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Originally Posted by RAF_Louvert
Fullofit, Tobias seems unstoppable at the moment, the man is a terror. His chest must be swelling with such pride.

Thanks Lou, but it’s not his chest that is swelling after seeing Carrick’s second problem.


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hee hee

,

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29 August 1916
Fienvillers, France

It was nearing 10am and Captain Swanson was preparing to walk over to camp as the rain and wind squalls that had been running rampant since before dawn had at last died down. As he slipped on his tunic he thanked Madame Corcelles for sewing on the new strip of ribbon to which she curtly replied, "Well of course I did it for you, men are totally helpless when it comes to such things."

Swany gave his landlady a sunny look and handed her a franc for her troubles which she took without argument, slipping it into the pocket of her apron while she collected her sewing kit and started for the kitchen. No sooner had she turned away from the young Captain than the faintest of smiles graced her lips. The elderly matron was more bark than she was bite.

As to that fresh strip of ribbon, Swany was now a Companion of the Distinguished Service Order, having been informed of his new station the night before during dinner in the Officers' Mess. The CO had made the announcement and presented the squadron's high-scoring ace with the swatch of deep blue and royal red silk, informing him that there would be an investiture of the medal at some point in the future, perhaps even at the Palace the next time Swany was in London. A cheer went up from the entire room followed by much handshaking and backslapping in addition to threats of running up the Captain's bar tab to previously unimagined heights. As it happened there was a dignitary present for the event as well, General Trenchard's private secretary, Captain Maurice Baring. The fellow had stopped by unexpectedly for a visit on his way through from St. Omer and stayed on for dinner. He and Swany had first met some months earlier during the flying display that pitted the Morane against the captured Eindecker. Baring congratulated Swanson on his latest citation and inquired as to how he was finding the Strutter to which Swany responded in glowing terms, referring to the new mount as a "Godsend" and a "war changer". The festivities were suddenly interrupted however when the air-raid horn sounded and everyone had to take cover in the bunkers. After several minutes it was determined to be a false alarm, apparently some overzealous ground spotter had mistaken a large cloud floating aimlessly through the night sky for an incoming Zeppelin. With the threat lifted the celebration continued and went on well past midnight. Swany, still on his health regimen, nursed a single pint of ale throughout the evening and avoided the hard liquor entirely, providing a fair amount of fodder for jokes and jabs. But he was fine with it all, a small price to pay to be ridding himself of the headaches. His bar tab, on the other hand, would turn out to be one hellaciously large bill to settle up.


Note: Captain Baring did indeed stop by 70 Squadron on the evening of August 28th, as noted in his book, "Flying Corps Headquarters 1914-1918". He was visiting with his friend, Captain Guy Cruikshank, during which the false sighting of a Zeppelin occurred.

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Fullofit -- Mulberry is on fire! 9 kills already. That's outstanding.

Lou, loved the interplay in the episode about Collins's Zep!

Carrick, there are some interesting people hanging around your aerodrome.

Congratulations to all the new gong recipients!!!

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

Part Fifty-Seven: In which I am feted


“And of what was the frame of the Zeppelin constructed?” The Intelligence major, whose name I had already forgotten, stared at me, his burgundy and gold pen poised to record my answer. It was nearly four in the afternoon. I’d flown a quick circuit in the morning and landed to find a car waiting to take me to the city. There had been no time for breakfast, nor even time for a cup of tea. The papers were out, and my face had instantly become recognisable so the driver suggested we proceed directly to the Hotel Cecil. I’d accordingly missed lunch as well. After meeting General Henderson and various other red tabs, I’d been given a cup of tea and a ginger snap, and then whisked into a windowless room in the basement to meet this silly bugger. I was famished and beginning to lose my good humour.

“I believe I mentioned earlier that it was dark, sir.”

“Did you see the framework of the airship?”

“It was rather...inside the thing, if you know what I mean.”

“Sir.”

“Sir?”

“Address me as sir, Mr. Collins. Do they not do that in Canada?”

“Actually, sir, I don’t believe we know you in Canada.”

“The internal structure of the Zeppelin. I need to know.”

“Sir, as I said, when the thing went up, I dived and rolled away. There was a blast, you see. I was...upside down.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t look at the thing you shot down?”

“Sir, there was a massive explosion and fire, I was thrown about, and then I got out of the thing’s way as it fell. I should imagine the ten thousand sightseers who went to Gallions Reach this morning to see the wreckage have a better idea of how it was put together than I was able to acquire. Perhaps I should have followed it down, landed in the dark in the city, and got out to collect souvenirs, but my machine was shot about, low on petrol and oil. Plus I needed a piss. So I went home.”

The major simply stared as I stood up, saluted, and walked out of the room. I loped up a flight of marble stairs to the lobby and the hotel exit. On the steps outside, several dozen journalists and photographers jostled with several hundred well-wishers. Military police were on duty and had formed a cordon to hold the people back. I was searching for route through the crowd when a diminutive colonel took me by the arm and led me back inside. “There’s a side entrance we can take. Up for dinner?” I recognised the smiling Toby-mug face of my old benefactor Max Aitken. I nodded in reply. [1]

He asked where I was staying and I said I’d been told there was a room for me at the Savoy as I was supposed to be back at the Cecil at nine in the morning for some kind of reception. Aitken shook his head vigorously. “We can’t dine there. Too many bloody newspapermen outside.” This from the owner of the Daily Express!

He had a car waiting and we drove towards Liverpool Station, pulling up in Old Broad Street in front of a fine Victorian restaurant. “Gow’s, it’s a favourite. Have the mixed grill,” said Aitken with an elvish grin. We were shown to a corner table and my host ordered a lime cordial. Not to be undone by his Calvinist abstinence, I ordered a glass of Chablis and pointed at the oysters being consumed at a nearby table. “Those would be lovely,” I told the waiter. [2]

[Linked Image]
Gow's Restaurant -- sadly missed

We spoke about generalities and then Zeppelins and then Canada and how it would emerge from the war. Aitken asked me to let it be known that my family was only temporarily relocated to England and would likely return to Ontario after the war. I made no promises. He informed me that the reason I was put up at the Savoy was that I was to accompany General Brancker and Colonel Holt [3] the next morning to a session of Parliament where there would be a general halooing and laying-on of praise. No money, just love, or so it seemed. Somewhere during the meal, Aitken lined me up for an exclusive article in his paper and for a portrait to be painted by a Canadian artist fellow named Jackson, whom apparently I should have known about.[4]

The mixed grill was indeed splendid, and so was the bottle of 1900 Château Ausone I knocked off by myself. He had his driver take me to the Savoy. The streets were dark and gloomy and as I was quite tiddly I fell asleep on the way. At the Savoy I was roused and got out, pushed past the well-wishers and some overly affectionate older women (perhaps they were ladies), and made my way to my room. The hotel supplied me with silk pyjamas and relieved me of my tunic and breeches and boots, returning them at eight in the morning looking better than new. I, unfortunately, felt considerably less pressed and polished.

And so to my rendezvous with General Brancker and Colonel Holt in the lobby. We were driven the short way to Westminster. I felt uncomfortably colonial in the Parliament buildings and was led into the cramped pews of the Strangers’ Gallery. Perhaps I dozed, but I remember little of the speechifying that preceded a painful outburst of applause and cheering.

[Linked Image]
House of Commons and the Strangers' Gallery

Colonel Holt accompanied me to North Weald afterward, where I was presented with a silver cup and a large cash gift from the appreciative citizens of the area. I said something bluff, manly, and self-effacing and stumbled off to sleep for a few hours before taking a short and refreshingly cold flight at dusk.

On a sadder note, I learned that Billy and Fred Sowrey were being moved over to the flight at Sutton’s Farm. I reflected on the amount of luck that I was the fellow closest to the Zeppelin in the lights, that my gun (unlike Billy’s) had not jammed, and that the ack emmas had rigged my machine with the only rockets we’d seen. But to heck with it, one needs to welcome good luck when it comes. Bad luck takes care of itself.

Notes:

[1] For those who may not recall his appearance in an earlier episode, Lt Col Max Aitken (later Sir Max Aitken, Lord Beaverbrook) was a political appointment to the Canadian army, a millionaire businessman, and a British Member of Parliament. He was also moving to become the majority owner of the Daily Express. He had been appointed by the Canadian government to be Canada’s eye on the war and was the de facto head of Canadian wartime propaganda. He rose to new heights in the Second World War as Churchill’s Minister of Aircraft Production. He and Churchill were friends.

[2] A personal note – Gow’s and the mixed grill were favourites of my father. I last ate there in 1965 (as a boy). It closed last year.

[3] BGen Sefton Brancker was Director of Air Organisation. Lt Col Felton Vesey Holt commanded 16 Wing at this time, responsible for the RFC defence of London and approaches. Both men had been working closely together for the past two months to plan the best location and patrol routes for Home Defence squadrons.

[4] This would be the painting of Collins by A.Y. Jackson of Canada’s “Group of Seven” that hangs today in the National Gallery in Ottawa.

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Lou and Raine, beautifully written and researched stories. Loved that "I don’t believe we know you in Canada" bit. That's an automatic 2 weeks in the brig in my books.

21 August, 1916 05:20 morning mission
Luxeuil, Alsace Sector
3 Wing RNAS
FL Tobias Chester Mulberry
9 confirmed kills
Awaiting 1 claim confirmation

It was a hazy morning with plenty of cloud cover to hide an entire Jagdstaffel behind them. Toby was flying on his own with no escort and no wingmen. He had to stay under the cloud layer for two reasons: to see where he was going and to avoid any patrols above the clouds. His tan underside would mask him from anyone looking up at the clouds. The logic to send one plane to bomb the Buhl-Lorraine aerodrome, NE of Lunéville, near Sarrebourg, was that one plane can slip by unnoticed. In this instance it had almost worked, except for the training flight just south of the aerodrome. Toby was nearly there, flying all this way unnoticed, when he flew right smack into the path of two Eindeckers. They didn’t attack at first and Toby hoped that they would just fly by, but Alford opened fire on them and that made them angry. Toby saw the pilot not maneuvering much and was an easy target. Some kid wanting to be the next Immelmann. Mulberry’s burst severed the controls and the bird went into an irrecoverable spin. The other student saw this and dove for safety. Toby let him go. He considered this action to be a reward for acting smart. He couldn’t afford to follow the Eindecker anyway. He had a job to do that required him to stay high and finish the mission. He found himself over the hangars and dropped his load, then turned back without checking where the bombs had landed. He was too far behind enemy lines to stay in the area any moment longer. He was back in time for lunch. He put in a claim for the Eindecker, but didn’t expect much. Such is the way of things with claims far behind enemy lines.

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"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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Fullofit - 9 confirmed already? how do you do it...well. By any means, it seems that Chesty may just be the Naval Air Service's first big killer...

Raine - Loved the vignette about Collins' little interview, and good to see him reunited with Aitken!

Lou - the bar tab may not be the worst price to pay in the world when it comes to celebrating a brand-spanking new DSO! Congrats again!

I've updated the Campaign Aircraft Profile Gallery! New additions include Collins' B.E.12, Rosenstein's Black Halberstadt and Chesty's Strutter.



Adj. James B. Fullard,
Esc. N.124 'Americaine',
Bar-le-Duc, France.

August 27th, 1916:


I was roused again before the sun had risen by an apologetic Corporal and informed that I was due for the early patrol. After scrounging up some breakfast, I made my way to Behonne and sleepily muttered a good morning to my fellow pilots, before making my checks of my aircraft and climbing into the cockpit. Night time Take-offs were always fretful, and this was no different. Fortunately, as we came closer to the lines the sky had lightened slightly so that we could see the moonlight-reflections on each others’ cowlings and doped wings.

Above us was an ominous, cloudy sky, and of the top flight, led by Thenault, I could only make out the small red circles of the roundels, if I looked very hard. I felt my nerves rise as we approached the front. However, the Bosches were still sleeping soundly, and after a dreadfully cold and uneventful patrol I was glad to return home.

I returned to the Villa for lunch and found in the dining room a French pilot idly chatting with Thenault, de Laage and Rockwell. I didn’t think much of it - we were frequently visited by pilots of the local Escadrilles as they passed through Bar-le-Duc. From what I could gather, the pilots were discussing some Bosche machine we had yet to encounter, the Halberstadt - a single-seat scout not unlike the nieuport. I had heard of the machine once or twice before. As I took my seat and started to help myself to the plate of jam and toast that had been laid out, Thenault turned to me. “Fullard, allow me to introduce our guest. This is Capitane Pierre-Louis Cordonnier of Escadrille C.68”. I extended a hand across the table, which Cordonnier shook firmly. “A pleasure, Monsieur Fullard. I have heard good things about you. But, where was I? Ah, yes. The Halberstadt. I don’t think the Bosches have many of them yet, but they are good machines. Much more agile than the Fokker, and still with that hellish synchronised machine-gun. No match for our Nieuports yet though, I imagine!”. De Laage shrugged. “I would tell you if we had ever run into one! However, I doubt any army has a machine as magnificent as our new Nieuport 17s. They go like the devil and can turn inside any Bosche. By any means, the only machines that give us trouble are those damned Rolands”.

At the mention of the machine, Cordonnier paled slightly. Clearing his throat, his tone dropped a little. “Ah. Rolands. Yes, we’ve been seeing more of them in our sector. I’ve lost good men to those beasts, and our escorts haven’t fared much better”. Suddenly, a thought occured to me. “What Escadrille did you say you were with?” I asked, and Cordonnier turned to me.

“68. Why?”
“68? West of here? Who escorts you?”
“Well, it changes sometimes, but usually N.31”.
I felt a chill run down my spine.
“You said they’ve not been faring as well?”
Oui. Against Fokkers they have no trouble, but against those Rolands they suffer. Why, only a week ago I saw one of the poor fellows falling out of control from a scrap with them. He was a good sort, I’d met him on the ground once or twice before. His name will come to me”.
“What did his machine look like?” I asked, feeling a pressure building in my chest.
“Oh, we all knew it well! Its upper wing was painted bright red. Mais, what was his name? Devereaux, I think?”

“Devienne,” I said, hoarsely.

Oui! Devienne! A fine young fellow. Terrible shame”. Cordonnier paused for a moment. “Was he a friend?”. I sat staring down at my plate, not answering. “Thanks for lunch. It was a pleasure to meet you, Capitane” I muttered, pushing my chair back and turning for the door.

It was early evening when Luf found me in l’Hotel le Terminus, near Bar-le-Duc’s town centre, arguing with the bartender. “Just pour the god-damned drink” I ordered him, to which the Bartender folded his arms and shook his head. “M’sieur, you already can’t walk. At this rate you won’t be able to talk or see, either. Go back to your billett, Pilote”. I stumbled to my feet, my hands balling into fists, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around and stumbled, grabbing the bartop for support. “Easy, Fullard,” Luf said, steadying me. “Let’s get back to the Villa now. We’ll have a drink there”. Sniffing and wiping my nose, I felt my energy crash out of me like a wave. I swayed for a moment on my feet, then let out a long sigh. “Alright. Alright, Luf. Let’s go”. As Luf grabbed hold of me to steady me, we walked towards the door. From behind us the Bartender muttered “Damned drunk. Embarrasing the army”. Immediately Luf stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around. “Say that again?” he said, in a frighteningly calm voice. The Bartender went pale. Striding to the counter, Luf slammed one hand down on the counter, reaching over and grabbing the bartender by his collar and pulling him close. “I don’t see a rifle in your hand, Salaud. Maybe you should watch your damned mouth”. Stammering and tripping over his words, the Bartender finally managed “J-just leave!”. Luf drew him closer in, his eyes flashing with fury, before finally pushing him back and turning for the door. As we stepped out into the cool evening air, Luf spat on the ground. “Coward” he murmured, as we turned towards the road back to the Villa.

Last edited by Wulfe; 08/30/19 11:11 AM.
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Wulfe, great to see Fullard back in the thick of it Sorry about Devienne though. Excellent writing!

Fullofit, he may not get credit for that one, but yet again you have a pilot who seems destined for greatness, and not just in the boob department!

Raine, great story and excellent historic info. By the way, congrats on actually managing to get one of those sausages! I can't believe you actually managed to find one in the darkness! Hope your man enjoyed the Château Ausone smile

Lou, congrats on the DSO and another fine story. Swaney is so damned assured and charms all the ladies. He's like a WW1 version of James Bond smile


Feldwebel Lazlo Halász,

Jasta 1, Bertincourt, France
August 28th 1916

Lazlo's arm ached. His first encounter with the French had not gone at all according to plan. They had set off in near darkness that morning and were only a couple of hundred feet up when, just like that, three N17s swooped down on them. A hail of bullets met each machine. Lazlo had been slightly slower to get airborne than the rest of his flight, and could barely make out the fact that his comrades were executing some very strange manouvers up in front, but he couldn't figure out why, until he saw a French biplane flash past in front of him, chasing one of the Halbs. Then he heard bullets whistling past and he took evasive action. He was so close to the ground, however, that the EIV simply tipped onto it's side and lost the precious little altitude it had gained since takeoff almost immediately. Whump! The craft slithered sideways into the turf and then sat up on its nose, pitching poor Lazlo right out of the cockpit. He landed badly, crashing onto his left shoulder. A jolt of pain went through his forearm as catapulted through a thicket of bushes and ended up in a dazed heap. The sound of sirens was everywhere and people came running from all directions.

"That's one way to get out of your cockpit without using a ladder, I suppose", said Cedrick the mechanic, hurrying over to the prone giant.

"No jokes, please", Lazlo exclaimed, "I am too much hurting for the jokes!" Cedrick and two other mechanics gingerly carried Lazlo back to the officer's mess and helped him to settle onto a couch. Moans and groans could be heard around the room, as other members of the unit were brought in to receive treatment. Luckily no one was seriously hurt, but their pride was badly wounded.

"No flying for you, Big Red, not for the time being at least", the local doctor had told him. "You need to keep it as still as possible to let the bones knit well. That's quite a severe fracture you have there. As for the external damage, that'll heal quite quickly. Come back and see me in a week's time and we'll take another look, OK?"


To be continued......

n.b. I thought I had recorded this, but I can't find the video. I realize now that I have the ME set to a very small chance of an ambush upon takeoff. I think I'll disable this in future smile Out for 8 days, and when Lazlo gets back he'll have another surprise waiting for him!



Last edited by HarryH; 08/30/19 03:20 AM.

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Harry, I'd planned on sending you a PM. The Chateau Ausone was a tip of the hat to you. The recent updates improved the searchlight function wonderfully. Full credit to the boys on the ground. One beam flickered over the Zeppelin and I was thinking I'd imagined the brief flash in the beam that was the airship. Then several more lights scanned the area and picked up the Zeppelin. After that they kept with it, losing it only for a couple of minutes here and there. The rest was easy.

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Originally Posted by Raine
Harry, I'd planned on sending you a PM. The Chateau Ausone was a tip of the hat to you. The recent updates improved the searchlight function wonderfully. Full credit to the boys on the ground. One beam flickered over the Zeppelin and I was thinking I'd imagined the brief flash in the beam that was the airship. Then several more lights scanned the area and picked up the Zeppelin. After that they kept with it, losing it only for a couple of minutes here and there. The rest was easy.

R


Nicely done on all counts wink


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Raine, I thoroughly enjoyed the latest installment of the Collins Zep epic. The exchange with the intelligence officer had me outright laughing. Wonderful historic bits brought in as well.

Fullofit, there seems to be no stopping Chesty's current run, the man is knocking down Huns right and left. His G/O on the other hand seems to get distracted easily. Was he admiring the clouds while those Eindeckers flew about directly in front of him?

Wulfe, another superb episode, but I am getting concerned about Fullard's state of mind. The fellow seems to be going into a tailspin, emotionally speaking.

Harry, I hope Lazlo'a fracture mends well for him. Must have been a helluva thump to break bones as large as his.

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Raine: Ur story is Epic

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Keith Cunard Mallory
2nd LT, Rfc
29 Sqn, Ablee AF.
DH-2's
4 Kills


30 Aug 1916.



Balloon Attack: I went along with 4 other a/c to burn down a sausage that was peeking at our positions. The Boys knocked it down plus 1 e/a down low. I was higher up so no joy.

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Originally Posted by RAF_Louvert
.

Raine, I thoroughly enjoyed the latest installment of the Collins Zep epic. The exchange with the intelligence officer had me outright laughing. Wonderful historic bits brought in as well.

Fullofit, there seems to be no stopping Chesty's current run, the man is knocking down Huns right and left. His G/O on the other hand seems to get distracted easily. Was he admiring the clouds while those Eindeckers flew about directly in front of him?

Wulfe, another superb episode, but I am getting concerned about Fullard's state of mind. The fellow seems to be going into a tailspin, emotionally speaking.

Harry, I hope Lazlo'a fracture mends well for him. Must have been a helluva thump to break bones as large as his.

.


The bigger they come, the harder they fall smile


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@ HarryH: I feel sorry for Lazlo and I hope he will recover very soon. On the other side I am glad ME ambsuh feature works as intended:-).

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Harry - Oh no, poor Lazlo! Those tricky Ententes...the big man's already a firm favourite of mines, and I hope he has a swift recovery!

I've been having a bit of trouble with spinning Fullard's yarns recently, but with the day free of flying I've tried to get a bit more 'development' out of him and the other Americains. Hopefully I can hang in there with the other brilliantly woven tales you are all putting out!


Adj. James B. Fullard,
Esc. N.124 'Americaine',
Bar-le-Duc, France.

August 28th, 1916


The heavy raindrops coming down on the Villa roof on the morning of the 28th may as well have been thunderclaps. With a groan, I slowly pulled myself up in bed, sitting for a moment with my hands pressed to my temples in a vain attempt to cease the throbbing. After a moment of feeling sorry for myself, I rose and started towards the staircase, intent on getting some food into me. However, as I reached the banister I heard a voice behind me. “Fullard. A moment in my office if you please”. I turned to see Thenault standing with his arms folded behind his back, his eyes cold and serious under the brim of his Kepi. “Er, of course, sir…” I replied, and Thenault turned to the solitary door that stood at the top of the stairs, swinging it open and beckoning me inside.

As I followed the Captain into his office he gestured to a luxurious leather seat across from his desk. Obediently I sat and the Capitane closed the door, rounding his desk and sliding down into his own seat. From a drawer removed a cigarette case and a matchbox, striking up a light and inhaling deeply. I felt myself grow increasingly uncomfortable as he sat across from me silently, staring at me intently. Finally, as the tension was getting too much to bear, he spoke.

“Do you want to go home?”

I was stunned. “....sir?” I asked, numbly. “Do you want to go home, Fullard?” Thenault reiterated. “Dr. Gros can have it arranged, and you can be on the next steamer bound for England. From there, you can get back to San Francisco”. For a moment I tried to find the words to respond, but in my shock I was unable. Finally, I blurted out “why are you asking me this?”. Laying his cigarette down in an ornate glass ashtray, Thenault steepled his hands. “The men have noticed that your behaviour has been strange of late. I have noticed too. I know that you have suffered loss here, but we all have. The question I’m asking, Fullard, is this. Is this war too much for you?”.

I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “How...can you ask me that?” I asked, almost at a whisper. I felt rage creeping upwards. “You think...I want to run home? That I’m scared? Cracking up?” forgetting my place, my voice rose in volume until I was shouting. “My friends have died here. My brother has died here. And you ask me if I want to go home?!”. As Thenault raised a hand, anger flashing now in his eyes, I caught myself. “Apologies, sir. No, I don’t want to go home”. Thenault’s expression softened. “I am glad. But, listen well. This funk of yours, the drinking, it will stop. We are all afraid, and angry, Fullard, but it does the Escadrille harm to let that show. You understand?”. I nodded.

“I’ve given you today to yourself. Take some time to get your affairs in order. Your experience of air fighting is of great value here, so I need you to keep a clear head. That is all, Fullard”. I sighed deeply, rose to my feet, and saluted. “Yes, sir. I apologise for my recent conduct. Thank you, sir”. He nodded once and I turned to the door. As my hand fell upon the handle, Thenault cleared his throat.

“Oh, one last thing, James.”
“Sir?”
“I’m promoting you to Sous Lieutenant. Don’t make me regret it”.
My eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you sir! I won’t!”.
“That will be all”.

I made my way down for breakfast and found Luf talking with a visiting pilot. As I walked into the dining room he looked over at me with a knowing glint in his eye. “Good morning, Fullard. All better?” he asked. I picked up on the inferring tone in his voice. “Yes. All better. Thanks for seeing me back yesterday, Luf”. He bowed his head in response, then gestured to our visitor. “This is Monsieur Chardin, from Escadrille 57”. I bid the man hello. “57? You fly with Jean?” I asked, and he nodded, smiling. “Ah, oui! A friend of yours?”

“Yes, we flew together in N.31. How is he?”. The pilot sighed. “Ah, M’sieur, not well I’m afraid. He was badly shot on the 24th and taken to hospital. His injury is grave, but we are assured he will live. Only the day before, he downed his eighth Bosche”. I felt the same twinge of emotion as I had yesterday, cursing under my breath. “Another friend shot up. Hell with this war” I muttered under my breath, before turning back to Chardin. “Sorry to hear that. I hope he recovers soon”. Chardin nodded. “Me too, M’sieur. But, I must be on my way. I have a young mademoiselle waiting on me in Bar-le-Duc with whom I intend to spend the next forty-eight hours. Forgive me, monsieurs, but her company is even more exciting than your own”. Luf let out a laugh. “Oui, Je ne peux pas vous en vouloir! Well, enjoy yourself, mon ami”. I briefly shook the pilot’s hand as he made for the door, before slumping down into the seat at the end of the table, gaining the attention of a Corporal and requesting some breakfast to be brought out to me.

“What brought yesterday on, James?” Luf asked me, once the Corporal had disappeared towards the kitchen. I sighed heavily, and paused to choose my words. “It all got a bit much for me, Luf, y’know? I found out at lunchtime that another old pal was killed, and I just…” I trailed off. Luf smiled. “I understand”. He paused for a moment to think. “Did I ever tell you why I joined the air service?” he finally asked. I was taken aback slightly. “Er, no, I don’t think so”.

Luf sighed, sadness flashing across his face briefly. “Before the war I got a job in Indochina as a mechanician for Marc Pourpe, one of the first to fly. Before long, we were best of pals. Once the war started, Marc naturally joined the Aeronautique Militaire, and I entered into the Foriegn Legion. After a while, I was able to transfer into the air service as a mechanic, and hoped to be reunited with old Marc”. He stopped for a moment, betraying a pained expression as his hand balled into a fist on the table. As he continued, his voice had a terrifying venom to it. “He had been killed before my transfer”. His hand relaxed again, and his gaze met mines. “Ever since that day, I’ve been getting revenge for poor old Marc. Even so, I can’t stop to dwell on his death, you know?”.

I realised in an instant the sentiment that Luf was trying to convey. Faces flashed in my mind - Vertadier, Metayer, Michael, Chapman, Little Devienne, Chaput. A day would come to mourn them, but if I thought about them now I would surely crack up. It was just as Luf had said, I couldn’t stop to dwell on them.

“Thank you, Luf. I think I needed to hear that”.
“Yes, well. Perhaps. Anyway, there are rumours that you've been promoted. How about we head into town tonight to celebrate? Do a spot of proper binging?”.
“Splendid idea. I’ve heard that l’Hotel de Terminus has a fantastic bar!”
Lufbery laughed aloud.

Last edited by Wulfe; 08/31/19 01:03 AM.
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Wulfe, oh no! Not Little Devienne! That is a sad, sad day. A drink to his memory. May he rest in peace. I am hoping that the barman is going to get what is coming to him in one of the future episodes.

Originally Posted by Wulfe
Fullofit - 9 confirmed already? how do you do it...well.

How do I do it? I point the whirly end at the enemy and shoot. Seriously, the Strutter outclasses the Eindecker and it is such a joy to fly so much so that it feels like cheating. It also doesn’t help that the Fokkers are drawn to the two-seaters like moths to a flamethrower.

Harry, now you have the distinction of being the dirty, dirty man.
Ambush in ME is an awesome feature. Don’t touch it! It spices up things and makes it all unpredictable. Maybe reduce the percentage then, just a bit. Thanks again for that Triple-J!
Hopefully Lazlo will be able to get going soon and I certainly hope that this surprise you’ve mentioned has two pairs of wings, or at least a pair of legs.

Lou, I don’t know what Alford’s deal is. I suspect he is afraid of heights.

Carrick, keeping your boys safe down below is a job onto itself. You keep watching over them and let them stick their necks out and dodge Flak.


23 August, 1916 13:50 afternoon mission
Luxeuil, Alsace Sector
3 Wing RNAS
FL Tobias Chester Mulberry
9 confirmed kills

All claims have been rejected. Let’s leave it at that.

Toby noticed a pair of enemy planes below while admiring how his bombs had missed the sizeable Colmar rail station. He shadowed them while dropping altitude. It was a combination of tan and green Fokkers. The green one noticed him first and broke off. Mulberry ignored him and concentrated on the tan one. Toby chased the Hun over the vast forests east of Vosges Mountains. The green one returned in the meantime, but Alford kept an eye on him and thankfully his gun was trained as well. He kept the greenie at bay, while Mulberry took care of the business up front. Somehow the two Fokkers became four and then there were just two again. The tan Fokker continued to be harassed by Toby’s Vickers and finally succumbed to the damage. He ploughed into the Colmar Forest below. The British pilot took a quick stock of the situation and looked for the green Eindecker. There! Just north of him, climbing and heading for the Colmar aerodrome. Toby willed his Strutter to go faster to catch the Hun before he gets within the range of Flak. He aimed and fired. The Fokker went straight up and performed what the Germans liked to call the Immelmann turn. It did not help. Mulberry was on him and the Hun had to dive to evade. He was low and went into a spin. He did not recover.

YouTube Link



"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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Wulfe, congrats on the promotion. I just heard.
That Luf guy seems to be a nice chap.


"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."
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 4,881
BOC President; Pilot Extraordinaire; Humble Man
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.

Carrick, looks like Mallory's crew had some good fortune even if he didn't share in it personally.

Jara, every outstanding feature of your ME works as intended.

Wulfe, congrats on Fullard's new rank. Glad to see Luf had a talk with the young lad and he is getting himself back on track.

Fullofit, that was some nail-biting low level work there on Chesty's part. And how about that perfect hammerhead stall pulled off by the Eindecker pilot, for all the good it did him. Looks like Mulberry is about to become a double ace, or in his case a double D ace.

.

Second day of dud weather and wash-outs for Swany and the boys of 70 Squadron. He's likely going to make a trip down to Amiens for the day just for something to do.

.

Remember to post your end-of-month numbers folks, the Brass Hats need them for their record keeping.

.

Stats as of the end of August:

Randolph Arvid Swanson
Captain
70 Squadron, R.F.C.
Fienvillers, France
Sopwith Strutter
27 confirmed victories, 48 claims
227.95 hours
154 combat missions
DSO, MC & Bar, CdG

.



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Lou, it’s not the cup size that matters, but how firm your ... erm ... claims are.
And you’re right. You don’t see such pretty maneuvers every day, especially right in front of you.


"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."
Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 3,696
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Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 3,696
25 August, 1916 05:15 morning mission
Luxeuil, Alsace Sector
3 Wing RNAS
FL Tobias Chester Mulberry
10 confirmed kills

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining at their back as Mulberry and his gun layer Alford were lifting off from the airfield. Toby was thinking to himself that it’s going to be a lengthy trip to the front lines north of Lunéville for a spot of reconnaissance. As he was preparing for this trip something moved on his dashboard. It was Alford’s shadow. He quickly looked back to see the gunner charging his Lewis, aiming to port and firing at something hidden above the top plane. Toby banked left and saw two Eindeckers right behind him diving on his tail. He banked harder and watched the two Huns nearly come together. This blunder helped him catch up to their tails. He latched on to the tan monoplane, still keeping an eye on the green one that dove away. He continued to follow the tan Eindecker and taking potshots at him. At some point the green Fokker rejoined the fight and Toby had to switch targets to avoid being shot down from behind. The two German monoplanes were uncoordinated and getting in each other’s way. Needless to say Mulberry took full advantage of that. After a while both Eindeckers were on the run with a third one showing up above. While pursuing, Toby took note of the new guest but didn’t concern himself too much with it. The new arrival was just passing by and had no intention of helping his compatriots. Mulberry caught up to the tan Fokker and pummeled the invader. The pilot’s head disappeared inside the cockpit and the plane went into a dive, trailing gray smoke. Toby turned back and landed back at the airfield with the remains still smoldering nearby.

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"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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