back across the downs to the great smoke of the city and home. Diving down over the roads out of London, skimming treetops and steeples and hedgerows. Speed, I heard someone say once, is the only truly modern sensation.
A letter from Dorothy came at lunch. She was in London – joined the V.A.D., he had. She deemed it a fine alternative to marriage. The engagement was off. I wrote to her at St. Thomas’s Hospital, where she was training – Can I reach you by phone? I would like to have dinner when you are free.
Major Higgins insisted I do his patented course on night flying, but I found varying reasons to delay my start. My real reason was that Hounslow had too many trees for my taste. I’d landed here at night before, but that was before I’d had a chance to count the many species of tree on which I could kill myself. By all accounts our new home in North Weald Basset was more open. The course would start there.
On 12 August Dorothy replied with a number and details of the excuse I was to use in calling her. By this time we had our orders to move on the afternoon of 13 August. My machine was to be moved by lorry. I had permission to take the Singer to North Weald. On the morning of the 13th, Ness and I flew a long test to Croydon and back in the morning. By one o’clock I was on my own and driving to the city. I ordered a new tunic, the simple “maternity jacket”. It would do in the air. My old flying tunic was somewhat battered and cut about. The good one was saved for out and about town. Dorothy was free at four. We found a small tea room near Waterloo Station and found a booth.
“So you’re a free woman now?” I began. She bubbled over with excitement and then complained about the proper nurses being horrid to the volunteers and hoped it would be different in France and that can’t really be far off now, can it?
I asked about our mother. Life had been very hard at Grantchester. Mother’s drinking reached debilitating levels. In July after I left she’d had a bad fall. Now, however, she had “gone away” for a while. Dorothy did not have all the details, but it seemed she was being treated for melancholia as well as the other thing. She asked if I drank and chided me for it. I told her that if something dominates your life, it was a problem. It did not matter whether one lost control and used it too much or whether one was so afraid of it that one became a preacher of the teetotal religion. Either way, life was not your own and you had a problem. I think she saw my point. Dorothy was in touch with Mrs Winthrop. She would let me know when it might be all right to try to visit home.
I dropped my sister off across from the hospital dormitories and set course for the Cavendish Hotel. There would be a party on. North Weald could wait.
The weather took a turn for the worse and the sky was covered by a blanket of grey clouds. FC Frederick Carr ‘Army’ Armstrong was leading this artillery spotting mission to an area west of Munster. They were flying over the Vosges Mountains again, but this time there were no vistas, no pretty sights. As soon as they’ve arrived the leader put his crate in a steep bank, which took Toby by surprise. What was he doing? Then he saw it. A green Eindecker just below, he immediately dove after him, but ‘Army’ was already on him. He then realized Alford was shooting at something behind. He twisted his head, it was another Fokker. Toby left the green Eindecker all to ‘Army’s’ mercy and banked to get the new Fokker into firing position. They began to turn around each other, getting lower and lower over the mountain peaks. Toby was making progress, but the Eindecker continued to elude and fly over the trenches. Mulberry wondered why the Hun was doing this. Was it to give the soldiers below a good show? He followed. The monoplane dove even lower, but Toby had him in his sights and opened fire. And then the unthinkable happened. The soldiers below opened fire on him, damaging his kite to the point of barely flyable state. He saw Alford behind him fire at the Fokker. He checked his instruments to realize he was low and in German held territory. The Fokker must be now behind them, ready to fire. He looked behind again. Alford was grinning. Toby didn’t understand. He shrugged his shoulders at his gun layer. Jeffrey simply flipped his thumb in the direction of a smoking crater behind them. He must have hit the Fokker with that last burst. Toby was happy that at least one problem had been resolved. All they had to do now is bring their lame bird over the mountain range without getting shot at again. It was now all up to Toby. It took some time to gain enough altitude to clear the mountains and then much longer to find the closest friendly aerodrome and carefully land among all these pines. They finally were able to bring the Strutter down, nearly coming to a full stop inside one of the hangars. It was a crosswind landing, diagonally across the entire field. The pilot and the observer were both relieved after the propeller came to a stop.
"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."
Raine, looks like Lt. Collins is about to enjoy himself at his new post. Hope you have your night vision spectacles with you and how much are the import duties for a case of Yukon Gold? Remember to always check your six. Now you can actually see it.
"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."