.

Carrick - Ah yes, the one that got away. There’s always tomorrow.

Epower - Brilliant episodes, as always. A crushing blow for poor Oliver, and then off to a new squadron immediately after. Very fortunate that he is made of stern stuff. To the book and papers, they are a truly incredible treasure and could not have found a more appreciative home. And well done on weaving them into your story so eloquently.

Fullofit - A stout congratulations to Oberleutnant Zygmunt Hahn. The man will need a bigger hat methinks.

Raine - Dinner with Manfred, quite the affair. Let’s hope that signed photo of the Baron will reach the major soon and Jasta 12 will start receiving their full rations. Now to Vogel’s newfound unknown admirers, unknown may well be better in the long run, but then again one of them just might prove to be a real beauty. You never can tell. And Immer is moving to 12? A merging of stories yet again!

MFair - I’ve a strong hunch Ivan is going to enjoy serving under Vogel’s command. Rich fields for new tales, once your man is healed and back at active duty.

Lederhosen – Willi has amassed an incredible record, 276 mission, 111 claims? Well done!

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29 August 1917
St. Omer, France

(continued)

“You’ve survived the Fees, I see”, the somewhat gaunt, spectacled lieutenant commented as Abbott and his squadron compatriots approached the officers’ mess of the airpark. “And an MC already? Two-seater work must suit you, despite your scout pilot training.” The fellow grinned while taking a long draw off the cigarette he had just lit up.

“By Jove, I remember you”, Frederick remarked with a toothy smile. “You’re the assigning officer who saddled me with that gawd-aweful mount. Never did get your name when I was here last.”

The man exhaled the smoke, stepping forward and extending a hand as he did so, “Never gave it - William Larpenteur”.

“Freddy Abbott - good to see you again. And these two rascals are Tommy Yale and Reggie Harrington.”

As the men traded greetings 2nd Lieutenant Harrington piped up, “I was through here about six weeks ago myself, and you sent me to 11 Squadron as well.”

William, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, studied Reggie for a moment as he shook his hand. “No, sorry mate, don’t recall. But then I do see a lot of faces coming through the pool. I only remembered your friend here because - well - he’s just one of those a fellow remembers.”

“He is that”, Harrington agreed with a boisterous laugh, and was joined by Lieutenant Yale who added, “Yes, one does not quickly forget this lad.”

With formalities out of the way Frederick continued, “We were just going to grab a bite of lunch, care to join us? That is if you haven’t already eaten.”

“I haven’t actually, was loitering here deciding if I wanted to risk the mystery meat and stale bread today, or not.” Lieutenant Larpenteur grimaced as he considered the possibility.

“That bad, eh”, Abbott chortled. “Well Willy old man, if you can direct us to a decent café in town I’ll stand you to lunch. Our tender’s right over there.”

“You’re on. And I prefer Bill to Willy.”

“My apologies, Bill it is then. Come with us as our guide and hopefully we’ll all find a decent meal.” Abbott gave their newfound friend a slap on the shoulder as the men headed off in search of more edible fare.


Shortly before two that afternoon the four lieutenants were back at the airpark, their foray into town for a good meal having been most successful, thanks to Bill’s navigating, Tommy’s driving, Reggie’s moral support, and Freddy’s purse. During the course of lunch the captured Albatros came up in discussion, with Abbott remarking how much he would like to take it out for a brief circuit. Larpenteur mentioned he knew the fellow that just might be able to assist Freddy in that, and he would introduce them. And true to his word, Bill was now leading the airmen over to the maintenance hangar in front of which the D.Va was currently parked. Upon entering he called out to an AM who was fiddling with an odd mechanical bit at one of the work benches.

“Have you seen Captain Tillson?”

“Yes Sir”, the young lad replied as he turned and pointed with a grease-smeared finger towards the rear of the building. “He’s back there ‘avin a look at a Hun motor what was dragged in yesterday.“

The four men continued on and as they approached the Captain, a shortish, stocky gentleman whose back was towards them as he hunched over the disassembled engine, he could be heard talking to himself.

“This is interesting - they’ve flattened the pistons - increased compression …”

“What do you have there, Jim?”, Lieutenant Larpenteur inquired casually.

The Captain looked round with a start. “Oh, Bill, hello, didn’t hear you come up. It’s a Mercedes from a wrecked Roland, and the pistons in it are flat on top instead of concaved, most interesting. Must be a recent improvement the Boche engineers incorporated to increase the compression and squeeze out a bit more power. Who are these fellows?” The Captain cocked his head towards the men in question as he grabbed a rag and wiped off his wide hands.

“Allow me to introduce Lieutenants Freddy Abbott, Tommy Yale, and Reggie Harrington - gentlemen, this is Captain James Tillson.” Bill paused for a moment as the men traded handshakes, then went on, “Freddy here is the lad who brought down the Albatros that’s parked out in front and which you’ve been fawning over since its arrival.”

“Outstanding!”, the Captain exclaimed as he shook Abbott’s hand a second time. “It’s the latest type you know, and it’s perfect. How did you manage to bring it down without a scratch?”

“Haw! Luck, old man, plain and simple”, Frederick remarked. “Caught the poor buggar right in the chest with my first shot. He stayed alive just long enough to set his kite down and shut it off before he expired. Most thoughtful of him really.”

“I’d say”, Tillson agreed.

“Freddy here was wondering if he might not be allowed to take it up for a flight around the field”, James elaborated. “He’d like to see for himself how it compares to the Bristol these boys work from.”

“Oooooh, don’t know about that”, the Captain remarked in a most apprehensive tone, his face suddenly lined with worry. “Are you an experienced pilot? How many hours have you put in? Are you familiar with single-seat inlines?”

“Steady on, Sir”, Abbott replied with his wide, toothy smile, “I promise I won’t prang her. I’ve been flying the two-seaters since arriving here, but before that was trained on scouts, both inline and rotary. I would handle your pet out there with the utmost caution and care.” Then as an afterthought, Frederick tapped the ribbon above the pocket of his tunic and added, “And I was recently presented the Military Cross for my flying abilities.”

Tillson, gave a brief look at the slip of white and purple cloth, then caught sight of the gold stripe above the left cuff of the young pilot’s sleeve.

“But what about that one”, the Captain inquired pointedly. “Were you presented that one for injuries received in a crash?”

“Haw! Well done Sir”, Frederick fired back, “but no - was shot in the shoulder by a Hun rotter.”

Yale suddenly piped up, “Actually Captain, after he was shot Freddy here landed his bus safely at camp and saved not only it and himself, but me as well. I’m his gunner you see, so I can personally attest to how mindful this fine fellow is of the things entrusted to him.”

“Thanks Tommy old sport, kind of you to say”, Freddy beamed.

Harrington, not wishing to be outdone, exuberantly spoke up next, “And I was at Charterhouse with him for five years and can personally vouch for his integrity, and for his outstanding ability to do exactly what he is told. If you instruct him to bring that V-strutter back just as he found it, then that is what our Tiggy will do, without question.”

“Tiggy?”, Tillson puzzled.

“Short for Tiggy-Winkle”, Reggie clarified. “It was the nickname we hung on him in school.”

“Ah, I see, most amusing”, the Captain stated flatly. “But all your testimonials aside gentlemen, I still don’t believe it would be wise to allow your friend here a turn in the Albatros. Too many things to go wrong: If the radiator shutters aren’t set just so you could overheat the motor; if you don’t remember to pump grease into the water pump every so often, you could dilute the oil and gall the cylinders; if you don't keep the air pressure pumped up in the fuel tanks petrol could flow down into the gauge and spray all over you and the cockpit, and catch fire; if you dive too steeply you could overstress the wings, possibly even lose them. So many negative possibilities”, Tillson shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, but the machine is simply too valuable to take the risk, regardless of how fine a pilot you might be.”

"My God", Yale quipped, "how do the Hun dare even fly the things?"

Abbott looked crestfallen, but only for a moment. He quickly perked back up and then asked, “Fair enough Captain, but might I at least sit in her and get a feel for the controls?”

“Yes, most certainly, that I will allow”, Tillson agreed with a smile. “And call me Jim.”

“Spiffing!”, Freddy grinned back, “and no hard feelings then Jim old man”. As the entourage headed back through the hangar Abbott chatted with Tillson, and by the time they’d reached the Hun plane parked outside he’d invited both him and Larpenteur to join the 11 Squadron trio on an evening raid of St. Omer, said invite being heartily accepted. Five RFC men out on the town with cash at the ready? An evening raid indeed.

(to be continued)

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