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Henri Patois
Verdun
June 29th, 1917
Escadrille3 No. 23

Over the line patrol today at 4500m. The weather was rough below, but we got above it. After reaching the patrol area, we circled around for a bit before pouncing on three Albatros scouts that my boys in the Nieuports made merry with. Unfortunately, that was before the four other Albatros showed up! I had two busy for a while before one dropped out and I was able to get some shots on the other. Saw one of my flight below and joined up with him and we headed for home. When we got back to the field, we found it was not a bad deal for us, two enemy down with a minor wounding on our side...



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Henri Patois
Verdun
July 15th, 1917
Escadrille3 No. 23

We made a raid on an observation balloon just east of us that has been causing some trouble for our troops. I took two Nieuports with rockets while our two SPADs provided cover. As the attack was commencing, four Albatros scouts swooped down with plans of their own. I kept them busy for a few moments while the balloon was destroyed and then latched onto one that have dove below me and was coming back up to attack. I believe I killed the pilot on that one as his craft rolled to the left and smashed into the ground. On the way back over the lines, I ran into another with the same squadron markings that must have chased one of my Nieuports back. I descended on him and fired until his engine went out and then continued to harass him all the way down until he landed on our side of the lines. Both confirmed!



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Rick, congrats on a double kill. Your SPAD in a turning fight against an Albatros and you’ve lived to tell the tale. Excellent flying. Do you sometimes feel like there is some latency when you press the trigger? I find many missed opportunities (if you will) when my Lewis or Spandau has to “spool up” before firing. Feels like a Gatling gun in Wolfenstein. WoFFenstein I should say.


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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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Heh, maybe? The Spandau could be due to the synchronizer, but I don't know what the Lewis' excuse is. I'm not sure if I notice it, if so, I probably just assume it's because I'm bad...

Also, forgot to put it in the report, but that was one of the windy-er missions I've had. My nose was bouncing all over the place and I think the enemy was feeling it too...


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Rick, forgot about the synchronizer. It could be it.
You should try the N16 on a windy day yep


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Oh, I don't try the N16 on any day! That thing will stall and crack up on a warm sunny day sitting in a field...


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Hello chaps,

I've had the chance to enjoy a bit of WoFF time again. Flying the Bristol Scout in Feb 1916 is proving to be a lot of fun. Fokker scourge my backside, I've become the scourge of Fokkers with my little "cock-eyed wonder". I tried to make a basic skin edit labeling my steed with this title such but Photoshop seems to want to change the dimensions of things and I have no idea where to put the dds texture after I'm done anyway so more effort is required on that score. Nevertheless my pilot Sgt Pilto has scored two victories, (one confirmed) over the Eindecker and destroyed a balloon. He would have scored two balloons but I forgot that over eager wingmen like to take the fight to the enemy balloon corps in a somewhat up close and personal way and, unfortunately, I lost my faithful lackey on my last sortie due to this bit of negligence on my part. (As well as a chap from "A" Flight who managed to get himself shot down somehow, or maybe it was the other way around??? I really think that both of them died from balloon fever actually, but without any identifying markings to differentiate between them it was difficult to keep track of everything while being preoccupied with not ending up the same way myself.

The Bristol Scout is quite a lot of fun, F6 view makes the offset Lewis gun usable and I'm getting quite used to the offset arrangement and, to an extent, there is the advantage of being able to aim the gun without the nuisance of having the engine cowling in the way all the time which makes tracking targets a lot easier. I think you have to be a bit mad to make this kind of thing work for you, somewhat obsessive so that works in my favour. According to google, Maj Lanoe Hawker had a bit of success with the aircraft after mounting a twin Lewis arrangement on the thing, which seems to have been engineered to fire outside the propeller arc and directly ahead in a more conventional and pedestrian fashion. I think that sort of takes the fun out of it but doubtless the good Major knew what he was doing. (It may have been the aircraft he was flying when he earned his VC. The fact that WoFF provoked this curiosity has been a gratifying and enlightening experience.

I hope this pilot will make it through the 50 hour barrier and gain his commission, there seems to be an alarming number of Sgt pilots in my squadron. Out of all of us only two people are commissioned Lts which is somewhat odd. One day at a time though. Sgt Pilto has to go now as he has been invited to mess at a Be-2 Squadron up North after saving two of their kites from the tender affections of three Eindeckers. He hopes that their mess staff know some way of preparing corned beef in a manner that is fit for human consumption or that they have been able to accquire victuals of a more local origin. The chaps have loaded him up with a crate of passable red as a gesture of inter squadron diplomacy, in the hopes that he may broker some type of exchange that would result in less monotonous fare for a day or two. The CO has given Pilto's junket his blessing and told him to go easy on the vin rouge and to bring his Scout home in one piece in time for the afternoon show tomorrow. Things are very cavalier at 11 Sqn, with a young Lt commanding and no real discipline about the place outside of the basic expectations of RFC life. If you want to take a Scout across France for lunch, here's permission for a test flight and good luck to you so long as you're home in time (and sober enough) to do your chores!

EDIT: Sgt Pilto is also very keen to investigate rumours of this Platinum business. It seems that the WoFF gods have not been idle in his absence!

Last edited by Ace_Pilto; 10/07/19 01:06 AM.

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Well old SGTPilto has 10 hours under his belt...

4 Eindeckers and 2 Balloons as well but the fun police at RFC HQ have decided that SGT Pilto is too ostentatious in his lavish, Fokker genociding lifestyle and only credited him with one Fokker and one balloon. SGT Pilto is going to land alongside to the next Fokker he shoots down, he's going to take a spanner with him so he can unbolt the prop from said Fokker and then SGT Pilto is going to fly to RFC HQ, SGT Pilto is going to politely inquire as to the whereabouts of the officer in charge of claims and SGT Pilto is going to take that fine piece of German craftmanship and insert it somewhere where it was never designed to be inserted until his victim's stupid face is as red as his stupid bloody staff tabs.


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A Flight got all the Fokkers today, nailed 2 of them. Staff rejected their claims of course.


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Added an Aviatik, E.III and Sausage to the score since last report. HQ was gracious enough to confirm the Aviatik and the E.III, not sure what their issiue was with the gasbag, probably felt like I'd murdered one of their kin. Pipped by archie on the way to Vitoroy or Vitriol, some place in Hunland that sounds like that anyway. Had to glide back and only just made it to our lines, would have been a couple of thou higher if I'd chosen to fly over the clouds instead of under them at 4 thou. Silly me.


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Unfortunately Sgt Pilto was killed in the line of duty by a E.II that decided to bounce Savy. The Fokker chopped it's throttle in a desperate attempt to evade Pilto's guns and ended up sitting on his lap.

Fast forward a little and Caporal Pilto (under a new nom de guerre) Has rolled the dice and now flies for Esc LaF in Alsace. Apr 1916. I miss my Bristol Scout and flying over terrain that is nice and flat, being at 6000 ft and almost within range of the MG's at the front is disconcerting, the amount of trees and mountains is also disconcerting, especially when it is cloudy (which it usually is). Hopefully our hero can make it to the 50 hour mark this time.


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Jim McConnell and my wingman both had engine troubles on the last sortie, Jim's went right after t/o and he made it back to the field. Casale, my "ailier", landed goodness knows where (probably some Caudron base), they set his engine right and he turned up at the field a few hours late. We thought he must be a goner, nothing but mountains and trees to land in but he did ok.

Might have seen an Aviatik overhead on the partoll but he was 2k above and heading the other way. Nobody seemed interested in investigating so I stayed w the formation. Fingers crossed my engine continues to behave itself.


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Apr 24, 1916

Casale's run of bad luck continues and he once again was forced out of the formation en route due to engine troubles. He had no luck in finding a safe field an ended up amongst the trees, fortunately he survived unscathed. We met 3 x E.III's at the front. Managed to latch on to one and expended all of my ammunition but wasn't able to aim very well due to the lack of any gunsight. Quite embarassing really, waffling along behind him armed with nothing but fould language and wondering how to awkwardly disentangle myself from this situation. Fortunately the Fokker wasn't keen on continuing the fight either and we went our separate ways with a wave and a waggle of the wings.Soon after rounds struck my little Bebe and I stuffed everything into a corner in the most panicky way. I thought another Fokker had come to end my miserable existence but it was only rifle and MG fire. I sped away west, picking my way through the low cloud and mountains until I got home.

The Adjutant tore strips off of Rockwell that night, calling him 'terry blay" and a "cochon" for his poor formation flying. Kiffin had been 50 ft too high the entire time and not being able to see him did make my life quite trying for me I must admit, I was terrified of pranging into him almost the whole time. The Adjutant then gestured toward me with his pipe stem, muttering something about "Le Garcon" and shaking his head glumly.

I later learned that he was berating Rockwell by stating that "Even the boy is able to hold station better than he was". I daren't allow myself feel any satisfaction at this translation, tomorrow the fiesty adjutant might fancy a strip of myself with his supper.

This seemed to amuse everyone anyway and I was referred to as "Garcon" all night in the mess which caused the mess attendants no end of consternation, each one of them snapping to attention whenever the word was uttered. It turns out that waiters and mess attendants are typically summoned by the word. All night it was "Garcon" this and "Garcon" that. "Garcon, would you please pass the salt" and what have you. Eventually the amusement of this spent itself, but not before it had been decided by all that my Lafayette name was to be "Boy". Caporal Roger "Boy" Maurchand.


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Well, what an adventure.

After HQ decided to send its' most expendable pilot after a balloon I was nominated for the task by the Adjutant. My Nieup was loaded up with Le Prieur rockets and I was wished good luck by all and sundry who were on hand to see me off. Kiffin pulled me aside before I set off and said "Look here fella, just have a snoop around, see what the Archie is like first. No use getting into strife for the sake of a silly sausage. If it's too hairy then fire your rockets into the Bosche trenches and head for home, just tell them you did your best, A flight will be around up there somewhere and they'll vouch for you." I nodded, my heart sinking at his words. I knew that I really must be in for it to receive this kind of pep talk.

It was a decent day, so far as the weather around here goes. Mostly cloudy but with the cloud base at around 8,000ft. I climbed to 6,000 and set off for the lines. Reaching the target I had only just sighted the balloon when the Archie started to come up. It was terribly accurate and Rockwell's words echoed in my mind as it boomed all around me. It was too late to turn back, that would just make me an easy target. I decided to at least commit to rocketing the thing and let loose at the gasbag with the Le Prieurs. Far too early, they sailed well beneath my target and I was hit by Archie to punish me for my poor aim. The crate seemed okay though so, "In for a penny, in for a pound" I muttered and closed to gun range, peppering the sausage good and proper before wheeling around for another pass to finish it off. I had a brief moment of satisfaction as it caught fire but even this momentary glimpse of redemption was cut short by the arrival of two Fokkers who had taken an interest in me and my hapless antics.

I wheeled around to meet their attack, knowing full well that I was caught red handed and about to be punished. The turn put me in a fair position but, before I was able to gain the advantage over either of them, fuel tank ran dry. It had been perforated by a shell fragment and I was treated to a symphony of comparative silence. Scanning desperately for a place to land I muttered and cursed as I was forced to decide between evading gun fire from the Fokkers who were all too eager to press home the attack, and then some sporting wretch with a machine gun on the ground decided to join the party. Tracers criss crossed uncomfortably close on all sides and I curled into the smallest possible shape I could. A small hillside clearing loomed ahead, seemingly my only hope at salvation and certainly the best I could manage under the circumstances. I pointed the nose at it, clearing a ridge and dipping down the other side with the last of my airspeed running out. A shuddering crash, quickly followed by another caused me to glance over my shoulder and to my amazement, both of the Fokkers slammed into the crest of the ridge! By this point I was somewhat hysterical and began laughing uncontrollably while attempting to line up for a landing while I prayed for the continuing support of the holy trinity during the remainder of my escapade.

The hillside clearing ahead rose up to meet me and I stalled my aircraft into it, hopping that the dropped wing would absorb enough of the impact to preserve my hide.

By some miracle got away with this as well. I freed myself from the wreckage of my poor Nieuport as fast as I could and lit out for the forest before the it caught alight, knowing full well that I must run or the Bosche would locate me anbd probably shoot me for the carnage I had wrought upon their ranks. A few hours of hiking later and I collapsed, exhausted and fell asleep in a bed of pine needles. I awoke later that night, chilled by the evening air and managed to sneak across No Man's Land and back to our lines where I was given the once over by a French medic who promptly issued me with a sedative and packed me into a tender bound for the rear. Two days after my crash I was home again where I found an inflated prophylactic pinned the entrance of my quarters with a note underneath reading "Boy" Roger Maurchand Esq, Balloon Hunter Extraoirinaire! Inside my quarters my comrades had packed themselves into ranks where they lay in ambush with several bottles of champagne which they had aimed at the doorway. A salvo of flying corks greeted me as I came through the door, red faced with embarrassment I flinched and almost threw myself to the ground in confusion, overexcited by my my travels as I was. Reeking of castor oil, urine, sweat and earth I began to grin like a maniac.

We all got soundly drunk. Nobody seemed to mind that I was somewhat worse for wear, they just poured that champagne into me until everything became a melange of happy, slightly concerned and increasingly blurry faces. I finally fell asleep, safe and sound for now..


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Another three patrols for Roger Arceneaux (That's his name, I don't know where I got the other one from)

Anyway, after his escapades at the front after the great balloon adventure our hero found himself in the thick of it again. He and SGT Casale took off for a "patrol 'd bombardment" (Offensive patrol?) And met a lone Fokker coming the other way over the front. Casale and Arceneaux soon got the advantage over him and, seeing as Casale had latched onto the Fokker's tail quite firmly, Arceneaux was content to let him have it, keeping watch from on high and swooping down to pepper the German when opportunity presented. After one such attack the Fokker seemed to lose his will to fight and began descending. Roger could see that the E.III was done for, he must have done some serious damage to it, but Casale couldn't make such a distinction and continued to tail the Fokker at about 50 yds, hammering away at it as it lost height and drew nearer to the forest covered hillsides. Arceneaux knew what was going to happen, Casale had forgotten anything else in the world existed except for his target and, consequently, when the stricken Fokker ploughed into the treeline, so did poor Casale.

Roger then continued the patrol, flying over the lines alone at 6,000 ft and waffling about over a Bosche field. some Aviatiks happened along but they were too low for his tastes. Two of them lit out after seeing Roger lurking above and the third decided to land. Roger knew better than to interfere. Archie gets lucky more often that you'd believe and it's a long glide home with no engine. Eventually turning for home Roger was almost back tot he lines when he turned to look behind, just in case, and there were two Fokkers behind him about a mile back. They seemed to be gaining so Roger waited patiently before turning into their attack. A Green Fokker led the pair, Roger had never seen a green one before. The other was the typical dun colour and both of them were very interested in Roger. They needent have bothered, Roger's Nieuport easily outperformed them and soon he was in position behind the green one, firing a burst that caused him to initiate a descending corkscrew turn. Arceneaux didn;t follow, the other Fokker was his priority now and he gave it the same treatment, maintaining his advantages where he could find them and firing off the last of his ammunition into it before speeding away West. On the way home he found a mountain lake, a brief excursion revealed that there were no Chalet's of cabins by the shores which struck him as odd. Perhaps there might be some good fishing up there, maybe even some swimming if the weather got warmer.

Roger didn't even bother putting in a claim for the Eindecker, he was fairly certain that his shots had dome the fatal damage but it didn;t seem fitting. Let Casale have the honour, his final accomplishment with the Escadrille. The Adjutant asked him to write a letter to Casale's wife, Roger dutifully obliged and he put down that Casale showed "no regard for his personal safety". A polite way of saying that he was a careless idiot. Arceneaux was angry that Casale has thrown his life away so foolishly.

The next day B Flight went along to patrol the same area and didn't see a thing. Even Archie couldn't be bothered shooting at them.

Patrol number 3... Well it wasn't even a patrol. Clouds closed in again and the Adjutant sent Roger up to scout the path to the front. The cloud ceiling was too low for anyone to get through the mountains and Roger turned for home to report his findings. He spent most of the rest of the day resting and contemplating the events of his first week with the Lafayette Escadrille. Kiffin Rockwell and Jim McConnell invited him to play cards and they whiled away the long, dull hours in the crew room by the stove. Looking at their cards, each man pensive, drawn faces lost in their own thoughts but robotically going through the motions of playing five card stud for amounts of a currency they rarely had time to spend, nor even knew the value of compared to their American dollars.

Despite having a French name, Roger was not a Frenchman. His parents migrated to The US and had made their way west to California int he 1870's, they'd done quite well out of the rail boom and Roger had been attending an engineering school in England, preparing for a career in the railways when the war began. A short boat trip and several months of training later and here he found himself. Losing francs to two of his countrymen in a strange country.

Tomorrow it might be someone else playing cards in his place, or it might be none of them at all. Eventually an NCO announced that the mess bar was open for the evening and, to a man, they washed their thoughts away before dinner.


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Operations are currently postponed due to a new offensive being launched, code named "Operation Platinum". Caporal Arceneaux will be slipping into his little Nieup after this process has been "Installed" and "Patched".

Whoever composes these communiques from HQ must be off his rocker, what does it all mean baby?


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Well Roger "Boy" Arceneaux got sick and tired of his flight lead going:

On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.
On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.
On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.
On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.
On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.
On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.
On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.
On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.
On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.
On the throttle, cut back and hover at stall speed.

for the best part of two and a half hours (two sorties)

And an unfortunate and quite deliberate collision with said flight lead ended Roger's unusual career and my ability to stay immersed. I never had this problem in UE??? Would that be related to the modded mission set I was using?

I should also add, first mission was an escort, we were 7 miles behind the Caudron and 1,000ft below him??? 2nd mission was a airfield patrol, same business. Any help sorting this out would be appreciated.

Last edited by Ace_Pilto; 10/15/19 07:28 PM.

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Rick Rawlings
No 24 Squadron
Aug 7, 1916
Bertangles West

First jaunt into the belly of the beast as it were since moving to scouts. I was with Major Hawker and there was a flight of four of us with "A" flight following close behind, so I wasn't too worried. We went down by Peronne, crossing the front at 9000 feet at 8:30 AM, visibility good. As we got a few miles over the lines, I saw the Major and the others peel off to the left, descending slightly. I looked over that way and saw three dots slightly below us headed for the front. As we closed on them, I saw to my amazement that they were Eindeckers! As it was four to three and "A" flight was on our tail, I was feeling pretty excited for the merge. They saw us, of course, and turned to meet us at altitude. I turned and descended on the one on the back right side of their formation and tried to settle in behind him. He was decidedly feisty, swaying and bucking and descending as I fired. I am not fully up to speed on not having my observer do most of the firing and I was finding it hard to crouch behind the gun sight to line him up properly! After sending the best part of a Lewis drum his way, I must have hit something important as he slowly curved down to crash into the ground below. As the enemy fire was coming up at us pretty hot, I decided to head for home, with the others following after they had sent down the other two huns. Back at the airfield they backed up my claim and I was awarded the confirmation this morning!



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Rick Rawlings
No 24 Squadron
Aug 19, 1916
Bertangles West

Not much to report in the last week until today. I did spend a couple of days evading pursuit when I went down over the lines with a fuel leak but I made it back in good time and none the worse for wear. Today we went over and tangled with the Eindeckers at Bertincourt again. Foolishly, they decided to come up and challenge us. I ended up dropping two myself and as a flight we destroyed four with no losses of our own. The boys back home cautioned me not to feel too confident as one day we would be in the inferior craft and we should take our victories now where we find them. I see the wisdom in that.

On the way back from the front, I saw something truly amazing. I have long heard rumors of a supply system set up by this chap named Olham to ensure that the pilots on both sides had access to the finest supplies. The Germans would get fine wine and cheese, while the British and French would have the finest sausages freshly made. I thought this rumor must be a total fantasy, but today I saw it for myself! A small convoy of trucks headed east to west while all around them the artillery barrages fell furiously to the earth! It does my heart good to see that there is still some humanity and spirit of brotherhood in all this death and destruction. I hope it can last!


Last edited by Rick_Rawlings; 10/21/19 12:37 PM.

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Long live Olham sausage Co, those glorious bastards!


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Wenn ihr sieg im deine Kampf selbst gegen, wirst stark wie Stahl sein.
"The best techniques are passed on by the survivors." - Gaiden Shinji
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