Second that. I've just managed to read through the whole thread. Great fun!

Ports in a Storm
14 August 1917
0600 hours
Dommartin les Toul aerodrome

Overnight the weather turned miserable, matching the storm within the hangar. Rene was on a tirade, cursing as he surveyed the engine of Number 17.

"Four pistons holed," he said loudly to no one, "propellor shot through, spar cracked, fuel line severed, cowling wrecked..."
"And no motor to replace it!" I helped out from the safety of the other side of the large room.
"And no motor to replace it!" he repeated at a howl, throwing a poorly aimed wrench at me.

Several engines stood on stands, but none of them were in a state of readiness. The normal rotation had been stymied by the tempo of flights and the good fortune of more pilots returning to need fresh ones installed.

The rain began to pick up, but I didn't take this as a good sign. It seemed that if they could order a flight into the weather, we could fly in it. The Infantry took advantage of such weather, moving convoys of men and materiel away from the prying eyes of observers too far away to see through it. The low cloud ceiling, however, didn't stop German scouts from strafing them!

It was without suprise that I learned we were to have a mission:



Since number 17 was unsuitable for flying, I drew the number four plane - Lafayette's - for the mission. I did not like this very much, as it was maintained by a different crew, and because every plane acted a bit differently; I would have to learn the minor quirks of his machine in the air during a storm!



The aeroplane started well enough, but the feel of it was somewhat different from my own. We passed over a train shortly after taking off...



And a convoy of trucks going into the main Touls aerodrome.



The air was terrible! Our machines were thrown about by gusts of wind that seemed to shift left and right, and we struggled to keep formation.



Worse, I could not seem to tune the aircraft to the best RPM, falling behind!



Soon enough, though, we reached the convoy by the only means we could. Thankfully they stayed on the roads!



True to my word, I stayed with Rendell as we circled about, fighting the conditions and hoping the Hun had stayed home.



It was in vain, naturally, as a pair had apparently seen and followed out flight!



In truth, Rendell and I were quite taken to see that they had slipped behind us and were engaging without us being any the wiser!



Diving into the melee, I wrestled against the winds, guessing where the Hun would appear before my guns.





I was horribly wrong! Worse, I almost tumbled into the trees when I ran through a hole in the air! I managed to keep it from crashing, and snaked over to see the tables had been turned on one of our own!



Full rudder was the best I could do to keep her flying straight as I rushed the Hun, spoiling his attack.



Incredibly, I was short of airspeed just as I neared shooting distance and only managed to threaten his tires!



Over eager, I pulled up sharply and was rewared with the right wing dropping straight down in the storm. Righting it above the turf (it was fortunate we had crossed over a clearing), I saw the Hun being fired on by a Nieuport.



As he went down into the trees, I spotted our flight taking on the other in the distance.



Glancing about, something seemed to fade in and out of the fog and rain farther on.



I was unsure as to whether I should rejoin the flight, turning my tail to what might be enemy fighters, or intercept them and protect them.



Pushed by the rudder biting against the rain, my decision was half made for me - I'd investigate!



A flight of Germans! I hoped that the grey of my flying machine matched the soup as I ducked under them.



What came next was murder, plain and simple. I flew until I was almost directly underneath the trailing Jerry and then climbed swiftly until the pilot came into my sights.



One short burst - just a handful of rounds, and the pilot slumped in the cockpit, falling away. I stayed low in case they had seen, hoping to escape if spotted, and then began to climb up again.



My guns chattered again as I raked the poor fellow at the last moment, the keeling telling the tale of his death.







The lead pilot saw me too late - I was on him and already in firing position!







Even through the rain on my goggles I could see he was dead.



Above me appeared a flight of scouts, but to my relief they were friendly!





I had plenty of problems to deal with, though. I was lost! I spotted a clearing where a house had once stood at an intersection. I'd seen it before along the way to the factory we had guarded, but struggled to place it on my map!



Picking a road to follow, I spotted a convoy on the road. But was it the convoy I had overflown to protect, or another?



If they were heading to the front, that would be to the east, which meant that I would need them off my left wing to fly south.



I turned about and flew along the road, right into the front!



Blast it! They were either going west, away from the front, and I had flown north; or, possibly, gone north and I had flown east!



Since the front went east-west and then bent north-south here, I made the only decision that made any sense. I would turn right and fly down the front, hoping to spot a landmark I could recognize.



The weather was worsening by the minute - I had to use full rudder to keep Lafayette's plane level against the storm!



Seeing a river flow from no-man's land, I turned right along it, juggling trying to study the map, the loops of the water, and keeping my machine in the air.






I was certain that I had spotted my position until I overflew an intersection. Shouting in exasperation, I moved to follow the road and railroad tracks.





Ahead was a cluster of farm houses in a clearing peeking up at me through the mist.



This was near where the Commander and Exec and I had fought!

My spirits rose immediately, as I knew I was flying south, and that soon I'd be able to confirm my precise position!



Flying on, far more resolute in beating the storm that was tossing me about, I spotted the place that I had dead stick landed in what seemed so long ago...



Meaning Malzville would be appearing to my right!





Moreover, Malzeville had an aerodrome! I was soaked through to the bone, exhausted, and had no desire to fly one more minute than I had to.





But which way to land? I shot a flare into the air to see which way it drifted.



Taking note, I lined up to land.





As I neared, the wind gusted and seemed to change direction! I was going much too fast and climbed back up to make another approach.





Once again I lined up, this time taking care to slow as much as I dared in the unpredicatable drafts, and rolled long onto the grass.

I swung towards the hangars, and blipped the engine as I put in right rudder. Rolling past them I saw too late that I would hit the pole of the windsock with my right wing.

With a sickening snap and a violent twist Lafayette's aeroplane lost its right wings and I was slammed to the left side of the cockpit. But I was down and safe if the machine wasn't!

The Malzeville aerodrome was empty of any Escadrille, having been taken over by an Quartermaster unit. The hangars were being used as stables for the horses, but it made no difference to me. I was under a dry roof drinking real coffee and eating a bacon sandwich when a large flash and crack of lightning made us all jump. Orange flames glowed through windows and we all rushed out to see what it had hit.

It was the windsock, of course, and the fire was Number Four, the linen and wood burning merrily around it, heedless of the soaking it had received in the last hour and a half.

We put it out (there wasn't much gasoline or castor oil left to burn in it), and I quickly thought to check the engine and propellor. Amazingly, they looked quite intact. Throwing a tarp over them, I asked to borrow tools and men to remove it and place it on a wagon.

They balked at first, but their Commander was quite impressed after asking for my credentials. Being mentioned in the papers seemed to have some perks with it, and they became more than happy to oblige me.

On my return to the aerodrome the other pilots seemed relieved and delighted to find that I had not only survived but had downed three scouts, and Rene was mollified somewhat in that I had salvaged the motor to Number Four.

I was also given yet another oak leaf for my medal.

Oh jeez, these are good.

More daddy more. I want another story.

Dart, can I have your mind?
It's just incredible how all events in game fit your story one way or the other. (Or is it the other way around?) It is easy to imagine you wrecking your landing on your second try because you decided you aren't going around three times (well, at least, i'm like that sometimes.) leaving you with a snapped wing and then "invent" the lightning strike to rule out number four's return, save its engine, so "Le Petit Chaton" can fly once more.
Q: Did you fly LaFayette's plane on purpose or was 17 really in repairs ingame (dunno if that is at all featured)?

Edit: BTW, I was so swepped up in your story. The weather here (East Netherlands) is pretty much like in your mission, at the time of reading the whole atmosphere was just there, you know. Come to think of it, even the time was somewhat correct. Thank you!

Naw, I make the story match the events.

I flew Lafayette's plane on purpose, figuring that Number 17 would be out of action after taking a magazine to the engine - simply a matter of not selecting the custom skin.

I was a bit busy on the second attempt and didn't take screenshots of hitting the stupid windsock pole; the lightning strike stuff was made up because it made me really mad to have hit it.

Great AAR.


Wheels

Out of the Breech
15 August 1917
1400 hours
Dommartin les Toul Aerodrome

Rene was especially smug with himself, having repaired Number 17 with amazing speed; that he had worked through the night was a matter not to be mentioned.

While the weather had improved, we didn't draw a mission for the day. Instead the newer pilots were being put through paces over the aerodrome; first practicing maneuvers and then in mock battles, trying to get them to stay aware of what was going on around them.

Rendell and I sat in chairs in front of the hangars, drinking coffee fortified with whisky and making comments of the most rude nature as to their skills. One or two showed great promise, we admitted, and if they did poorly against their instructors we couldn't fault them - the Commander and Executive Officer were a pair to be reckoned with in a fight, even one that was without bullets.

"I heard the Commander on the telephone with headquarters," Rendell said offhandedly as we watched the rookies break into a circle, preparing to land.
"Are we moving?"
"No," he admitted, "the Commander's push for us to take to the fight to the enemy and across the lines has been accepted."
"What's the mission?"
"I don't know, but he wasn't happy about it."
"Is he ever pleased?" I retorted.
"Well, he threw me out of the room and kicked over a trash bin after he disconnected."
"Oh." Our Commander was not normally a demonstrative type. It couldn't be good.
"Martin," he started, very seriously, "do you think you'll survive the war?"
"Sure, why not?" I replied as flippantly as I could, "if I didn't, do you think I'd try so hard to learn to speak French?"
"You're actually doing a very good job," he observed, "though your accent is terrible."
I had never thought of it - the French had accents; the English had accents; that I would have an accent to their ear was an odd, if reasonable, concept.
"I don't think I'm going to survive," he continued, refusing my effort to change the subject, "I've had very bad dreams."
"Oh, we all do, Rendell! But they don't mean anything."
He looked quite relieved that he wasn't alone in this.
"I have had the same dream of falling from my aeroplane from a great height, and it keeps me awake after I've had it."
"That's not such a bad dream! You need only ensure your restraining strap is secure and it won't happen!" I recalled for him my own dreams of the observer burning, of switching places with him, of the horror of wondering whether blood loss from bullets or fire would take me first.

He nodded as I recounted it, knowing it well from his own dreams.

It did not sooth either of us, and we sat like stones as we watched the first of the pilots come in to land. He was approaching from the north of the field, coming in towards the hangar at which we sat, too fast and all rudder so that he skidded through the air. His wheels touched the turf with such force that he bounded into the air before slapping back down, straight for us. His hands had clearly slipped from his control stick as his engine roared, the blip switch freed, and Rendell and I dove to the sides as it came right at us. The ground loop was vicious, digging the wing hard into the grass and flipping the machine over even as it spun about some ten feet from us.

We lept up and raced to the wreckage, crawling underneath to get to the pilot. He was still, with his eyes open, still in suprise, but his head was in such a position as to let us know his neck was broken.

The mechanics were with us in an instant to right the aeroplane, and the corpsmen went from a run to a walk with their stretcher when they saw the looks we gave them.

Yet another memorial service and a medal that would never be warmed by the breast to which it was pinned to be awarded.

"You may be onto something, Rendell," I commented as we walked away from the crash and to the officer's mess for our escape.

16 August 1917
0600 hours

The next morning at dawn we were assembled in the briefing area, and much to our interest the Commander himself was standing before the board.

"The English have a saying," he began, "that one must go into the breach" with the last in English. "This means to dive headlong into the enemy, driving a hole in their lines. It is their version of elan, and today we are to show ours.

"To the north, just on the other side of the lines, the Germans have been preparing positions from which they will launch observation balloons. This morning we will destroy the anti-aircraft positions by strafing before they are fully camouflaged and protected by fortifications."

Rendell and I gave each other concerned looks. Attacking balloons was made dangerous due to the flak batteries, which is why one came and departed them as fast as one could. Attacking the battery itself sounded suicidal.

"For this mission will be Rendell on lead:



"Anatole in second position:



"Nicholas in third:



"Gilbert in fourth:



"And Martin in fifth position, guarding the tail:



"Gentlemen, here is your route:



"I will not say that this will be an easy mission, but it will save many lives by keeping the German balloons on the ground. Prepare your aeroplanes, and good hunting."

As I helped push Number 17 into position, I was pleased to see that the weather had improved quite a bit, if there remained some chop in the air. I must say that I'd gained a skill in judging the condition of the skies by the feel of it against my face and a few handfulls of grass thrown in the air.

Usually the other pilots arrived only shortly before we were to take off, but today they were in a cluster behind Rendell's machine. I wandered over after checking the flying wires on my own.

The conversation was tense, with the new pilots asking all sorts of questions about how to attack the guns. I leaned in, as I was curious of this myself.

"We'll approach from the side of the gun from about a thousand meters, and turn into them around five or six," advised Rendell, "keep your line on them, aim low and walk your rounds into them. We'll climb and turn immediately, withdrawing for another attack at length."

Sounded like a good idea to me, and I nodded in agreement.

"We'll concentrate on one or two guns at a time, so that we can have a better chance of knocking it out. Watch the lead and keep a look out," he continued.

"Relax, gentlemen, and remember that a short, accurate burst is better than a long one that fouls your gun."

The walked back to their machines, looking a little mollified.

I turned to Rendell once they were out of earshot. "So you've done this before?"
"Never," he confessed, "You?".
"Never."

We laughed for some inscruitable reason.

Smiling, I walked past Nicholas' machine with a bounce in my step I really didn't feel. He grinned weakly back at me.

Inside the cockpit of Number 17 with Rene on the propellor, I frowned. Something about this mission had the smell of death to it even before we had begun.

Soon we were in the air, though, and in formation. I took note of the farmhouses I had overflown in the storm two days prior, making note of how it looked as one approached from the south - if I had that information I wouldn't have been so lost!



Soon after the front lines approached, and for some reason I found myself replaying that day in the rain and noting that I had in fact flown north instead of east!



The impact of the artillery and the smell of churned earth and and smoke brought me to my senses, though, and I tightened up in the formation:



The guns lay before us, and Rendell lead us into the curve that he had spoken about.



We hammered the left pair of flak cannon with our guns,





And turned right to escape before they could bring fire onto us.



The right pair of guns, however, seemed to have readied themselves and deadly blooms of smoke and iron whizzed around us!



We continued our turn to the right, and then slashed back down on the artillery.



My heart was racing as I lined up and fired at the right pair of cannons!









Pulling up I was shocked to see two German scouts diving on me, firing as they came!



One of my flight had spotted them and spoiled their attack, and I began to turn right towards them.



It was clear that they were going much faster than I, and as I had lined up with the cannon again, I made a hasty attack.





As I walked my rounds over the Germans on the ground, I looked about for the scouts.



They seemed to not only have the proper attention of my flight, but of the guns as well! The gunners seemed unconcerned that they might hit one of their own.





I took the opportunity of them looking the other way and made another attack!





Again I saw that I was out of the interest of the German aeroplanes, and made yet another strafing run on the cannons!





Coming out of the dive, I saw the German was right in front of me!





Nearly blinded by the sun, I almost contributed to a three way collision in the air which caused the three of us to flinch out of each other's directions!



It was a small matter to regain his tail and shred his machine.









Great tears in his wings stood out as he tried desperately to turn sharply to the left, causing it to fail.



He smashed into the forest.



Looking up, I was relieved to see it was a Nieuport that was above me...



...and chagrined that the other Hun scout had seen him as well.



This would not stand! I moved in to take him.



It must surely be Rendell in the Nieuport, as he engaged with great skill, slashing he way into postion again and again..

















In the end, though, it would be my rounds that rang true as he crossed my nose.





The Jerry joined his comrade in the forest, and, I was sure, in Hell.



My guns had gone dry, though, and I was sure Rendell would withdraw, as he had to be low on ammunition as well.

Incredibly, he formed with another of the flight and made yet another strafing run on the artillery!













And then another:







A great flash of explosion shocked the trailing Nieuport, ripping it into shreds and causing it to simply fall from the sky.



The lead of the pair withdrew across the front, seemingly unscathed!





I made my own way home, sipping from my flask of sock wrapped coffee and numb from the carnage I had seen.





Safely down, I only wanted to walk to my hangar and lay down.



News came later that it was Rendell that had survived, having landed in a field after his engine failed behind our lines. A car was sent for him as well as a truck for his aeroplane.

He was ashen in complexion when he arrived, and we were both quite unable to speak when asked about the events of the morning. I found that writing it up in my log seemed to trivialize the cost of men.

The air kills were awarded to me - Rendell refused any claim on the second scout - as well as yet another oak leaf cluster for my award.



It turns out that it wasn't going into the breach of the lines that scared me nearly as much as what came out of the breech of a cannon.

Once again I was alive while others had died, and I had no idea why.

Things are getting hairier.


Wheels

all picture links are broken for me

story sounds great though as usual


cheers

Same here, no piccies are showing but you had me on the edge of my seat once more Mr Dart!