Lou, Toby took your advice and is getting his behind chewed out. Thanks for that! Like Wulfe said, nice job if you can get it - all those preserves and not a Hun around.
Speaking of Wulfe, that was one exotic mission. Glad it was successful. And pulling the Ace status - well, well. Don’t we feel important! Seriously, all we now need are some ladies to swoon over our war hero, or does Fullard have an eye for a certain baroness? Great story. I’m glad you didn’t retire this old N.16 driver.
Harry, I’ve finally seen the light!
And the wait is over. Welcome to the front Drogo! MFair great start and already getting under the skin. No regard for regulations just like his pal Bruno. I expect great things from the latest Flieger.
‘Daddy’ was ripping the young pilot a “new one”. “- I understand your frustration, but that is no excuse to strike an officer!” His dressing down was severe and he felt sorry for Mulberry standing at attention in front of his desk with his left arm in a sling. The blood was seeping through the bandage. It was a fresh wound, thankfully superficial. “- Now explain to me what happened and why I shouldn’t throw you in the brig.” He lit a cigarette and relaxed in his armchair as if to be entertained by a good story. “- I can’t stand the man. He is going to kill both ...” Captain Elder stopped Mulberry mid sentence: “- I don’t care how you feel about him. Start from the beginning.” Toby took a deep breath, he needed to calm down. “- This was our second mission of the day. We’ve been ordered to bomb Nancy NE Spurline Junction. As soon as we were in the air all hell broke loose. We knew the Huns were raiding the aerodrome. We could see Archie going off ahead. There were three of them and all came down together in a nice formation as if this were a parade. When they came closer two of them went after me and one after Colburn. The Hun on his tail nearly had him and I was able to get him in my sights and fire. That Fokker went down into our field.” “- Our boys are still levelling that crater.” Elder interjected. “- Right. Then I was able to quickly get on the tail of another one. A green one I think and was giving him what for. Alford was firing all this time, but hitting nothing.” “- We can’t all be eagle-eyed Davy Crockett.” Elder tried to defend Alford. “- Sir, having poor aim is one thing. Shooting at the sky while cowering in the back is another.” Mulberry had no pity for his gunner. “- I depend on my gunner to cover my back. He didn’t and the third Hun got us.” Toby moved his wounded arm to prove the point. He winced immediately as the pain surged through the arm. “- Alright,” ‘Daddy’ admitted defeat. “- What would you have me do? I don’t have another gun layer to replace Alford. I’m afraid you’re stuck.” “- Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather fly alone than chauffeur this sack of sh ...” “- Lieutenant! Watch your language! This is the Royal Navy Air Service and not a Thames tugboat. Keep it professional.” Elder had to interrupt Toby again. “- What am I going to do with Alford?” “- Why not send HIM on a Thames tugboat to polish the anchor chains?” The two men begun to laugh. “- So it’s settled then, from now on you fly by yourself until I can find a replacement for ... your ballast.” ‘Daddy’ put out his cigarette and Toby breathed easier. It was done. He was finally rid of that scum. Mulberry was about to leave. “- One more thing, Lieutenant. This Fokker you’ve just made a hole in my field with is going to the airfield defense crews.” Toby frowned. “- But the one you brought down near the Fontaine aerodrome two days ago has been confirmed, congratulations.” “- Thank you, Sir!” Toby was about to run out to share the good news. “- I’m not done yet, Lieutenant. You have also been promoted to Flight Commander. It is against my better judgment in light of recent events, so I hope this will give you something to think about. Congratulations Commander. Now act like one! Dismissed.”
"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."
Fullofit, I have to think Toby found the dressing down worth it just for the satisfaction of clocking Alford. Plus he’s now rid of the sod and has a new rank to boot.
Wulfe, quite the secret mission Fullard and the rest of his crew pulled off, and most successful from the sounds of it.
MFair, glad to have you back. If Drogo’s start is any indication he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with.
Harry, another week for Lazlo, eh? That must have been a big break.
British HQ needs to know which of its current RFC and RNAS pilots have been injured in combat as they are finally sending out the new brass wound stripes that were approved and instituted back in July. So please submit your pilot’s name and when he was injured and how long he was grounded because of it. Thanks.
Lederhosen, you meant to say: that Roland didn’t let you steal his victory. Way to go Walfisch!
"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."
It was a day of poorly organized chaos for all concerned in the Entente taking of Guillemont. The flights of 70 Squadron spent it running to and fro: from camp to Guillemont and back; from camp to Delville Wood and back; from camp to Guillemont and back again; and finally from camp to Combles and back. Truth be told it was all the same area as each objective was within a mile of one another. The madness on the ground was startling, and what was supposed to be a coordinated attack by the various French and British armies looked, (at least to those in the air), like pure, unadulterated bedlam. The Hun defence on the other hand appeared to be rock solid and well thought out. None-the-less, as the day progressed Guillemont was taken by the French. But the body count must have been horrible, given what Captain Swanson and Lieutenant Dent and the rest of A Flight observed during their numerous sorties. While it was insanity below, the cloud-filled skies were relatively quiet in terms of enemy aircraft. During the first outing, while keeping watch over observation planes from 9 Squadron, Swany chased off a pair of Eindeckers that tried to attack. No other sky Huns were engaged until the last mission of the rainy late afternoon when one of the new Fokker biplanes was seen between Delville Wood and Guillemont making a run for home. He was about 1000 feet below and looked to be an easy target, so Swany signaled to the rest of his flight to remain above as he and Chris dove on the enemy. It turned out to be a rather protracted fight as the Fokker was more agile than the Captain first imagined it would be. After several twisting, turning minutes of battle the King's airmen had managed to land enough hits on the Hun craft to slow it up. However, as Swany was coming around for what he was hoping would be the coup de grâce the Hun pilot suddenly changed his tactics and ran straight at the closing Strutter. Swanson tried his dam'dest to avoid the impact but the Boche clipped the lower right wing of his mount before spiraling into the earth below. The Captain managed to keep control of his now-damaged aircraft and wrestled it back across No Man's Land and plunked it down on the field at Lavieville. Because he had to come in fast to keep from winging over into the ground he overshot the end of the field and ended up dangerously close to the tree line and fence at the far end. But he and Chris, while shaken, were both unharmed, so it was a good landing. They spent what little remained of the day waiting for a tender and crew to arrive from Fienvillers to pack up their broken mount and bring it and themselves back home. It had been exhausting, though Swany knew it was nothing compared to what the P.B.I. were going through in and around the ruins of Guillemont.
The end result of misjudging a suicidal enemy pilot.
Despite the music and singing, Willi was still in a foul mood. Today's sorties were complete dud's. His right arm was still tender from having to fight to keep control of his Frankenfokker for the better part of six hours. Even the collar of his uniform was getting on his nerves, but he had to keep it buttoned up if he wanted to walk around with his Blaue Max. The others left him alone. They knew this face and also knew that after a few drinks it would eventually relax too.
“May I join you Willi ?” said the Hauptmann as he started to sit down, knowing that a No would not be the answer. “Anything wrong Willi ? Looks like someone forced an air-screw up your Buttocks.”
Willi sort of froze, not quite sure how to reply to this one. But then things would never change if he said nothing. “Herr Hptm, this mornings run was a complete waste of time. I mean, 0:dark thirty at 3000m, in muck. What are the chances of finding anyone? We had to fight the weather and not Tommy the whole day. And then this half-wit Roland pilot this afternoon. I could of easily shot him instead of the N17. He also could of crashed my bus by mistake. It was just a bad day, that's all I guess, Herr Hptm.”
“I know Willi. Some days are just what they are, DUD. Anyway, I got a call from that Roland chap of yours. Said you left him no choice. Claims your Fokker was to slow and that the Franzman would of got away. What do you say to that Willi?”
Willi's eyes rolled as he turned his head slightly. “Next time I'll shoot him down instead then, Sir”
The Hptm smiled and sat back. He called for two more drinks. “My turn Willi. Listen I also got a call from HQ this afternoon. Seems they are impressed with your service thus far. We had some small talk and such.” The drinks arrived and Willi showed his gratitude by nodding his head.
“Willi, would you like to have your own Jasta ?” the Hptm blurted out.
Again the Hptm had sprung an ambush, a completely successful one too. Willi was caught off guard . His brain went into a sort of limbo. “Well, I never thought about such a move Herr Hptm. I mean I only live day to day thus far.”
“Ahh yes Willi, and your good at that. But instead of just being part of a dud day, you could plan a dud day and experience the joy when it works out positive. You already command the respect of everyone here. You can fly well enough. Hell you make the decisions for most flights anyway. I think it's time you had a say in our little war.”
“Danke Herr Hptm. Are you asking me to go?”
“Not at all Willi, but I think your the man that HQ is looking for.”
“And where if may ask Herr Hptm?”
“To Verdun. Jasta 6 just lost their Kommander. They have been having a terrible time down there. They need someone they don't know, someone to lead them Willi. What do you say Willi, have a go, change things when you can.”
Willi thought for a short while and decided that he was ready for this. “Ja Herr Hptm, I'll do it.”
“Splendid Willi, It comes with a promotion of course, Herr Obltn Rosenstein.” And with that the Hptm stood up and loudly announced, “Meiner Herren, a toast. A toast to the new Kommanding officer of Jasta 6, Obltn Willi Rosenstein.” Everyone raised their glasses and roaring cheer went up. Willi was carried off on the shoulders of two other Pilots. It was to become a very long and wet night for Willi.
MFair - Nice introduction to your new man! It seems like he's wasting no time in getting his score up. German efficiency, eh?
Fullofit - A promotion! And you got rid of that miserable Alford! What a result! Although, ol' Chesty had better keep his wits about him if he's to be flying alone. As for playing the Ace card - when flying with pilots like Lufbery, Thaw, Rockwell, etc. etc. you have to enjoy it before they all out-do your score
Lederhosen - If the Rolands carry on like that then they'll end up hated on both sides of the lines. Congrats on getting your own Jasta!
Lou - Bloody Hell! That is a close, close call...it'll take more than rose hip to get over that one! Keep an eye on those kamikaze air-huns...Swany is too much of a DiD Legend to be rammed out the sky!
Sous. Lt. James B. Fullard, Esc. N.124 'Americaine' Bar-le-Duc, France.
September 3rd, 1916.
I felt myself being shaken gently awake and opened my eyes to find that the sun hadn’t yet come up. Realising our rain-holiday must be over, I sighed heavily and sat up in bed, turning to face the apologetic face of the Corporal, oil lamp in hand, who had roused me. “Sorry sir, but Capitane Thenault has requested your presence downstairs”. Muttering to myself, I pulled my uniform and fumbled towards the door, bumping into Charles Johnson in the hallway. “Morn’, Charles” I mumbled, and he grunted in response. We made our way downstairs to the dining room, where we found an equally lethargic Blanchon, Thaw and Rockwell. Spreading some of the Marmalade gifted to us by our friend, the Caudron pilot from Esc. 13, Thaw let out a groan. “How come I’m always gettin’ the first patrols?” he asked himself. “It ain’t just you,” I responded, “I’ve had the dawn patrols for the last two weeks!”. Thaw chuckled. “Aren’t you glad you joined the army, boy?”.
After snapping up our breakfast we piled into the mess, where Thenault was patiently awaiting us. “Good morning, my Americans. Listen up, because you have an important job today. Command has had a thorn in its side in the form of a German balloon, located here”. With his riding-crop he tapped the map that lay on the central table, indicating a position directly between Etains and Conflan, just North of St. Mihiel. “It has fallen to us to destroy this balloon. Fullard will lead the attack. I have had the mechanics fit your machines with Le Prieur rockets. Be careful of the blast when you fire them at the balloon, don’t get too close! Take-off is at 0430. Best of luck, gentlemen”.
There’s no denying that we were all nervous as our machines were wheeled onto the aerodrome - except for Rockwell, that is. Lately he had developed something of an obsession with attacking the German gasbags, but had seen no success so far. With the Le Prieurs taking up all the available space on the struts, the mechanics left the streamers off my machine. Hastily we bundled into our ships and I led us upwards into the dark morning sky. Flying with explosives strapped to my wings made me very nervous, and I found myself continually glancing at the carnival-esque red and white striped rockets. The closer we drew to the lines the more doubts entered my mind. How do they launch? Will they set my wings on fire? What if they don’t launch but explode anyway?
Our route to the Balloon took us down the entire Northern stretch of No-Man’s-Land between St. Mihiel and Fresne-en-Woevre. At a mere 1000 meters, I was ever conscious of potential high-flying Bosches, scanning the corners of every cloud with distrusting eyes, but no Bosches appeared save for a lone Aviatik high above us. I watched it as it weaved among little white cotton-ball artillery bursts. That’s a rare opportunity...an Aviatik on our side, all alone! I thought to myself. Shame we’ve got other business.
My apprehension only grew as we crossed into the Bosche lines. I was frightfully aware how low we were, and with each trench we crossed I awaited a hail of bullets from below. From that height you can hear the artillery shells hitting the ground, even over the sound of the engine and the wind. Poor devils down there I thought, as a particularly savage explosion caused my Nieuport to shudder. Just then the first anti-aircraft shell burst behind our formation. It was close. The balloon emerged from its veil of smog ahead of us, and the A.A. increased in ferocity, the woof-woof of shells growing ever more frequent. Dropping my nose, I signalled the attack and flew straight at the Bosche balloon.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I set the balloon in my sights, each A.A. burst more menacing and drawn-out than the last. As my target grew nearer still, I saw the muzzle flashes of two machine-guns at its base. #%&*$#, this is too hot! I thought to myself, choking down the fear as the balloon drew nearer, nearer…Now! I flipped the switch in the cockpit and the rockets screamed into life with a bright flash. I held my breath, watching the spider-web of smoke trails - and cried out in dismay as all eight rockets fell short of their target. The others fired their barrages, with little effect. Refusing to accept defeat, I circled back and fired off a drum of Lewis into the balloon. Suddenly I saw flickers of red from within, and the Balloon started to smoke. I curved away to a side and watched from a distance as the gasbag erupted into a huge, blinding fireball. In my excitement I almost forgot about the hail of ground fire coming up at us for a moment, but an artillery burst close off my right wing snapped me back to wakedness, and I quickly turned the flight for home.
The return trip was uneventful, save for Bill Thaw signalling engine trouble as we got back to our side. With a cheery wave, he turned off towards Senard. It seemed Masson’s engine was giving him a hard time as well, and he quickly fell behind the pack. All the same, we were soon back at Behonne, all except for Bill Thaw. After checking the operations board in the Ready Room we made our way back to the Villa for second round of breakfast.
Owing to the fact that we had a line patrol over Senard scheduled for noon, the members of my flight and I decided to take an early lunch. Crafty Masson had been doing a fine job as our new Mess Officer, and had procured from a local farmer some rashers of Bacon, which we had with eggs and toast. However, there was an unfortunate lack of cream for our coffee. Rumsey didn’t seem to mind - he always had his coffee black - but I, along with Chouteau Johnson, decided against doing without.
As we took off bound for Senard, we were thrilled to discover that the weather had let up considerably. The sky was a beautiful blue with lazy rolling clouds hanging easily above the French landscape as we flew out to the West and, after a perfectly pleasant and uneventful flight, we returned home.
In the evening we decided to give the new Gramophone a try. To our delight, the record started to spin, grinding out its question of Who Paid the Rent for Mrs. Rip Van Winkle? “What a fine prize, eh?” Rumsey declared proudly, for it was he who had spied the Gramophone during our piano search. I slapped him on the back, grinning. “I’ll say. The ol’ villa is really starting to feel like home!”. We managed five repetitions of the record before it grew old, but fortunately the sound was replaced by Thenault on his piano. Removing our caps and belts and unbuttoning our tunics we lounged around and happily discussed all things aviation. In the corner, Pavelka was busy finding out why none of us entertained Hall’s poker games any longer. “Did you hear?” Luf asked me, “Nungesser came down roughly the other day. He’s wound up in the hospital”. “What, again?” asked Prince, with a chuckle. “Oui. He wrote me about it, and says he plans to come and stay with us for a while”. From the table came the cry of “Damnit!”, followed by a hearty laugh from Hall. “Read ‘em and weep, Paul! Hand over yer money!”. We all chuckled as Pavelka dipped into his pocket, producing his purse as he muttered profanities under his breath.
The clock struck nine, and we decided to retire for the evening, sleepily making our way upstairs. “I hope we don’t get another damned dawn patrol tomorrow,” Rumsey confided. “Yeah, me neither. I’ve had a headache for the past two days, I could do with a decent night’s rest” I replied. Rumsey flashed a grin. “I’m not sure that the lack of sleep is the culprit, James! You do like your whiskeys, after all”. I laughed and pushed him away. “G’night, Rumsey. See you at four”. He laughed. “P.M, I hope! G’night, James”.
Wulfe, another stellar episode in Fullard's saga, those balloon attacks are always a nail-biter. Thoroughly enjoying the descriptions of everyday life in the Escadrille Americaine.
Lederhosen, Willi is moving up. A promotion and his own jasta to command - outstanding.
MFair, not sure about that "sweet life" Swany is living. He's been wounded three times at this point and is still dealing with the headaches from his concussion and continues to work on getting full strength back in his left leg. But he is on the green side of the sod at this point so I guess life is fairly sweet for him.
Lou, you know what I’m going to say, right? You’ve converted your 1-1/2 Strutter to a 1-1/2 winger. That was close! I’m just glad all I get are Eindeckers in my neck of the woods. No nasty Rolands, no Halberstadts and no Doppeldecker Fokkers. Life really is sweet.
Lederhosen, congrats on the promo and welcome back to Verdun. Didn’t you just leave this party?
Wulfe, good job with that balloon. It seems that taking one of them down is easier than finding a piano, or getting up early in the morning. Great story again! Now, that Nungesser - what has he gotten himself into this time?
The attack on Habsheim aerodrome went well. Mulberry could see the damage below. He was alone. Armstrong and Draper in the ‘A’ flight were just arriving on scene, getting ready to drop their ordnance. It was his single-seat Strutter that brought him over the target first. It was that much faster than a regular Sopwith. He was glad that sack of crap, that Alford was, wasn’t slowing him down anymore.
Toby has already made the corrections to his course for the base when he noticed 2 Fokkers gunning for the other flight. He quickly turned around to lend help and this maneuver didn’t go unnoticed. The Eindeckers abandoned their pursuit of rear-armed planes for one that had no armament. It was an easy choice. Was it because he was alone, or was it because his rear was exposed? No matter, he had his hands full. They turned and circled each other for the longest time. One of the monoplanes had enough of it and left his wingman alone to deal with the Strutter. Toby could then press his attack being certain he will not be surprised from behind. The green Fokker that was unfortunate enough not to leave first was met with the full wrath of Mulberry’s Vickers. The machine lost all power after a hail of bullets ripped through the canvas fuselage and was forced to land in the field. As Toby was flying over he could see the Eindecker hit a ditch, turn over and crumple in a cloud of dust. The ‘A’ flight was long gone by this time but he was still able to catch up to them before the approach to Luxeuil.
"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."
The long flight to east of Belfort for some arty spotting was a miserable one. The rain pelted his plane, him and everything in between. Visibility was poor but Toby could still make out the Holzweiher Lake to starboard. He was glad he kept his speed down so that Edwards in ‘A’ flight could keep up. Two silhouettes appeared ahead and above. Fokkers! The two British aviators decided to divide and conquer. Toby took care of one, forcing him down while trailing smoke, while Edwards disappeared with the other Fokker in the muck. After Mulberry made sure his Eindecker crash-landed properly and not faked it, he started looking for his flight mate. Edwards was nowhere to be found so Toby decided to return across the lines.
That’s when he noticed another Fokker. The Eindecker was already engaging and Mulberry was up for another sparring match. He turned into the Hun and realized that he fell into a trap instead. The Hun brought friends to the party. Not fair! He had an entire Kette above his head and he did the only sensible thing. He ran! Toby dove to pick up speed and get some distance. When he saw there was only one Hun left behind following him, he turned around and faced his foe. The Eindecker was already firing, but missed. Mulberry fired back, but didn’t think he hit him either. He got on his tail and peppered him to taste. Toby came closer, too close. Suddenly the Hun’s and his wings connected. The monoplane crashed into the woods near the lake and Mulberry nursed his Strutter to an open field and landed as gently as possible. It was another lesson for the British pilot. Don’t get too familiar with the enemy.
"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."
Wulfe, another stellar episode in Fullard's saga, those balloon attacks are always a nail-biter. Thoroughly enjoying the descriptions of everyday life in the Escadrille Americaine.
Lederhosen, Willi is moving up. A promotion and his own jasta to command - outstanding.
MFair, not sure about that "sweet life" Swany is living. He's been wounded three times at this point and is still dealing with the headaches from his concussion and continues to work on getting full strength back in his left leg. But he is on the green side of the sod at this point so I guess life is fairly sweet for him.
.
Lou, I was referring to the jams, jellies and other sweets Swany has been consuming. Or I may need to go back and re read. Maybe the multiple concussions this child has had are coming home to roost! Where are my keys?
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end. BOC Member since....I can't remember!