It's been a while. Work and real life in general has forced me to get behind on the story. At least there has been some great reading of late!

MFair, that was a very close call for Edgar. Let's try to keep him intact and have some fun with Naval 8. BTW, I really like Drago's livery. Did you make the skin yourself? Fullofit, wonderful job with Aldi's story. Too bad about the gloves. Lederhosen, you are the master of interesting skins. Love the Guinness Gun Bus. It's just too bad the Guinness toucan logo wasn't around in 1917. It would have made a great skin! Robert, nice job with the LePrieurs. I have yet to hit a thing with them. Carrick, best wishes for a successful return for Gilbear.

Lou, so Capitaine Tremblay is off to the Alsace. Please remember to pick a new emergency landing spot every five minutes. Your engine is your greatest enemy in the Vosges. And thank you for the DiD medal work. The gong fairy provided great immersion in Olham's DiD campaign. Thanks for all you do for this sim!

Anyway, here is the beginning of my effort to catch up with Colin Urquhart's story...


A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator

Part 24

The weather closed in again for a few days before clearing late on 22 January. The dispatch rider’s motorcycle interrupted our evening mess and the Squadron Commander soon after sent for his flight commanders to join him in the parlour of the Bossé farmhouse. I was told to take B Flight at 8 the following morning to clear out a bothersome kite balloon near Monchy.

Being flight commander was a pleasant experience. I’d enjoyed my few chances to lead patrols in the past. Now, however, I could set my own program. I was blessed to have Bob Little, who was probably the best pilot in the squadron. McNaughton, the Manitoban, was on my wing. He was still new, but already had proved to be a keen Hun-getter. Reggie Soar joined us, and Colin MacKenzie came along for the fun of it since his flight had no jobs until mid-day. Volunteering for a balloon-busting show wasn’t my idea of fun, and I got the impression he did not think much of it when I briefed the fellows that we would go straight in, hit the balloon, and head straight out. I believed in reforming over the lines, not four or five miles deep into Hunland and within range on the balloon’s defending Archie.

The morning was icy cold but clear. If there were any Huns about we would see them a long way off, and they would see us. A few puffy clouds stood out against the sky like icebergs floating in a cobalt sea. I wore nearly every article of clothing I owned and it took the help of two men to stuff like a cork into the cockpit of “Sheila,” my trusty Pup. The new Le Rhône started on the first swing of the prop and we lifted off.

Over the target I led the way and fired about 100 rounds at the balloon, and then loosed the Le Prieurs. I thought I had the thing, but when I looked back it was still there. I saw MacKenzie get it with his rockets and watched the thing fall.

Not a Hun rose to bother us, although Archie kept us close company until we were over our own lines. Past Arras we contour-chased and I put the wind up a number of wagons and other vehicles along the Doullens road.



We escorted a French Caudron on the 24th. The flight, a reconnaissance deep into Hunland along the Roman road toward Cambrai, proved uneventful. We crossed back over the lines after about an hour and a half and noticed a large group of aircraft to the south over Wancourt. Waving farewell to our French comrades, we turned towards the distant specks and climbed to 10000 feet, positioning ourselves between the cluster of aircraft and the sun. The machines proved to be Halberstadts, seven or eight in total. We dived on them out of the sun, but their leader must have been good for he saw us in time to turn about.

Both formations charged into the fight head on. I got only a momentary shot at one of the Huns before I was past them, climbing and turning. I saw to my delight that two of the HAs had collided, evening the odds somewhat. It had been some time since I’d been in a real dogfight and the idleness of the past weeks of poor weather showed. Like a novice I failed to keep close to my flight. Within a minute of our first contact I was a half-mile separated from the nearest Pup and was entertaining three Huns all by myself. I fought defensively, but the Huns holed my machine several times. At length two of them broke away, and for about five more minutes I circled about the remaining Halberstadt. The machine had letters on the side of the fuselage, some sort of personal marking. The pilot knew his stuff. It was normally easy to get behind a Halberstadt, but not him.



Finally, the Hun turned under me and tried to break off. I was able to get behind him and fire a long burst. The machine entered a shallow dive, streaming white smoke. The dive steepened and I watched him descend. The Hun levelled out near the ground but crash-landed among the German reserve lines, destroying his machine. Unfortunately where he came down was not within sight of our lines and, my kill being unwitnessed, Wing recorded it merely as a “driven down.”



MacKenzie failed to return from his patrol on the 24th. Squadron Commander Bromet was very upset and talked at length about Colin being our best flight commander. He dispatched C Flight to drop a message over the Hun field at Riencourt inquiring about him.

On 25 January we staged a ratting contest between my Pincher and Whiskey, an Irish terrier owned by the officers at 23 Squadron. Collectively they killed more than sixty mice and rats among the huts and farm buildings on both sides of the road. Pincher outscored Whiskey by six, which brought us all a free round in the 23 mess. I chatted a long while with a new English fellow, Edgar Everheart. His old man is an admiral or something, but Edgar himself is a nice, unassuming fellow despite having a name straight out of the Boy’s Own Paper. He's already picked up a wound stripe on a ground attack show the other day -- just a graze but it reminds me how lucky I've been. Everheart and Booker tried to button Pincher into his newly-tailored blue RNAS monkey jacket, but the pup would have none of it and bit Booker. Booker is now quite convinced that he is coming down with the bubonic plague and it took a good many whiskeys to disabuse him of the idea.

On 26 January we flew a line patrol in the Arras sector and jumped a large group of Albatros scouts. Little claimed one and I drove one down out of control, but again it was without a witness, for I’d again become separated from the others. Again Wing denied the claim.

We got a phone call from No 60 Squadron at Izel. An Albatros flew over late in the day after it had begun to snow. It had made a quick pass over the field and dropped a message saying that MacKenzie had crashed fatally and been buried with full military honours at Achiet, near Bapaume.