[Dart says:
The next two missions are pre-1.009 update, and so I'm hoping they get a bit "meatier" afterwards. Lots of pics as they were interesting in their own way - or at least interesting in a way that might only appeal to me!]
Knocking on Wood 17 August 1917
1100 hours
Dommartin les Toul Aerodrome hangarThe day hadn't even gotten to lunch and it was already quite a strange one.
It started out in the usual way, with Rene banging around right before dawn as he always did, overly loud and immediately outside of my makeshift room. As always, I got dressed and acted gruff at him waking me up to his equally unconvincing apologies at doing so. We had coffee and some rolls next to Number 17, looking her over and talking about what maintenance needed done.
"I think the head space timing was off last time," I opined.
"Then we need the armorer to look at the gun, since I was the one that set it," he countered, "and I never do it wrong."
"Could be," I admitted.
"Or possibly the pilot hasn't properly inspected the ammunition belts and they're stretched or worn."
There was no way I'd take offense, as this was a game of sorts we played. But all the same, both would be removed from the machine and checked closely. We started criticizing the flying wire conditions when another of the lead mechanics approached. While all the chief mechanics for each aeroplane had the same rank on their uniforms, they had worked out a seniority system of their own, largely based on the experience or rank of their pilot as well as their own skills; Rene was quickly becoming Top Dog of the kennel by the way he deferred to him.
"Rene, I may need your help today."
"What for? Did you make a date and find she is too much woman for you?"
"You know the four crates of engines we received yesterday?"
"Oui."
"They contain six engines."
"Six?"
"Yes, six," he confirmed.
Rene let out a string of profanities. I was at a loss as to why.
"What's the problem?" I asked.
"It means, Martin," he said as if talking to a child, "that they are in parts and not assembled."
Oh. Normally each crate contains just one engine, pre-assembled at the factory and test run, so as to save time and ensure quality in the field. They'd be spending quite a bit of time getting them together, and in the meantime would be useless as replacements. There was the added possibility that not all the required parts would be included.
I walked back to wall and grabbed a set of cover-alls; I might as well lend a hand, as I'd probably be the one needing a fresh engine and grounded if they weren't put together!
We were pulling bags of parts - unlabelled - and laying them out on a large tarpaulin in the hangar when the Commander and Exec approached. They both looked very annoyed.
"Well, at least the crates arrived," the Exec observed, somewhat pleased with himself.
"They're in pieces!" Rene blurted out.
"Of course they are, Sergeant," he shot back, angry, "spare parts usually are. What were you expecting, complete engines?"
We started laughing. The Commander let his angry expression slip a little.
"How many complete engines in the parts," he asked.
"Five," Rene declared, looking at piston rods laid out in a row, "with almost enough for the sixth."
"I would tell you to get every man available on the job, but I see you have a handle on it, Rene," he approved with a sideways glance at me.
"What can we do for you, sir?" I inquired.
"Well, Rene and the men can get those engines together, I need you to go by the officer's quarters. Something that belongs to you is there."
"Sir?"
"Lafayette showed up last night. Seems he wanted to cut his leave short."
"Hey, great!"
"I'll walk you over," he deadpanned, clearly thinking of the young Lieutant's return in other terms.
While the three of us had a bond that only combat can deliver, that bond did not extend to idle conversation, so I remained silent while the two of them continued the conversation they were having before they arrived to the hangar.
"So Division actually said that we're obsolete?" the Exec started.
"No, they said our
aeroplanes were obsolete, and so we are to remain in a support role." The sarcasm in his voice was exquisite. "The last time we crossed the lines didn't work out so well."
"Scouts aren't meant for taking on three flak guns!"
"All the same, our casualty rate has been very high."
"We've shot down 38 of the enemy in the last two months as well," the Exec argued.
"Yes, with Martin responsible for 18 of them," he countered, then corrected, "no, twenty one. There were the two credited to Torma and the one you gave to that boy that died his first time out."
I paused half a step. It sounded strange to hear it put that way, and while nice to know that the true count was acknowledged by the Commander it was also disturbing that my fellow pilots had done such a poor showing.
At any rate, we were soon at the Officer's Billets to discover young Lafayette propped back in a bed looking very happy with himself.
He soon explained that his return home had been pointless, as the Army had taken their estate outside of Paris for use as a sanitarium for recovering soldiers, and the apartment within the city was too small to host him. When I pointed out that he was a recovering soldier himself and so could have stayed in his own home he gave me a very dirty look. The bandages on his leg looked vile and had a bad odor to it; I would ask the doctor to take a closer look this afternoon.
We took the briefing for the next day in the evening after dinner.
The Infantry have been using the forest behind the front to get supplies to the men hidden from the artillery, but scouts and observer aeroplanes have been harrassing them on the roads and searching for the paths that they had made for the trucks and wagons, and we were to cover them.
I actually looked forward to flying to a different part of the front!
Soon we were up and formed in the air, following the river towards the objective area. Touls looked grand, as always.
A train puffed its way towards the front along the river.
He was playing follow the leader to one that we found chugging the same way further up the line, almost to our patrol point!
We had to leave him and cross over the river to find the convoy, though.
And there they were, turning off of the road and into the forest.
It didn't look like much of a path that they had made for themselves!
I caught up with Rendell, forming with him and following as he made a circle around our wards.
Only to find that once again the rear of the flight was engaged while we flew around clueless!
We rushed into the melee, of course!
Sorting the wheat from the chaff, a Fokker popped high from the fight ahead of me and I singled him out.
Of course so had everyone else, which made for a very busy sky!
Holding back from becoming a collision victim, I watched as the more powerful German swept away from them and back around me. He turned to his left, trying to avoid them and I waited half a second...
...for him to cross my guns.
His partner rushed in too late for him, and we pounced merciless on the Hun.
Crossing to my right to avoid the others, I made to get his tail.
Naturally my guns jammed and I lost the opportunity to drive home fire from a reasonable range and had to chase him back down.
Jerry knew his business and wasn't making it easy!
Nor were my flight mates!
Pausing to ensure I didn't wreck into them, I continued the pursuit.
This time my gun chattered most satisfactorily, ripping his wings and clanging his motor!
I gave him a long burst at long range...
And saw that they had hit home.
The trees swallowed him whole.
Rendell signalled to form up and motioned that we would be going home.
I had other ideas and waved that I would be leaving the formation.
It bothered me that the squadron was being kept from taking the fight to the enemy based on the poor showing against the flak guns two days before. In our briefing we had been told of enemy positions just on the other side of no-man's land, and I thought that if I could damage or destroy one of them it might show Division that we were far from obsolete.
I made for the front, spotting yet another destroyed village with a pond next to it.
It made me sad and angry to see such things; undoubtably it had been a pretty little place to live and to visit before being raped by German guns.
I thought for a moment I saw movement in the buildings, but wasn't going to look too closely as a rolling barrage made towards the spot.
Crossing the lines quickly I found the mobile battery that was firing in that direction.
And it had ranged the village.
Counter-battery fire would have a hard time gettin them, so I set up for a strafing run.
Few of my rounds found a mark, so I came about quickly for yet another strike at them.
I got good hits on one of the guns, its motor shooting steam into the air.
But now I had their full attention!
Another quick reverse and more lead to silence their guns.
I was so close to them and with no time to properly adjust fuzes, their shells richocheted off of the ground or exploded far behind me.
Which they corrected far too soon for my liking!
More frustrated at my lack of decent gunnery than mindful of the danger, I moved in for another slashing attack.
After my pass, however, a terrible burst of sound and light went off near my aeroplane, lifting it into the air and nearly knocking me senseless!
I rushed over the front, flashing past the town, my ears woolen to the sound of wind and machine.
It looked as deserted on the way out as it did on the way in.
Leaving the flak behind me, I pulled out my map to confirm the route home.
I climbed high, in case my engine had been hit, which would give me the best choices of landing areas.
But there was no damage to the aeroplane that I could see, and the engine was purring as always.
Indeed, I could find no injury to myself other than a tremendous headache and a loss of hearing.
River and road worked agreeably with my map.
I shook my head and craned my neck around, checking the skies (they were clear) and wondering what they would say of me when I returned.
Flying lower as I spotted Touls in the far distance, I spotted another train. Or perhaps it was the one that we had seen departing Touls on the way out. I always lost track of time when flying, but surely I had been in the air longer than that!
The main Touls aerodrome lay ahead and I continued to descend for my landing across the river.
Such a pretty city!
I made my approach carefully into the wind.
And made my landing.
Unfastening my restraining belt, I found myself too dizzy to stand, and had to be helped from the machine.
The doctor confirmed that there wasn't a single mark on me, and the mutual agreement of everyone that entered into the conversation (and there were a lot of people who did) was that it was the concussion of a near burst that had nearly downed me.
I was excused from the afternoon's mission by the Commander but not from mechanic's duty by Rene.
In the evening an Infantry Major came by during the mess. Apparently he was an acting Commander for an Infantry Regiment and there was much pomp to his visit, with everyone deferring to him. I figured that it did no harm, as the guys in his position had less time to live than us pilots - we weren't being shelled day and night, after all! He was very stern and serious when I was presented with another oak leaf:
I had seen movement in that bombed out village after all. Turns out there was an entire company of his men being pinned down by that Artillery battery I attacked, and my strafing runs had given them enough relief to run back to our lines.
Slightly embarassed by his look of gratitude (the kisses to cheeks had long since been learned to accept without emotion), I explained that I had no idea his men were there. He dismissed it, saying that I had been compared to an angel coming out of the sky.
The Executive Officer, however, was quick to point out that this was incorrect; I was far better than an angel. It would seem that by his way of thinking, a fighting man would much rather have "a little bit of kitten" come around.
Except he didn't use the word "kitten."
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