Fullofit - ouch! Close call for Chesty. Seems that those Eindeckers still have a little bite left in them. P.S - I rather hoped my Thenault was Jean Reno Although flyboys was....questionable...I thought Reno was great in the role! I'm very much enjoying Toby exploring his morality in the war so far, it makes for some great Vignettes.
Carrick - Good to see 29 dishing it out! Those damned brass hats are long overdue in awarding Keith the elusive 5th victory.
Lou - Ace-in-a-day! Swany is a force of nature. I think that the VC recommendation is a splendid idea, seeing as Swany's been a cold killer since his Morane days, I'd say it's overdue!
Sous Lieutenant James B. Fullard, Esc. N.124 'Américaine', Paris, France.
September 13th, 1916
The mood was jubilant as we packed our things and prepared to make our way to Bar-le-Duc station, however, we couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia as we prepared to say goodbye to the old Fougerolle villa. “Well, we’ve certainly made the place cozy for whoever takes over here” Prince observed. With his knuckles he rapped on the lid of the Piano, which he had propped himself up against. “Hell, we’ve even furnished the place for them!”. I laughed .”Well worth the effort, eh?”.
As I deposited my suitcase among the others at the foyer, I found Thenault holding a telegram and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “What’s up?” I asked him, and he sighed. “Take a look at this. Can you believe it?” he handed me the telegram and read through it quickly. Despite my best efforts and the Capitane’s frustration, I couldn’t hold back an outburst of laughter. Thenault looked at me annoyed for a moment, but he soon cracked as well and we stood at the foot of the stairs cackling. The telegram was from Lufbery, and simply read “AM HELD IN PRISON AT CHARTRES”. Wiping a tear from my eye, I asked the Capitane how the hell Luf had managed to land himself in a prison on his first day away from the Escadrille. Thenault just chuckled and shook his head in disbelief.
With Luf managing to land himself in a Cell, Thenault told us that he would stay behind to telephone Chartres. “Go on ahead to Paris without me. I shall take the 10 O’Clock train. But, first, I must get my bird out of his cage!”. With that we departed, snickering at the mental image of poor old Luf cooped up in a military prison cell. What on earth had he done?
Despite being given a much-needed rest from the front, we ‘talked shop’ to pass the time on the train, with the most interesting topic being the fate of our machines. “You think some other Escadrille will take them?” asked Masson. “Nah,” Rockwell replied, “I’ll bet they’re off to Plessis to be used as trainers”. I raised an eyebrow. “Nieuport 17s as trainers? The recruits should be so lucky! When I was there we trained on Nieuport 12s!”. Prince laughed aloud. “A luxury, young James! We” - he indicated to Rockwell and Bert Hall - “were trained on Longhorns!”. Chouteau Johnson cut into the conversation. “Well, I envy the pilot that gets to train on Luf’s ship. I’ll be damned if that isn’t the best-maintained machine in France! He’ll be sour to find out he’s been robbed of it”. “Not so,” I replied. “I bet we’re going to get our hands on those new machines with the synchronisers!”. Thaw smirked. "With your luck, James, they'll give you a Nieuport 10!". My pals burst into laughter as I directed a chuckled profanity at Bill.
The Gare de l’Est was packed with soldiers coming to and going from leave, as I had experienced it last. Going through the familiar motions of avoiding sleeping Poillus on the stairs to street level, I turned to my friends. “Well, boys. Here we are. Paris! And a fine place, too! Where are we going to stay, then? The Chatham?”. There were murmurs of agreement. Proudly I offered to lead the way, feeling much like the experienced sightseer since my last trip, but to my disappointment the pilots merely laughed. “No need, James, we know how to get there!”. And so, off we went, the hardened pilots who had flown and fought in the battle of Verdun being at once transformed into a ragtag group of rowdy schoolboys. Down the Rue La Fayette we went, causing a scene as we joked, ribbed each other and carried on stupidly.
We checked into our rooms. Blanchon had already secured himself a lovely dwelling on the third floor, which saw over the rooftops and towards the Arc de Triomphe, which we all invaded as we called upon him to announce the good news. As he swung open the door, we burst in past him and started critically sizing up his room. “Merde! I thought I was free of you!” he cried, to which we laughed heartily. “Well, tough!” I replied, “We’re here for the week. You as well”. Blanchon was surprised. “How come?” he asked. “Well, we’re being moved to Luxeuil, so the Capitane organised a week’s rest for us. Good old Thenault!”.
After being reunited with our Allier, Bill Thaw announced that he was off to visit his sister, and the rest of us made our way downstairs into the hotel's bar, or the ‘club’, as my fellow pilots called it. Downstairs was an ocean of horizon blue - the club was littered with French pilots on leave. In between the blue was the odd dot of khaki - a Royal Flying Corps pilot. They seemed to be a curiosity to their French counterparts, and each one I saw had a small entourage of inquisitive Frenchmen around him. We approached the bar and De Laage leaned an arm on the countertop. Quickly a tall but thin bartender with slightly greying hair and a thick moustache came over to serve us. “Hello, Santo, long time no see,” De Laage said, and the bartender broke into a grin. “Alfred! Mon Dieu! How are you?”. One by one he informally greeted the Escadrille’s older members and introduced himself to the newer among us. As it turned out, Santo was well-known by the ‘originals’ for, among other things, mixing the finest Martinis in Paris.
By the time Thenault arrived with Luf in tow, we were all well-past the point of tipsiness and had descended into drunken rowdiness. Fortunately, as can be expected from a bar full of pilots, this only meant that we blended right into the crowd. As our two comrades approached the table we let out a roaring cheer and broke into applause. “Here he is, our Jailbird!” cried Prince. Luf reddened. “Say, what did you do anyway, Jailbird?” laughed Bert Hall. Irritatedly trying to refute his newly-given nickname, ‘Jailbird’ let spill the details of his arrest. A railway worker in Chartres had been rude to him, to which he had reacted. The man then laid hands on Luf, which he considered an insult to his Medaille Militaire. It was no secret among us that Luf became a very sudden proposition when angered, and the unfortunate railway worker had discovered this fact in the form of a blow that rendered him unconscious and knocked out six of his teeth.
By any means, clever old Thenault had stressed the vital importance of the mission that awaited in Luxeuil, and with his crooning sweet-talk he had quickly convinced the Officer in command of Chartres to release Luf. We all found the story immensely amusing, and, sadly for Luf, his nickname stuck right up until we headed back to our rooms for the night.
Nothing boosts camaraderie like drunkenness, and as I fell onto my luxurious bed that night I felt a deep, brotherly attachment to my pals in the American Escadrille.
Carrick, don’t keep us in suspense. Did you get it? Fingers crossed!
Lou, I think Kaiser forgot to send the memo that the Eindeckers are obsolete. Ignorance is bliss.
MFair, waiting impatiently for Drogo’s instalment.
Harry, it may look like effortless, but it’s only because of the Strutter. I couldn’t do that in a Fokker D.II. That von Outhouse is going to be trouble. Poor Lazlo, I imagine the side of his airplane must now have an interesting camouflage. Next time Herr Halász needs to remind his “colleague” to work on his reflexes. How is he supposed to avoid getting shot if he can’t dodge a little projectile vomit? Great story Harry.
Wulfe, thanks! I’m glad I can contribute to this great experiment that is DiD. Ah yes, Paris. The city of lights. Looks like Fullard is doing the full experience. Loving the camaraderie and can’t wait to read about all the adventures. Good thing they’re staying there for a significant amount of time. Plenty of time to get into trouble.
Mulberry was up early for his first mission of the day. It was a simple escort of the recon machines in the ‘A’ flight piloted by Edwards and Hislop. As he passed one of the hangars he noticed the C.O. standing in the doorway taking stock of the situation. The two men greeted each other. Toby took a peek inside the hangar and whistled. “- Are these the new Nieuports?! When do we get to fly them?” Toby was excited as a schoolboy. “- Calm down, Mulberry. These aren’t for you. L’Escadrille Americaine is coming back to share the ‘drome with us. These are theirs.” ‘Daddy’ put a damper on Mulberry’s excitement. “- Great! First the Canadians, now the Americans.” Toby was crestfallen. “- How do they even get here? Was there a bridge built over the Atlantic I don’t know about?” The young pilot resumed his lonely walk. He needed to get ready for his mission. They didn’t get very far. Toby noticed the puffs of the ack-ack in front of him as soon as he was airborne. A tercet of Eindeckers was descending upon the Strutters. Toby turned into them and banked hard after they’ve passed overhead, losing them temporarily from view in the process. He found two of the Fokkers attacking Edwards. Where was the third one? He looked back and the hair stood on its ends. Jesus Christ! The third Fokker was right behind him sitting on his tail and about to send Toby to meet his maker. Mulberry reacted quickly and dove while kicking the rudder and deploring his craft to turn faster. He was safe ... for the moment. As he executed his emergency maneuver, a green Fokker came into view and Toby followed. He checked behind to make sure the Fokker in the back was not there. He wasn’t there. Toby turn back to the front and fired on the greenie. The Hun dove and banked. Exactly the same move Mulberry executed just a few seconds ago. The British pilot followed but was immediately fired upon by another Eindecker from below. He banked harder. The green Fokker came into view again and then the one that has just fired on him. This time Toby returned the favour. More turning, more banking. At some point both Fokkers came across Mulberry’s gun. He took the opportunity to fire on both then stuck to the green one. He knew the other Fokker can’t bother him now. He continued to chip away at the enemy. The engine began to smoke and finally the terrified pilot’s body became limp and disappeared inside the cockpit. Toby had no time to make sure it wasn’t a ruse. The last Fokker was already rounding the “corner”. But to Toby’s surprise the German was not trying to get on his tail. He was turning tail and scampering for home. Mulberry followed. It took one burst to hit the wing, which collapsed and sent the hapless Hun into the ground. There was no one else airborne. Toby exhaled and looked around. Two craters were smoking around the Luxeuil aerodrome. There was a third one. After landing, Toby found out FL Hislop didn’t make it. He was attempting an emergency landing when the Fokkers showed up. He was too far beyond the airfield and caught the telephone wires. FC Edwards was shot up but managed to land and break the landing gear. Toby filled out two claims. He knew the artillery boys would want a piece of it too.
"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."
Morning Parade : Awarded the Military Cross and was told to have a go as B Flight Commander. Additionally, The powers at Army HQ confirmed my 5th Kill.
Sep 14, 1918.
Posted a dawn Airfield attack, My flight of 4 + 2 Rovers of A Flight took off in the pre-dawn darkness. Hit t he field and avoided a enemy flight going in. I got off 3 strings of 9 or 10 rds then jammed. I cleared the jam put in a fresh drum and made a second run. 1 string of 6-9 shots then Jam. I took the hint and went high as the chaps completed their attacks then RTB
Wulfe, I hope Fullard stays safe in Paris. Great story!
Fullofit, another close one! Stay frosty.
Carrick, congratulations on ace status.
Drogo Dorn Jasta 7, Martincourt Verdun
Sept 14, 1916 After the disaster of a mission on the 9th the Jasta stood down for replacements. The only 3 pilots left flew one friendly territory mission on Dornhiem’s orders just to stay sharp. He spent the rest of the time trying to find out when they would get some new machines to replace the out dated Fokker’s most were still flying. Mock and Drago spent the 3 days making their quarters more comfortable and doing calisthenics to keep sharp. In the afternoon, Mayer returned to duty and Leutnant Franz Jesckonneck transfered in. He would be in Kette Zwei with Dorn and Mock At dinner in the evening while getting to know the new man they learned he had one combat flight to his credit. Dorn Thought to himself “oh my Lord” before realizing he had only been in combat 2 weeks. It seemed a life time. Tomorrow they would be back in the air.
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!
MFair, I hope things can get better for Drogo and his kette, though the way things have been heating up along the front, well, who knows.
Carrick, Keith should probably start loading his own ammo drums, those bent rounds are the worst. Not so sure about that new chap though, he may be teaching some bad habits. And five confirmed victories? I’m sensing some bling for Mallory.
Fullofit, some nice flying there on Toby’s part. Too bad about Hislop. As for the new Nieups, Chesty should be happy with his Strutter, it a fine mount, every bit as good as those N17s will turn out to be.
Wulfe, it appears Fullard and his gang are off to a roaring start in Paris. Let’s hope they can all survive the week, and avoid any further incarcerations in the process.
Harry, I see Lazlo survived, (more or less), his night out in the big town of Cambrai and made a new enemy in the process. Funny stuff. .
Captain Swanson is back from Amiens after a very brief, but much-needed respite. The weather was not conducive to sightseeing as it rained 39 out of the 46 hours he was there. Nonetheless, Swany managed to enjoy himself and got in a fair amount of solid sleep as well. A good thing too since he was just informed by Major Lawrence that he and the rest of 70 Squadron would be flying sorties all night to mask the sound of the new weapon being deployed – tanks. The metal monsters would be rumbling into positions along the front lines from Pozières to Ginchy in preparation of the big push that would begin in the morning. The hope is that the noise of the Sopwiths roaring overhead, dropping bombs, strafing targets, and generally harassing the Huns will cover the noise of the advancing tanks on the ground. Earlier in the day Hun balloons in the area had been shot down or scared from the skies through the concerted efforts of the numerous nearby RFC squadrons, as directed by HQ. Standing orders were to continue to attack them on sight should the Boche try to sneak them back up. It was going to be a very exciting and a very nerve-racking night.
It was a busy night for the lads of 70 Squadron and it was going to be a busy day as well. The many dark hour sorties having been completed the crews are now gobbling down breakfast, drinking scads of hot tea, and sneaking in a few minutes of rest while their mounts are being repaired and prepared for the first outings of the long day ahead. The big push towards Courcelette and Flers has begun and the RFC will be providing all the support it can for the brave men on the ground. Support in the form of recce flights, bombing runs, contact patrols, gun-ranging duties - the entire gamut. Plus, the order to attack Hun observation balloons and keep the enemy blind at all cost still stands. There would be no rest for the weary today.
To the previous night's work done by Captain Swanson and 2nd Lt. Chatwick, the following is a brief summary:
Preparing for the first sortie of the night, a bombing of the enemy trenches near Pozières, though the real purpose of all the night's missions was to mask the noise of the British tanks being moved into position for the morning's big push.
Light winds, few clouds, and a waning gibbous moon allowed for excellent nocturnal flight conditions. Out on the second mission, again to drop more hate on the Hun troops in an effort to disturb their slumbers.
The British big guns were working tonight as well, laying down numerous barrages on the enemy to soften them up, this one northwest of Combles, (no doubt this is keeping Fritz awake too).
During the third sortie Captain Swanson strafed a long column of Hun trucks on their way to the supply lines near Bouleaux Wood.
Pulling up sharply, Swany provided his G/O an opportunity to get his licks in on the convoy.
After a second pass the young ace broke off the attack as the Boche were now returning fire with a vengeance.
By the time Swanson and Chatwick were returning from their fourth egg delivery the eastern horizion was beginning to brighten and against it a Hun balloon was spotted going up.
Swany swung his mount around and flew directly towards the sausage as standing orders were to attack any and all of them on sight.
The Captain began firing as he closed and after several volleys smoke began rising from the gasbag.
Seconds later and the thing went up in a tremendous explosion buffeting the Sopwith and its occupants and washing them in a wave of heat.
Swany carved away immediately and climbed to the west at best speed, the Hun ground gunners none to happy with him.
As the weary pair of airmen passed along the northern edge of Albert the sun crested, casting a beautiful glow across the city. The idyllic scene belied the carnage that was about to begin but a few miles away. The first of the new British tanks, along with tens of thousands of the King's troops, would soon be on the move and wreaking havoc upon the enemy.
.
NOTE: Last night I set up and flew four sorties in a row, following along with what our RL counterparts actually did back then. Due to time constraints I was forced to use 4x compression to get to and from the front, but I flew the patrols and missions in real time. I was exhausted! I don't know how these boys did it time after time after time. And now I have to fly a day's worth of missions as well. These guys were supermen.
Good work Lou. Yes they were remarkable men in remarkable times.
Carrick, congrats to Mallory on #5!
MFair, your Halbs should arrive soon. Be very careful until then. Even once you get 'em, stay away from Swany and Chesty if you can! Bloody assassins those two
Late afternoon found Captain Swanson sitting quietly at a table in the mess, nursing a cup of his ginger tea. Like every other pilot and G/O in the room he was utterly and completely clapped out. The day's events had taken a harsh toll on 70 Squadron: four men killed; four others missing, presumed dead or captured; six Strutters destroyed; all but two of the remaining damaged to varying degrees. Among the unaccounted for are Lt. Jones and 2nd Lt Beatty who had been flying right wing with Swanson when they'd gotten into a massive furball with four Halberstadts and two Rolands south of Bapaume during the morning sortie. Being the flight leader Swany felt personally responsible for their being absent, though he'd no idea what he could have done differently. It had been every man for himself in that swirling madness and the last he'd seen of Jones and Beatty they were being chased by two of the Halbs. Swanson would have gone after to help but he and Chatwick were engaged with a Roland and a Halb of their own. After managing to not only stay alive but sending down two Halberstadts and driving off a Roland in the process, the Captain completed the sortie by lighting up yet another Boche balloon near Delville Wood. The enemy were clearly desperate to get an idea of the situation on the ground to the north of there.
The second outing of the day revealed that there was now a new Hun scout to contend with, all sleek and shark-like, with twin guns. It had been a shock initially when a trio of the devils came diving down on A Flight as they were approaching Flers. The things were godtdam'd fearsome. However, Swany soon discovered that the Strutter could turn inside of them and match them in a climb. In fact, as he went round and round with one in an ascending right-hand turn it was the new Hun craft that stalled out first, dropping down in front of the Captain who immediately got on its tail and stuck there. After several more go-rounds Swany brought his gun to bear on the slippery looking plane and fired three volleys directly into it. The Hun rolled over on his back and fell earthward, righting himself just before he slammed into a small copse of trees. Feeling quite pleased about his victory over the latest the enemy had to offer the Captain climbed back up to altitude in search of the rest of A Flight. He only found one of the other two teams, that being Lt. K-C-Patrick and 2nd Lt. Stanley. Missing were Captain Cruikshank and Lt Preston. "Dammit!" Swany swore under his breath as he led the remnants of his flight home. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" Upon returning to camp and making inquires as to the whereabouts of his lost crews, (about whom there was no news so far), the Captain submitted a brief report assessing what he saw as the capabilities and weaknesses of the new Hun scout plane, which Major Lawrence immediately shared with the rest of the squadron then forwarded along to HQ.
The last outing of the day found the two remaining crews of A Flight running into a pair of Aviatiks headed east near High Wood. They were made quick work of by the King's airmen with both Hun planes being sent down into the mud below. As the pair of Strutters were returning to camp and just about to land the Clerget in Swany's mount suddenly let go with a tremendous bang, spewing oil everywhere and bringing the prop to a grinding halt. The Captain quickly shut off the fuel and magnetos and glided his now-dead bus down into the pasture just east of Fienvillers. Somehow it seemed a fitting end to the brutal string of missions he and his G/O had just managed to survive. It was a short walk back to camp where Swany filled out his last AAR and claim form of the day, his final tally being two observation balloons, two Halberstadts, one of the new Hun scouts, and one Aviatik. The CO remarked on how his ace pilot had just repeated the trick he'd managed not but three days earlier, and if HQ was feeling as generous on this batch as they had on the last Swanson's victory count could jump by yet another five. Swany gave the Major a weak smile, he was simply too tired to care either way, and truth be told he would trade them all to have his missing flightmates back safe and sound.
.
After breakfast and a brief rest Captain Swanson led A Flight out on a contact patrol south of Bapaume.
Once across No Man's Land Swany and his crew were set upon by four Halberstandts who were quickly joined by a pair of the dam'namble Rolands. Archie crashed the party as well.
After a very lengthy battle the lads from 70 Squadron managed to get away. All four Halbs were destroyed, both Rolands had run off damaged and A Flight was missing one crew.
Heading home Captain Swanson saw that the Boche had sent up another observation balloon near Delville Wood. As the order of the day was to keep them down, he attacked it despite the fact that his Vickers was firing at a much reduced rate due to a Roland round that had slammed into the breechblock. Swany was thankful it was still firing at all.
Moments later the balloon exploded in a massive fireball. This would be the Captain's second balloon claim of the day, and before this he'd never even gone after one.
Fienvillers never looked so good.
.
Barely time for lunch and it was out again on another contact patrol around Bapaume.
After twenty-some minutes of patrolling A Flight was attacked by three Hun scout planes, a type they'd never seen before. Very sleek and deadly looking, with twin guns.
At first Captain Swanson was at a loss as to how to handle this latest threat, but he soon discovered that his Strutter could turn inside them and match them in a climb. The new machines could roll quicker though.
After several turns Swanson had the slippery, nasty looking plane in his sights and let fly with several bursts from the Vickers.
Following the crippled Hun down Swany watched as it crash into a copse of trees, afterwhich the Captain climbed back up to altitude to reform his flight, only to discover that another crew had gone missing.
Coming home for the sixth time in less than fifteen hours, and still not done.
.
Out on what would prove to be the final sortie of the very, very long day. Back to the same area, this time running across a pair of Aviatiks returning from a recce. K-C-Patrick jumps ahead and makes the first pass.
Swany takes his turn on the other plane, diving slightly to build speed then making a slashing pass as he climbs up and over the Hun to provide his G/O a shot while at the same time avoiding the Hun gunner.
Coming around for the second pass the Aviatik is now trailing smoke. The Captain laces the plane from tail to nose with a long burst from the Vickers.
Swany continues to take shots at his prey, following down and watching the Hun crash and flip over on the friendly side of No Man's Land.
A last bit of excitement as Swanson is approaching Fienvillers. Something in the bowels of the Clerget explodes bringing the prop to a dead halt and spewing oil everywhere. The Captain managed to set down safely in the field just east of camp.
I'm finally getting back to DID flying after a crazy busy summer. Dungeon Master Raine will assign my old pilot to a new squadron (Jasta) tomorrow. I won't even attempt to read all the posts I've missed during the past two months, but I'm trying to get an overall understanding of the current DID situation. Seems the air war is getting serious now - as it should.
Fortunately for the Luftstreitkräfte, the real life Sopwith Strutter wasn't quite as deadly against scouts as the one we have in WOFF! Superb work, Lou.
"Upon my word I've had as much excitement on a car as in the air, especially since the R.F.C. have had women drivers."
James McCudden, Five Years in the Royal Flying Corps
Hasse, great to have you back with us! Hope to be enjoying your reports again very soon.
Thank you, and quite true about the planes, though to be fair Swany does know how to push his kite to its absolute limits and the Albatros pilot did seem to be a rather green one. So there's that.
Lou, Swany has been a busy man! Nice story and screen shots.
Hasse, welcome back! Looking forward to your exploits. H and soon joined
Drogo Dorn Jasta 7 Verdun Sept. 15, 1916
Kette Zwei was up at sunrise to take down a balloon northeast of Verdun. It was a beautiful day and the sunrise almost made Drogo forget there was a war on. The Archie crossing the lines brought him back to reality. As they approached the balloon, Mock dove first, then Dornhiem and Drogo. Jesckonnek on his first mission with Jasta 7 was ordered to stay high and observe. Drogo noticed Mock had the sausage smoking as he pulled up. He and Dornhiem opened up together but Dornhiem’s rounds were wide. Drogo’s tracers went straight into the balloon and it exploded lighting up the sunrise. Dorn pulled up and joined Mock. He noticed he was heading west and Dorn was having none of it. He turned north and joined the other 2 members of his flight. There was no contact and they landed in time for breakfast. Dornhiem congratulated Drogo on his shooting.
The three fliers were having breakfast as Mock walked in and sat down. “Where did you go?” Drogo asked. Mock said he wanted to see if the French were up for a fight so he skirted the 3 airfield west of Verdun before returning. “That kind of behavior will get you killed my friend” Drogo replied shaking his head.
Unterofficier Hummel transfered in after noon. They were now official up to full strength with 6 pilots. Drog’s balloon was quickly confirmed. His total now stood at 4.
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!
Carrick, congrats on that fifth, elusive victory. Now that you are an ace, you have to act like one. More drinking, more philandering and more fights!
MFair, congrats on that balloon claim. Drogo is hitting his stride. Glad Jasta is at full strength again. Any word when the new machines are going to arrive?
Lou, the man is on fire! He is a weapon of mass destruction. Congrats on the confirmed and unconfirmed kills. As to the Strutter being as good as the new Nieuport, Toby doesn’t know that yet, hence the aero-envy. Great report. It is almost like a comi... I mean graphic novel. Swany must be near exhaustion and probably could use another 48 hour pass. How do you even see anything at night? Do you adjust your “windscreen” brightness? And finally, an Albatros down! Down here we haven’t even seen the Halbs yet. I expect they’ll simply switch to Pfalzes and skip all that nonsense in between.
HarryH, assassins?! I prefer to call us the Strutter Scourge. Argh!
Hasse, long time no see. Come on over. The blood is only knee deep. The Strutter is what the Eindecker should have been.
"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."
Keith Cunard Mallory LT, Rfc B Flight Commander 29 Sqn, Ablee AF. DH-2's 5 Kills
15 Sep 1016.
Defensive Patrol: B Flights 4 a/c chased a couple of E/ A at Max Altitude. Every time we closed, our machines stalled out. One a/c went into a spin and barely made it after losing 2,000ft.
Carrick, those Aircos are tricky, in particular the higher you get them. Don't want to stall one out and end up in one of those deadly spins they are notorious for.
Fullofit, glad you enjoyed the comi .. er um .. graphic novel. To the night flying, it's about a must to have a bright moon shining up there else wise it's very hard to see a darn thing. I don't turn up screen brightness, but that is one way to work around it. As for the Albs, it was a surprise to see them. I know Swany was lucky in that his attacker was a green pilot. When and if he goes up against someone like Boelcke flying an Alb it will very likely be a much different and more dangerous fight.
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16 September 1916 Fienvillers, France
It was very somber for Captain Swanson and the rest of the men last night in the mess at 70 Squadron - lots of empty chairs. General Trenchard had sent over a message saying the lads work that day had been "dam'd good".
News came in this morning about the missing teams of A Flight: Captain Cruikshank and Lt Preston had been killed in a crash; 2nd Lt Beatty had died from injuries when his plane landed behind enemy lines, with his pilot Lt. Jones being captured. Swany was saddened by all this to be sure, but he was becoming more and more numb to the losses as they quickly piled up ever higher. The Somme push had become a meat grinder.
After returning from an early morning recce of the line situation near Flers, (in what few airworthy planes the mechanics were able to piece together), Swany was informed by Major Lawrence that Captain Baring, (Trenchard's personal secretary), was visiting and, at the General's suggestion, was to take one of the men with him on his rounds to the other squadrons. The Major suggested Swanson should be that man. Swany wasn't sure why, but he saw no reason why he shouldn't. Besides, seeing how the other units fared in yesterday's madness might do him some good he thought - put things in perspective, so to speak.
Lou - my word! Swany is a killing machine! How has he not won the VC yet? Well, no matter...I sense he'll win the 'big one' very soon...shame about 70 Squadron's losses, that Somme offensive sounds nasty...
Hasse - looking forwards to your return!
MFair - Congratulations on #4! Only one more for acedom now. I wonder, will Drogo be the next Blue Max winner?
Carrick - close call for your wingman. Those DeHavs are a handful...
Sous Lt. James B. Fullard, Esc. N.124 'Américaine', Paris, France.
September 16th, 1916
“Hey, James, got any cash?” Thaw asked me, bearing a wide grin and trying unsuccessfully to hide the newspaper article he clutched behind his back. I raised an eyebrow. “What are you up to now?” I asked. He stifled a laugh. “We’re going to get a mascot for l’Escadrille Luf elaborated, also wearing a cheeky smile. “What about Fram?” I asked. Thaw shook his head. “Oh, we like Fram, but we’ve just found out about a very special pet that some doctor is selling not too far from here. We need 500 Francs, and we’ve only got 380. Whaddaya say?”.
Sighing, I pulled my purse from my trouser pocket and handed over 50 francs. “This had better be one hell of an impressive pet” I muttered. Luf slapped me on the back. “Oh, don’t worry mon ami, he is!”.
As had become my routine, I headed to the Ritz where it was Andrew’s turn to by lunch. As we sat down to a plate of pommes frites each, I looked him over. He had been in especially high spirits since my last visit - as promised, he had applied to join the Air Service. “So, any news, kid?” I asked him, and he pulled a note from his pocket. “Look here! My transfer has been accepted! They want me to report to Plessis at the end of the week”. I studied the note, identical to the ones Michael and I had received shortly after our arrival in France, and felt a pang of nostalgia. However, the feeling was soured as I looked over the table at Andrew and thought of the many dangers he had signed himself up for. “Good news, kid! Make sure you pay attention to everything you hear in the classroom. Only the top recruits get put in scout squadrons”. He nodded seriously. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry about that. I’m gonna fly Nieuports like you and Michael”. I handed him the note back. “You know, the Bosche are getting better machines. It’s not like when we started”. Andrew gave me a devilish smile. “Little good it’ll do ‘em” he said. My fist balled on the table. “Dammit, Andrew, don’t take the Bosche lightly. They’re good in the air. Just, use your head, okay?”. He agreed.
Around the evening is when the Ritz came to life. British and French pilots, war reporters from back home, Parisian socialites, all came down from their rooms or their nearby hotels and converged in one mass party. As I stood in my drink-stained tunic I chatted away with an English pilot who had just managed to secure himself 48 hours away from the front. He had been surprised to learn that I was an American - as it turns out, the English were hardly aware any of us had come over at all. “Say, pal, we’ve been itching to get involved in that big scrap at the Somme. Is that where you fly? What’s it like?” I eagerly asked him. He let out a long sigh, accompanied by a drag of his cigarette. “I wouldn’t bother if I were you, old boy, it’s a bloody mess over there. Our Quirks and Fees are dropping like flies, and even the DeHavs and Strutters have been having a rough time. The Hun have these damned new machines that fly rings around us whenever they please, and we’re stuck using the same old buses. It’s bloody murder”.
I was puzzled. “Fokker biplanes? You’re having that much trouble with them?”. I wondered just how inferior the English aircraft were to our Nieuports. To my surprise, the Englishman laughed. “My word, no! I wish the Hun were flying those tame little crates! No, my boy, I’m talking about Albatroses”. Something in the way he said the enemy machine’s name sent a chill down my spine.
“Albatroses? I haven’t heard of them”. “You can count yourself lucky, my friend”. “Why? What are they like?”. “Very quick, faster than our old buses, and they climb like the devil. They have two machine-guns that fire through the propeller. All the Hun’s planes seem to do that these days. By any means, they’re a damned sight better than our DeHavs. And, of course, if it isn’t them we meet then it’s Halberstadters. Almost as bad, but only one gun”.
I pondered over this new information. Albatroses. How much better than an Eindecker were they? Were there any around Verdun? Did they really make the new Fokker Biplanes look tame? For a moment I felt myself getting nervous, but then my mind wandered back to the new synchronised Nieuport 17s. “We’ve got new machines on the way as well” I told the Englishman. “Nieuports, also synchronised. Maneouvrable as the old 11s and quicker than the 16. Climbs faster too, apparently. You think these Albatroses will match up?”. The pilot shrugged. “Well, I hope they don’t for your sake, dear boy. All I really know is one of those damned air-huns is going to get me sooner or later”. He stared into his drink.
Leaving the Englishman’s side, I joined the Escadrille for another round, and then another. Tomorrow, we would be departing for the front once more. The mood was so high that we even humoured one of Bert Hall’s crooked poker games, and although our pockets were all made lighter we still enjoyed ourselves. Towards the end of the night, Thaw clapped a hand on my shoulder. “James! We’ve gotten the 500 Francs! Rockwell’s given us the rest of the money we needed. We’re going to go and pick up the Mascot first thing tomorrow, before we get the train to Luxeuil”. He laughed as he told me, slamming back another whiskey. “Well, that’s all well and good, Bill, but I still don’t know what I’ve paid for!” I replied. With a grin he removed the same newspaper article from his pocket and stuffed it into my hand. Frowning, I unfurled the paper and read through the article he pointed out to me. As I read, my eyes widened in shock. “You’re serious?” I asked him in awe, to which he simply let out an uproarious laugh and turned back towards our table.
Wulfe, good to hear your RFC intelligence concerning these "Albatroses". German high command haven't informed Lazlo's lot about them yet, but he certainly needs a new machine
Feldwebel Lazlo Halász,
Jasta 1, Bertincourt, France September 14th 1916
Lazlo had remained in his hut the previous evening, blubbering like a giant, oversized baby. He was distraught from having received the news of his room mate's death. Feldwebel Breuer's Halberstadt had caught some shrapnel from the heavy ground fire during their escort mission. Lazlo hadn't noticed his disappearance, probably because he was too occupied with his pounding headache and unsettled stomach. Apparently Breuer had managed to wrestle his machine almost to the ground, but he was over enemy lines and was caught in a hail of gunfire and hit in the head and body several times. The only merciful thing about the whole episode is that he probably died quickly, but no one could be sure. Lazlo hadn't fully appreciated the horror of the war in France up to this point. Now he was shocked and appalled by it all. It was actually Von Althaus who was the first to offer his condolences, as they stood on the field the next morning waiting to take off. Lazlo may have been an oaf the day before, but Von Althaus was certain that he'd been very close friends with Breuer, and it was always very painful to lose one of their own.
They had only been in the air ten minutes or so. Lazlo had been lost in his thoughts, not really concentrating. He formed the tail end of a four machine formation heading off on a reconnaissance protection assignment. Suddenly there was a massive explosion and oil immediately coated his windscreen. Lazlo momentarily froze and he heard a crackling sound behind him. He smelled smoke. It was different than the caustic smell of artillery fire. He quickly turned to see flames spreading down the length of the fuselage! There was only one thing to do if Lazlo wanted to avoid being burned alive - dive! He slammed the stick forward and willed his machine to earth as quickly as it could go. Who cared if the wings tore off! Somehow he was able to fight the urge to simply jump out of the burning coffin and was eventually able to bring it down roughly in a cornfield. Luckily, no trees around, thought Lazlo. Now he needed the machine to come to a standstill so that he could unbuckle and get the hell out of there. After what seemed an eternity the machine came to rest and Lazlo scrambled out. He became aware of extreme discomfort...his flying suit was smoldering. He threw himself to the ground and rolled around to put out the flames. Now he felt the pain, full force and he bellowed from the agony of the searing, burning sensations in his legs and back.
Lazlo's cries had attracted the attention of a nearby farmer and his son who were out doing their early morning chores. They ran up to Lazlo.
"Sacre bleu!" the old farmer muttered, looking horrified at the giant pilot's charred suit. He ordered his son to fetch the horse and cart. Then, they gingerly helped Lazlo to his feet. The boy dropped the rear gate of the cart and together with his father they carefully laid Lazlo in the back of the cart.
It took then nearly an hour to trek through the tiny lanes toward the front lines at Monchy-le-Preux. There was mayhem everywhere! The German army were being pressed back by the French in that region and the sound of heavy gunfire could be plainly heard. The farmer was able to locate a field hospital and eventually they found a stretcher for Lazlo. The doctors were worried it wouldn't take the weight of the large pilot, but they eventually managed to move him into a large receiving tent. The moans and groans of wounded soldiers were all around them. The framer and his son waited a while to be sure Lazlo got medical attention. Eventually two nurses appeared at his side and began to cut away the charred fabric of his suit to expose an ugly mess of black, charred, peeling skin and the red raw layers underneath, blistering with fluid. The boy wretched and turned away. The nurses hurried to clean the wounds and gently applied bandages as best they could.
"Don't worry, little fellow", one of the nurses cooed, "this big man here is going to be fine. His wounds aren't too bad at all. He will recover. You helped to save him with your quick actions". She gave him a warm smile as his father patted him lovingly on the head. Back at their farm, all that was left of the Halberstadt was a charred mess of wires and burning embers.
* WOFF has sharp teeth sometimes. No warning of that because I have all messages off for realism. Precious little time to get that thing down. I'm amazed Lazlo survived but very relieved
Carrick, you be careful up there. We want to see #6.
Lou, it is odd how suddenly Swany lost that lovin’ feeling and spews hate in the easterly direction. Let’s see how he reacts to the life in different squadrons. Will he ask for a transfer? Will he kill more Huns? Will he ever meet Collins again? This, and many other questions need to be answered.
Wulfe, a lion cub! Oh dear! Perhaps L’Escadrille should purchase a few more of those monsters and let them run across the frontlines and take care of the Boches? It would also solve the problem of those Albatroses. They do sound terrifying. Good thing Fullard is ditching the Pig and getting into one of those spiffy seventeens. As they say, Bon voyage. Toby will see you at Luxeuil.
Harry, that was one roasted Big Red! Did you remember to turn the engine off? It appears Lazlo burned his Arschloch. This won’t sit well with him.
The two Fokkers from the Colmar mission, where Mulberry nearly died, were rejected. Claims over enemy territory, or some nonsense like that. And wouldn’t you know it? Toby was right about the AA boys contesting one of the Fokkers over the aerodrome. Only the green Eindecker has been given to Mulberry.
"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."