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NR - Nice to see you're still about. Here's hoping the academia chase will slow a bit and allow you some flying time soon.

Carrick - Jessica certainly does get around.

Fullofit - I'm with Albert, I think it all started with the French mistress. You know what they say: "A loose blouse sinks Klaus". Now to that 1-in-5 claims ratio your man suffered, perhaps he needs to treat everyone at the review office to a French mistress of their own for a night. Couldn't hurt.

Albert - Ah yes, the old balloon-busting-morning-after-the-night-before gig. Which of us hasn't been there, eh. But Andy pushed through his hangover and got the job done, which is only to be expected from one of his caliber. Looks like he'll be suffering yet another headache morning after General Patrick visits and pins on his latest gong, but then sacrifices must be made.


Wonderful stuff as always gents, thanks for sharing! And now for Freddy's latest adventure.

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

Rain and wind continue to hamper flying for Major Frederick Abbott and his crew. Yesterday they managed only one outing between the storms, and an uneventful one at that since the Hun were nowhere to be found in the air. By late afternoon Abbott had learned that one of his two claims from the 18th had been confirmed, bringing his current total of victories to 95. Yesterday also brought a resupply of Freddy's personal stock when two suspiciously-sized wooden boxes arrived from Mr. Pearson at Birchley House. The fellow was a godsend, keeping the young airman supplied as he did with some of life's more enjoyable necessities. He'd outdone himself this time when, among the two cases of primarily 8-year-old Bowmore single-malt elixir, nestled five bottles of 18-year-old Glenfiddich. Truly some nectar of the gods. "Well done, Mr. Pearson!", the Major exclaimed to no one but himself.

This morning began much too early for anyone's liking when the siren went off at half past five, warning of incoming enemy planes. By the time Abbott and his men were suited up and heading out to the field their Snipes were ready and waiting. It was raining, but not windy, at least not here on the ground. Through breaks in the clouds the September half moon could be seen nestled low on the far horizon, perhaps things would be clearing off later. With the lads harnessed in and chocks pulled away the Major gave the signal and they were off to look for pre-dawn nasties.


What a horrid way to begin the day, but it was for King and Country, so up and away went the brave men of 43 Squadron.



Once above the gloom and out of the rain, the half moon cast a peaceful light over the cloud tops. One could almost forget there was a war on when flying through such an ethereal landscape.



However, as Major Abbott and his lads neared Arras the stab of a spotlight beam quickly reminded everyone concerned that these were hostile skies.



The rising sun was beginning to paint the eastern horizon an orangy hue when Freddy spotted what the searchlight had been trying in vain to find - a single Hannover heading home to Hunland.



As the King's ace closed in the Boche intruder seemed unaware he was being stalked.



However, just as Abbott unleashed the Vickers, the Hun pilot throttled back and banked to port, causing the gap between the two planes to rapidly close while simultaneously opening up a clean line of fire for his G/O.



Both the Boche gunner and the Major found their respective marks. The Hannover shed its top starboard wing and dropped into a death spiral. The Snipe had taken hits to the engine, petrol tank, and windscreen, but Freddy was untouched. He immediately turned west, attempting to make for home at best speed.



But home would be out of the question. The Snipe was giving up altitude rapidly, its elevator controls sluggish, nearly unresponsive. Abbott struggled to keep the nose up on his damaged mount, dropping back down through the clouds as he did so. By the time he had wrestled his kite back into a more controlled attitude the shattered remains of Arras loomed ahead.



Freddy managed to set himself down in amongst the broken trees and shell holes that cluttered the southern edge of the city, bouncing to an inglorious stop some seven miles from the frontline trenches.



The half moon that had given its otherworldly light above the clouds was now disappearing behind the demolished buildings of Arras. The Major removed himself from his busted mount, thankful that the pouring rain was now diluting and washing away the petrol he was currently drenched in. A nearby gun crew offered their assistance and a place to dry off. A phone call to Fienvillers had a tender and crew on the way, but it would be quite some time before they arrived. Nothing for it then but to enjoy the company of his hosts while he waited. He was safe and relatively sound, was on the right side of the mud, and had knocked down another Hun. All things considered, it was a good morning.


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