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

Albert - Some solid leadership by Andrew, protecting his less experienced comrades, and then a chance to catch Huns on the ground. On that subject, Oliver & Co were most fortunate to be gifted a line of Albatri instead of Hannovers like Andrew had to deal with. I believe one of Fullofit's men copped it strafing two seaters. Dangerous work but well executed by Andrew knocking two down. Those Hannovers are tough. Love the pic of the SPAD close on the the Hannover. Were there not 4 claims on the day? I'm confused. In any case, a strong day's work. Bravo!
Nothing like a blinding alcohol headache to start a patrol. At least in the next war there will be pure Oxygen to breathe to dispel hangovers. Huzzah for the gasbag, condolences on the solitary Rumpler.
All this talk of mistresses and priests, and priest's mistresses. It's most confusing. On to the air fighting...
Andrew is McCuddenesque in his dispatching of Hun 2-seaters, confirmed or no.
Alas poor Talbot. Kudos on the Oak leaf Cluster and 40 confirmed. Moving up fast. I'll have to watch you

Lou - Much fun to harry all those hapless Albatri. In retrospect that second strafing run was a bad idea. Almost got the true Full immersion there. I thought it was over for a moment but managed to keep the machine level. Not much stick travel remaining to the right.
What fresh hell? Oliver has never considered the prospect, nor the potential threat, of Red Tabbery. I think he believes being an American would disqualify him. Yet another non-combat hazard out there. As if the machinations of Clarissa, Tennyson, Zaharoff and that mysterious Hades fellow weren't enough.
Close one there for Freddy in the dawn raid. Very pleased to see him get down alive to enjoy Mr. Pearson's latest gift. Whew! Well executed kill and marvelous picks of the dawn fight.
Many thanks for the Gong! Oliver's first for a specific action. He shall try and buck the curse. #CigarAsh&Tulle #girdyourloins

Fullofit - Congrats on the Gong. Order of the Red Eagle. Stomp, Klick, Gruss!
Looks like it's an "Apres moi, le deluge"-type situation with the Luftstreitkräfte. Unfortunate, but an entire people will now pay the price for their leaders lack of vision [/Palpatine]
Blood lust can be dangerous. I'm worried about Klaus' recent battle madness. Of course, 1 of 5 claims confirmed will send even the most placid flieger into berserker mode. Ach du Lieber!
One doesn't see 'erection' very often in the DID. Let's hope all ended gloriously on that score.
'K is for Klaus, bedeviled by SPADS/Breguets...' Something out of Gorey's "The Ghastlycrumb Tinies." It beats 'N is for Neville, who died of ennui.'
Three of the les grenouilles pestilentialle confirmed for 126. Ser Gut!
Best of luck in tomorrow's poachathon lottery at the claims office.

NR - My best wishes regarding your matters academic. Remember, it's ALL about choosing the correct advisor. Good to see you dropping by. Hope our tales can provide some levity and respite. Look forward to your return.

Carrick - Bravo Cecil taking out the swollen gasbag. And speaking of turgidity, the thighs on that first one Zowie! Hey, where did she go?! Holy bait and switch, Batman! The second one is nice too.

Lou, thanks. I prefer my opening scenes to be full of mistresses.
As to those SPADs, how do they know to target the player all the time? At least statistically this is impossible. Just like those claims. As for Freddy, he should stay away from that kind of molluscs. Something tells me they’re not that fresh.

Epower, it was the Russian that caught a bullet with his chest from behind.
As for Klaus, I don’t think he realizes the gravity of the situation yet. He is still ignorantly following orders, hoping it all will make difference. That there is still hope. The ever larger and more numerous enemy flights is just part of the plan, not the sign of an impending defeat. These are the same signs Oliver gets to witness from the other side. That Tennyson fella is making sure of it.

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 103



12 August 1918
No. 24 Squadron
Conteville, France

5.00 Retired exhausted last night and now refreshed, I woke early. First patrol not for another ninety minutes so I shall bring the chronicle up to date. Headache stalks in the shadows as I write but the pain is much reduced.

Yesterday’s admonition from Colonel Cairnes weighs heavily on my mind. He stopped short of a full dressing down, but the veiled threats were plain to see. I can’t give those Red Tabs any excuse to restrict my flying or worse, remove me from Squadron Command. Would they actually promote me to Wing? Eight confirmed in a day doesn’t help matters any. I should take the day off but circumstances force my hand. Passmore went off to hospital yesterday with a dose of clap. In the middle of a push, no less. Gods Below! Hell of a way to lose an experienced pilot. Orders are orders but A Flight are short a man and the early patrol beckons.

6.30 Full Squadron up to attack the forward aerodrome at Moislains, home of Jasta 5, the Greentails. Against my better judgement I allowed the new man, Haigh, to join the patrol. He needs experience and with two entire flights to protect him I thought it worth the risk. My new mount D6975 wasn’t ready so I flew a spare.


C Flight flew top cover. I went with the strike group.

Albatri attacked just after the drop. In the ensuing scrum, I tracked one into the rising sun. He fell there, continuing his westward journey.


The remainder of my ammunition I spent on the German infantry.

Landed at 8.00. Much to my relief, Haigh landed intact. A quick breakfast, then flight testing of D6975. Nichols and Webb did their magic once again. She felt just right. Agile with a strong motor. With time to kill before my trip to Bertangles, I tried to work the bag but any significant exertion brought excruciating pain. Bloody headache. Something not right.

Jenkins had the canvas bath ready and laid out my best tunic as well as some extra aspirins, bless him. Off to Bertangles.


Flying over the Chateau I saw a huge parade drawn up in the forecourt.

By the time I landed, stowed D6975 and reported to Colonel Cairnes is was nearly 11:30. At 11:50 the King arrived. That’s what all this fuss was about. The main event was the knighting of General Monash. As Colonel Cairnes explained, this was only the second instance of the Monarch knighting a Commander on the battlefield in the past two centuries.


I had a prime view as the King spoke to General Monash.

Col. Cairnes gave me tremendous news. Hazell has the DFC for his July 26th action! He was confident that Foster’s would come through shortly. The Colonel also mentioned that we’d be moving to Bertangles in the next two or three days. With the frontline moving east so quickly, Conteville was now too far behind the lines.

I telephoned Lawson who would begin preparations for the decorations party then went off to hunt down Uncle.

Back to Conteville after lunch with Uncle. Flight testing of my new machine, D6975. As always, Nichols and Webb had her rigged to perfection. The Wolseley roared impressively and made full revs.

Sighted in the guns, then saw off the evening patrol. At 5.00 Wing called requesting we deal with two Kite Balloons near Bray. Grabbed Rose and Hellet. I was hoping to get them their first victories. We went over the plan for some time until I was certain they understood.

“Sir, can we go over what you’ll do when you’re first in?” said Rose.

“I’m going to cut across the axis and try and draw their fire.”

No opposition in the target area and Archie put up a lackluster effort. At the first balloon, the operation went exactly according to plan.

I started my attack run. The Boche gunners opened up at me with everything thing they had. Rose and Hellet followed in.


Rose sent the first balloon down in flames


Hellett deflated the second which exploded when it hit the ground.

Much excitement from Rose and Hellet on landing.

“Sir!” cried Hellet. “That was ripping!

Lawson filled out our Combat Reports and sent them along to Wing. A first kill for both men. I was happy for them. Alas, I failed to factor RAF HQ into my calculations. Rose and Hellett’s claims both rejected. I nearly lost my temper with Colonel Cairnes , who was sympathetic if uncharacteristically evasive. He stated nonchalantly that the matter had gone over his head and there was nothing he could do. #%&*$# Red Tabs! What are they playing at? I’ll be watching to see who claimed credit for those balloons.

I stood Rose and Hellett to drinks before dinner. Hazell’s decoration party went late. Seeing the squadron in full celebration lifted the gloom bedeviling me these last days. Tried to write Eliza but exhaustion dulled my brain.


13 August 1918
No. 24 Squadron
Conteville, France

A fine day but no flying for me today. 24 Squadron have orders to Bertangles tomorrow. The day was a continuous flurry of preparations for the move. All praise to Lawson who had every detail at the ready. Headache returned in force. Was it last night’s whiskey? The fine bright day brought a sharp and painful sunlight. I was almost grateful for the desk work as it kept me indoors for much of the day. Eating aspirins like candy. They seem to help but the pain is always lurking.

Audible groans and long faces at dinner when I broke the news to the assembled pilots. We’ve all become rather fond of our comfortable summer life in the Apple Orchard. I had mixed feelings too, despite the fact that I’ll be closer to Eliza at Bertangles. I can’t wait to see her again, and steal time from this war…

Lt. Harry Rogers South, our highly competent engineering officer, is a true genius when it comes to his secondary occupation of Mess President. The entire mess perked up visibly when I ordered South to go into Amiens tomorrow morning and arrange a dinner for all the officers at a restaurant of his choosing.

Tomorrow will be a long day for the officers, but an even longer day for other ranks. Moving an RAF Squadron and bringing it to operational status in a single day will require a herculean effort. Spoke to Flight Sgt. Hipwell and Sgt. Major Schofield about a special dinner for the NCOs and men on August 15th.

The dispatch rider brought news confirming yesterday’s Albatros. One hundred Seventy-eight.

I walked over to 41 Squadron office to say goodbye to Beery. They would be moving tomorrow as well but north to St. Omer. He was on the telephone and motioned me to a chair as I entered. With his free hand took a bottle from the desk drawer.

“…over Athies you say. I see. Thank you for telephoning, Captain.” he said, then rang off.

Someone was dead.

“Who is it, Beery?”

“Carroll,” he said. “His machine broke in the air over Athies.”

“D#mn. Carroll… what a prodigy. Almost one hundred victories. He might have been the best of all of us, had he lived,” I replied as Beery handed me a glass. “I never did get to meet the man. Bloody Hell.”

“Bloody war,” he replied. In that brief interval before he recovered, I saw the full measure of his shock. I said nothing. Beery’s sang froid, especially when it came to losses was one which always eluded me. I took his strength for granted. To see him shaken thus by Carroll’s death unnerved me.

“Hurrah for the next man,” he said. We drained our glasses.

Moving a Squadron was not a trivial matter. No time for visiting with old friends.

“Look after yourself, Old Man,” I said as I shook Beery’s hand.

“And you, Ripper. Try to keep the wings on.”

Cable from General Rawlinson: I have a second bar to my DSO for my action of 11 August! Lawson was ecstatic at the news and was on the verge of tipping the entire hand before I hushed him up and swore him to secrecy. On the eve of a move, now wasn’t the time for a celebration.



14 August 1918
No. 24 Squadron
Bertangles, France

3.30 Jenkins soft voice woke me from a dreamless sleep. By 4.00 AM Conteville was a hive of activity. All available vehicles as well the entire complement of aircraft lined up the field. Hangars already tumbled down as the men readied for transport. All pilots breakfasted by 6.30 and at 7.00, A and C Flights departed on Offensive Patrol. Lowe and B Flight would conduct an OP after lunch and land at Bertangles.

A most unusual morning. I watched in awe as the well-coordinated transport of an RAF squadron unfolded before me. The shops, hangars and maintenance equipment went first, so as to be available at Bertangles when we arrived. Living quarters, kitchens, the mess shack, and the rest followed behind. I did notice that Lambert and South had ‘Buckingham Palace’ broken down for transport. Conteville thus denuded, Lawson and I sat at two desks out in the open.

Shortly after 8.00 a lorry arrived with our newest addition. Lt. J. C. Rorison USAS, formerly of No. 85 Squadron, attached to gain combat experience. I put him with B Flight.

9.05 Morning patrol returned having run into 20 Germans. They were in one hell of a scrap for five minutes then a flight of 20 Camels arrived overhead and the Huns scattered. Hazell sent one down out of control, and Bair drove 3 down damaged. Haigh, per Hazell’s report, acquitted himself very well. I still harbor reservations about throwing him into the fire so soon, but like Major Horn did with me, I must take the risk. If Haigh is to survive what’s coming, he needs all the experience I can give him.

A cold lunch at Noon, but the tea was hot. Lambert cracked to me that the worse thing one can do to an Englishman is serve him cold tea. Now that would be quite the theater!

2.00 A and C Flights departed for Bertangles. B Flight’s machines not ready so I cancelled their OP. They will fly directly to Bertangles and Rorison would go with them.

7.00 Flight Sgt Langston spun the prop and as D6975 roared to life he boarded one of the remaining lorries. With Corporal Chorley driving Lawson and South in the Shelsley, all headed to Bertangles. I flew on ahead.

Wing confirmed Hazell’s Fokker but none of Bair’s three driven down. Hilbert was philosophical when I broke the news but I could see his anger. Bair is a strong air fighter. He’ll have his day soon enough.

 

15 August 1918
No. 24 Squadron
Bertangles, France

So much to do settling into our new home at Bertangles. We share the place with a number of squadrons, among them, 23 (Dolphins), 46 (Camels), 48 (Bristols), 84 & 85 (S.E.s). I do envy 23 their Dolphins. We are at the East aerodrome now. No. 84 Squadron remain at Bertangles West.

Noon – Offensive patrol over Cappy.


“I know how to storm my way into the struggle of flying horses;”


“I know how to tread my measures on the grim floor of the war god.”

None witnessed the Fokker crash. I didn’t send the claim forward.

Waiting for the evening patrol to return, I tried the bag once again. Disaster. Headache split my skull in two. I nearly fainted.

A flight returned short one man. Haigh. Nobody saw him hit, just an S.E. falling in pieces. It must have been Archie. #%&*$#! I should never have let him go. He lasted 6 days.



16 August 1918
No. 24 Squadron RAF
Bertangles, France

Haigh’s funeral this morning at Vignacourt. The 22nd Wing Padre, Rev. Piers Holt Wilson acted as officiant once again. All who heard his marvelous healing words today left lighter in spirit, our sadness lessened. I said as much to him afterwards and shook his hand. I hope I don’t meet him again in his official capacity but that seems unlikely. More will die.

No 24 Squadron have lost but 5 men to enemy action since I took command on June 2nd. Dawe shot down, now Haigh killed by anti-aircraft fire. Wilson and Watkins wounded but expected to survive. Beauchamp missing. Daley killed himself hedge hopping. I should recoil in horror as I write “we’ve been lucky,’ but the words flow smoothly from my pen. We have been lucky. I must harden myself to the reality. Many of the other squadron’s losses have been extreme.


I stopped at Wavans on the way back to Conteville. At Mac’s grave, another officer was there, with a most well-mannered dog. Both seemed to be paying their respects.

With a nod, the man and his dog departed, leaving me alone. I stood at Jimmy’s grave but try as I might, I couldn’t feel his presence. A crushing sadness descended upon me. I grasped for the Reverend Wilson’s words from this morning but the comfort eluded me now. Remembering the disgraceful affair of Jimmy’s funeral, my grief melded with a growing anger.


My eyes lifted then, up from the graves and crosses to the land and sky beyond…

… and the anger faded. In its place stood an icy resolve. I thought of Jimmy. Also, Arthur, Maybery, Grevelink, Pixley and all the other friends I loved, now gone west. And for what? So many dead. So many more who will die before it’s over. It better be worth it. When we win, it better be worth it! The victory must be for something greater than wealth, power, or empire. Their sacrifice must lead the way to a better, freer world, and not just renew the old regime for men like Zaharoff.

My mind hinging on morbid thoughts, I returned to Bertangles to a message from General Rawlinson:



I nodded in appreciation at the first reading, then on a second pass I grew irritated. A third run through kindled my anger once again. Perhaps it was my mood but I thought General Rawlinson’s congratulations weak, or half done anyway when it came to the men.

Whatever our success as pilots, theirs is also the victory. They should hear that from me directly. I’ll speak to the other ranks tomorrow after I return from patrol.

All compliments to Lawson for his perfidy. I should have known. My gloom lifted after dinner when Lawson, working behind the scenes and my back, revealed his treachery at last. The curtain went up on a decoration party for my third DSO. I was the only officer present who wasn’t in on the secret. Grinning like Cheshire cats, every man jack among them! In the face of such enthusiastic congratulations from the squadron all dark thoughts evaporated. If the pilots of 24 wanted to blow off some steam on my account I was game. Lawson took up station on the piano. As the drink flowed, the Song of 54 became The Song of 24. No furniture met its doom, nor was a ceiling decorated with sooty boot prints, but the Officer Commanding was thrown into the air to a chorus of ‘Huzzahs.’ The celebration ran late into the night.



17 August 1918
No. 24 Squadron
Bertangles, France

3.45 Woke early in agonizing pain. Last night’s whiskey and last week’s Archie. I downed half a bottle of aspirins. I’ll have no wind at all at altitude but the aspirins provide relief from this stabbing headache. Something is wrong. I need to see the MO when I return from patrol. I write these lines waiting for Jenkins to bring my tea and biscuit. I will join A Flight on the dawn show over Rosières…

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Epower - NOOOOOO! Tell us this is only a cliffhanger and that our Ripper has managed to land in one piece and received medical treatment in time to save him. This can't be the end of our gallant hero.

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Lou - Yes, we could do with a MOD to simulate the loss of the St Mihiel salient, move the lines, airfields etc. Not sure if that's possible. As for Andy and the 22nd it was a pretty good day, meeting only a single flight of DVII's obviously helped, but you can only shoot down what's in front of you.

Fullofit - Well, whether it's the mistresses or the priests, tongues wagged, and that's not a pretty image I now have in my head so I'll stop there. Now to Klaus, claims confirmed, and a single, if very rewarding SPAD in the morning. It's nice when the wing comes away like that....a proper kill. Then onto the afternoon, another adversary nicely dealt with then an unholy scramble for the last one. It's over to Grüber and his tombola.....and the winner is..... As for Andy, it's all or nothing with the claims at the minute. Tis but a lottery.

Epower - So it was a visit from the king, a knighthood for Monash and they wanted the top ace there to put the cherry on. A squadron move to Bertangles would normally be a good thing but Oliver and co had rather grown into Conteville. But at least it's a move forward and not back. Then a trip to see Beery and the news that Kevin was no more (a nice touch thank you). Poor Beery, that would have hit him hard. As for the flying, plenty of ground pounding and a rather perfunctory thank you from General Rawlinson, he could at least get off his backside and deliver it personally. At least the Albatros was confirmed. Poor Haigh, six days....and they said bloody April was bad. Good news for Hazel with the DFC and hopefully Foster's will come through too. Those #%&*$# headaches, finally Oliver's realised he needs to see the MO.

Fantastic tales and superb pictures.

As for Andy, he's got an almighty way to go to get anywhere near Oliver, but he'll appreciate being watched all the same.

But then what's this! A blood spattered windscreen and goggles! Oliver is clearly hurt......it can't be the end.... surely?.....he makes it down....doesn't he?

No one can hurry me down to Hades before my time......

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Albert - Actually such a mod could be made, but it would require the user to load each successive stage of the mod at the appropriate in-sim date via their mod enabler.

Epower - Now that the initial shock of your closing screenies has subsided a bit let me just say, another brill batch of catch-up episodes and pics.

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21 September 1918
43 Squadron R.A.F.
Fienvillers, France

The men in the repair hangars had once more performed their magic. Major Frederick Abbott and his damaged Snipe arrived back in camp by afternoon tea yesterday, and the AMs set to work immediately. By breakfast time this morning they'd put their CO's kite back in proper order, having repaired the holed petrol tank and main feed line, swapped out a damaged cylinder and piston on the Bentley for a new set, and removed the Hun bullet that was wedged into the base of the control column and which had been preventing full movement of the elevator. Abbott commended them all on their untiring determination and loyalty, and on their ability to always get the job done PDQ. And with that it was now time, again, for Freddy and his pilots to go out and get their jobs done.


10:00am, still raining, but skies to the west apparently clearing, Major Abbott and 'A' Flight set out on a recce of the lines between Athies and Vimy.



Nearing the Bois de Robermont the Snipes happen upon a flight of SE5s.



Freddy pulls up along the leader's portside and the two gentlemen give each other a wave before they continue on their separate ways.



Over Neuville-Saint-Vaast a group of five DFWs is caught heading east and the King's own set to work ruining their morning.



Abbott carves in below one of the trailing Hun buses and hammers it with three volleys from the Vickers.



He turns to follow, but there is no need. Within seconds the enemy plane had dropped into a steep dive and was trailing smoke.



By the time the Major had swung back round to rejoin the fight it was nearly over. Amid myriad and indiscriminate AA bursts, his lads were dealing with the remaining Boche handily, and in the end none of the Kaiser's B/R planes made it home, though they did manage to get in a few punches of their own before falling. The Snipes of Lieutenant John Murray and Captain 'Lumpy' Bailey had both taken significant damage in the dust-up, and the pair had to land at Camblain-l'Abbe. The remaining five members of 'A' Flight returned to Fienvillers without further incident.



2:45pm, the skies had indeed cleared and Abbott, now working with 'B' Flight, headed up and out for an OP east beyond Bapaume.



At 16,500', and nearing the lines, the six Snipes happen upon an equal number of D.VIIs some distance below. The Major gives the signal and the battle begins.



Freddy immediately latches on to one of the higher Fokkers and pummels it with a crushing volley.



He leaves the Hun, now sans top portside wing and trailing smoke, to fall to his demise.



Again, the Major's men had things well in hand. At one point in the furball Abbott dove to the aid of the new lad, 2nd Lt. Lenny Heaton, who appeared to be in trouble. However, by the time Freddy got there the plucky fellow had turned the tables on his Hun and sent him down.



Spotting one of the D.VIIs attempting to make a run for it, Abbott gave chase and fired on the fleeing Fokker.



The Boche immediately went wheels up and Freddy followed to see if he would recover.



He did not, and with his demise the last of the air Hun had been dealt with. The Major regrouped his men and headed home to camp. As it turned out young Heaton had taken a bullet in his right leg and would be out of commission for a while, as would his mount which had taken damage as well. But overall a fine day's work for 43 Squadron, with the five DFWs claimed in the morning, and five of the six Fokkers in the afternoon. Of the ten Abbott had claimed three for his own.


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Epower – say it ain't so!!!

Epower What a Cliff Hanger ! Stay tuned for the Next part of the Adventure Serial

Tant de Vies Perdues

I've been dreading this moment, knowing that it was coming, and hoping against hope that it would not....

Relax, he still has 50 hit points. He’s fine.

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He's fine, provided he didn't crash on landing and burn through those 50 hit points in one final go. He was still in the air in that last pic.

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Lou - Thanks to the mechanics, Freddy is straight back doing what he does best. 43 are in top form at the moment and none more so than the CO. Lt Heaton looks handy in a fight too. There's even time for a chat with an SE. Smashing pictures throughout. As for the MOD, it's something to consider for the next time around.

Captain Andrew Murphy, DSC, CdG
22nd Aero
Toul airfield

40 confirmed kills

21st September 1918

Morning sortie

Captain Bridgeman confirmed that the squadron would be escorting some DH4's from 11th Aero over to the front near St Mihiel. The attack had halted now and HQ wanted pictures of the whole area.

The weather had changed again, the skies had cleared considerably and the winds had calmed, thankfully as 'A' and 'B' flights took off and headed out to the rendezvous point, 8km to the north.

Sure enough, the big two seaters were there, at 10000 feet, and together they headed north, climbing as they went.

The front was still active as far as artillery went as Andy neared. He could see countless large explosions to the left and right.

The two seaters started their recon as the 22nd covered from above.

After a number of runs along the front, Andy spotted another formation out to the left and approaching them.

He signalled and checked to see where 'A' flight where. They were circling on the other side of the DH4's. 'B' flight wheeled around to face the incoming enemy, now identifiable as DVII's. The two formations clashed and Andy fired into one of the Huns who rolled and dived.

He climbed and came around and saw a Fokker trying to get to the DH4's. He throttled up and nosed down towards the Fokker. He fired a burst to draw the enemy away from his quarry which worked. Andy went with him as he rolled and dived.

Another good burst tore chunks out of the DVII's wing and the Fokker tried to run. He wasn't getting far and a final, lengthy burst put paid to the pilot. The DVII nosed down and went into the ground.

Andy checked around and couldn't see any more Huns so climbed up towards the DH4's. Several other SPADs joined him and continued escorting the two seaters.

Once the two seaters had finished reconnoitering, they all headed back towards Toul. They then bade farewell to the DH4's and headed home where Andy and the others landed safely.

On reporting in, it appeared the Fokkers had ran once they'd seen the number of SPADs they were up against and 'A' flight had decided not to chase them, but to stay with the two seaters.


Afternoon sortie (awaiting one confirmation)

As Andy sat having his rather light lunch before the afternoon briefing, he was about to grab another drink when the airfield alarm sounded.

He raced out and was first to his aircraft, which had already been started.

He was soon in the air and climbing up towards the multitude of flak bursts he could see high above.

The weather was still decent although some very large clouds had reappeared.

As he looked down he could see several other SPADs in the air but already several thousand feet below him.

Andy now saw several groups of enemy two seaters and headed towards one of them. He saw they were Rumplers and continued climbing up underneath.

He nosed up and pounded the lead Hun. Another burst had pale smoke billowing out. Andy nosed down as the gunner tried to get him away but then came back up and hammered the boche with a long burst which took the gunner and the pilot out and the Rumpler nosed over and went down towards the ground.

Andy came around tightly and went after another enemy two seater. This Rumpler evaded but Andrew fired a good burst into the wing. Another burst followed which tore the wing away. The Hun was left swirling down towards the ground.

Andy came around but the remaining Huns had dived into a large cloud formation. Andy decided not to enter and headed home.

On reporting in, he was the only pilot entering claims.

Andrew went to clean up and put his full uniform on for the visit of General Patrick.

The General was due at 4pm and the squadron and ground crews were lined up on parade as his car entered the airfield.

Major General Mason Patrick was from Lewisburg, West Virginia and was a product of West Point, in fact he'd been in the same class as General Pershing. It was Pershing who'd appointed Patrick as chief of the USAS in spring 1918.

The General stepped out of the car and Captain Bridgeman called the squadron to attention.

Bridgeman went to meet the General and after a short chat began introducing the men.

On reaching Andy, the General stopped. Without waiting for Captain Bridgeman to introduce them the General spoke, "Ahh Captain Murphy! This is an honour to meet the USAS's number one ace."

"Thank you sir, I'm delighted to meet you. Thankfully the USAS is blessed with many fine pilots, I'm just glad to be amongst them." said Andrew.

The General smiled, "You're right there my boy. Just today I visited 27th Aero and met several more of our fine pilots, Harold Hartney and a young man doing very well there, a Lieutenant Frank Luke. It gives me real confidence for the coming battles that we have such men as those, here, there, and our other squadrons."

The General turned around and took the medal box from his adjutant. He took the DSC with Oak Leaf Cluster and pinned it firmly to Andy's chest. The General stepped back, "Congratulations Captain Murphy, that is well deserved, you are an inspiration to those around you and to the folks back home." said General Patrick.

Andy saluted and the General responded. The General finished his inspection and then stood before the squadron.

"Men, thank you for welcoming me here today. I know how hard you are fighting each and every day for our cause. Believe me when I tell you, the world is watching, watching in awe as our men, in the air and on the ground, make a decisive difference, maybe THE decisive difference, in this war. The people of America, together with those from France and Great Britain are eternally grateful to you all and bid you good luck for the coming fight!" said General Patrick.

The parade was dismissed and General Patrick spoke with Captain Bridgeman for some time.

Andy had gone to his quarters but a short while later Captain Bridgeman knocked. "Hey pal, General Patrick would like a talk with you before he leaves." said Bridgeman.

Andy followed Bridgeman into his office. On seeing the General again he saluted. The General waved it away, "come in my boy and sit down. Thank you Captain Bridgeman, that will be all." said General Patrick.

Andy sat down as General Patrick sat across from him. Bridgeman saluted and left.

"You're probably wondering what this is about?" said Patrick.

"Yes sir, a little." said Andrew.

"Well, I'll be brief. We've got a hell of a team out here now. I look at the various squadrons and think, 'how can we not win with men like this'. You understand?" said the General.

"Yes sir." answered Andy.

"We're almost ready, almost there, ready for the big showdown. However there are one or two things I still need to sort, not problems, just better solutions." Patrick continued.

"Over these past several weeks you've proved yourself a top pilot and also a clear leader. The men look up to you, clearly, and respect your decisions." continued the General.

"I have need of that ability, both in the air and on the ground. We are bringing new squadrons into the fight as we speak and one of those is the 49th Aero." said the General.

Andy listened intently.

"They've only just become active and they're good men, capable men, but they're green and in need of leadership." said the General.

"I want you to lead them. Take over as CO at the 49th and turn them into the machine we know they can be. What do you think?" said the General.

Andy was shocked, he wasn't sure what he was expecting but he wasn't expecting that. "You want me to be the CO of the 49th?" was all he could muster.

General Patrick smiled, "Yes Captain, don't be too shocked, I haven't just thought this one up today. Your name's been talked about a lot over at HQ." he said.

"It won't be straight away, I need to sort things out. Probably smooth out a few ruffled feathers, but I'd want you in charge there within two weeks." said the General.

"What do you think?" asked Patrick.

"I'd be delighted sir. It's something I've thought about, leading my own squadron. I never thought it'd happen anytime soon though." replied Andrew.

"I suppose if there wasn't a war on, none of us would be here." said the General.

"It'll mean promotion to Major, on a temporary basis to start with." said the General.

"Right, leave it with me, you carry on here like you are doing, downing those #%&*$# Huns. I'll speak with Captain Bridgeman and sort it out at my end." finished General Patrick.

Andrew and the General saluted and parted. A short while later the General and his staff left the airfield.

Captain Bridgeman called Andrew back to his office a little later. "An interesting chat with the General Andy?" asked Bridgeman. "Well we'll talk about that tomorrow." he continued.

"I have some news, unfortunately none of your claims from today have been confirmed. No-one saw the Fokker and the ground crews are claiming those Rumplers." said Bridgeman.

Andy nearly burst out laughing, but held it in.

"Right pal, let's go and celebrate that medal of yours. I know the guys have arranged something." finished Bridgeman.

Cecil P Fawnsworth, DFC.
Lt , Rfc, 54 Sqn
Avensnes- Le-Comte,
Flanders.

Sept 21, 1918.

7 Victory Confirmed
5 Unconfirmed
1 Pending


Bit of a sticky wicket wat with the drizzle and all. B flight managed to get Tails Up at 1412hrs for a short Defensive hop. Ran into some Huns I got one although everyone was shooting. The gunner slumped over the the e/a turned and angled down smoke then fire then crash I say, spectacular lokking in the semi dark skies. The other bloke just disappeared.

Epower, where to begin? The show with the monarch making another commander one of his own. Plenty of excitement but not as much as tuning that D6975. Finally had it dialed the way he likes it. Now, if only that headache would go away. I hope it’s not a tumour.
What is a cancerous growth on RFC though, is that good-for-nothing claims office. I’d also like to know who’d claimed those balloons. Most likely Ack-Acks, all the way from the airfield.
Then the move to Bertangles. Looks like Winningstad had the front row seats of this coordinated chaos with his desk in the open.
Bad news about Haigh, but how else was he supposed to gain experience? By reading books? Luck of the draw.
Now, anything to kill that headache. After the mission …
He’s ok, right?

Albert, ‘tis not grand to start the day with that image in your head. Just … just stop at mistresses. Forget about the rest.
Just like those Fokkers during the morning show. After seeing all those SPADs they simply forgot about their mission and went home. Otherwise a relatively quiet mission.
Then the afternoon show where Andy had to do all the work. Looks like the rest of the Captains are getting lazy, or disinterested, seeing Murphy sweeping all the hostile machines from under their noses.
Congrats on the claims even though none came through! There’ll be more.
Then the big surprise. After receiving his DSC the General drops the big one on Andy. A command of his own. Well done! Now hard work begins. Enjoy.
Love that shot of the Fokker!

Lou, all in a day’s work for Major Abbott. First a fresh coat of paint for his mount, then a trip to get himself some two-seaters. The rest of the boys helped themselves to a few as well. Then off for the afternoon romp and claim three Fokkers. Then back to the mechanics who have still not recovered from last all-nighter. Those poor sods.
Fingers crossed there will be some confirmations.

21 September, 1918 06:45 morning mission
Montingen, Verdun Sector
Jasta 18
Rittmeister Klaus Gustav Raben RAO AO PLM HHO EK1 EK2
Fokker D.VII
128 confirmed kills

Two claims confirmed. That last SPAD went to the new boy. We need more like him.
Morning show comprised of ground forces support along the lines between Pont-à-Mousson and Marbache. The morning romp had proven uneventful. They were now on their way back when a flight or two of those SPADs crossed their path. The Schwarm was higher and could dictate the terms. As Klaus flew overhead he dipped his nose and took a shot at one of the planes going in the opposite direction. He then continued on to engage one of the adversaries that detached from the main group. They were coming at each other head on. Klaus squeezed the triggers at the same time as the SPAD jigged. He missed, and could now see plainly they were dealing with the Yanks. This particular one decided to dive for home and Klaus wasn’t ready to get separated from the main group. He turned around to see another SPAD coming down, closely followed by a Fokker. He could see the SPAD was in trouble. As he approached the main event he could see his Schwarm already mopping up the remaining Americans. One continued to survey the battle from above and was the prime target for Raben’s guns. He now watched his intended target dive on one of the Fokkers, but quickly backed off when he noticed Klaus diving after him. There was nowhere to run. The Spandaus found their mark and the SPAD started to spin. It went into that signature inverted flat spin and soon after shot up like a rocket, higher than Klaus and out of reach.
“- Not fair!”
Klaus observed the sneaky Indianer and followed him for a while, but the SPAD went into a dive and Klaus was unwilling to shed his wings in a dive to follow him. He waited for the rest of his outfit to form up on him and turn back to base.

YouTube Link



21 September, 1918 13:30 afternoon mission
Montingen, Verdun Sector
Jasta 18
Rittmeister Klaus Gustav Raben RAO AO PLM HHO EK1 EK2
Fokker D.VII
128 confirmed kills

Another ground forces support mission in the afternoon. This one along Nancy front. Raben’s engine went kaputt before reaching Verny. He headed back to base and on his approach heard engine noise. His wasn’t making much. He looked around and spotted a Bréguet coming down on him. He had enough speed to turn once and after that was already low enough to just touch down, but the airfield was still some distance ahead. He was lucky the Ars aerodrome didn’t have any trees across his approach path. He touched down just short of the field and rolled onto it nonchalantly as the Flak batteries continued to bang away at the intruders.

YouTube Link

Carrick - Congratulations on the claim, hopefully a confirmation too.

Fullofit - Yes, it was kind of like....imagine Rasputin...in a Paris knocking shop... anyway enough already. So onto Klaus, it looks like a normal, run-of-the-mill, morning's SPADfest for our hero, but gadzooks! They pass him by! Or rather, they bionically maneuver themselves out of his way in crazy high G stunts. He's left kill'less and with most of his ammo unused for the first time in a long time. Then an abortive afternoon sortie thanks to an engine failure. It nearly turned into a career ending abortive afternoon sortie thanks to that Breguet. Thankfully Klaus was able to get down quickly and just as importantly.... safely.

As for Andrew, it's strange how these things happen, all claims rejected, but you can have command of your own squadron in a couple of weeks. Crazy.

.

Shredward - Great to see you in the mess! Stay a while, have a pinta’ or three.

Fullofit - That last SPAD in the first video knew how to cut and run, eh? I think he’s done that before. And what of that Bréguet coming down while Klaus was making his emergency landing. One pass and then leave? How rude, stay a while have some more bullets. Congrats on the two confirmations, it’s nice they’re at least throwing your man a bone.

Albert - Woah Nellie! Andy is being given his own command! And why shouldn’t he be, he’s a rising star if ever there was one. Tough luck on the claims, but still. Outstanding episode and I love the pics, particularly the one with the map. Do you think the plane icons are big enough?

Carrick - Another tic on the board for Cecil. Drinks are on him!

.

22 September 1918
IX Brigade Headquarters
Hesdin, France

It was a quarter-of-eleven and Major Frederick Abbott was sitting in the office of Brigade Command, located at the aerodrome just outside of St André-aux-Bois some three miles west of Hesdin. He'd flown his Snipe up that morning at the invitation of General Hogg, who was currently sitting across from him at the large desk centered in the room. A tray had been brought in by the General's aide-de-camp and the two men were each enjoying a cup of tea as conversation commenced.

Brigadier General Rudolph E.T. Hogg was an imposing figure of a man. Square-jawed, clear-eyed, and, standing a good two inches over six feet, was as tall as Major Abbott. He was one of those fellows who instantly commanded respect without saying a word. And when he did speak, his remarkably calm, soft, tenor voice did not lessen that respect one whit, if anything it served to enhanced it. Hogg's quiet yet authoritative tone was the precise opposite of Trenchard's booming and demanding one.

The General took a sip of his tea and was about to say how much he appreciated the Major coming up to meet with him when Abbott noticed the royal blue ribbon above the wings on the senior officer's tunic.

"I say Sir, is that the Naval Victoria Cross", Abbott exclaimed in a most energetic and interested tone.

"No, no, nothing so grand", the General replied. "I was sent to India you see, back in 1898, as an officer in the Royal Artillery, though too late I'm afraid to get into it with the Afridis at Tirah. I was then seconded with the Hyderabad Contingent and next went on as a Central India Horse officer, eventually landing as part of staff. Spent seventeen years in various postings round the country ending up as Assistant Military Secretary to His Imperial Majesty who honoured me for my service with this, a Companion of the Order of the Indian Empire." Hogg tapped his finger on the ribbon in question before continuing. "Shortly after the war broke out I came home to England, put in for flying, got my certificate, came up through the corps, and now here I am, Brigade Commander. But enough about me. I've invited you here this morning to learn about you. I'd like to know more about the chap I've recommended for the VC, apart from his record of combat service so far, which is most impressive. From all accounts you’re quite the go-getter, Abbott."

"Haw!", Freddy blurted, flashing his toothy grin as he did so. "That is precisely what General Trenchard called me when we met last year! Did you two Sirs compare notes on me?"

Hogg smiled warmly across at the Major, the young man's affable nature was winning him over in short order.

"No Major, we did not. However, if Boom said it, and now I'm repeating it, then you can bank on it as sterling."

"Thank you Sir, toppers of you to say so really, but I’m only doing my bit like any of the lads. And please, call me Freddy, everyone does."

Abbott's proffer elicited an audible chuckle from the General. "Alright, ‘Freddy’ it shall be. So then Freddy, tell me about yourself. Who is this stout fellow sitting across from me?"

Hesitantly, almost sheepishly, the young ace began. While he enjoyed telling stories about himself, and usually those that garnered a laugh at his own expense, and usually with a group over drinks at a bar or in the mess, this was an entirely different venue; an official audience of one as it was. However, the General turned out to be an easy sort to talk with, and seemed honestly interested in knowing how the fourth and final child of Arledge and Orelia Abbott had come to be one of the RAF’s highest-scoring and youngest Commanding Officers, (he was after all still only nineteen). Indeed, Hogg’s entire purpose of the interview was to better understand the type of chap Abbott truly was. The General had already read the reports collected from witnesses who had seen Freddy in various actions against the enemy, and from commanders, officers, and men he’d served with over the last fifteen months. What the General was looking for now was which parts of Abbott’s story he himself would share, and which he would leave out. Often the things a man doesn’t say about himself are as telling as the things he does.

One such omission was highlighted when the General had asked Freddy about his time in London October last, when he’d met the King during the investiture of Abbott’s DSO. While the Major was quick to mention how much he was honoured to meet His Majesty, and how he’d embarrassed himself with his attempt at a joke, and how he nearly tripped in his haste to depart from the stage, what Abbott did not mention was the Zeppelin raid the night before and the bombing of Piccadilly Circus and how he’d rallied a group of over fifty other airmen and soldiers and led them directly into the ensuing chaos to help with the wounded and sift through the rubble for survivors and victims, (all of which the General had been made fully aware of from one of the aforementioned reports). It was precisely this sort of humbleness and self-effacing quality, and this willingness to immediately assist others in need that would be expected of a VC recipient.

After some twenty minutes of such questions and answers the General was quite satisfied with the overall picture he now had of Major Abbott. He was confident Freddy would be more than capable of upholding the traditions, values, and honour required of one wearing the Victoria Cross. With that the General ended the formal interview and suggested that the two men go out to the field as he had not yet seen the Snipe and which was why he'd asked Freddy to fly his own mount up to Brigade, rather than take a car.

"It's an impressive looking kite", the Commander remarked as they stood in front of Abbott’s plane. "She must be a sound platform to fight from, given your score since taking her on."

"She is spiffing Sir, absolutely spiffing!" Freddy beamed. "She took a bit of getting used to, especially after those skittish Camels. She's not as quick in the turn but by Jove she climbs like the devil, and keeps her maneuverability all the way up to 16,000 feet as well. She's also hands down the most stable gun mount I've shot from. And, she can take the abuse the Hun are dishing out right now, and come back for more."

"You seem quite enamored of her", Hogg noted in a complimentary tone.

"Who wouldn't be, just look at her Sir, she's a beauty!", Abbott stated with a wide, proud grin. Then, almost as an afterthought added, "Would you like to take her up for a turn, General?"

"You know Freddy, I would", Hogg replied most sincerely as he ran his hand gently over the polished cowl of the Snipe. "But I best not. It's been some time since I've flown and I would not want to run even the slightest risk of pranging you're lovely lady here. But I do appreciate the offer."

"Fair enough Sir, but if you change your mind you know where to find me", Abbott assured. "By the way General, I've brought you something."

Freddy strode happily to the portside of his mount, put a foot onto the step plate, grabbed the combing, swung himself up against the fuselage next to the cockpit, and reached down behind the seat. When he stepped back down he was holding a cloth-bound parcel, which he quickly unwrapped, revealing the gift within. Abbott handed the 18-year-old bottle of Glenfiddich to the senior officer.

"How on earth did you manage to get a hold of something like this?" Hogg was visibly impressed. "The best my connections over here have brought me was a 12-year Glenlivet.

"My Mr. Pearson back home is a wizard when it comes to laying in liquor supplies", Abbott boasted. "I provide him the funds and he provides me the stock, and he never fails to come through. The fellow is aces!"

The General examined the bottle as if it were a long lost work of art, which in certain regards it was. He considered how this could be interpreted as a bribe, had it come from a lesser man. But after what he’d just learned of Freddy during their talk he knew it was simply another example of the young man’s generosity and willingness to do for others. A gift, selflessly and joyously given.

"This must have cost you a king's ransom. It's too much Freddy, I can't accept it."

"Of course you can Sir", the Major insisted. "And don't concern yourself with the cost, I've more than enough money to see me through. Consider it a birthday gift if you like, either early or late as I've no clue when it is."

"January 19th", Hogg muttered under his breath as he continued to appreciate the prize.

"Sorry Sir, didn't catch that."

"My birthday, it's January 19th."

"Right-O, let’s call it early then, General, and best regards on the day Sir", Abbott grinned.

The Commander gave a hearty laugh. "Thank you Freddy, I graciously accept your gift, and I shall save it until we've won the war, which from the looks of things shouldn't be long now."

"Top-hole idea Sir, you can drink a toast with it to our sure and certain victory over those Hun rotters!"

Hogg studied the smiling officer in front of him, grateful not only for his thoughtful gesture but even more so for the fellow's optimism and exuberance at what the future could be, indeed would be. The General knew with certainty that the British Empire would endure because of young gentlemen like Frederick Abbott.






Brigadier General R.E.T. Hogg, RAF


.

Lou - I say, that S.E. looks rather familiar...See, somebody picks up on the Easter Eggs. Alas, mine go begging. No Star Wars fans among our studio audience, I guess. <sigh>
Maybe it was the shock of all that blood on Oliver's goggles...

Freddy continues to savage the Kaiser's observation machines, and those pesky Fokkers as well. Nicely done.
And now a bit of a schmooze with the lantern-jawed General Hogg. Gotta love a General Officer willing to wear his cover at a rakish, and dare I say, jaunty, angle?
Freddy's generousity now reaches legendary heights. 18-year old. A princely gift. Interview passed, I'd say. Now Freddy may get a chance to meet the King again. Oliver knows how dicey those things can be. Good luck!


Fullofit - I forgot about the mad Russian. Yep, that was the chap, poor devil.
I say, dirty pool! SPAD going inverted spin/climb. That's even worse than the patented DVII nose up. Worse yet, a stalking Breguet when Klaus' engine is spitting smoke and bits of metal. Was something chasing the Indianer away or was that another SPAD with the Breguet? Either way, a landing Klaus can walk away from. All good. 128 now. Brilliant show. One more and he'll match old Toby.


Albert - Andrew's meteoric rise continues. A squadron command no less! With Colonel Mitchell and General Patrick behind him, the sky's the limit. Definitely gonna need to watch him. All this attention in high places can't hurt, though the claims office have yet to get the memo. Looks like overzealous AA crews aren't limited to the BEF. I no longer mind an unconfirmed fighter but risking death to down 2-seaters only to have them poached by the AA crowd is enough to give one a bad attitude, maybe even piles.
That pic of the red Fokker going down is a real cracker.

Carrick - Good show, Cecil! That'll teach those Hun rotters to come waltzing over the lines. Fingers crossed for the confirmation. Most amusing combo a pictures there. One must keep the tension going, you know.

Raine - To fly a mission without flying a mission. The CM exists outside of time and his ways are indeed mysterious and beyond the ken of mortals. Great that your youngest is able to visit again. Enjoy!

Shredward - Wonderful to see you dropping by, though I wish it were under happier circumstances. Tant de Vies Perdues. Quite right.

Tant de Sang Perdu might be more accurate in Oliver's case...

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I can laugh now. I was deeply amused watching the reactions progress from shock, to denial, then to more denial. "He's fine. He's got half his blood."
It was a lot less than half by the time the plane rolled to a stop amongst the shell holes. A d@mned near run thing.

Crap!

Fullofit - I see how that particular emoji might lead you to think the worst. Post edited to include happier smilie