homepage Forums Air Combat & Civil Aviation Wings: Over Flanders Fields Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)

Albert, it definitely wasn’t your run of the mill first mission. I don’t know, perhaps it was the older Raben that let Klaus finish that Tate off.
Looks like James is going places. High places. Always a pleasure meeting the brass, but even better than that Major Peterson “pimping” those ladies for him. Well done on that “claim”. Hopefully it won’t get denied.

And then there is this … windscreen full of blood. It looks terminal. Probably even nurse Julianne wouldn’t be able to help. This June is rather vicious, isn’t it. Sorry to see Jimmy go. Seven on one wasn’t very sporting of the Huns. R.I.P Ltn Hardy.

Looking forward to your new pilot. Perhaps you can start him off with a girlfriend, instead of introducing one just before his death, hmm?

8 June, 1918 05:50 morning mission
Lomme, Flanders Sector
Jasta 18
Feldwebel Klaus Gustav Raben
Pfalz D.IIIa
4 confirmed kills

The Staffelführer began his morning briefing.
“- Many of you may think that I had to pull some strings to get a transfer to my unit for Klaus, my cousin. Well, let me put these rumours to rest. It is true, it was a favour to his father and my uncle. But I had nothing to do with his FOUR confirmed kills yesterday. Well done, Klaus! Looks like you don’t need handholding after all.”
Cheers went all over the tent. It was truly a band of brothers. The victories were not looked upon as individual achievements, but badges of honour for the entire Staffel. More victories, more prestige. There were no ill-wishes, everyone was happy to have another good Flieger among them. Once the congratulations were over and everyone settled down, the C.O. continued with his briefing.
The HQ wanted the Jasta to support ground forces along the Front between Polygon Wood and Armentières. This will be Schwarm Zwei show. Schwarm Eins will be needed elsewhere.
After taking off and getting up to altitude the Schwarm encountered a flight of Harry Tate’s near Ypres. The Dreideckers pounced on them and started swatting them out of the sky. Klaus in his Pfalz was late to the party, but noticed one fight that wasn’t going quite well. One of the Dreideckers nearly had his target on the ropes and it was starting to smoke, but a lucky hit from the rear gunner drove the Dreidecker away. That’s when Klaus attacked. He fired a few rounds as he passed the bomber. The next instant, flames erupted from the engine compartment and the entire crate went down.

YouTube Link



They continued with their patrol, albeit only three machines remained in formation. After some time the leader went into a dive and the other triplane went vertically up. Raben wasn’t sure what to do himself and continued to fly level, then dipped his wing to see what was going on. Six of the khaki planes were being attacked by the two white and red machines. He instantly recognized them as Camels. He knew he had to get in and help. Klaus picked a lone scout and dove at him. The enemy pilot knew exactly what to do and went into a tight turn, spoiling the German’s aim. He had to get back up and try again. Easier said than done. The other three Camels, that up to now had nothing to do but avoid stray bullets, went to work. Klaus saw all three go after him in unison. He turned and dove out of the way. The fourth Camel joined his wingmen.
“- Scheiße!” Klaus must have chosen poorly and attacked their flight leader. The rest of the Britishers would now make him pay for it.
He looked back while rolling his plane and diving. All four were still on his tail and firing.
“- Scheiße!”
He kept diving and trying to dodge the barrage of bullets coming his way.
“- Scheiße!”
More bullets. He was now diving like hell to his own lines. They were still there. He counted them:
“- Eins, zwei, drei, vier!”

“- Scheiße!”

“- Scheiße!”

“- Scheiße!”

“- Scheiße!”

He was in deep now. The ground was coming up fast. Then, a miracle! One of the Camels collided with one of his own! One went spinning down to earth without a wing, the other one turned gingerly home. That left “only” two on his tail.
“- I’m claiming that one … if I survive!” Klaus gave himself a much needed confidence boost. His plane was riddled with bullets, but it held well and although his controls have become sluggish, everything still worked, and he wasn’t hurt.
“- Come on! Let’s see what you can do when the odds are even, Arschlöcher!”
He flipped his plane and split the pair. While one of them was trying to get back on his tail, Klaus had already targeted the other Camel and opened fire. It wasn’t a particularly well aimed burst, but it did the trick. It spooked that Tommie and he was on his way home. Raben quickly turned around to find the last Camel fumbling. He had him now and began to send hot lead his way. He was starting to register hits and the enemy plane was now in full retreat. Klaus followed and continued to fire. The Camel pilot attempted to avoid further hits by climbing in a wide arc. The Pfalz was not keeping up with that maneuver and continued to stall. The damage was impacting its performance. Then the Pfalz was hit, then again. Klaus realized they were over enemy territory and the ground troops were taking potshots at him. He had no choice but to let the Camel go. He turned his bird around and left the area. Who knows what had happened to that Camel? Did he make it home? For now Klaus was glad to be in one piece.

YouTube Link



8 June, 1918 12:25 noon mission
Lomme, Flanders Sector
Jasta 18
Feldwebel Klaus Gustav Raben
Pfalz D.IIIa
4 confirmed kills

It was another ground forces support mission. This time along the Front between Neuve-Chapelle and Armentières. Thankfully this time both Schwärme would be involved.
They were well on their way through their mission, which was proving rather quiet so far. Then, they all noticed the silhouettes in the distance. Enemy flight was bearing down on them. They began to climb to meet the enemy, but it was easier said than done. In the end the Camels had the height advantage and were now circling overhead like vultures. Klaus looked back and saw three of the enemy machines at his back. It was an eerily similar sight to the one earlier in the morning. “- Why do they all come after me?” Klaus wondered while avoiding most of the fire. It finally dawned on him. He was flying the plane of the Staffelführer. “- They think I’m him!” He’ll have to remember to thank August for this. That is if he survives this latest mugging. Suddenly one of the planes behind him moved abruptly and crashed into another Camel. This also felt so familiar to Klaus. Why is the time repeating itself? A Dreidecker flew in the middle of the Camels scattering them to four winds and clearing them off Klaus’ tail. Raben would take advantage of this and went after the plane that survived the collision. It would make an easy kill. It would be easy if he could get close enough to it to shoot it down. His Pfalz danced around the falling Camel, but it was only after a violent dive that the young pilot could place a few rounds into the carcass of the stricken plane. With the job done and the Camel falling to his doom, Klaus took a look around. He could see two shapes dancing around each other. He was sure an additional plane would tip the scales in favour of the Germans. He was right, a Camel was chasing a Dreidecker and as soon as Klaus arrived and fired at the enemy, the tables have turned and it was now the Dreidecker chasing the Camel. It was that easy. The two worked in unison to eliminate the British plane. This one was a tough bird, however and it took some precise shooting. They nearly had him, when another Camel came to the rescue. The first Camel slinked away, while the Dreidecker and the Pfalz switched their focus. The second Camel was just as skilled as the other one and it also took a while to soften this target. In the end, the Pfalz ended chasing the failing Sopwith into the ground. After Klaus flew through the cloud of dust raised by the Camel’s crash, he pointed his plane towards his base, climbed above the No Man’s Land and returned as quickly as his Pfalz would allow it.

YouTube Link

James, I hardly knew ye.

Very sorry about your man, Albert. 1918 is just plain deadly.

Fly carefully boys. I'm posting this Dawn Patrol pic waaaaay too often these past couple of weeks.

Hi all,

Due to unforseen circumstances. Kevin Carroll will be starting again with his career very shortly.

Ta ever so

Albert

MFair – congratulations on your tenth victory.

Fullofit – sorry to see the end of Smirnov, but I know you will not miss his Spad. It’s almost not fair letting you fly as a German now that the D7s are here. I shudder to think how many victories you will have by Armistice. Klaus did not take long to score his first kills.

Kebab – I hope the studies have gone well for you and look forward to seeing you back in the air.

Albert – is Hardy’s story over so soon? It was really well crafted. I’ll look forward to your next fellow (and I see that as I write this you have just posted Kevin Carroll’s first instalment).

Carrick – off to see the nurses again, I see.

Shredward – thank you for sharing the AAR!


War Journal of Captain George Ewan MacAlister, DSO, DSC
74 Squadron, RAF
Clairmarais, France

Part 47



"I pulled down my Lewis to change drums and before I could finish the job the Fokker caught fire."


On my last day in Brighton I visited Bronwyn’s brother, Thomas, at his hospital. It was a large facility, like mine based in former private houses overlooking the sea. His hospital had a section reserved for blinded officers. Thomas had been blinded in a gas attack but was now well on his way to recovering his sight, although it was suspected he might have some permanent loss in his right eye. I brought him some chocolates as a thank you for allowing Bronwyn and I to have some time to walk alone when she was here. We spent a pleasant hour or two telling tales of our youth. He was full of questions about flying and regretted that his eyesight might not permit him to transfer to the Air Force. At least, I assured him, it might prevent his having to return to the trenches.

The voyage back to France was much more pleasant than the trip over had been. The day was sunny and warm and the seas were calm. We were escorted by two destroyers. On arrival at Calais, I was paged by the disembarkation officer and given a message that I should bring my kit to the dockyard gate where a vehicle would pick me up. I had not been there long when to my joy, I recognised Tim Greer, the 74 Squadron equipment officer, together with Corporal Malone, one of our drivers. Greer explained that Major Caldwell had raised holy hell with the higher powers to get me back directly without any of that pilot pool nonsense.

Clairmarais was a true homecoming. The Major greeted me warmly and informed me that my old hut awaited my return. I enquired after the other flight commanders. Taffy Jones had been on a tear and had accounted for sixteen Huns in the time I had been away! Even more remarkably, Mick Mannock had raised his tally from 22 to 45 in the same period. The Major suggested that I should consider the gauntlet as dropped. We had lost a couple of new pilots, but all the veterans were well. And we had gained some new faces. In the mess I was introduced to a fellow named Sidney Carlin, whom Major Caldwell had christened “Timbertoes.” This extraordinary fellow had given up farming to join the infantry, where he was commissioned from the ranks and won both a DCM and an MC. The MC came at the Somme, when he led his platoon in defending a trench against German counter-attacks, losing a leg in the process. Undaunted, he returned to England and paid for private flying lessons, persisting until he was accepted into the Flying Corps. He had been retained as an instructor in Upavon until the pressure for replacements during the German offensive finally persuaded the higher powers to let him have his turn in France. He was a straightforward and unassuming sort and I liked him immediately.

I flew twice on 6 June, an uneventful escort patrol in the morning and a line patrol in the afternoon. We scrapped with a formation of Pfalz scouts and I found myself out of rhythm, unable to anticipate the movement of the Huns in front of me. I put some rounds into a Pfalz and drove it down but could not claim it.

On 7 June, we escorted a group of DH4s over the lines near Loos. At one point we saw a very large formation of Huns just to our east while, at the same instant, a second very large formation of Huns passed us to the west. Luckily, we slipped between the two formations without attracting their attention, for had we got into a scrap we should have had our hands full!

I received a lovely letter from Bronwyn and felt much more comfortable that evening. I was determined to get back into fighting form. The following morning, 8 June, we flew a defensive patrol west of Ypres.

Later that same morning we escorted some RE8s north to Passchendaele. We were attacked as soon as we approach the lines by a group of the new Fokker biplanes, lovely red-and-white machines. They climbed like balloons and turned tighter than we could. Furthermore, they were about as quick as an SE. Nonetheless, I managed to find one inattentive Hun and put fifty or sixty rounds into him from very close range. The EA began to smoke. I pulled down my Lewis to change drums and before I could finish the job the Fokker caught fire.

The fight was still continuing to the west of me and I climbed back to rejoin it. As I did so, and enemy machine passed me in the opposite direction. I turned and dived after it, again surprising the Hun. After a long burst, the machine entered a spin from which it did not emerge, and I saw it fall just behind the German lines. Unfortunately, the other SEs had headed home by this point and the second Hun was not witnessed. Still, I had confirmation of the flamer and my tally stood for the moment at fifty-one.

Raine: Its a ruff job ,but someones has to keep the nurses busy.

Fullofit: Nice vids.

Much happier to be posting this latest bit of Oliver's tale than the Dawn Patrol Farewell toast. Enough of that!
Way behind again. Ack! This chapter proved resistant to episodic development so I had to write out almost the entire two week stint. So many plot threads, and now I must begin weaving them together. I'll try and post on consecutive days since there's a lot going on.

I'll include a map of Oliver's London at the beginning of each post so it's easier to follow along.
______________________________________________




À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 83



8 May 1918
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London

Slept in then headed out for a late breakfast at the RFC, now RAF Club on Bruton St. As I passed along the second story of the Royal Automobile Club Rotunda I could see a huge red motorcar on display. I’d noticed it yesterday but hadn’t given a closer look until this morning. A few inquiries revealed it to be a 1910 Fiat S76. At 300hp it was well named as “The Beast of Turin.” In 1913 at Ostend the American driver Arthur Duray attempted the world land speed record, reaching 132 mph but was unable to complete the return leg of the course within the allotted hour. Unofficial, but still the world record.

What must it be like to pilot such a machine? I could see Aunt Rhea or Freddy driving this monster down country lanes, hair on fire. I really must learn how to drive an automobile.



Obtained a voucher for 20 gallons of petrol and sent it along to Freddy at Birchley House. The way he drives that little green AC 10 he must be burning through fuel at a hellacious rate.

Savoy bar at 6pm. It was Jimmy’s night off. The one drink went straight to my head. Early dinner at the grill then retired. Joints feel achy.



9 May 1918
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London

Taxicab North to the RFC Hospital in Dorset Square. The medico nodded approvingly as he examined my shoulder and removed the stitches. Scar around my left eyebrow still prominent but much less visible what with the stitches being removed before I left France. When I asked about passing a medical board for full combat flying, he intimated that it would be highly likely given the current rate of healing.

Day spent in the RAC gymnasium. Hit the bag but mostly with the right. Left shoulder tight. Feels like the scar tissue is grabbing. Swim, then Turkish bath and Frigidarium. Felt like my old self. At the Savoy bar this evening, Jimmy looked like he wanted to tell me something but then things got busy and we never caught up. The place was quite crowded but I didn’t run into anyone I knew; however, several officers who clearly knew who I was came over to say hello. The days of my anonymity appear to be numbered. I must say I was put off briefly but soon realized their intentions were sincere. Ended having a grand time. Barely a year ago, I was the wide-eyed youngster, now I was doing my best impression of an RFC ‘Uncle’ and buying us all dinner at the Grill.

The boys were off to Murray's. I thought about going but felt tired. I hope it’s just from the training and not the #%&*$# flu. Walking home, I felt like I was being followed. Couldn’t see anyone in particular, just a feeling of unease. Maybe it’s just my imagination.



10 May 1918
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London

Sore muscles this morning but the joint aches are gone. I over did things yesterday but at least it isn’t flu. Breakfast at the RAF Club again, then to Alfred Dunhill Co. for more of the “posh” cigarettes as Clarissa calls them. Bought a large tin of pipe tobacco for Smokey. Up to Saville Row and Kingsman. Mr. Pendergon was attentive as ever and tsk-tsked sympathetically over my fourth wound stripe. I still don’t know if it’s concern for my welfare or that of the garment. I arranged to have several of my tunics sent over for refurbishment. Fitted for a pair of new slacks and two shirts.



Weather looked threatening so I took a cab north to the British library.



The reading room was nothing short of incredible. Unfortunately, the stacks were closed to the public, so after searching the catalogue I ordered up an Attic Greek grammar along with the Samuel Butler and Alexander Pope translations of the Iliad and Odyssey. When next I looked up 3 hours had passed. I might have spent all day here but my London routine beckoned. Afternoon in the gym. sparred with a Captain from the Manchesters who said he knew Mr. Owen’s son Wilfred. Another strong opponent. He had some nasty tricks especially when stalking up unawares. Nap after the Turkish bath set me up for a more energetic evening.

Spoke at some length with Jimmy at the Savoy bar. He mentioned some suspicious types about in the last few days.

“Not nosy like those pests in December,” he said, “but they weren’t mingling with the other guests either. Just nursing their drink and watching, like they were waiting for someone to appear. I hope it’s not more reporters come to bother you, sir.”

Ran into a troupe of Australians from AFC-3, R.E.8 merchants, two who I recognized from Bertangles. The bomber boys were wasting no time. After dinner we made for Murray's. I wasn’t much in the mood for dancing but I was happy to be in good company, so I resumed my role as RFC 'Uncle' once again, although I wasn't above letting the VC ribbon buy a few rounds on the house.

As the evening wore on, I thought I saw a familiar face, and edging discretely closer, I saw that it was Abigail! Memory of her strong body, a narcotic-fueled orgy and images of what might have been danced seductively before me. She was in conversation with a man who I was certain I’d seen before. Who was he? Jet black hair parted in the middle, beetle eyes… Then I recalled the look of inflated, beet-red fury after Clarissa slapped him. He wore a mustache in October but was clean shaven now. This was the same man; I was sure of it. The two soon left together. By the time I thought to follow them out they were gone. Most Curious.



11 May 1918
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London

Returned from breakfast at the RAF club to a letter from Tom Gleason. The scarecrow is now back in our old Oxford haunts instructing at the No. 2 School of Aeronautics. Our old Commandant from the School of Instruction at Reading, Col. Bertram R. W. Beor, is now Commandant at Oxford. I wonder what old Sgt. Major Mulvaney is up to now. Did he go back to France?

Felt strong today. Pushed myself to the limit in the Gymnasium, then the usual swim and recovery in the Turkish bath and Frigidarium. Long nap, then off to the Savoy Bar. My London routine. Met the bomber boys there by previous arrangement. We dined together at the Grill then it was off to see Box O’ Tricks at the Hippodrome.



Murray’s afterwards. The Australians maintained their torrid pace as they would return to France in the morning. I had to bow out and leave them to it.
Walking back to the RAC, I went down Regent Street, thru Piccadilly, then continued down Regent before turning west onto the Pall Mall. Despite the hour there were other pedestrians about so I had no way to be sure but I had the strongest impression that I was being followed.



12 May 1918
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London

RAF Club was practically deserted at breakfast. Normal London Routine today. I can’t live a club man’s lifestyle forever but I plan to enjoy it to the utmost while I can.

It's 5.45. I'm off to the Savoy Bar.
______________________________________

Tonight was the third time I’d seen Maid of the Mountains. I’m a sucker for this story, I admit, and Josie Collins sure is something.



At intermission I met two Americans, Elliott Springs and Larry “Cal” Callahan. Both are good pals with Mac Grider who was one of the students at Ayr in March. When I told them I was with 84 Squadron and asked if they knew Mort Newhall, Bim Oliver, Sam Eckert and Alex Matthews, they got very excited.

“You must be Ripper,” said Cal. “Mort wrote me about you. He said there was some fire-eating American RFC Captain just back from the hospital who had over a hundred Huns.”

Springs and Cal both peppered me with questions, wanting to know everything about how their four friends were doing. Springs, Mac and Cal, along with the four now with No 84 Sqn. were part of the same training detachment that came over last Fall. They are in the US Air Service but many are seeing postings to RFC squadrons to gain combat experience. Cal and Springs somehow got in with Billy Bishop the Canadian and are soon to France with No 85 Squadron. We got along like a house on fire and after the show they dragged me back to a four-story town house they rent on Berkeley square.

“Ten Pounds a week, Ripper, with servants, a cook and a butler,” exclaimed Springs.

There was a good-sized crowd at the house and the party was going full throttle. Mac Grider was nowhere to be found. The story emerged that he’d relieved a visiting General of his date, and took her out on the town. Some knockout actress named Billie Carleton.

Billie playing the siren with Mac Grider. Gods below! I need to warn him though he’d probably tell me to go to Hell.

Around 1.30 another group of four American pilots joined the festivities. They were back from Murray’s with girls in tow and told a quite a tale. McCudden is down from Turnberry and was at the club tonight.

“Oh, boy, what a riot he caused,” said one of the newcomers. “All the officers went over to his table to congratulate him and the women – well, they fought to get at him just like they do at a bargain counter back home.”

I couldn’t see Mac holding court deliberately but I’m sure he was enjoying the girls. I’ll see if I can catch him at the RAF club tomorrow



13 May 1918
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London

Woke up late with a stabbing hangover. I should never have indulged in Springs’ ghastly concoction. A painful hour on the bag cleared my head, so I set off to the RAF club for lunch. Hoping to catch up with McCudden.

Lunch at RAF club. Found Mac there and we ordered lunch. He is down to London from Turnberry for two days of fun.
“Rumor is you were holding court at Murray’s last night,” I teased. “King of London, Britain’s Air Star.”

“You can go to the Devil, Ripper,” he said with a laugh. “How the blazes do you still remain out of the public eye?”

I know he likes the female attention but it must gall Mac to be singled out in the press.

“Good of you to write about Tony,” he said.

“I’m sorry about your brother. I wish I had some time with him but I only knew him for that one day before we went missing. Is there any news from the Huns or the Red Cross?”

“Nothing yet,” he said. It’s rather hard luck but there it is. Did you happen to get the letters I sent in March? I ask because it’s not like you to leave one unanswered.”

“No, I never got them. The retreat was complete chaos. Yours weren’t the only letters that went missing.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” said Mac. “I sent you the photographs from your farewell to 56 Sqn.
So, you don’t know about Muspratt and Nobby Scott?”

“What happened?” I already knew the answer.

“Both gone west. Flying accidents.”

“Dammit.”

Muspratt, one of ‘The Children’ and perhaps the most gifted pilot in 56. Little Nobby, who taught me the art of nonchalance in the aftermath of terror and whose tactical acumen and pure sang-froid had few equals. They survived the Hun, only to die in ridiculous accidents.

Mac mentioned that he sat for Orpen not long ago. There's an exhibition of his war paintings at the end of May. Too bad I won’t be here to see it.
We talked of Ayrshire. I think Mac likes instructing but I know he’d rather be fighting Huns. He was green with envy that I got to France during the Offensive.

“I wish I could have stayed with 84 Squadron, but Major Douglas sent me here on two weeks leave. I’ll probably be joining you back in Turnberry when my posting comes.”
_______________________

I left Mac and wandered back to the RAC for my afternoon ritual.

Muspratt. Nobby. I didn’t feel their deaths the same way I would have even 6 months ago. Like Mac said, ‘Hard luck but there it is.’ I feel as though I’ve become callused and I don’t like it one bit.

Springs and Cal are away south in the country visiting his Lordship whose house they rent, so I headed off to Murray's where I linked up with some of the Berkeley Square crowd from last night. These fellows were completely mad and I must admit, great fun to be around. I was having a grand time when I saw Abigail enter the club. She walked right over to a table of red tabs and a short while later she left with one of them, a General by the look of him. I thought to follow her this time. Something was afoot.

My comrades were distraught at my sudden departure.
“Ripper, where are you running off to now?”



Abigail and her General stepped in a waiting taxi. I waited in the queue with growing impatience as the drunken group of four finally piled in to their cab. By the time I got into the next taxi, Abigail was nearly out of sight. Fortunately, my driver was a sporting type so when I said “follow that car!” he opened the throttle wide. We raced down Regent Street, around Piccadilly Circus then sped West down Piccadilly. I could see the taxi 80 yards ahead. It slowed then and turned right on…Dover Street! Were they were going to Reginald’s flat?! Sure enough, they pulled to a halt at the corner of Dover and Stafford. I could see the lights burning brightly on the second floor. Another of Reginald de Veulle’s drug-fueled orgies was making full revs.

I returned to Murray's but when I tried to pay the driver, he refused my money.

“Never drove a VC man before," he said. "It was my honor, sir. A right cracking chase it was.”

“I’ll not hear of it, my good man. You’ve done a fine night’s work," I said. "Take this, please.”

Before he could protest, I pressed two half-crowns into his hand and closed his fingers over the coins with my other hand.

“That’s terribly decent of you, sir. I’ll consider this an advance then. Old Andrews is always about Murray's after half 12. I see them home then come right back here. If you ever have need of a driver, this is where you’ll find me most nights.”

I meant to stay later at Murray's but my mind was racing with the events of this evening. I ordered champagne for the Berkeley square gang and bade them goodnight.

Heading back to the RAC by the usual route I could detect no pursuit. Mr. Andrews' wild ride must have thrown them off. Reginald’s opium den was no place for a General to be. What game was Abigail playing?

Wow I should drop in to this thread more often! Nice stuff epower. I want that car and the box o' tricks.

Catch - That little black Unic Taxicab is a peach ain't she?

Always time well spent, here in the DID thread Go all the way back to the beginning when you have a day to spare. Some great stories therein.

Albert, wait, what? What’s happened to Kevin? We need to talk about Kevin. Kevin 2.0?

Raine, funny you should mention the D.VII. When I enlisted my new boy, he was given one of those beauties to fly right away. A lowly Feldwebel in a D.VII, while everyone else was still flying Dreideckers and Pfalzes. Lucky for the Entente pilots, I’ve figured out how to reassign planes and have given Klaus a Pfalz instead. He’ll have to wait for the Fokker just like everyone else.
It looks like George is finding his fighting form just fine and against those new Fokkers at that. Red and white you say? It couldn’t have been Jasta 18. There’s only one D.VII there, flown by some Hauptmann.
Congrats on that confirmed flamer. Is Gong Fairy due for a visit soon?

Carrick, stop playing rough with the nurses. Some of them don’t like to be spanked.

Epower, all I want to know is if the Box o’ Tricks is better or worse than the previously deemed impressive Bag o’ Tricks? And I want that taxicab too. Could sell it for a fortune.

9 June, 1918 06:45 morning mission
Lomme, Flanders Sector
Jasta 18
Feldwebel Klaus Gustav Raben
Pfalz D.IIIa
5 confirmed kills

Klaus’ haul from yesterday wasn’t as bountiful as the day before. Only one of the Camels could be confirmed. Even the RE.8 on fire was denied. August had warned him denied claims occur often. Nothing to do but try again.
The briefing this morning was hurried. There was no time to waste. Jasta 18 was sent to intercept enemy planes crossing the lines near Armentières.
It was a trap. They’ve found a pair of Harry Tates in the intercept zone, which were quickly dispatched by the Dreideckers, but then a whole hive of Brisfits descended upon them from the clouds. Klaus picked up two on his tail right away. They all went into the clouds to play hide and seek. Raben was sure to have damaged one of the big birds and switched to the other one on his tail. After finding him and pumping him full of lead, he was being attacked from behind by the first enemy. Klaus had to break off his assault, but it was enough. He watched it crash in No Man’s Land and at the same time went after his original target. He was certain he was going to get the second Bristol too, but the rear gunner had other ideas. He mangled the radiator in the upper wing of the Pfalz and Klaus had to disengage and head for home. Thankfully the enemy plane was glad to be rid of his pursuer and headed home as well. His engine started to overheat and Raben switched it off and glided the rest of the way down. He set down in a field only a few kilometres from his airfield.

YouTube Link



9 June, 1918 13:50 afternoon mission
Lomme, Flanders Sector
Jasta 18
Feldwebel Klaus Gustav Raben
Pfalz D.IIIa
5 confirmed kills
Awaiting one claim confirmation

In the afternoon Schwarm Zwei was sent to support ground troop along the Front between Loos and Givenchy.
The Pfalz was lagging behind. Those Dreideckers didn’t bother waiting for him. They were approaching Loos and Klaus could see them attack some enemy formation that happened to be flying lower. Advantage Jasta 18.
One of the Camels aimed at the Pfalz, but so was Klaus targeting the Camel. They flew by each other and Klaus continued on through the furball and above it. The idea was to get whoever was pursuing him to get caught up in the melee. It looked like it worked. Advantage Pfalz.
He then targeted a pair of scouts battling at the highest level. This way Klaus wouldn’t have to deal with the scrap below. He could see now that the Camel was chasing the red and white plane. He aimed and fired. That did the trick, but now the Camel was after the Pfalz, but so was the Dreidecker. Raben switched directions and that put the triplane on the enemy’s tail. Advantage Dreidecker.
Klaus knew the Fokker would have no problems with the Sopwith, so he left them alone and switched targets to another pair, then fired on another Camel chasing a Fokker. This did the trick again and the Britisher came after him, leaving the Fokker to regroup and re-engage. The Camel chased the Pfalz in circles. Klaus tried to stay high while circling, but the Tea-Sipper was gaining. Advantage Camel.
He then noticed the Fokker getting close to the Camel and, just like the first time, Klaus changed directions to give the other pilot a better firing position. This worked and the Camel was the one scrambling to get away. Advantage Fokker.
Klaus then switched to the first pair and engaged. The other Fokker pilot and Raben worked well to keep the Camel in check. The Camel was now running away and the pleasure of bringing the Britisher down went to Klaus. He dove on the retreating machine and fired, then climbed back up, turned around and repeated the exercise. After a few of those attacks the propeller on the Camel wasn’t turning anymore. It was a formality after that. Advantage Raben.
After regrouping and falling in with the rest of the formation, the rest of the patrol went without further complications.

YouTube Link

Fullofit, you waste no time off the horse! Here’s to your new pilot. And what a show he is making. It took skill and a little luck to escape 4 Camels.
Carrick, I would keep injuring myself if it meant staying in the company of nurse Lorraine.
AT, dang it! I thought we were going to have another love interest going. Looking forward to Kevin’s adventure.
Shredward, thank you for the AAR. Excellent.
Raine, Mac will be back in rhythm in no time. Congratulations on the flamer.
Epower, what can I say! The writing, historical research and characters are 1st rate. And what is going on with Abigail.
Catch, join in bud. It’s a whole new level of fun.

Leutnant Ludwig Kemp
Jasta 56
13 confirmed victories
June 9, 1918

Kemp drank his coffee and finished his breakfast. There was still time before his morning flight. There had been no flights the last 2 days as the squadron had been beat up pretty bad late. Bachaus and Boldt had been killed. Kemp barely knew the men. They had transferred in while he was in hospital and he had been too busy to get to know them. He now had 13 confirmed kills and had been promoted. Collin had even made arrangements for his parents to attend the little ceremony. It was good to see them and his father and Collin had reminisced about their time with Richtofen. Though his father did not know the pilot, he knew the man well, having served in the cavalry with him. The loss of his leg had ended his military career. He was proud to see his son doing well.

The enemy was as dangerous as ever. Kemp had found out the new Fokker gave him a better chance at survival but it could not guarantee it. A Brisfit pilot had riddled him good and chased him all the way to the ground. He was lucky to have survived that encounter. The flight of 3 days ago still stood out in his mind. Collin, Heinz and Beckman were to escort 5 Rumplers to bomb an army base southwest of Ypres. Almost 10 miles behind the lines. It seemed suicidal but with 1 more serviceable machine, Kemp had volunteered.

All went well to the target. Not a cloud in the sky. As the Rumplers started their final run, Collin wagged his wings. Kemp saw them. Camels far below trying to climb with all their might. The 4 Fokker’s circled patiently as the bombers formed up. All the while the Camels were getting closer. Kemp had a knot in his stomach and the waiting’s was killing him. The flight finally turned east but the Camels had been smart. They had quit climbing in a circle and had headed east. As Kemp’s flight started to cross the lines, they were waiting. All ten of them. Kemp found himself in the dance of death with 2 of them immediately. They were good. Kemp steered the fight to the east when he could. He had taken hits and given a few of his own when the 2 Englishman broke off. Kemp was sweating. He had had a bad feeling the whole flight but now he had survived. He started to head home and gave a look around. He could see 2 specks in combat to the west back over the lines. Every fiber in his body wanted to head east. He jerked the Fokker west at full throttle. It was Beckman and a lone Camel. Kemp climbed and at the right moment engaged the unsuspecting Camel and sent it earthward. Beckman gave him a wave and they headed home.

Fullofit - Young Raben was running the gauntlet there until those Camels decided to merge into one. At least that's one thing the Pfalz can do better than most.....dive. Klaus is doing fantastically well. He's using the aircraft around him well like the Dreideckers.
Haha....you maybe right about the girls getting involved and my pilots getting...... distracted. As for Kevin, all's well. I'll be posting his opening day shortly.

Raine - That was good of MacAlister to visit Bronwyn's brother. Shame about his eye injury but hopefully it's not career threatening. Keith Caldwell screaming to have MacAlister back eh, high praise indeed. Sounds like everyone has been making hay in his absence though. Congratulations on number 51.

Epower - Fantastic tale, a veritable parade through London's finest haunts. A fine catch up with Mac too. Even if it was to learn about several sad losses. Beautiful car, they don't make em like that anymore.

MFair - Young Kemp is doing very well indeed. But he's right to think the new DVII is not a magic weapon, it still needs to be flown well and the Brisfits are dangerous foe. Well done downing that Camel.

2nd Lieutenant Kevin Carroll
41 Squadron
Conteville

8th June 1918

Kevin was sat in the back of the lorry. The other two 2nd Lieutenants had been with him all the way from St Omer. Lt Richards was due to report to 29 squadron, whilst Lt Dawson was going to 20 squadron to fly Brisfits.

He enjoyed their company but now he just wanted to get out of the bloody lorry. His backside ached with every bump and there was a bump every few seconds.

The lorry slowed and turned. They were at a security gate and Kevin heard voices. Then the gate was opened and the lorry made it's way in.

A few moments later the driver yelled into the back "This is Conteville sir!".

Kevin grabbed his gear and said a farewell to Richards and Dawson.

He went into the office and made himself known to the Adjutant. "2nd Lieutenant Carroll reporting for duty".

He was shown into the C.O.'s office and saluted. Major Bowman responded "at ease Lieutenant".

Bowman went through Kevin's papers. "Ah you're from Rainhill eh, I'm a Manchester lad myself".

Kevin knew this, Bowman was a well known ace back home, from his days flying DH2's with McCudden in 1916 through to his time with the elite of 56 squadron. He now had 26 confirmed kills. He needed no introduction.

"How many hours in SE's Lieutenant?" asked Bowman.

"More than 40 now sir with the training I gave to others" said Kevin.

"Good show, this should be a doddle for you" said Bowman with a huge slice of irony.

"Well you're our third replacement in the last three weeks so it's good to get someone with some experience, but flight hours and combat are two very different things Lieutenant" said the Major.

"Absolutely sir, I'll do my best" said Kevin

"I'm sure you will Lieutenant. Right.....to business. See the Adjutant to get your lodging and aircraft number. Grab a cuppa and be in the briefing room in 90 minutes please" said the Major.

"Yes sir" said Kevin

90 minutes later he was in the large briefing room with the Major.

"Thank you for being prompt Lieutenant. Now. I want you to take your machine up. Upto about 4000 feet and do a few laps of the airfield. Take note of the landmarks and test the rigging and struts. Then bring her back down" said the Major.

A little while later Kevin was pulling back on the stick and climbing away from the airfield in his SE5a.

He climbed up to 4000 feet quickly. The weather was lovely. Bright blue skies and little wind or cloud. He spotted the town of Tramecourt to the north and the airfield below.

He did a couple of laps and then nosed down and put the SE through it's paces. Climbs, dives, rolls and loops, Kevin was having a ball. Eventually though he came down and made a perfect landing.

"Nice flying Lieutenant" said Bowman. "Go get some lunch and report back to the briefing room with the others at 2pm please" said Bowman.

"Thank you sir, yes of course" said Kevin as he walked to freshen up.


The briefing room was busy in the afternoon. The Major spoke "Right chaps, I hope you enjoyed your morning off. Now we have a job to do this afternoon. Both 'A' and 'B' flights will be heading to the lines east of Bethune and patrolling there".

"It's been hectic of late as you know so stay awake and communicate any sightings. Now we have a new chap, may I introduce 2nd Lieutenant Kevin Carroll. Please make him welcome" said Bowman.

The other pilots exchanged greetings with Kevin, some more subdued than others.

The Major turned to Kevin...."Lieutenant. You are to complete this patrol with us. Keep your eyes open and try to get an idea of some of the landmarks on the way there. If we do meet any opposition you are to about turn and come straight back here. That's an order Lieutenant".

"I understand sir" said Kevin.

"Good, right chaps. Take off in 15 minutes" said the Major.

A short while later Kevin and the others were in the air and forming up. The weather was still excellent and Kevin was thoroughly enjoying the experience.

They climbed up to 12000 feet and headed out north east.

They reached the lines without incident and began their patrol. All went well for around twenty minutes. Then Kevin became aware of movement off to his left. He focussed and saw several specks a little lower and seemingly getting closer.

He signalled by waggling his wings and pointed out left. The rest of 'B' flight turned left.

Bowman came back and pointed towards home. Kevin nodded. He was itching to go with them, but he had his orders. He straightened and nosed down towards home.

He landed safely and about 20 minutes later the others started arriving too.

He later found the squadron had engaged a flight of the new Fokkers and had downed three without loss.

Bowman called him into his office.

"Did you enjoy today Lieutenant?" said Bowman, it was a clearly loaded question.

"It was very enjoyable sir, upto the point I had to leave you all and return here." said Kevin.

Bowman smiled "....and if you hadn't done that, you'd currently be packing your things and awaiting transport out of here".

"I know that was tough Lieutenant but I have to be able to know you can follow orders. Even if they go against your natural instinct" said Bowman.

"Your predecessor lasted precisely two days. All blow and no show. This war is more dangerous than ever Lieutenant. Your time in the trenches proves you can fight and survive. Now is the time to prove it again, in the skies" said the Major.

"From now on you can pick your own fights.....and by the way, top job spotting those enemy aircraft. That's a skill straight away." said Bowman.

"Yes sir, thank you" said Kevin.

"Now go and get a drink man, mingle with your fellow pilots.....and relax" said Bowman.

"Yes sir" said Kevin.

"Oh and Lieutenant......welcome to 41 Squadron" said Bowman.

I've yet to catch up with all your adventures and that being a major undertaking, it must wait until the weekend.
For now we find Oliver in London. Alas, Rula Lenska is not born yet so she can't show him around.
_____________________________________________

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 84



14 May 1918
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London


Spent an hour this morning trying to write a letter to Eliza, but got stuck. She mentioned unanswered letters just like Mac did. How many got lost in the retreat I wonder? What is it that she needs to tell me?

Eliza gave me her St. Jude medallion. No small thing since I know she had it from her grandmother. Patron saint of lost causes. Seems appropriate. Dare I hope? I want to say so much but I’m confused. I can’t deny my feelings for Clarissa even if that love is doomed.



I’ve no idea what to say beyond thanking her for the St. Jude and hoping we can meet again soon. I’m leaving things at that and posting it.
_____________________

Late this morning I headed off in search of Orpen’s studio. Mac had given me the address. As I was searching for the correct door, I practically bumped into the man himself.

He greeted me warmly. “If it isn't Captain Ripper from 56 Squadron. To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to sit for me, are you?”

“Nothing like that, Orps. I heard about your exhibition but I’m going to miss it. I wanted to see your work.”

Orpen led me up to the second floor and showed me into a larger adjoining room was strewn with what must have been a hundred paintings.



I didn’t know Sgt. Bennett but Orpen caught the quiet intensity of the normally frenetic Boom. Hoidge was spot on. The slightly hang dog look and those shining dark eyes of his. I remembered the October day he sat for this portrait. Georgie was nearly killed on the morning patrol before shooting down a pair of two seaters. He arrived two hours late and Orpen was furious before he learned the reason.



As for the two RFC officers, why not go to breakfast before Hospital? Of the returning patrol, this could have been any day. Hoidge, Arthur and another, probably Mac if the man’s height was any indication. On some days it would be me. Arthur was always so excited when recounting the events of a combat.



I stared at the two portraits of the woman “Refugee” for a long time. There was something compelling about her I couldn’t articulate.

More to her than meets the eye

I must have muttered my thoughts aloud. Orpen gave a chuckle and put his finger to the side of his nose.



Orpen’s usually keen eye failed him here. The color palette looked all wrong, especially compared to the portraits of Sgt Bennett, Hoidge or the woman Refugee. This shallow, washed out and lifeless visage revealed nothing of the spark and ebullience of the man. It wasn’t the McCudden I knew.

The next set of Somme paintings were completely at odds with the muddy blur of devastation I'd flown over for much of 1917. Was this what it looked like at ground level?





The next group of paintings depicted a war of which I am almost completely ignorant. I can't see how he'll get these past the censor.







Zonnebeke reminded me of those Renaissance painters’ depictions of Hell.




Is he meant to be a ghost? Is that how Orpen imagines the dead? For a moment I thought him to represent the risen Christ.

The Somme last Summer was deserted save for the burial details. Thousands of skeletons lay in trenches or dugouts.




It was impossible to view such remarkable and evocative works without introspection and strong emotion, so when I came at the last to the portrait of Arthur the shock of it landed with far greater impact.




It was Arthur as he was in life!

Orpen caught the clear-eyed look of heightened awareness and excitement that Arthur would always get just before he went on patrol. Was there also a trace of the “what a load of balls” smirk? Maybe it was the flying clothes Arthur wore while sitting for the portrait that revealed him to Orpen’s sight so clearly.

In some locked corridor of my mind grief raged full force but hard experience, like the obdurate jailer who inures himself to a prisoner’s cries, kept it out of reach. I stared at the painting with a continued detachment, unable to summon any emotion other than a rising horror at the realization that I could feel nothing. Just like the dream image of a dead Arthur trapped under the wreckage of his plane, the portrait held me fast and drew me in. I tried to scream, to call out, to do anything to break the numbing hold.

“Will you take a drink, Ripper?”

The sound of his voice broke the spell. I wrenched my gaze away. Only then did I feel the tears on my face.

Orpen made no comment as he poured two fingers of whiskey into each glass. We raised our glasses in silence. He drained his at one go and refilled it immediately. I looked at him more closely. Orpen had changed. He was still the congenial Irishman, and the playful gleam remained, but he looked to have aged considerably since I’d met him last October. I wondered at the price he must have paid during the last year; an onlooker in France was the way he described himself. Aloft or safely behind the lines I could turn an eye from all the ugliness and block it out. Orpen by contrast studied it in minute detail, immersed himself entirely in all the horror of war, and did so with an artist’s eye and sensitivity. What must that have been like?



"It’s the real war you’ve caught here, Orps. The real war. The horror and the human face of it, for certain, but also the beauty.”

"Such a strange thing,” he replied pensively. “April last, when I went to the Somme battlefield, it was nothing but water, shell-holes and mud – the most gloomy dreary abomination of desolation the mind could imagine. When I came back in August… I can’t express the beauty of it, Ripper. I haven’t the words. The dreary, dismal mud was baked white and pure – dazzling white. White daisies, red poppies and a blue flower, great masses of them, stretched for miles and miles. The sky a pure dark blue, and the whole air, up to a height of about forty feet, thick with white butterflies: your clothes were covered with butterflies. It was like an enchanted land: but in the place of fairies there were thousands of little white crosses, marked 'Unknown British Soldier', for the most part."

“All these paintings, I’ve never seen their like.”

“Your portrait should be among them, boyo.” he said.

“Another day, maybe.”

“Why not sit?” he asked. “Just as you are now.”

It took some additional cajoling but I finally relented. The good-natured Orps was not an easy man to refuse. My posture was similar to Hoidge’s but turned slightly open to be more face-on like Arthur’s. With my left side closer to the artist, Orpen adjusted my arm so that the four wound stripes might show. He sketched furiously, and for long periods looked only at me as his practiced hand drew on the sketchpad. Orpen resembled then the man I’d first met, the one in the self-portrait with the spark in his eye.

It was torture. I sat, mentally bruised and bloodied from the recent ordeal, utterly exposed, my guard swept away. The prisoner, having escaped confinement, now demanded an audience. How that conflict played out on my features I cannot say, but after a time the scratching of the pencil ceased and Orpen regarded me for a long, silent minute then shook his head and set his pencil down.

“Perhaps, you’re right. We should finish this another time,” he said.

Was that sympathy in his voice?

I thought I heard disappointment too, as though he knew that the face he beheld today, the one that the artist in him sought so desperately to record was one he’d never see again. Was that why Orpen wanted to paint me? If so, he’d reconsidered, maybe because of what he saw, maybe out of basic decency.

I don’t know why Arthur’s death should cut me so much more than Grevelink’s or Pixley’s or the others I called friend.

Clement’s death was like that of Hector or Achilles - the mythic glory of the world diminished. That of Pixley and all the rest - a full life of friendship now extinguished. Arthur’s was that way too, but there was more to it. Grevelink and Maybery were professional soldiers from military families. They were going experience war eventually. Richard had already seen service on the Indian Frontier in 1913. Arthur was just a schoolboy doing his duty, like legions of others. Still, there was something different about him. His was no ordinary light. In his life I saw embodied the hope for a better future. Now that he was dead, only the brief glory of his exploits would be remembered. What might he have become? What might they all have become, had they lived?

Epower - So Ripper has written to Eliza but left it basic. Sounds like another meet up is essential. Especially if he's going to get back into the action entirely free of ties to the ground. Then a visit to William Orpen. What a wonderful collection of paintings. His use of colour is first rate which is why the one of Mac is a disappointment, maybe a first draft? The two of the 'refugee' are quite sad despite her provocative pose, she looks forlorn.

2nd Lieutenant Kevin Carroll
41 Squadron
Conteville

9th June 1918.

Morning sortie.

Major Bowman took the briefing with everyone present. He explained both flights would be heading back out to the lines east of Bethune.

The weather was still decent but large cumulonimbus clouds had appeared and he advised wide open eyes and caution anywhere near them.

Kevin took off a short while later and formed up with the rest of 'B' flight. Together they climbed up to 12000 feet and then headed off towards Bethune.

All was quiet for the majority of the journey. As they approached the lines Kevin saw a number of specks ahead and a little below them.

The rest of 'B' flight had seen them too. They were Fokker biplanes and they tried desperately to climb up towards 'B' flight. Compared to yesterday Kevin counted at least double the amount of enemy scouts.

As some of 'B' flight pounced, Kevin bided his time and picked a target. He saw one of the Fokkers come from underneath him and roll to the left.

Kevin dived onto him and opened fire. He scored a few hits but the Fokker had read the attack just in time. Kevin went with the Fokker as he dived and rolled right and a tight turning match ensued for the next few thousand feet.

Eventually the Fokker levelled off and Kevin pounced. He hit him hard with several good bursts. The Fokker seemed to hang and then nosed down and smashed into the ground.

Kevin took stock and took advantage of a clear six to reload his Lewis gun.

He saw another Fokker seemingly getting the better of one of the SE's. He raced over there and fired into the enemy. The Fokker gave up his attack and rolled right towards the German lines.

Kevin was having none of it and poured both weapons into the foe. Another burst tore both wings from it's right side and it spun rapidly down into the ground.

Kevin could see no more enemy aircraft and formed up with the SE he'd just helped out and together they headed home.

Kevin found that the squadron had accounted for eight Fokkers for the loss of one SE, Lieutenant Brendon had been killed and a few other SE's damaged.



Afternoon sortie.

Major Bowman confirmed that the afternoon sortie would be across the enemy lines towards Lens.

The weather had remained the same, no better or worse than the morning.

41 Squadron took off and after forming and climbing they headed out.

Kevin was ever watchful as several large cloud banks neared. They'd came through one such bank, about two thirds of the way to the lines when he looked over his left shoulder and froze. Up above them were a formation of aircraft and with the puffs of flak nearby, clearly not friendly.

Kevin signalled to the others and just as he checked his six he saw a Dreidecker zooming down onto him.

Kevin instinctively rolled out of the way and tried to anticipate where the Fokker would be as it went past him. He wasn't far wrong but not enough to get a shot in.

A turning match ensued and the SE did well in not letting the Dreidecker get a bead on him.

Then the enemy pilot made an error. He rolled down and probably expected Kevin to do the same but he stayed above the enemy aircraft.

Using this height he was able to get a shot in and hit the Triplane which dived and tried to run for home.

Kevin latched onto him and hit him hard. The Dreidecker now tried to climb out of Kevin's reach.

'Dont stall, don't stall, don't stall', thought Kevin to himself as he tried to stay with the enemy aircraft.

Eventually the Fokker levelled and Kevin hit him again. He got behind and blasted the Dreidecker.

The pilot slumped forward in the cockpit and the aircraft nosed down into the ground.

Kevin couldn't see any other aircraft nearby and decided to fly home.

On landing, some other SE's were turning up as well.

Four Dreideckers were being claimed for the loss of one SE although the pilot was ok.

Later on, Major Bowman spoke with Kevin. "Quite a day for you Lieutenant. Welcome to the airwar in 1918. You did very well though."

"Thank you sir" replied Kevin.

"You didn't freeze. The amount of good pilots who freeze and dither when in combat. Choose a target and attack it hard. Don't sit there and 'um and ahh' about it. You'll be dead before you know it" said Bowman.

"We're investigating your claims and I'll let you know" said the Major. "Now if you'll forgive me Lieutenant, I've another letter to write" he finished.

"Yes of course sir" replied Kevin.

Albert - So Kevin has fallen in with Oliver's old pal Berry Bowman. The youngster will be in good hands there.
Wow, he sure didn't waste any time! As a Top Gun instructor will say many decades hence, Kevin 'had a hell of a first day.' Well done and very nice pics.

As to the "Refugee," there's a story there. Orpen jokingly titled it "The Spy" originally, which sent the Censor's office into a tizzy. After a stern reprimand he renamed the two paintings. The reason for the subterfuge, and for Orpen's chuckle and finger to the nose with Oliver, is that the woman, Yvonne Aubicq, was Orpen's lover and would be for the next nine years. By portraying her as a spy or refugee he was able to get her portraits into the exhibition.

e power Impressive paintings in one collection. and nicely woven into the story line. Well done.

Henri du Fay
Sgt, Spa 94.
Bed 12 Bungalow B6
4 Corps, 2nd Army
Hospital., Paris.

June 10 1918.

After a few days rest, I feel fit as a Fiddle. Late in the day , I met my Physical Therapist , Mes Amies a ruff medical program .

Epower - I've just done some reading on Miss Aubicq. She's certainly good looking, reminds me of Miranda Richardson. I wonder if Orpen got her to adopt the slightly saddened expression to fit in with the ruse. Yes 'Beery' Bowman was a central part of 56 in 1917 into 18 so Oliver will know him very well.

Carrick - I hope getting fit is the only thing Henri's been fiddling with. A rough medical program eh? She doesn't look too rough to me.