It's almost after Christmas.


Wheels

Oh crap, he didn't say after which Christmas!!


Wheels

... and still we wait.

and we wonder. When will Martin return and who will see him first?

...and will the next instalment feature fruit cake?

Tempest In A Rainstorm
28 August 1917
0930 hours
Baisse de Rosée Hotel
Dommartin les Toul

Rene and I were enjoying a late breakfast in the dining room of a local inn and I was getting quite annoyed with him. He was grinning far too much for my liking, which meant he was up to something.

The intermittent rain and low cloud cover should have had him in a foul mood, as it usually meant one of my now familiar botched landings and the subsequent repairs. That we would be going up had been confirmed by the 0800 briefing:



I suspected it had something to do with the tarp that was covering the top wing of Number 17; he had hustled me out of the hangar and begged a ride into the village as soon as I spotted it.

Evasive as ever, he turned the conversation to young Lafayette's condition. The maggots had done their work in very short order and removed, and his color was much improved. His morale had soared sufficiently to have required a change of nurses - he had grabbed for the last one as she checked his bandage.

Still, my fireplug of a mechanic was insufferable as he clearly fought to keep his secret, and I placed the money on the table and told him it was time to return to the aerodrome. Our ride wasn't waiting for us, naturally, so we walked in the light rain, arriving soaked to the bone. The wind didn't seem to be gusting very hard, and if I hadn't of been told to fly in it later on might have been pleasant.

With a flourish he pulled back the tarpoline and was shocked at my scowl and string of profanity. The mechanics had placed a large red star on the top of the wing to the left of the fuselage!

"You will remove it as soon as I return," I ordered.
"We thought you would like it," he said softly, offended, "as you are the star of the Escadrille and the newspapers."
"Rene," I explained, trying to calm down, "my aeroplane is already too distinctive with that silly kitten on the side. With that star I can be identified far too easily. This is like advertising for death."

The dawning of my anger washed over his face, and he looked horrified at the thought. Indeed, it was so shocking to see such an otherwise rough man look as though he were on the edge of tears that I regretted my harsh tones.

"If I am killed, Rene, remember that to the world you are me. That would leave only one possible course of action to keep facts straight; you will have to commit suicide."

He stared at me, saying nothing, horrified, until I could stand it no longer and grinned.

Laughing, he agreed that it would be a terrible blow to the women of France if that were to happen, and that it would be removed that afternoon when I returned.

Rendell was in the hangar as well, on the far side, walking around his aeroplane and speaking to the mechanic. Curious, I poured two cups of coffee and walked over, handing him one. He was getting a lesson on the adjustment of flying wires and how they are maintained.

I said nothing, of course, feigning curiosity and ignorance as the particulars were pointed out to him. Once the specifics were covered, however, he dismissed the mechanic as if he had been caught doing something rude with him. I smiled and extended my hand in greeting.

"I've picked up the additional duty of maintenance officer," he said flatly, as if it were a needed excuse for the dirty business of understanding how our machines worked.
"Excellent!" I replied, and meant it. Our Executive Officer was very good at precuring parts for us, but otherwise seemed never to actually see them installed - which meant that often we wound up with too much of some things and not enough of others, as he didn't grasp what was critical and of a higher priority. "And it would be good if more pilots took as much interest in their machines on the ground as they do in the air. You're setting a good example, Rendell."

"I scarcely need your permission, Miller," he shot back, clearly annoyed. He stared across at my aeroplane, frowned, and left the hangar.

I was suiting up and watching the mechanics begin to push the aeroplanes out of the hangars when he returned with the Escadrille Commander, pointing at Number 17 as they approached. Buttoning my great coat, I walked into the sprinkling rain to meet them there. Rene made busy with a rag in the cowling as they stared at the upper wing.

"Feeling special, Miller?" the Commander asked, rolling his eyes at the red star.
"No sir," I admitted, not adding more like a target.
"Looking to take flight lead?"
"No, sir."
"Then you will have this removed immediately after this sortie."
"Yes, sir."
"Honestly, what are you thinking? It's like asking to be shot down."
"Yes, sir."
"I swear I don't know what goes on in your head half the time, Miller," he finished, walking away and shaking his head.

Rene ducked to the other side of the propellor and began to scrub on the cowling, hiding from me. I laughed - what else could I do? I climbed in and made everything ready for the mission.



One of the things we had taken from our British visitors was a change in takeoff formation. Previously we had laid out the machines as they were in formation, rolling in pairs. They had pointed out that putting them in line and taking off in order caused less chance of collision and made assistance should one of them fail to start easier for the mechanics, so we were trying it out today.



It worked far better than I had expected, and undoubtably looked much more impressive to the ground crew!







We were soon in formation, and I cursed as the weather immediately worsened with sheets of rain cutting through out path.







Gusts of wind and holes in the air made keeping station difficult, but once again Rendell had proved infallible in his navigating skills.



The convoy of terrible machines lay on the road underneath us as we left the forest for the clearing.



Being the caboose for the flight meant that one of my primary jobs was to watch our "six o'clock," which meant that much of my time is spent looking rearwards and above us. Often, however, this means that I miss signals for turns within the formation. I was suprised by the right turn everyone made and had to climb above them, hoping that I wouldn't put my wheels into someone's wing.



Once clear, I turned right to rejoin them. Rendell was on to something, and I was eager to catch up!



Two scouts, climbing, and best of all they appeared not to see us!



Even as the Nieuports charged them, however, they seemed to be focused on something above them in the clouds.



The smoke of machinegun fire plunged down at them from unseen aeroplanes!



A pair of Dolphins had dove in the water from on high, and as I was late to the party I took tally of the situation.



Five Nieuports, two Dolphins, and two Hun. Nine aeroplanes that would be flying within 500 yards of each other. I would have to keep a sharp eye to keep from running into anyone!



I stayed high, turning widely, as the others rushed in.



The lower of the pair of Jerries made a sharp left, throwing them off, and I watched to see if he would give me an opportunity.





I stayed with him, waiting, and then decided that it was clear for me to make for him.



A Dolphin weaved towards me as he made a right turn for the lead, a Nieuport rushed towards me on my left, and I hoped that I could rush past them quickly and onto the Hun.



The German avoided the tempest of flying machines most agreeably, moving to the left.



I fired a long burst, letting him cross through the bullets of my machinegun, stitching him from propellor to tail!



I had missed the pilot, though, as he continued on his way. Perhaps I had damaged his engine, though, as he seemed to be maneuvering less.



I made for another attack! The weather conspired against me, gusting suddenly and causing me to fight my machine and miss entirely!







Indeed, so close to tumbling from contrivance of rain and my own over reaction to the unexpected, I cut hard against it to keep in the air!





My composure regained, I moved once again to strike at the Hun.



He appeared to be having difficulty, flying straight and slow, so I fired as I came at him.









Too late to save ammunition, I saw that his engine has seized and climbed away.



Others, however, had no compunction at ensuring he went down!



I scanned the skies, looking to see if the lead of the enemy flight had been downed. A Dolphin was diving towards us, trying to gain speed; I guessed that he had kept Jerry busy with a game of follow the leader in the wrong order and climbed that direction.





Sure enough, the Hun flew underneath me and into a hornet's nest!



I remained higher than the fight, concerned at all the aeroplanes rushing about and thinking the German might present himself to me, rather than having to chase him down.



I cringed as a Nieuport crossed through tracer fire as he tried to make the enemy's tail!





By happenstance the Hun climbed to avoid them, right into my guns!





Before I could fire, tracers whipped past me! Looking back, I almost jumped out of my restraining strap - could they not see me between them and the target?



I climbed away from the fight, quite content to watch them down him without my interference.

















Following along, the huge rips to his upper wing made any thought of risking engagement silly.





The made sport of him, taking their time until he crumpled into the ground.



I checked the area for more Germans and then rejoined the formation until Rendell was satisfied it was clear enough for us to return back home.







The weather worsened with each minute, and as we crossed over Dommartin les Toul it occured to me that the Baisse de Rosée Hotel translated to the "Dew Drop Inn." It was at once hilarious to me and frightening; an old pun for an establishment in the States, it would be unitentional here, and if the rain increased to a storm might be prophetic.



I followed one of the flight as he looped around, firing a flare as we crossed the aerodrome to confirm wind direction, and then once again as he made to land. We'd have to cross over the trees and hangars to keep into the wind, hoping to touch the ground before the hill fell away.





I thought I had made it when the air pushed at me suddenly, driving me up into the air!



I would be rolling down the hill, as I was already nearly touching wheels to turf.





Too scared to release the blip switch, as the torque of the rotary might ground loop me just as I descended down the slope, rolling the aircraft, I pushed hard on the rudder bar with both feet to brace myself.



A slight cut in the hill guided me towards the pond, rising on my left to slap up on the wing, breaking the strut and sending wires whipping against the fuselage. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my flight mate had gone terribly wrong and flipped over the nose! He waved at me, however, showing that he was uninjured, and climbed out from under his machine.



Willing myself to breathe, I listened as an inline engine came closer - one of the Dolphins coming in to land. Before I could look around, I saw him suddenly stall and wing hard left across my windscreen.



He piled in just in front of me!



Leaping from my aeroplane, I rushed forward, amazed to find that he was unhurt but in a profound shock from the crash. The ambulance fetched him away as Rene clucked over the state of Number 17.



"Rendell managed to land down the hill without so much as a bump," he chided.
"Just fix it, Rene," I replied, in no mood for a fight, "and remove that stupid star."

I walked up the hill in the rain and to my quarters, where I changed into dry clothes and tried to tell myself the shivering was from the cold and rain of the flight.


[Last comments]

Here's that video of the takeoff once again:



The .trk file for the mission is here: http://www.darts-page.com/files/Martin_Mission_17.zip. Just unzip it into the /tracks folder to view.

Video of the fight and the hilarious landings to follow on....

Thanks Dart.
Another enjoyable read.


Wheels

damn it Dart; don't you know I can't go a week without my Martin fix ?

Now do it man !

Alas, the sim cut the career short after this mission - don't know why. I was shocked to see the "complete" message.

I'm thinking of picking it back up in either a new campaign with the N17 or the SPAD, if only because I like Martin.