Thank you for warm welcome back Gents! The hunt was great. Ten days with 2 great great friends, great food and a few adult beverages. Saw lots of deer and was able to feel the wind in my face, the sun on my head and watch all that nature has to offer while walking some of “god’s finest sculpterines.” Never pulled a trigger.
I will flesh out Ganz’s background as we go along. He’s a bit of a recluse at the moment.
Feldwebel Gunther Ganz Jasta 6 Feb 2, 1917
As the 21 year old Ganz prepared for his next flight, he went over the mistakes he made yesterday and vowed never to do that again. His flight was to patrol around their own fields as the English and French had been harassing them. Wulf, the leader of Jasta 6 was leading the flight. Over Longchamps Wulf pointed down and dove. Ganz had no idea what was afoot but he knew it was the enemy as the flight entered the clouds. Five seconds later as Ganz came out of the clouds, he was alone. He felt the fool he looked all around for his flight but could see nothing. He scanned the ground below when he saw an aircraft low headed west. He cut the throttle and dove in a slow arc to come in behind it. As he came down he saw the roundals on the wing. Lower still he could see it was a Stutter. He closed the distance fast and caught the poor Englishman off guard. With 3 short bursts the left upper wing collapsed and it went down and exploded. He checked the sky and climbed. He made note he was about 5k southwest of Longchamps. He circled for a while and decided to call it a day. His flight came in 30 minutes later. They had gone after the Nieuport escorts. At Wulf’s urging Ganz filed his claim in the hop someone saw it. It had been a good day.
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!
Seb, five claims! And you really did a number on that Nieuport! Outstanding work, great photographs, and the splendid account. And then to cap it off, all five are confirmed! I think that is unprecedented. Enjoy your Hunnish binge.
Carrick, I am really hoping you get a Nieuport soon. Moranes were survivable during the Somme push, but it's tough sledding now.
MFair, that was an exciting first mission for Gunter! Best of luck with Jasta 6!
Fullofit, you had me going with that dream sequence. I'm glad to see that Rosa Lewis is taking good care of you. Be sure that Toby gets back quickly after dinner. Things get going around eight at the Cavendish.
Lou, I'll be in Amsterdam in three weeks and I'm taking notes from Swany's account. It reads like a good travelogue. If things keep up like this, Swany will put on too much weight to fit back in a scout.
Just got caught up with today's date. Here's the latest from Collins…
An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt James Arthur Collins, VC, DSO, MC
Part Ninety-Six: In which I prepare to meet an old face
January – that hollow of the year – creaked to an end. We spent every minute possible in the mess, where the stove was stoked like a torpedo boat and flying coats and blankets were the dress of the day. The collection of men that made up Flying Corps squadron could always amaze. Need a roof repaired? Evans from the guardhouse was a roofer. Need to build a water heater? That would be Murphy, the electrician. Buying a racehorse? See Lieutenant Haskell, the solicitor, and Sergeant Atchison, the groom. So it was that corporal Gallant, the brickmason, added a fine fireplace to the anteroom while Waller built the mantle and carved the RFC cipher onto its front. There was not a farmer within five miles whose orchard was safe from our hatchets.
On 25 January our “C” Flight was dispatched to the Arras sector to rid that area of a particularly annoying German balloon. The show lacked drama – we went straight in, flamed the balloon, and ran for home. I had fired 150 rounds into the thing but Child followed close behind with two new fellows, Hawthorn and Cerillo. Both the new boys swore that the thing caught fire only after I broke off and Child began shooting into it. That makes the fourth Hun for Child.
It did not take long to make up for the loss. The next morning was beautiful and bright, the sky almost periwinkle in hue. Our only task was to get a few hours of routine flying into the logs of some of our newer pilots. But then the klaxon sounded and the CO ran into the mess and ordered us up to chase off some inbound Huns. I ran to the sheds with Child close behind. We were aloft within three or four minutes, climbing hard and circling the field to the east. I squinted into the bright sky and could make out nothing until several crumps on the field below told me where to look for the intruders. There were two of them – Rolands (God, I hate Rolands!) – and they were circling about several thousand feet above. I picked the nearer of the two and climbed steadily for nearly ten minutes. The Hun saw me coming the entire way, of course, and turned for home as I approached. I chased him from Doullens to Bapaume and when I approached within three hundred yards I began to fire. Given that there was no chance of surprising the enemy machine I elected to fire from long range. The Hun observer kept me honest with some good shooting in return. I lost track of how many rounds I had fired. Ammunition would soon run out. But then, to my great surprise, the enemy machine began to spiral downwards. I followed, wary of a ruse. But this was no trick. The Roland cartwheeled across a farmer’s field, flipped end over end, and exploded. There was too much snow on the ground to risk landing for a souvenir. Child, however, had seen the machine from a distance. It was confirmed as my twenty-eighth victory.
"The Roland cartwheeled across a farmer’s field, flipped end over end, and exploded."
I closed out the month with a couple of long reconnaissance flights, escorting the poor fellows still flying BE2s. And we had one more go at the balloon north of Monchy. Again, the balloon went to Child.
On 30 January I had a scare when a strut separated and I had to put my machine down at Marieux. Major Rodwell decided I needed a bit of rest and gave me the next day off. But he had another surprising announcement. He was off on a bit of medical leave and would soon be posted back to England, which he thought was pretty decent of the RFC, as his wife was expecting a child in the spring. Our new squadron commander would arrive in the morning. Major Rodwell gave me a wink. It was my old boss from 3 Squadron, Major Harvey-Kelly!
Last flight for the Morane's all are going to a training unit . Morning swan up to lens to drop bombs. Supposed to be 4 Morane's covered by 3 N-17's ,but we got separated. Out of 12 bombs dropped 4 hit the edge of the target airfield. Alt was 2000 ft. Lost 1 a/c missing ?
Raine, and Lou, thank you so much for the gong and write up! I am genuinely moved (more than I should be in a game) It was a crazy mission and the planes just kept coming - when I was told all five were confirmed I must confress the first thing I did was check that my claims were on normal, they were. Getting the gong from the gong fairly is much better than getting it from the game! George, I loved part 96! Carrick, Glad you got the Nieuport from tomorrow! HarryH, Thank you I'm still shocked myself, I'm so used to having my claims denied! I've been using my combat reports for the account on the claim page and its paying off! Mfair, I hope you get your claim!
Thank you again lads for the most wonderful week and a bit in game!
Feldwebel Sebastian von Toombs Jasta 18 Halluim /Rekkem 8 Confirmed Kills No Claims Pending
Saturday 3rd February 1917
If I wanted to be this wet and cold I would have joined the Kaiserliche Marine, I felt I was flying a uboot! Our mission was airfield patrol far in the north close to the North sea. Who thinks these missions up? I'm miserable, because I'm so cold ... I'll get a grip in a minute or two and write to Kitty - that always soothes my nerves. The stove is on full but not yet making a dent in the ice cube formally known as Sebastian von Toombs. Worse than the cold, 20 minutes into the patrol Walter disappeared, and still hasn't turned up. I hope he's alright.
We flew around thinking he'd spotted someone, but we couldn't see him or anyone else. It was difficult at times to fly in formation, and for the first time in my life I thought I'd rather be on the ground than in the air! The Kommandant led the flight, so I can not complain about him, he takes his role very seriously and I have the utmost respect for him.
We flew to our target without incident, and patroled the area for about half an hour. We did not see another plane and barely saw each other, the flight home was slightly clearer, but I truely wondered if we were the only idiots up today? As we approached our airfield and began our decent I realised we weren't the only idiots in the air, I'd lost track of Paul, Hans and the Kommandant. Out of the blue, or should I say 'grey mist' flew three planes. I thought it was the rest of my Kette, but it wasn't. Instead it was 3 Airco DH2s. maybe they were lost?
I entered into a mad dog fight with the three of them, firing snap shots at each in turn the friendly AA fire didnt feel very friendly to me and was as much of a concern to me as the DH2s. It was impossible to keep the three of them at bay and evey now and then one of them got on my six and opened up holes on my fuselage and wings I thought the end was close ... Thankfully, after much turning, ducking and diving I did managed to damage each of them and put the fear of God in to them. Sadly, I wasn't able to down any of them and they flew low and home across the lines, I began to chase them but the ground fire was getting very accurate, and I really wanted to be warm so I flew home and landed, my poor Albatros was riddled with holes. I made the right call to return when I did!
I so hope Walter is ok? I'm going to have a brandy and write to Kitty... To Be Continued ...
Seb, this Fawlty chap sounds like a proper bloke. Five in a day! And all confirmed!! This Baron guy better watch out. Someone’s getting a preferential treatment, or WOFF is broken. Congrats on this unheard of feat. Thor and Hercules all rolled into one. I wonder how you’re going to top that? This next day two Strutters almost felt like a failure. Also big o congrats on the double bling. The Gong Fairy must have hit the jackpot and stumbled onto a sale to be so generous. It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving Hun.
MFair, well done to Feldwebel Ganz! His first kill. Keeping my fingers crossed it will be confirmed.
Raine, thanks for the tip. I’ll have Toby back at the hotel no later than 8 o’clock. So, finally the Rolands are being beaten. Congrats on the 28 victory. Two more and it will definitely be the right time to celebrate. And a reunion with Harvey-Kelly to boot. This should be fun! Also, big congrats on the 300 hr milestone.
Carrick, Nigel must be relieved to be rid of that Parasol death trap. Is it a shiny new Nieup for him now?
Harry, I bet she’s this nice to all the pilots.
And while von Toombs is playing a heroic role of an icicle, Toby is enjoying the sights and sounds of London.
Toby slept till noon. He was surprised he wasn’t woken up by one of his nightmares of being shot at, falling or drowning. It was the most restful sleep he had had since ... since joining 3 Wing RNAS so many months ago. It felt like years ago. While still lounging in the posh bed, he was planning his day. First things first. He needs to report to the Admiralty in Whitehall. He had an appointment with the Military Liaison Officer, Lieutenant J. E. Pike to go over the ceremony procedures and be taught proper etiquette when in the presence of the King. Cavendish Hotel was conveniently located near everything and Toby could just walk. After a quick shave and an even quicker lunch, he came out of the hotel and headed east on Jermyn Street all the way to Haymarket, then Cockspur Street to Trafalgar Square. His meeting went well, Ltn. Pike was of the opinion that everything must go as planned. No deviations and no improvisation. What was stressed most of all to him was that no tardiness would be tolerated. After that he was whisked away to 10 Downing Street to meet with the freshly minted Prime Minister David Lloyd George. Once Toby’s obligations have been fulfilled, he was free to do as he pleased. He took the Westminster Bridge to cross Thames to the east bank and sat on one of the benches near the edge, across from Big Ben. Toby sat there for a long while pretending there was no war going on. He thought about his parents, who will not be attending the ceremony, then he thought about his flight-mates. He realized they were more of a family to him than his own parents. He had enough of feeling sorry for himself. Toby decided to find a good party tonight and have a good time. He also wanted to treat himself to some trinket. Does he need anything? The stores were still open. No, he had everything he needs and once the sun got low enough to be obscured by the Houses of Parliament he turned back and walked back to Cavendish. He was getting peckish and was looking forward to a sumptuous dinner. The entertainment has already started downstairs when Mulberry came out of his hotel room. He saw Rosa wave to him. She was surrounded by a group of officers. Toby went to greet the hostess and noticed people glance at him, some point and others whispered in their partner’s ear. After introductions and obligatory drinks, he was released to mingle with the rest of the crowd. “- Chesty! Chesty! Here!” Toby looked in the direction where the shouts were coming from. He didn’t expect to find anyone he knew. He was surprised to see two women and sitting between them was Alford! Alford, his old gun layer that he punched after yet another frustrating mission so long ago. He was allowed to fly solo after that incident. So, the sod was still alive. “- Alford, what are you doing here?” Toby tried to be as polite as his moral fibre would allow him. He realized he still hated the man’s guts. Alford flashed a grin revealing a gap between his teeth. The missing tooth was the constant reminder of the aftermath of that mission. “- Didn’t I tell you? My brother-in-law works at reception. I come here every time I’m on leave.” The lout sounded rather proud of this privilege. “- Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lady friends?” Toby was already interested in the women giggling to each other. One was a tall slender blonde with long curls flowing down her back, bright blue eyes, inviting full lips and an ample bosom which appeared to be giving the corset she was wearing a tough time in doing its job. This divine creature’s name was Emily and Toby was smitten instantly. She smelled of wine and cigarettes. Her voice and the way she smiled was intoxicating to the point where Mulberry nearly missed the name of the other girl during her introduction. Anne had a petite figure, chin-length dark, straight hair, small mouth and breasts probably less impressive than his. She didn’t seem to be interested in him anyway. It looked like she was there just to accompany her more attractive girlfriend. While Emily laughed at Alford’s silly jokes, drinking and smoking, the other girl seemed rather bored, barely touching her food. It was no wonder she was being ignored by both men vying for Emily’s attention. It was getting late. Emily was now clinging to Toby’s arm and laughing with him. Eventually curiosity peaked and she asked Alford why he kept calling him Chesty. “- Mulberry has boobs, like yours.” The shock on Emily’s face was indescribable. She let go of Toby’s arm as if it were a white-hot iron. Mulberry was too slow to react and he realized it was too late. He could see the disgust in her eyes. The other girl, Anne, was looking at Toby as if she’d seen him for the first time. “- Jeffrey, please take me home!” Emily would have nothing to do with him and Toby could now see that incomplete grin Alford was flashing at him in triumph. They stood up and left quickly after awkward goodbyes. “- I guess the date is over.” Toby said out loud to himself and was preparing to leave. “- Not unless you want it to be over.” He turned around in surprise to find Anne standing there. She was holding her hat in her hands, nervously crumpling the brim. She smiled.
"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."
A little tit for tat. While 8 of us were up om patrol our Aerodrome was bombed taking out a repair Hanger and 2 N-17,+ Misc. Most of the erks and riggers are ok a few wnd. I say this means War.
Carrick, what a relief to see you in Nieuports at last. Good work staying alive in the Morane.
Seb, congratulations on your two-gong performance! Now it's time to go after the really fancy chest cabbage. That fight in the snowstorm looked pretty crazy. You did well not to get bounced.
Fullofit, I love the bit about the ill-tempered reception desk clerk at the Cavendish being Alford's brother in law. Two chips, two shoulders. And Anne! I sense a good leave story in the offing.
An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt James Arthur Collins, VC, DSO, MC
Part Ninety-Seven: In which there are changes afoot
The arrival of Major Harvey-Kelly brought, besides his bright personality, and even greater surprise. At breakfast before my 9 o’clock patrol word went around that we should all read the Orders of the Day right away. There, in a paragraph headed “Supply and Equipment”, it was noted that “all remaining BE12 aircraft are to be stripped and prepared for shipment by train. Flying officers not yet assigned a SPAD scout will report to No. 2 AD and bring back one of the following SPAD machines.” There followed a list of serial numbers. We were at last a cohesive squadron flying all the same type of aircraft.
After the uneventful patrol I strolled into the village with Davison for an early lunch. The little estaminet in Fienvillers made good coffee and bad tea and on most days offered little besides omelettes. But what omelettes! Today, however, Madame had produced the most wonderful fresh bread and a paté made from (I think) chicken liver. It called for a glass of wine but nothing in stock met with Davison’s approval, so coffee it was. We talked of the possibility of coordinating our leaves in Paris. I told him that I would like to try to get rooms at the Ritz. He said that the Ritz is fine, but the Hotel Mirabeau is every bit as good for a bit less money. He suggested that we get drinks and dinner at the Ritz one night. Food played a major role in our planning. Davison agreed with the Café de Paris and insisted on the Restaurant Henry, both near our hotel. We discussed what plays we might see. Without newspapers from the city, that part of our plan would have to wait. We would see the Louvre, of course. And I wanted to see Napoleon’s tomb. Davison suggested the opera and brightened up when I added the suggestion of the Folies-Bergère. We both hoped that the war would not have put a damper on our cultural aspirations!
2 February 1917 – one patrol only, but a nail-biter! Wing had ordered an attack on the Hun airfield at Aniche, about thirty miles deep into Hunland and the other side of Douai. Douai was unknown beehive of angry air-Huns. These types of shows infuriated me. Our Spads were not fitted with bomb racks, so the only way to do damage was to abandon all our height and strafe the place with our single Vickers guns. This aerodrome was surrounded by other airfields and military installations. The ground fire would be intense. Perhaps my lack of enthusiasm showed on my face when orders were given out after dinner the night before. Or perhaps it was just for old times’ sake. In any event, Major Harvey-Kelly announced that he would join my C Flight for the show. There would be four of us along – Child, the major, Atherton, and me. Lieutenant Atherton had been in the RFC since spring of 1915. He had begun the war as an infantry officer in one of the county regiments and had won the MC during the winter of 14-15. After a bout of pneumonia, he joined the RFC as an observer and served until spring of 1916. He returned to England to undertake pilot training, thereby avoiding the joy of spending the Somme push in the front seat of a Quirk. He had been over the lines only once before. This would be his baptism of fire.
The clouds were dense between six and eight thousand feet as we climbed steadily between them towards Arras. About twenty minutes in, the major signalled that his engine was “no bon” and turned away. I knew how much that would bother him but it was not nearly as much as losing him bothered me. Archie met us as we crossed the lines and gave us a warm escort all the way to Douai. At one point my machine was lifted nearly a hundred feet by a pair of massive explosions very close by. It seemed we were flying through brown acrid smoke the whole way. We approached from the north-west over Douai and made our first diving pass at the Aniche aerodrome. Only one machine was visible on the field so we shot up the sheds and buildings as much as we dared. Despite the high speed and surprise of this first diving attack, my wings and the body of my machine took nearly twenty hits. I banked sharply and twisted and turned as I climbed away. Duty called for a second and third attempt but common sense demanded otherwise. I fired a Very light to signal the others that we should regroup. On our return we passed close to an observation balloon and I led the boys on a quick swoop at the thing. The Hun Archie merchants were first rate and we flew into what seemed like a wall of explosions. At least we had burned off some ammunition. I planned to be creatively vague with my combat report and hoped that the others would simply swear by it.
"The clouds were dense between six and eight thousand feet as we climbed steadily between them towards Arras."
Letter from Mum. She is going on about the godless Bolsheviks in Russia and praying that the American president will talk sense into the Kaiser and stop the war. Oh, and she is questioning the morality of our owning a whisky distillery. She wants to spend the summer in the Lake District. Perhaps another source of income?
Letter from Mr Carson back in Ontario. Since the provincial government passed the Temperance Act last year, sales have dropped 20%. Alcohol may still be purchased by medical prescription and Collins Distilleries Ltd has invested $65,000 in providing samples of our medication to every doctor in Ontario – on a regular basis. Exports to the United States are strong, but the temperance movement there is gaining force. We have an offer from a well-known distilling family in Montréal to buy the business and he wants to know what I think. What I think is that he has run the idea past my mother! But the offer is fair, and my best alternative is to move the distilling business to the province of Québec, and that would put us nose to nose with a powerful competitor. Perhaps if the offer were slightly more fair?
Letter from Dorothy. She is holding up well but under very great strain. The Red Cross has some rest homes for nurses along the coast and they are now letting the VAD take advantage. She is hoping for a break soon. The rest of the letter is about a young doctor from Edinburgh.
The squadron has taken on a very different feel these days. Some of the veterans have gone to HE and others have taken medical leave. “Flying illness” they call it. It’s funny how war flying affects people so differently. Some reach a breaking point in a couple of months. Others were down more slowly, apathy or recklessness creeping over them like a rash. And the very few seem nearly immune. Those are the men totally devoid of imagination. Strangely, I have avoided the slow erosion of spirit I have seen in others. Yet I do not believe I lack either imagination nor hope for a future. Perhaps I merely suppress both.
I share my Nissen hut with two new flight commanders, Xavier and Bolster. The former was a barrister and the latter the son of a haberdasher. I must get to know them. Besides Atherton, my flight now includes another tyro, a man named Reed. Reed hails from Tyneside, where he worked as an electrical engineer. Both he and Atherton seem to be promising additions. If the winter ever ends we shall soon find out. One gets adept at discerning the smell of a push, and many of us believe that the warmer weather will see a push between Arras and Ypres. For now, we will enjoy the short days and the breaks from constant fighting.
Excellent tales of high adventure gents' - keep them coming.
@Seb, my congratulations to Von Toombs (he will soon surpass MvR's tally at the rate he's going)
@Carrick, nice to see Philby in a Nieup. 17/23 finally - should help immensely with survival on the front (then again almost anything's better than a Parasol)
@Raine, I'm pleased to see that the 150hp Spad 7 is still in one piece and that it's a safe boat for Cap'n. Collins (not the most maneuverable crate in the world but it can usually fly you to the trouble quickly, and out of the trouble if necessary)
Von S
~ For my various FM/DM/AI/Tuner Mods for First Eagles 2, WoFF, RoF & WoTR, recommended is to check over this post. For my First Eagles 2 clips, go here. ~
Carrick, congrats on the new bus. No more excuses.
Raine, your Spidey-sense is serving you well. There is more to Anne than meets the eye. Collins appears to be in good spirits, despite a case of less than stellar morale surrounding him. Good thing those BE12 are now scrap. The war can now start properly. It sounds like that trip to Paris with Davison is picking up some steam. It has all the markings of an epic road trip.
Toby slept till noon. When he woke up, he went in his head over the events of last night. After Alford left with Emily, Anne stayed behind. They talked. He talked to her about things he never said to anyone else. Mostly about his parents, how they never accepted him and the way he didn’t meet neither of their expectations. She listened. It made him feel better. She made him feel better. She made him laugh. He wondered if it was her or too much wine? He only knew her for a few hours. She agreed to meet him today in Hyde Park. They were going to feed the ducks on the Serpentine. When she saw him waiting for her on the promenade she picked up her pace and nearly run last few steps to welcome him with a girly version of a bear hug. Toby wasn’t used to such displays for affection. He liked it. He put his arm around her shoulder as they strolled along the lakeshore, throwing morsels of bread into the water, talking, joking, watching the ducks dive for food. Anne had to get back home, but promised she would meet Toby at the Cavendish around seven o’clock. Mulberry couldn’t wait to see her again later this evening. He went back to the hotel and took a hot bath. Rosa recommended adding bathing salts to the water. It felt funny and the water smelled of pines but Toby persevered because he wanted to smell impressively fresh tonight. He was nervous. It was seven thirty already and no sign of Anne. Even the table he was sitting at was getting impatient, or at least that’s what he thought when he realized the cutlery was clanging softly, because his foot was nervously tapping one of the table legs. Finally he saw her come in and stood up to greet her. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and explained her tardiness. Emily wanted to go dancing and Anne had to make up a good excuse not to go with her. She worried about her friend. They would always go out everywhere together except tonight. Toby said he was sorry Anne had to leave her best friend behind, but he was lying. He was ecstatic Anne picked him over Emily. Their main dish arrived. The roasted duck with pickled beet slaw and a side of hasselback potatoes was delightful. Aroma alone made Toby drool. The zest of the pickle cut through the sweet taste of duck fat and the potatoes with sour cream and sprinkled with chives just completed the meal. No small wonder Rose was called the Queen of Cooks! A bottle of Barsac stood half empty on the table. It was a well aged vintage that developed a deep amber hue. Toby could taste honey and almonds in it. A fresh and powerful taste it was. While Anne was working on her roast duck, she noted she felt like the witch from Hansel and Gretel. First they fattened the ducks in the pond and now they were eating them. Toby grinned. “- If anyone dares to call you a witch, I’ll challenge them to an air duel.” Anne stopped chewing and fixed her eyes on Toby. There was that sweet smile again. The music had already started by the time they were finishing their coffees. The room was filling fast with dancing pairs. Mulberry asked Anne to dance, despite his aversion to the activity. Any excuse to hold her near would do. It was a slow waltz and he held her hand gingerly, the other one firmly on the small of her back. He was looking at her and drinking it all in. He noticed little things he hadn’t see before. Her hair had this iridescent shine to it, almost exotic. Her mouth in a bright red hue glistened like a ripe strawberry, ready to be tasted. He wondered how sweet these lips would be if he kissed her. The corners of her mouth upturned in a perpetual smile. He looked deep into her eyes. They were glittering. He never realized they were hazel and that he was getting lost in them. “- At ease, soldier!” Anne playfully whispered in his ear. “- I am relaxed.” Toby assured her, not really understanding. She tensed slightly, embarrassed. “- I can see that, but I was referring to that thing in your trousers. It’s digging into my hip.” Toby realized what she’d meant and pulled away. He quickly placed one hand in his pocket to mask the bulge. His face went red. Anne didn’t miss a step. She grabbed the back of his neck, leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Toby felt the explosion in his head. It felt more like an enormous Flak burst next to his plane, rather than a firework display being observed from the ground. He was kissing her and didn’t care who sees it. They were in his room, all the lights were off. The bed was cold, but their naked bodies were neither aware of it, nor cared.
"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 -- Toby, you dog! Ravishing poor, innocent Anne like that. Just remember that Dr Fleming is still patching fellows up in Boulogne and won't invent penicillin for another 11 years. Is there not a Gideon Bible in that place you could read instead?
Carrick, now that you have a decent machine they are sending you on milk runs. But I'm sure the water will come to you quickly enough.
An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt James Arthur Collins, VC, DSO, MC
Part Ninety-Eight: In which I try new tactics and meet an ominous Hun
4 February 1917 – what started out as a long and cold and routine flight ended with 32 bullet holes in my Spad and my underclothes freezing and soaking with sweat. We were dispatched to rendezvous with two BE2s over Doullens and shepherd them over the lines east of Arras to drop bombs on a Hun headquarters. This was a long journey. Our machines were so much faster than the Quirks that we traced a weaving path a mile each side of the two-seaters’ heading. Large cumulus clouds barred our way. Every time we spread out to penetrate the cloud we spent several minutes finding our wards on the other side.
"We were dispatched to rendezvous with two BE2s over Doullens..."
When at last we reached our objective, the Quirks took ages to finish the job. Whether it was in their orders I’m not sure, but these fellows from 16 Squadron insisted on releasing one Cooper bomb at a time over the target. We – Atherton, Orlebar, Reed, and I – circled about overhead for the entertainment of the German Archie merchants. When I thought it could not possibly go on longer, the lead BE2 fired a white Very light, the signal to head home. Once again we clambered through banks of cloud, our eyes straining for the faint shadow of another machine looming up through the mist. We broke out into sunlight at last. The chimneys and smoke haze of Arras were visible several miles off to my right. It took a minute to find the two Quirks; they had spread out nearly a mile apart and both had lost nearly a thousand feet in the cloud. That was the moment when Orlebar pulled ahead of me and zoomed into a climbing right turn. I followed immediately – and just in time, too. Five Halberstadt scouts were diving on us from over top of the cloud bank. They had been within a very few moments of surprising us.
We began to scrap with the Halberstadts. I had discussed with the flight a couple of days before a new idea. When there were four of us together, we would fight in pairs. The Spad was useless in a turning fight, but one member of the pair could entice a Hun to follow him in front of the other member, and vice versa. Atherton and I tried it out. The first Hun on my tail was too stupid to follow me properly and instead of flying in front of Atherton, he did a very tidy zoom and roll and shot up my machine without much bother. But then Atherton led one in front of my guns. Actually, I am not at all sure it was intentional since Atherton’s machine was drinking all over the sky and appeared quite out of control! I did, however, get a crack at the Hun. It was enough for him to spin out of the fight, at least for a few minutes. Now I realised that more Huns were involved than I had originally thought. Our Spads were spread out over several miles and I had been left alone with no fewer than three Halberstadts, all of whom were quite anxious to mount my rudder on the wall of their mess. For the next several minutes my only concern was to make myself as difficult a target as possible and hope that the Huns became bored while I was still alive. The entire time I was repeating the word “climb” to myself as a reminder to gain altitude whenever I had a second or two without being shot at. After several minutes more, one Hun and then another broke off the fight. I was left with only one HA to worry about. It was a typical Spad fight – use your speed to get some distance, zoom and turn, and come back at the enemy machine. Of course this meant that nearly every pass was head-on, so I had to skid with full rudder to shoot at my opponent without him hitting me at the same time. The gunsight on the Spad is off-centre and nearly impossible to use when skidding about violently. Marksmanship in this situation consisted mainly of spraying and praying!
But on one of these passes I must have done some damage. The Halberstadt banked vertically into a left-hand spin and dropped to less than a thousand feet. I was on him again in an instant and fired a long burst into him. The Hun turned beneath me just as several machine guns on the ground began poking holes in my wings. I turned away from there, weaving one way and then the other. When I was able to turn about and look for him, my Halberstadt was nowhere in sight.
"The Halberstadt banked vertically into a left-hand spin and dropped to less than a thousand feet."
On my return I found that my other flight members were all accounted for but that each had landed at a different aerodrome. I reported the scrap with the Halberstadt but told Captain Watley that I was far from sure that I had bagged him. Watley smiled and gave me a wink. “It’s all taken care of,” he said. “I received a phone call a few minutes ago from 16 Squadron. The observer in one of the Quirks you were escorting reported that your Hun went down near Boyelles.”
There was a chalkboard on the wall behind his desk in the squadron office. I saw he had already written next to my name the number 29.
5 February 1917 – another escort mission, much like the previous day. And like the previous day, we were attacked as soon we began to head home. This time we saw the Huns coming. There were seven of them, all Albatrosses. These were different kinds of Huns. All seven tore into us and all seven followed us well over our own lines. Even the two Quirks with us had their hands full. There were simply too many of them for us to handle. I managed to surprise one of the enemy machines and fired into it from close range. It began to trail smoke and fly erratically, but I could not chase it because another Albatros now attacked. As happens so often, I soon found myself alone in the sky with this single Albatros as a companion. The Hun pilot was the real deal. No matter what I did he outsmarted me and several times but rounds into my machine. Again the fight reduced to a series of head-on attacks. I took stock of this Hun’s machine – it was painted all in olive green except that there was a square red patch on the fuselage aft of the Maltese cross. On the red square was painted an ominous white skull and cross bones. I wondered who this fellow was.
"I took stock of this Hun’s machine – it was painted all in olive green except that there was a square red patch on the fuselage aft of the Maltese cross. On the red square was painted an ominous white skull and cross bones."
During the next head-on rush, two rounds hit the cowling of my machine. The engine did not sound exactly right. At the first opportunity I put my nose down and ran for home. The Spad is quite good at that sort of thing.
Patrol of our lines near St. Quentin. Engaged flight of Nieuports and Strutters. Shot down 1 Strutter in flamesjust over our lines. My engine was hit in the attack and I was forced to land south of St. Quentin.
Feb. 4th Long patrol of our airfields. Cloud and snow. Other than nearly freezing to death, it was an uneventful flight. My second Strutter that went down in flames was confirmed. The first was denied. Ganz has his first victory.
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!
My Real Life is pretty busy work wise at the moment, but I’m hoping to catch up in the next couple of days I’ve got some rest days coming up! To be sure, it’s warmer on the ground in 2020 Southern England than it is in 1917 flying an Albatros 3000 meters above Flanders!
Raine, your accounts are superb! I love the picture of the Olive Green Albatros! That was close, you’ve got to get to 400 hours now! Carrick58 I’m glad we’re bombing your field as much as you guys are bombarded ours! Tit-for-tat indeed! Fullofit It seems you don’t just score in the air! I’m with Raine though check out the Gideon’s! (Haha!) Mfair Nice work with the Strutter! Congratulations on Ganz’s first confirmed victory.
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As we approached our airfield and began our decent I realised we weren't the only idiots in the air, I'd lost track of Paul, Hans and the Kommandant. Out of the blue, or should I say 'grey mist' flew three planes. I thought it was the rest of my Kette, but it wasn't. Instead it was 3 Airco DH2s. maybe they were lost?![[Linked Image]](https://i.imgur.com/ijb3WF0.png)
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