Tross - The lack of crashes is a relief for Baptiste, that's certain. The replacements are... sort of coming. The XIII though may as well be a million miles away as of right now. It sure does, though hopefulyl no such bullets come Sigmund's way. In a war started by a fateful bullet, there's already way too many fateful bullets as is. So the morning begun with a nice and quiet patrol, that's nice in moderation. The second flight turned out a bit more different though with an appearance from Camels. The first one didn't turn out to be such an easy victim as Sigmund seems to have expected, but in the end he managed to deal with him and then another. Hopeful the wait will be worth it and they shall be confirmed. Between all that, the funeral and a conversation with the leutnant. It's a nice desire I suppose, to want to contribute. Probably better than the glory seekers.
Carrick - The 54th is still struggling a tad it seems, with 2 to 3. Not really making much of a positive here, but then again, when losing men it's hard to get positive results as is. Then some loss and damage from those Hannovers too.. Unfortunate.
Using the lack of missions in the early morning up until the afternoon and the cleared up weather, I had my crate repainted. Felt a lot better to fly in something personal like that, hopefully this one won't wind up crashing again. Shortly before the afternoon however our rest was interrupted by an air raid. We scrambled into the clear sky and circled for altitude, eventually finding some two seaters. We closed in slowly but surely and some have begun their attack. I picked myself one and started approaching down low, when suddenly one other two seater shot past me downwards, getting chased by one of the SPADs. This in turn alerted the one I was stalking so he begun to move around and fire back at me. I closed in to engage, getting some good shots in but eventually the gunner got a good burst into my wing and I was sent spiraling trying to dodge. By the time I recovered I noticed some cables got shot out AGAIN and I once more was stuck in a state of having to constantly correct at full strength. I begun to head home just in time to see the two seater I was chasing get shot down by another wingmate who managed to break the Boche's wing off. I suppose today I will once more be denied my acehood. Thankfully, being above my own field I didn't have to worry about getting there and instead with some effort managed to slam my crate down into the aerodrome without it breaking into pieces. What's with those damned SPADs and their control surfaces?! This is the second time this happens now...
For the afternoon, a railway attack was scheduled. It went as expected and was otherwise nondistinct besides me trying out a new strategy of sticking to the Captaine's wing during the approaches and hoping that the gunners focus more on him than they do me. We strafed like this, with the Captaine being none the wiser that he's being used as a shield. Halfway through this, someone managed to hit something on the ground and set off an explosion, causing some fires and smoke. I went ahead to strafe what was left and nearly got rammed by another SPAD in the process for my efforts, because evidently I'm the only one here with a working pair of eyes. Shortly after this we all turned to head for home and landed with no further trouble. At the end of the day, we had even less airframes as extensive repairs were needed to some after the railroad attack. I wonder if we'll ever manage to get over this...
"Those who survive a long time on the battlefield start to think they're invincible. I bet you do, too, Buddy."
NR, oh no if there is a SPAD, there is trouble. Trouble finds you, not the other way around. You’ve flown SPAD for a while, you should know. And just to point something out: VII is a lucky number, XIII not so much. True, 50% of your claims getting confirmed is better than nothing. Then again, it’s the same difference between 100% and 50%, right? As to that Bréguet that you’ve already written off, I must surprise you. It was seen by the … farmers, that’s right, farmers. Yes, the sounds seem to be off on my system. Perhaps it sounds better on something else than a Soundblaster. And just like you, I’ve jumped a few times in my seat from these unexplained, seemingly coming out of nowhere sounds. So, another unproductive day for Baptiste. Well, at least it keeps everyone safe and allows the supply lines to catch up with demand. Tomorrow is always another day. Perhaps it’ll be a bit more lucky. Now, reading your next report, it does appear I was too optimistic. That is an unlucky hit to the control cables again. To be honest I think SPADs seem to get hit with this affliction more often than other types, or at least SPADs seem to suffer much worse from this kind of damage than other planes. Look at the bright side, at least you were able to keep all your wings attached and even more importantly you weren’t thrown from your plane during the crash landing. That has to count for something. Then the strafing run on the railyard. Very wise move to let le Capitaine be the vanguard of the attack. This way he’ll attract the attention of the gunners and you’ll keep him in view. Unfortunate about all the damaged planes though. Hopefully the mechanics have all the necessary spare parts to get the planes ready for tomorrow.
Albert, I’m starting to think there are Chinese working at the claims board and are afraid of number four. In that case, I suggest skipping directly to five. You’ve got it right, the collision sound just appears to come from the most bizarre places. Perhaps the 3D sound positioning is out of whack somehow? Now, what is not out of whack is Sigmund’s aerial fighting prowess. Two confirmed and it is just the beginning. Well, maybe not early in the morning when the enemy is still sleeping. Then the afternoon romp when Winterhart finally found some Camels to play with, but it looked like the enemy was well rested and put up a valiant effort. All for naught. Sigmund’s superior flying skills took care of that. Then he repeated the feat with another Camel. This one appeared to be made of much weaker stuff and went down easily. We’ll have to wait for the confirmations. Hopefully both go through. I’m sure some farmer must’ve seen the whole thing.
The bad news was that there were no spare parts to repair Raben’s Fokker with and they wouldn’t come until tomorrow. The good news was the Bréguet that caused all this pain for Klaus was credited to him. A silver lining after all.
"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."
Carrick – Cecil seems to be doing very well with his Camel. Those twin Vickers pack considerably more punch than most of the other British machines.
Albert – Welcome to Sigmund Winterhart! He is getting away from the fleet just in time to avoid becoming a mutineer, I suspect. Have you flown the EV yet? I have not yet had that experience and would like to know your impressions. I don’t recall reading any first-hand accounts of flying it, so I have to accept the Leutnant’s verdict that it is total Scheiss. Anyway, he has been blessed with a D7 and has put it to excellent use his first days in combat.
NR – Sergeant Leanders seems to have had a decent start with his Spad. I loved that last pic of the railyard attack.
Lou – Great to see you dropping in again. I can’t wait for the next episode in Freddie’s adventures. By the way, when he gets to 43 Squadron, if he needs another intrepid flyer I hear that there is a bold young Canadian languishing on Bristols over at 11 Squadron. Just saying…
Fullofit – I watched your video of 14 August in which you engage a group of Spads that pass over your formation. Full credit for your patience and good energy management which, as always, was on display throughout the fight. And congratulations on passing the 70 mark and being promoted to Hauptmann!
Journal of 2nd Lieutenant Robert Fergus Drummond 11 Squadron, Royal Air Force Le Quesnoy-en-Artois, France
Part 5
"Buckingham wrenched his Lewis around and blasted away from twenty-five yards."
9 August 1918 – The first day of the offensive has been that rarest of joys – a stunning success. Our Canadian Corps is coming in for high praise and, along with their British and Australian (and even a handful of American) mates the boys have pushed the Amiens front a good seven or eight miles to the east. By all reports, German prisoners number in the tens of thousands. Our first patrol this day took us over the Hun lines east of Amiens at 11,000 feet. We had seven machines and ran into a formation of at least fifteen Fokkers who dived on us from above a higher cloud bank. I did my best to maintain altitude and keep above the main body of the scrap. I also worked very hard not to become isolated. I am therefore at a loss to describe how Buckingham and I ended up with no fewer than three nasty Huns taking turns at shooting bits off our Bristol. In the end there was nothing left to do except put the nose down and dive at full throttle for the safety of our own lines. Buckingham did a stout job of keeping the vultures at bay with his Lewis gun. The Huns at last broke away and we raced westward at 1000 feet, our wings in tatters and a landing wire snapping in the wind. We put down at Bertangles, where we enjoyed lunch with an Australian Squadron and awaited our recovery lorry.
We were back over the Amiens front at dawn on 10 August, but whereas yesterday the sky was dotted with friends and foe, this day we saw no one and return home cold and ready for breakfast. Later in the morning we patrolled over Bapaume and were approached by a very large formation of Fokkers. Fortunately, Seabrooke was leading and had the common sense to give the washout signal before we were overwhelmed.
The third patrol of the day took us back to Bapaume. This time we again ran into Fokkers but the numbers were even for a change and we had some good success. I was able to get behind a grey-green machine with a white tail and put two long bursts into it. The Hun pilot dived and zoomed and I pulled up abeam of it. Buckingham wrenched his Lewis around and blasted away from twenty-five yards. Thus riddled with bullets, the Fokker showed a thin stream of flame and began its last dive earthward.
We turned away and looked for the others. Beard’s machine was about a thousand feet above, but as we turned to rejoin him, Buckingham signalled for me to look below to our right. A lone Fokker was passing beneath us. We dived unseen onto its tail and sent it spinning down to crash over Bapaume.
The first D7 was confirmed by Coler. Unfortunately the second remained unwitnessed. Still, our score was now six, the best in the squadron.
Carrick - Don't worry dear boy, Fienvillers is a long way away from the Marine Jastas to the far north. Cecil may get company though in the shape of 43 squadron commanded by a familiar toothy grin. As for Cecil, I'm glad to see the claim was finally approved but it's tough going for 54 at the moment it seems. All he can do is stay alive and keep shooting them down.
NR - Those scramble missions normally provide a lot of targets, but what they don't provide is easy meat. Once they start to evade it's very hard staying directly behind them and not getting a face full of bullets. I'd be thankful it's the aircraft taking the punishment rather than Baptiste's backside, even if it is the wiring being hit....as long as he can get back down of course, which he did thankfully. Then a 'routine' railyard hit and Baptiste employed some innovative tactics, not ones you find in the pages of the training manual, but then how many of those who wrote it had to place their arses in so much danger day after day. As for Sigmund, yes he's definitely no glory hunter. He's not some stupid indoctrinated child, he knows the war's not going swimmingly and the omens are not good but what is a man to do? All he can do....his bit.
Fullofit - Another mechanical washout for Klaus even if it was softened with the sweet taste of a confirmed Breguet. Roll on tomorrow. As for Sigmund, the DVII is such a lovely crate to fly he's finding getting the better of these Camels far easier than it would have been in an Albatros. Those short sighted Allies who wrote up the treaty of Versailles and banned production of the DVIIs. They should have said build 1000's, but for us.
Raine - The EV is maneuverable certainly but it's got the same engine as the Dr1, so just about every Entente scout in 1918 is faster than it. If it had a more powerful engine, maybe giving it another 20mph, then you've potentially got a game changer.
Fergie had some tough outings over the period it seems. He's got a good relationship going with Buckingham which is crucial and just as importantly he seems to be a good shot. Congratulations on the confirmed kill even if the second couldn't be seen. So Drummond is now the top scorer at the squadron, how different from the suspicions and sly looks when he first turned up. Good show. As for Sigmund, yes he got out in time. What did they expect would happen leaving thousands of men couped up for years? The whole thing was ripe for dissention and indoctrination by those intent on rebellion. He's a pilot now and finally feels he's being allowed to express himself in this war.
"A great deal of an aeroplane could be holed without affecting its ability to fly. Wings and fuselage could be—and often were—pierced in 50 places, missing the occupants by inches (blissfully unaware of how close it had come until they returned to base). Then the sailmaker would carefully cover each hole with a square inch of Irish linen frayed at the edges and with a brushful of dope make our aircraft 'serviceable' again within an hour."
Albert - Congrats on Sigmund drawing first blood. But Camels? It brought a tear to my eye. To quote another of our DID brethren, "Ah, man not the camels."
Fullofit - Parts shortages are only going to get worse for the Kaiser’s fliegers I’m afraid. Best not break anything if you can help it.
Raine - Soooo, you’re thinking Drummond might like to switch over to scouts, should such an offer be made to do so? Not sure what kind of pull Freddy would have in that regard, but you never know.
NR - Despite the Spad's shortcomings, it’s still nice to have a personalized one over a generic one. Now as to the unconfirmed claims, we all feel your man’s pain there. Fingers crossed his odds improve.
Carrick - Cecil is edging ever closer to ace status, although those Hannovers definitely put a crimp in 54’s style.
Oberflugmaat Sigmund Winterhart Seefrosta II Vlisseghem airfield Flanders
2 confirmed kills (awaiting two confirmations).
18th August 1918
Morning sortie
Leutnant Huecker took the briefing and explained that both schwarms would be heading out to the lines south of Nieuwpoort once more.
The weather was good and some of the larger cloud formations had cleared as both schwarms took off and climbed up to 3500 meters before heading west.
The journey was quiet enough until Sigmund saw sunlight flicker off something ahead....there it was again. This time he saw a formation. Flak bursts told him all he needed to know about the nationality of the aircraft as they continued to approach.
He now saw it was a formation of RE8's who swung around and headed home on seeing the Jasta. Sigmund went after them but the enemy broke up into individual aircraft. This made it difficult for Sigmund to get close in without getting hit.
He came around behind one of the RE8's who swung right allowing the gunner to fire into Sigmund's wings. He nosed down and got closer. He now blasted the enemy aircraft as other DVII's did the same. The Englander's right wings broke away and the enemy spun down into ground west Ghistelles airfield.
Sigmund took stock and saw the remaining RE8's disappearing off into the distance. He looked at the holes in his wing and decided to head home.
On landing and making out his report he found that three enemy aircraft had been downed although five Fokkers had been damaged including Sigmund's.
Afternoon sortie (awaiting three confirmations).
After some lunch and repairs to several aircraft, the afternoon briefing involved Leutnant Freymadl explaining that Schwarm Zwei would be heading out towards Nieuwpoort again.
The weather was still good as they got airborne and formed up. They climbed up to about 4000 meters and headed out towards the lines.
They could see the lines ahead as Sigmund noticed several formations ahead and apparently moving towards them.
As they neared it was clearly enemy aircraft thanks to the flak. Sigmund saw at least two flights of RE8's and then a large formation of what looked like DH4's.
Schwarm Zwei was seemingly literally caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Several DVII's went after the RE8's as they reached them first, but Sigmund waited and watched as the DH4's nosed down and raced in to attack them.
He now went after the DH4's to try and help his kameraden. He fired into two of the enemy aircraft and had them diving away but at the same time he was hit with fire from several angles. He dived down and now came up behind another DH4 and opened fire. The Englander swung right and nosed up but Sigmund went with him and fired again. He blasted the enemy aircraft hard, another long burst and the DH4's engine seized and then burst into flames.
The stricken aircraft nosed over and went down into the ground. Sigmund now saw the rest of the enemy aircraft nose down and heading home.
With the damage to his crate he thought it prudent to do the same.
He landed safely and went to clean up.
Four enemy aircraft had been downed but every single aircraft in Schwarm Zwei had been damaged although all made it home.
Later on Leutnant Freymadl commended Sigmund in conversation with Leutnant Huecker, however Huecker had received word that only one of Sigmund's four outstanding claims had been confirmed. The afternoon Camel from yesterday had been confirmed.... that was all. Between the ground units and other pilots, the others were denied.
"Nevermind junge, it happens. Just keep downing them." said Heucker, as he saw the disappointment etched on Sigmund's face.
"A great deal of an aeroplane could be holed without affecting its ability to fly. Wings and fuselage could be—and often were—pierced in 50 places, missing the occupants by inches (blissfully unaware of how close it had come until they returned to base). Then the sailmaker would carefully cover each hole with a square inch of Irish linen frayed at the edges and with a brushful of dope make our aircraft 'serviceable' again within an hour."
Raine, it definitely was an exercise in patience. Hurry up and wait, that’s the way to fight those French SPADs. Looks like Fergie is dealing with his share of Fokker flood. Getting overwhelmed by superior numbers is not a fun way to do battles. Good thing he’d finally encountered an even force and showed a thing or two about dogfighting. Congrats on the confirmed Hun.
Albert, I say: yes, Camels. Better them than those Strutters, that’s for sure! BTW, why would allies need Fokkers when they had SPADs? So, Sigmund gets to fight the two-seaters again, but they fight back and don’t fly straight and level like the German bombers. (What’s up with that?) Then more two-seaters and more holes in the Fokker. Something doesn’t feel right. What’s more disconcerting is the sudden claim denial. I am starting to think the Germans are getting screwed by WoFF somehow.
Lou, wouldn’t you know it? Everyone gets spares first and Klaus is left to rummage through scraps. Keeping his kite in one piece is not an option with all these Strutters roaming about.
August Raben the Staffelführer of Jasta 18 walked into the Kasino this morning. Most pilots were already there eating their breakfast. “- Guten Tag meine Herren. I have a special assignment and I need volunteers. Schleichardt, von Buren and Raben, come with me.” He looked at the three men and jerked his thumb in the direction of his office. When the three men arrived at the office and the C.O. sat himself at his desk he began: “- I need you to go and bring down the French gasbag near Nancy.” Klaus shifted his weight. He didn’t like these sneaking around in small numbers missions. Those Strutters were just waiting for them. He knew it. “- It should be a simple affair. In and out, no heroics. Just take it down and come back in one piece, understood?” The three men acknowledged that they have. August dismissed them, but asked Klaus to stay behind. “- Why me? I went on this Himmelfahrtskommando last time!” Klaus was livid after the office door has been shut. “- Calm down, Klaus. I need you on this mission. I want you to observe these two clowns. Watch how they do on this mission and report to me.” August explained the reasons in a lowered voice. “- They’ve been here for a while and still have no confirmed claims to their credit. I want to know why.”
Klaus was in the air first. Then Schleichardt and von Buren last. Raben kept his eyes on stalks for any signs of silver planes during the entire flight. The journey across the Front was uneventful and they’ve finally reached their target. The balloon hung in the air in front of them. Klaus reduced the revs on his Mercedes engine and watched the two wingmen pass him on each side and take the lead. He observed as they opened fire. “- Dear Lord!” They’ve sprayed the space around the balloon. Everywhere but the gasbag itself. They couldn’t hit the broadside of a Zeppelin even if their life depended on it. He’d seen enough! Klaus opened fire and soon black smoke started to emanate from the balloon. He turned his plane and watched from afar as more and more smoke developed and soon after the target was consumed by a brilliant ball of flame. The mission was over and so was the spying on his mates. As he flew back across the lines to get back to base, Klaus was debating. What was he going to tell August? Should he lie and cover for the two bumbling idiots? Or should he be the mole and tell it like it is? He had his orders and he didn’t owe anything to the men that he couldn’t trust. How many more were there like these two in this Jasta?
18 August, 1918 12:25 noon mission Montingen, Verdun Sector Jasta 18 Hauptmann Klaus Gustav Raben PLM HHO EK1 EK2 Fokker D.VII 75 confirmed kills Waiting for one claim confirmation
In the afternoon the Schwarm was sent to patrol enemy front lines south of Pont-à-Mousson. There was no contact although Klaus could have sworn he’d seen shapes ducking into the clouds.
"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 - With gunnery skills like that you have to wonder how they managed to get passed through in the first place. The Fliegertruppen must be getting really hard up for pilots. Add to that, what a waste of precious ammo. A personnel change perhaps?
Frederick Abbott slouched into his seat, his shoulder pressed against the window next to him, as the Channel coastline slipped slowly by in the early twilight. The Calais-to-Abbeville train was relatively empty so he’d parked his kit in the vacant seat next to him and was using it as a rest for his left arm, his right arm relaxing on the lower frame of the aforementioned window. It was fairly comfortable and he knew he’d be drifting off to sleep soon, his eyes growing weary as he gazed at the darkening landscape beyond the glass. The freshly-minted Major was on his way to his next assignment, to serve as the new CO of 43 Squadron at Fienvillers. But rather than looking ahead at his immediate future his mind was meandering back.
The recent stint at Catterick as an instructor, while serving as an interesting respite from combat flying, had offered its own challenges. Being in charge of so many fledgling flyers and having to constantly look out for their safety could most certainly try one’s nerves. Fortunately less so for Freddy, due in large part to his jovial nature and general belief that life is going to do what it’s going to do and all any of us can do is go along for the ride. While he did his best to impart what experience and wisdom he had on the subjects of flying and aerial combat to his eager students, in the end it was up to them not to kill themselves. And during Abbott’s three-month tenure most had managed the trick of staying alive. There were of course losses, all of which Freddy was convinced could have been prevented had the unfortunate pilots kept their wits about them and done what they’d been told to do in the first place. But then, in the heat of the moment, it was fairly easy to get fouled up - he knew that only too well.
His mind drifted back further, to his early days with 11 Squadron and his first G/O, Lieutenant Thomas Yale. My God, how green Freddy had been, and if it hadn’t been for Tommy he'd be dead now himself. The man was the epitome of patience, showing young Abbott the ropes as he did then, in that tired old Fee they’d been saddled with. And what did Freddy do in his very first encounter with the enemy? Promptly forget everything Yale had taught him. No, you couldn’t fault someone for panicking in a critical situation; you could only pray that they got themselves right quickly enough to survive it. He had stressed this to his charges at Catterick on more than one occasion. He only hoped now that they would each remember it when their time of trial came, and manage to live through it as he had done.
The train stopped briefly in Boulogne-sur-Mer, traded passengers, packages, and mail bags, then trundled along into the night. And Major Abbott continued on his own private inner journey. He pondered how it was that he had survived, indeed triumphed, time and time again in aerial battle; first with the Fees and Brisfits at 11 Squadron, and later with the Camels at 65 Squadron. He knew he’d been incredibly lucky on countless occasions, there was no question about that; the fates were fond of him. But he’d also come to the realization that he’d simply, inexplicably, become a top-hole combat pilot. “haw”, he laughed to himself under his breath. He’d never been particularly adept at anything in his life before, but in this one talent he shown bright. Well, this, and making proper love to a woman.
His thoughts flew arrow straight to Lizzie - aaaah Lizzie. Their first meeting, July of last year, at the Red Cross hospital in Abbeville, where Nurse Ellison had assisted the doctor who’d dug the bullet out of Freddy’s shoulder. And those fantastic few evenings that followed at the little hotel on the Rue des Capucins. Then the drought until December of that year when they were reunited again, this time at the hospital in Bailleul when Freddy was getting yet another Hun bullet extracted, this one from him backside. He and Lizzie made up for lost time after that with three glorious months together, being stationed as they were within walking distance of each other. But now this drought, when would it end. They’d been writing, sharing their thoughts and adventures and dreams, hoping for another reunion. The War however had conspired against them, keeping them apart. Ah well, c’est la vie; they were practical people, (all lust and desires aside), and they each believed in their own way that things would likely work out as they should in the end. But my Lord how they wanted to be together again.
It was both a passionate and peaceful longing to drift off to sleep with, and it brought a wide, warm smile to Freddy’s oddly pleasant face as he slumbered. When he awoke he would be in Abbeville and the war would be waiting for him scant miles away. But for now, as the train wended slowly southward through the darkness, he and Lizzie laid together in sublime, ethereal fantasy.
Fullofit - Oh I do very much know what it can be when it comes to trouble with SPADs, and today is just another day proving this. Insufficient machine that can't do anything besides just die it seems. Unless flown by an AI of course, then it can pretend that we are playing Ace Combat and that the laws of physics don't really need to apply. Well, in all honesty 100 is preferable to 50 in most cases. Farmers though? The claims board works in mysterious ways, and of all people for to be farmers is... exquisite. Well, can't complain I'd imagine! Don't imagine it sounds any worse than it would on year old headphones which really need replacing The sounds themselves though I'm sure are just haunting. Or future premonitions from the unnamed one. Nay, it seems like bad luck is currently following Baptiste. I must admit, I've not flown nearly as many airframes in WOFF as I'd have liked to enough to comment with enough knowledge, but I do think I agree, based on the levels of punishment Dean's plane would take when he was alive and, hell. Even the Pfalz of my last German pilot it seems managed to control itself better after a collision than these SPADs do after a few bullets to the wing. Not having another crash is a bonus though, yes. The mechanics are trying their best, but what can one do when you still run out of parts faster than you can get them replaced. So the 17th was a day of sitting doing nothing then, but hey, at least there's that confirmation! The next day though, Klaus isn't all too happy about having to go hunt down a balloon, but turns out there's more to it. And oh dear, what an embarassing performance by these pilots. Really can't be trusted in combat either if they behave like this then. Thankfully there was no Strutters though, at least, and the next sortie was a relief from braindead airmen.
Raine - Well, he's surviving so far! However long that will last anyway. What a misfortune to run into fokkers like that constantly. At least it worked out somewhat, given the several kills. Congratulations on the confirmation, great pic of it burning!
Tross - That is very much true, sure the targets are there but what's the point when one can barely kill them. Seems like your words were prophetic though, though yes, a crash landing would've been far worse I'd imagine. Nay, certainly not a common pilot's tactics but that's a valid point. Well, no one says you oughta win fights by fighting fair. It's a good sentiment from Sigmund, that, when that really is all that can be done in the end. And now more from Sigmund, an encounter with RE8s. Even if it was with another Fokker, still a good job on taking it out like that. The second fight though sounds like it was more difficult and looks like a mess. Unsurprising Sigmund got hit from all sorts of angles in a furball like this one, but he managed to make a killing in it at least. Shame nothing came from that except for yesterday's claim though.
RAF - Truly, always nice to fly in something that stands out. So far no improvements. It's an interesting view to hold in regards to training, but I suppose it's not entirely wrong. In the end if someone isn't going to put in effort, they will wind up paying for it, be it in training or worse in combat when others will be relying on them. Otherwise it seems an interesting little trip down memory lane for Abbott, hmm?
Another day that begun and ended with a visit from Hun bombers. An alarm was raised and we dashed to our crates,a grand total of 5 of us now. What could we possibly even do in such a state? We flew and climbed up into the morning sun before making some contact with Hannover two seaters high above us. We began a desperate climb-chase after which some broke off to carry out their attacks, with me doing the same. Unfortunately my boche noticed and begun to make turns at altitude, which I simply couldn't follow or even climb to so I was stuck making desperate attacks from below and getting hit in the process. Halfway through another airman joined the fight, who i later identfiied as the Captaine himself. Together we kept up our attack, with me taking most of the punishment no matter how much I tried to get close and shoot even though it mostly ended with me mising or winding up in a stall. The last straw it seems came when I pulled up to blast the Boche, which I did, only to receive a cockpit full of bullets for my trouble.
Affected by my injuries and feeling the blood flow from my body I disengaged, thankful that for all the damage I taken no more control wires snapped and I managed to land promptly and without issue. Afterwards I was examined by the Squadron's medics and administered first aid for my wounds, which turned out rather quickly to be non fatal and not long lasting. That of course was the fortunate part as I didn't have to be sent off to the hospital for additional and intensive care for them as that would've been annoying, the unfortunate part was that even though my injuries, turned out to just be somewhat deep grazes by the bullets, still meant that I wasn't in any condition to fly up until at least the 22nd, so I'll have to be sitting around the Squadron doing nothing, unable to fly but not wounded enough for a hospital visit. Something tells me administrative duties await me in the near future....
"Those who survive a long time on the battlefield start to think they're invincible. I bet you do, too, Buddy."
Fullofit - A balloon busting mission for Klaus, but with a twist. Were they such bad shots or did they simply fire from much too far away? Essentially it's the same thing. Either or it was not very good. All Klaus can do is report back, after all, it could be his backside he's expecting them to cover in the next mission. Then a quiet sortie which should at least allow repairs and replacements before tomorrow's shenanigans.
As for Sigmund, I think it was more the fact they were two seaters (the DH4 is quite sizeable) and one of them was like a burning torch by the time it smashed into the ground on the German side. As the CO said, it happens, no point getting angry and bitter about it. Just take it out on the next one. I'd sooner have a DVII than a SPAD any day.
Lou - Yes I'm afraid those Camels are very vulnerable against the DVII's so Freddy had better watch out. Whereas with the Albatros, you had to throw the thing all over the place to get a bead on a Camel, with the DVII it's just much easier. Now to Freddy, so a quiet train journey down the channel coast which allowed him to think back to past glories and the odd mishap. None more so than with Lizzie. He should arrive in Abbeville relatively refreshed and ready for his new command. As for Sigmund, he's made a good start but is already suffering the crazed wrath of the claim gods.
NR - Another rough outing for Baptiste, more tricky and deadly two seaters. Those Hannovers are handfuls definitely and they're quite small for a two seater so there's not much to get behind. So Baptiste kops a load of metalwork which whilst not chopping his wires, managed to bore a few holes in him. A few days rest and he'll be raring to go but the Escadrille needs to regroup, I don't think the war is going to let it though. As for Sigmund, that second sortie was indeed a bit of a mess. Especially when all bar Sigmund decided to attack the RE8's when there was a load of dangerous DH4's right behind them. Sigmund's actions saved at least a couple of them from getting roasted.
"A great deal of an aeroplane could be holed without affecting its ability to fly. Wings and fuselage could be—and often were—pierced in 50 places, missing the occupants by inches (blissfully unaware of how close it had come until they returned to base). Then the sailmaker would carefully cover each hole with a square inch of Irish linen frayed at the edges and with a brushful of dope make our aircraft 'serviceable' again within an hour."
Oberflugmaat Sigmund Winterhart Seefrosta II Vlisseghem airfield Flanders
3 confirmed kills
19th August 1918
Morning sortie
Leutnant Freymadl took the briefing and confirmed that Schwarm Zwei would be heading down towards Passchendaele to patrol around the area. Leutnant Huecker was leading a balloon busting mission so Schwarm Zwei had the bulk of the aircraft.
The weather was still decent although the huge clouds were back, making spotting the enemy that bit more difficult.
Schwarm Zwei took off and headed south west after forming up. The journey was quiet until they could see the front, Sigmund was looking around, as he looked down he saw a German balloon in the near distance explode.
He throttled up and down to attract attention and pointed to the right. He nosed down and started gently descending down towards the now smoking ruins of the balloon.
He was about to give up when he saw another aircraft silhouetted against a field of wheat down below.
"Da bist du ja!" exclaimed Sigmund as he nosed down. He could clearly see the red, white and blue roundels and dived down as the enemy aircraft was turning back towards the lines. It was a Camel and Sigmund closed in on the enemy's tail and hit him with a decent burst. He was just about to open fire again when something made him look behind. To his horror he saw another Camel on his six and about to let loose.
"Scheis!" said Sigmund as he swung the DVII around and avoided the enemy's pass.
A turning match ensued but with his extra power, Sigmund was in charge of it and the Camel pilot realised it. He tried to climb but Sigmund followed and put a long accurate burst into the Englander.
He checked his six again but the other Camel had run for home already.
Sigmund closed in again on the remaining Camel and blasted him. This time the enemy was done for, he was trailing smoke and barely staying in the air. A final flurry from Sigmund and the pilot slumped forward and the aircraft nosed down and smashed into the ground.
He took stock but couldn't see any other enemy aircraft so headed home.
Afternoon sortie (awaiting one confirmation).
After lunch Sigmund was heading to the briefing room for the afternoon jaunt. Suddenly the airfield alarm sounded. The weather had closed in, the clouds had thickened and descended and a steady rain fell. He ran to his aircraft which thankfully had been refuelled and rearmed and jumped in.
The engine was already running and Sigmund cranked the throttle up and raced down the airfield.
Several other pilots were now jumping into their aircraft too but Sigmund was already in the air and climbing.
He could see and hear flak bursts up above but still hadn't cast an eye on any enemy aircraft yet. Just then bullets smacked into his tail and Sigmund instinctively rolled and dived.
He saw a Camel zoom past him and went with him. He checked his tail but it was clear.
He started to close in on his attacker who swung around. Sigmund had the speed however and got on his tail. He blasted the Camel who levelled out, clearly damaged and another long burst had him nosing down and into the ground with a wing missing....."Habe das!" exclaimed Sigmund.
Sigmund now spotted another Camel nearby and swung around straight onto his tail. He poured a devastating burst into the Englander and the top right wing broke away and left the Camel spinning wildly into the ground.
Sigmund couldn't see any more Camels and as he also couldn't see any bombers high above he decided to set his aircraft down.
On landing he found four Camels had been downed with Freymadl and Oberflugmeister Engelfried claiming the other two. Thankfully without serious loss.
Later on Leutnant Huecker called Sigmund to his office. "Welcome Sigmund, well, it was certainly a fun packed day for us all wasn't it?" said Huecker.
"It certainly was sir, it's pretty much non-stop at present. I doubt that's going to change anytime soon either" said Sigmund.
"Almost certainly not, the allies smell a victory and they'll come at us in droves to try and get it" said the Leutnant.
"Let them come Herr Leutnant" said Sigmund.
Huecker smiled, "You're a resolute chap Sigmund I'll give you that" he continued.
"I also have some pretty good news. You're claim from this morning and your first from this afternoon have been confirmed. The ground units believe they scored hits on that final Camel so no joy on that one. Still....two out of three isn't bad meine freund" Huecker continued.
"That brings you upto five confirmed kills, a fantastic performance in a week. All I can ask is that you keep it going" said the Leutnant.
"Thank you sir and I fully intend to keep it going" said Sigmund with that air of defiance that wasn't all bluff and youthful bravado.
"Good, now, accompany me to the kasino if you would. I know the others are wanting to celebrate your success!" said Huecker.
A pleasant evening ensued during which Sigmund was informed what his nickname was around the Jasta, 'bubi'.
"A great deal of an aeroplane could be holed without affecting its ability to fly. Wings and fuselage could be—and often were—pierced in 50 places, missing the occupants by inches (blissfully unaware of how close it had come until they returned to base). Then the sailmaker would carefully cover each hole with a square inch of Irish linen frayed at the edges and with a brushful of dope make our aircraft 'serviceable' again within an hour."
Cecil P Fawnsworth Sgt, Rfc, 54 Sqn Fienvillers, AF.
Aug 17 , 1918.
3 Victory Confirmed 1 Unconfirmed 1 Pending
Got jumped by the Huns while on a Rail Attack Mission. 6 or 7 V struts hit the top cover. I pickled the load and turned to attack. My wing made stole my kill, but latched on another and force him down. Numerous hit, my Vickers shred ed his wings. The flights claimed 3 ( I saw 2 go down ) for 1 pilot wnd + 2 Damaged.
Lou, it was a revelation to me and even now I wonder how they manage to shoot down anything. The rear gunners can easily and consistently hit a moving target from 300 yards away. Go figure. As for Major Abbott (it does have a nice ring to it, don’t it?) he’ll be managing not only himself now, but the entire squadron. This should be a life changing experience. Hopefully he’ll have time to fly from time to time. No. 43 then, hmm?
NR, yup, you need some kind of cheat to fly the SPAD. The AI tries as much as it can, but damage is damage and damage in a SPAD is usually deadly (for them). Baptiste should consider himself lucky for surviving the vagaries of a poorly flying SPAD. Yes, farmers. If a bloody plane crashes in your field you should definitely have no trouble witnessing that, right? As to that pitiful wingman performance, it was an eye opener. It feels more than ever that Klaus is fighting this war alone. He’ll have to keep plodding. Speaking of plodding, poor poor Baptiste. Having to deal with the high-flying Huns and getting a cockpit full of bullets for his troubles. Good thing none of them have hit anything important (apart from Leanders himself). Now, more plodding through paperwork seems to be a certain prospect for our French aviateur. 22nd will be here soon enough.
Albert, they do seem to open fire too early, but that’s the new change in BHaH, creates a sense of urgency, when dogfighting, not when firing at a stationary target. It looks comical to be honest. Sigmund’s on a rampage downing Camels left and right. First the one he made pay for the destruction of the balloon, then the two insolent ones that dared to attack our hero. Too bad for them and good going for our latest ace. Perhaps Jasta should finally get him that Ehrenbecher.
The balloon has been credited to Klaus. He didn’t expect the gasbag to be confirmed just like he didn’t expect to lead the entire Jasta on this morning’s patrol of friendly front lines between south of Pont-à-Mousson and Marbache. He also didn’t expect to encounter enemy crazy enough to challenge a formation as big as this. For once he was right.
In the afternoon they were tasked with patrolling over friendly factories at Vigneulles les Hattonchatel. Klaus was following Schwarm Eins. It was his new favourite tactic. He would keep an eye on them and at the same time he wasn’t being the first to be targeted by the enemy. When they arrived over the target a flight of SPADs showed up overhead. They weren’t attacking and Klaus was certain they had to be those indecisive Frenchmen. He decided to get closer to the other Schwarm for protection once the enemy decides to attack eventually. He was surprised by fire from behind. These weren’t Rotkäppchen after all but Americans. They’ve attacked Raben’s plane in waves. One after another and caught him with his pants down. His petrol was already leaking and his crate was flying funny. He tried to at least take out one of the attackers, but the SPADs worked well together and protected one another. As soon as Klaus had one targeted, a SPAD showed up behind him to make sure he didn’t do anything rash. The rest of the Schwarm finally engaged and scattered the enemy planes all around. Raben’s engine stopped due to his tank running dry and he quickly directed his plane into one of the large cloud banks to leave the scene under its cover.
"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."
Carrick - So Cecil gets jumped but ends up caning one of his attackers, good stuff! That should have given the troops down below, waiting for their train, something to see. Hopefully another confirmation as well.
Fullofit - A quiet first run with Klaus in charge but that was tempered with the news of the confirmation. The other two had no choice to confirm it after they'd wasted half their ammo hitting thin air. Then a fun packed sortie in the afternoon. That was a well drilled group of SPADs, showing exactly how it should be done in those machines. Stay high and stay fast, hit and scarper. If Klaus was unlucky to kop a bullet in the fuel pipe within the first couple of moments. He was a bit luckier none of the Amerikaners took an interest in him once his engine had stopped, considering how far he still had to go to get down. As for Sigmund, yes it was a good day made better by a couple of confirmations. I doubt they'd spare the silver for the ehrenbecher, it would probably have to be made of acorn husks.
"A great deal of an aeroplane could be holed without affecting its ability to fly. Wings and fuselage could be—and often were—pierced in 50 places, missing the occupants by inches (blissfully unaware of how close it had come until they returned to base). Then the sailmaker would carefully cover each hole with a square inch of Irish linen frayed at the edges and with a brushful of dope make our aircraft 'serviceable' again within an hour."
Fullofit - So Americans in Spads are a bit more of a challenge for our plucky, (and lucky), hero? He'll want to pay closer attention to the color arrangement on those roundels in the future. Brilliant screen shot of the entire jasta BTW.
Carrick - Fawnsworth made a job of it on that Alb, well done. My man and yours are now sharing aerodromes, perhaps they'll bump into each other, though to be fair Fienvillers/Candas is a very large complex so it's possible they may miss each other in all the hubbub.
Albert - Congrats to Sigmund on achieving ace status, and so quickly too! He is proving to be a force to reckon with. Love that one close-up of him lifting off.
NR - A near one there for Baptiste. Glad to learn his injuries were not life-threatening and that he'll be back in the fight sooner rather than later.
Now then, to the new Major...
.
19 August 1918 43 Squadron R.A.F. Fienvillers, France
Major Frederick Abbott had arrived at his new home sometime well past midnight, having managed to catch a Crossley at the station in Abbeville that was able to take him to Fienvillers. He was dropped off in front of the squadron office of Number 43 without fanfare, apart from the driver of the tender who, before continuing on to Doullens, wished Abbott the best of luck in his new command. Freddy set his kit on the front stoop of the low, tin-roofed, brick building then let himself in and fumbled about for a lamp in the semi-darkness, aided by a nearly full moon hanging well down in the western sky, it's cool, late-summer light streaming through the open door and the window next to it. A switch was found and a single bulb in the ceiling fixture blazed to life. He was standing in the clerk's room, which was clean and well organized. To his right was an unmarked, closed door; to his left an open one with a placard next to it proclaiming "Commanding Officer". He strolled across and stood in the doorway. More moonlight, along with a night breeze, washed through a brace of open windows to the left, allowing Abbott a shadowy first view of what was to be his new work digs. A largish desk with lamp, blotter, pen, papers, and ashtray occupied the middle of the room, along with an accompanying leather-padded straight-backed chair. On the wall behind was pinned a coloured map of the immediate AO. Under the two windows to his left was a sideboard, and on the opposite un-windowed wall stood a small stove and cabinet. Coat pegs and cap shelf on the wall to the right of the doorway, along with two more chairs, (unpadded), and a picture of the King above, completed the décor. Fairly spartan though not unpleasant. While Freddy stood there pondering his fate as a leader of men he could hear the faint sounds of the AMs banging away in the repair hangars, working through the night as their kind always did to keep the lads flying - such a fine and dedicated lot.
Suddenly, the closed door on the far side of the anteroom creaked open, giving Freddy a start. He swung round immediately to face the sound and was greeted, (and not warmly), by a thin, smallish sergeant peering across as he fumbled with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, trying to get them in place so he could identify the intruder.
"Who's out there?!", he demanded in a gruff voice much deeper in tone than one would have expected from a man of such demure stature. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Sorry for waking you, Sergeant", Freddy stated apologetically. "Not my intention, didn't know you were back there. I'm Major Abbott, your new officer commanding."
"Crikey!", the OR blurted, his demeanor immediately changing as he straightened himself and came to attention. "My apologies Sir, we weren't expecting you until tomorrow. I'm Sergeant Bellows, squadron clerk. Let me show you to your hut Major, you must be exhausted. Are you hungry? Shall I fetch you something?"
"Haw!", Abbott flashed a toothy smile. "Settle down Bellows and stand easy, no harm no foul, I'm the one who arrived unannounced."
"Thank you Sir. Where's your kit, I'll grab that for you right away", the sergeant offered as he stepped quickly towards the front door.
"Again, settle down my good man, no need to rush about like that, I'm fine", Abbott assured before continuing. "As for my hut, won't your current CO still be occupying it? I was told he would be here for my first few days to help with the transition."
"Afraid that won't be happening Sir. Major Gaylion caught a Blighty one two days ago during the morning sortie and was sent off to hospital."
"Nothing serious I hope", Freddy offered concernedly, though truth be told his concern was more for how he was going to manage all this without the assistance and advice of a seasoned commander.
"Not terribly, from all reports. Took a bullet that broke his left leg, he'll be some time recovering. We've already sent his kit and belongings on ahead for him so the hut is available."
"Lead on then, Bellows old man", Abbott stated in a cheery tone. "I won't say no to a few hours of sleep in a proper bed before meeting everyone. Napping on the train just isn't the same." While he may have sounded cheery to the sergeant, inside Freddy was worried, wondering just how the hell he was going to pull this off. What did he know about commanding anything?
NR – Sorry to hear that Leanders will be out for a few days, but happy to know he survived his near miss.
Albert – Fine job with those Camels on the scramble mission. Sigmund is really polishing his reputation!
Carrick – You made quick work of that Albatros. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you get credit for it.
Fullofit – Klaus hung in there for a long time after his fuel leak began. You have more guts than Dick Tracy. Nice job and getting away from there.
Lou – A warm welcome back to Freddie! Here is hoping that his transition to command goes smoothly even though he has been left on his own.
Journal of 2nd Lieutenant Robert Fergus Drummond 32 Squadron, Royal Air Force La Bellevue, France
Part 6
"I climbed after it and my first burst caught the Hun by surprise."
"Then I spotted a juicy Albatros that had become separated from the main fight."
On 13 August, Captain Seabrooke led our formation of seven Bristols south towards the Amiens front. As was our custom, after takeoff we circled over the nearby community of Fontaine-L’Étalon, whose church was visible from a long distance. As pilot of the rearmost machine, I raced to catch up with the others. They were already circling for altitude. We noted a formation of Hunnish-looking two-seaters off to the north but chose to ignore them as there was no chance of climbing after them and catching them before they returned over the lines. Thus I was surprised when several minutes later Buckingham slapped me on the shoulder and pointed above us and to the rear. A lone Hannover was approaching from about 500 yards away. We watched as the machine drew closer and closer. The biplane tail clearly confirmed the identity of the aircraft. At length, when the EA was only 100 yards above and behind us, Buckingham opened fire. The left wings of the German machine folded up and it fell tumbling to the fields below.
We continued with our patrol and had a brief scrap with some Fokkers until a large group of SE5s showed up to chase them off.
The mess was abuzz with conversation when we returned to Le Quesnoy for second breakfast. As far as we could figure out, the Hannover we had bagged must have become separated from its formation and tried to join up with us, mistaking our Bristols for his pals. It was a rotten way to discover one’s mistake, we all thought, but war is like that. The next surprise came when the RO told me to check my tally on the squadron chalkboard. It showed seven victories. I presumed this included this morning’s Hannover until the RO erased the number seven and replaced it with an eight. He explained that when he first put up the board, he mis-counted the number of confirmed kills for Buckingham and me. I told him he could buy us a whisky later and all would be forgiven.
The OC entered the mess and motioned for me to join him. We settled in a couple of armchairs in the far corner of the room. He began by congratulating me on our Hannover.
“I have an unusual proposition for you,” he said. “How would you feel about transferring to a single-seat scout squadron?”
He explained that he had been approached by Major John Russell, OC 32 Squadron, an SE5A unit. They were looking to make up for recent casualties and already had a surfeit of novices. Major Russell had been given permission to approach several Bristol squadrons for a couple of experienced men. “I am not overjoyed at the idea of losing you and I’m sure that Lieutenant Buckingham will be upset. Still, I am positive that you can give Russell the stability he is looking for.”
I asked Major Heath when Buckingham was due for a move to Home Establishment. He said it would not be long and promised me he would try to speed things up for him. And with that, I was off to pack my things and prepare for a drive to my new home.
Corporal Mitton volunteered to drive me in one of the squadron tenders. This was a particular pleasure as he was the fellow who had taken such good care of the officers in my hut at Le Quesnoy. We chatted comfortably throughout the drive. He was most interested to know about Canada. I discovered that he worked as a union organiser in Liverpool. I had always harboured suspicions of such people, particularly considering the recent strikes in England that affected wartime production. Corporal Mitton told me several stories about working conditions in some of the mills and factories back home and I confess he did a good job of teaching me that every story has two sides. We stopped at an estaminet in Doullens for lunch. He was uncomfortable sitting with me in a place that seemed to be reserved for officers, so we ordered sandwiches and cider in bottles and ate together in the tender.
32 Squadron was based at La Bellevue aerodrome. The aerodrome was located on the north side of the straight Roman road from Doullens to Arras. A long and low farm building flanked a country crossroad there. We turned north there onto a dirt lane, passing a long row of Bessonneau hangars on our right, after which Corporal Mitton turned right onto the field. We passed a half-dozen Armstrong-Whitworth observation machines and I saw another row of sheds and several SE5s ahead of us. There was an orchard adjacent to the field behind the farm building we had seen at the crossroads. Here we found the 32 Squadron office and officers’ mess. Farther into the orchard there was a long row of Nissen huts, each sandbagged and linked together by a duckboard walkway. Many of the huts had well-cultivated gardens. Several officers poked at them with spades and hoes while stripped to their singlets and puffing on pipes.
I reported to Major Russell, who I found having tea in the mess with two of his flight commanders, Captain Simpson and Captain Flynn. Flynn, who was introduced to me as Jerry, was a Canadian from Waterloo, Ontario. Simpson was a Sandhurst man and had been in France for two years. He was due to be sent home very soon. The Major explained to me that the squadron was an eclectic bunch. There were several Americans, including one who was officially part of the United States Air Service on attachment. There were two Canadians including Flynn. There was a South African and until recently there had been an Australian and a New Zealander. The squadron was also in transition, having recently received Wolseley-engined SE5s to replace the ones with Hisso engines. There were still a few of the latter about. I was pleased to learn that I would be given one of the new Wolseley machines.
Because of the current pace of operations, I had little time to learn my way about the new aerodrome or the machine I would take into combat. I took up my SE and flew until sundown with only a brief pause for dinner.
I shared a hut with two Americans, Bud Hale and Bogart Rogers, as well as a Welshman named Wells. The two Americans gave poor Wells a hard run, since they could not understand his accent. Both Hale and Rogers had left university and joined the RFC in Canada. Hale came from Arkansas and Rogers from California. Wells informed me that Hale was one of the passionate gardeners. Hale then spoke for a half-hour about the challenges of getting “proper American” watermelons to grow in the French climate. He took me outside to show me a couple of his prize cultivars. They were certainly impressive, each measuring about a foot and a half across.
The next day, 14 August, I flew two patrols. Early in the morning I went with Captain Flynn and Captain Green to beat up a Hun aerodrome at Cappy, over the lines east of Amiens. We dropped a total of 28 twenty-pound bombs on the place before shooting up the sheds. I flew on Bud Hale’s wing and the highlight of the morning came after our third pass over the German aerodrome. Hale signalled to me that we should climb and re-form with the others. I shook my head and pointed down. Hale vigourously shook his head “no.” I removed my glove and held up a single finger to tell him to hold on. I then loosened my belt and reached down between my legs where a simple band of stiff wire held one of Bud’s prize watermelons. I lifted it onto my knee, quickly straightened my direction of flight, and hoisted the watermelon up to my shoulder for Bud to admire. Then I took careful aim and dropped the thing onto a cluster of tents beside the German field. It made a lovely splatter.
When we got back, it took the promise of a free dinner in Doullens before Bud assured me that I would not be smothered while I slept.
In the afternoon we were dispatched north of Arras to chase off some Hun two-seaters. A large formation of Fokkers intervened and the resulting scrap was the largest I had yet been part of. My inexperience with the SE showed. Several times I found myself reluctant to push the machine to its limits. In a way, I was still flying a Bristol. I was on the receiving end of several Hunnish bursts before I had a chance to strike back. I had just recovered from a long spinning dive to escape a Fokker when a mottled EA with a red nose passed a short distance ahead. I climbed after it and my first burst caught the Hun by surprise. My second burst sent it spinning earthward to crash just behind enemy lines near Thélus. Unfortunately, because the fight had already broken up, no friendly machine was left in the vicinity to witness the crash and it remained unconfirmed. Two more patrols followed the next day. On the first we chased off several German two-seaters over the lines near Arras. On the second we became involved with a large “dogfight” south of Arras. The Huns were flying Pfalz scouts. These machines were normally not too difficult to handle with an SE, but I managed to take some damage to my control wires and had to seek shelter in nearby clouds and then make my way home. On 16 August we chased some Rumplers back across the lines in the morning. In the afternoon, we went over the lines near Vimy and encountered a very large group of Albatros scouts. It had been a while since I last fought this type of machine. For the first few minutes, I flew somewhat defensively. Then I spotted a juicy Albatros that had become separated from the main fight. I closed on it unseen. The first burst clearly caused damage. The Hun went into an awkward spin, but I was not to be fooled. I followed him down to the ground and finished him off a couple of miles into Hunland. Once again, this downed EA went unwitnessed and unconfirmed.
Lou - So much for my premonition that Freddy would reach his destination relaxed and refreshed. The sight of the tough grizzly Sergeant in his LJ's would have been an eyeful Freddy could probably do without in the middle of the night, or any time to be frank. So now Freddy's found he's been left high and dry as far as any handover is concerned. He needs to grab himself a seasoned adjutant. I recommend Captain Ripley at 64 Squadron who comes highly recommended. As for Sigmund, much as it pains the members of our DID family, he does enjoy knocking those Camels down.
Raine - What a few days for 'Fergie'. I almost felt sorry for that Hannover, poor chap was either blind or a newbie....or both. A fine burst from Buckingham put the poor fool out of his misery. Then the bonus of it being confirmed. What a turn of events from then on in. A conversation with the CO and a chance to transfer to single seaters. Who wouldn't take that! Especially with a Wolseley powered SE dangling like the ultimate carrot. 32 squadron sounds like the ideal home for him. A sound base of talent but a lot of inexperience too. Drummond certainly hit the floor running, a bombing run with more than a hint of melon. Then a run in with some Fokkers and Fergie showed who was boss. Unfortunate about the lack of confirmation but a good start nevertheless.
"A great deal of an aeroplane could be holed without affecting its ability to fly. Wings and fuselage could be—and often were—pierced in 50 places, missing the occupants by inches (blissfully unaware of how close it had come until they returned to base). Then the sailmaker would carefully cover each hole with a square inch of Irish linen frayed at the edges and with a brushful of dope make our aircraft 'serviceable' again within an hour."
Oberflugmaat Sigmund Winterhart Seefrosta II Vlisseghem airfield Flanders
5 confirmed kills
20th August 1918
Morning sortie
The previous evening had been an enjoyable one, several Pilsners and Kolsch had been downed, but Sigmund managed to wake and rise without difficulty. Which is more than can be said for some of the others. Sigmund chuckled to himself as he watched men with several more years drinking experience than him struggling.
He'd even found time to entice one of the mechanics into painting his aircraft. Hubert Dessel was a swarthy six footer from the tough streets of St Pauli in Hamburg, but not only was he a good mechanic, he was also a dab hand with a brush apparently. A large bottle of schnapps was enough to get him to paint a naval eagle on either side of the fuselage.
"Mein gott Bubi, you might be only just out of kindergarten but you can certainly pack it away" said Oberflugmeister Karl Kutschke as he grabbed another coffee.
Sigmund laughed "Don't forget, I was on board ships for over 18 months. I must have an iron constitution" he said.
The pilots made their way over to the briefing room where Leutnant Freymadl took the briefing. He explained Schwarm Zwei would be heading down towards Ypres.
The weather had closed in once more and a steady rain fell as Sigmund and the others took off.
They climbed up to 4500 meters and headed south west once more. The journey went without incident as did the rest of the patrol. They landed back at Vlisseghem about 90 minutes later.
Afternoon sortie
After lunch Leutnant Huecker took the afternoon briefing and confirmed that both Schwarms would be heading out towards Nieuwpoort.
The weather had not improved and if anything the rain was heavier as the Jasta took off, formed up and climbed up. They then headed west and had reached about halfway when Sigmund looked up and saw more aircraft higher up and coming across towards Oostende.
There were flak bursts nearby so Sigmund signalled and climbed up towards the enemy. As he neared he saw they were RE8's and continued up towards them.
With the help of the clouds he came up behind a flight of them unseen.
He closed in and blasted the lead Englander. Caught completely by surprise the RE8 stood on it's tail but Sigmund was ready and put a long devastating burst into the cockpit and engine. The enemy aircraft burst into flames and went straight down into the streets of Oostende itself.
He came around and looked for another target however the remaining RE8's had spread out and were evading. Several other DVII's closed in as well.
Sigmund chose another victim and hit him from distance trying to nail the gunner. He must have succeeded as nothing came his way in return. He closed in and hit the Englander with a powerful burst which left the stricken RE8 virtually stalling. A final flurry and the engine burst into bright orange flame.
The Englander nosed over and went down into the ground.
Sigmund saw at least two other RE8's falling and decided to form up, together they headed home.
On landing and reporting in, five RE8's had been downed and although a single DVII was lost on landing, overturning on the slippery airfield, the pilot was fine.
Later on Leutnant Huecker was able to confirm both of Sigmund's claims, as both had been clearly seen, taking him to 7 kills.
"A great deal of an aeroplane could be holed without affecting its ability to fly. Wings and fuselage could be—and often were—pierced in 50 places, missing the occupants by inches (blissfully unaware of how close it had come until they returned to base). Then the sailmaker would carefully cover each hole with a square inch of Irish linen frayed at the edges and with a brushful of dope make our aircraft 'serviceable' again within an hour."
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