Actually, that is a tough question to answer. They always fire (at least they take off from the aircraft). Whether they actually detonate on impact is hard to say. I am never sure if I missed the target or the rockets failed to ignite it because I only see the target upon release and then my aircraft blocks the view until I am past the target at which point I look back to see what has happened. I really don't think there is a good chance of answering your question.

Thanks. I guess the true evaluation is a lost to History. I have been looking on the net and thru the books that I have. It came out to Zero infor. So was wondering about the game's position on the subject. Thanks again.

Sorry for missing last week's status report, but the last two weeks have been awfully busy. Here is the status report to catch everybody back up to the present.

No problem Mr. Banjoman. We are lucky to have you.

Ignace de Lyons
ADJ
Esc 26





Oct 22, 1917.

I couldnt find a lot of paint in the sheds, but had enough to paint a number on my ship.

Maybe you need to raid one of the hussies makeup staches. I'm sure you would find some nice colors there!!

lol

Ignace de Lyons
ADJ
Esc 26


22 Oct 1917. Afternoon.


I went up to lines this afternoon and was bounced by a Pfalz. no problem just dive and zoom then add zee speed and run away.

Ignace de Lyons
ADJ
Esc 26


Oct 23, 1917.


I was made 2 section Asst. Flight leader so Stayed down getting my fight together on hand signs to use in the air and a what to do list.. We had a Traveling Gypsy Show come by with a Hypnoses theme. I felt that I was in a Trance all nigh



https://giphy.com/gifs/dracula-HQEizpQq9gd2/fullscreen

Ignace de Lyons
ADJ
Esc 26. Bugues AF

Oct 24, 1917.


Missions escort.

Morning: Our 6 a/c escorted 3 Sopwith's on Recon Spotted Numerous flights of e/a fought off 3 e/a scouts. No losses, no claims,

Afternoon: 2 s3ections 6 a/c + 1 Sections 3 a/c escorted 1 Be2 on Arty spot No contact.

The dead of Gilbert

I started 27th december as a flight leader and Gilbert was my wingman
We had to patrol at the enemy's airfield at Stenay. Weather was bad, snowy and dark.



And finally after reaching the frontline the snow stopped.


We could now enjoy the sunset.



During the patrol at Stenay airfield, we got ambushed by an Halberstad scout. My wingman was in panic and did not stay to me and was shot down. Sorry no pictures because it al was very quick and I had to save my life..
I was diving for home, while the scout was behind me. After reaching the front line he did lowering his speed and stopped chasing.


Finally I did reach home to bring the sad news.

Dutch, great to see your photos and read your stories. Best of luck in your campaign! Robert, glad you managed to keep a leash on Bish. Wonder if it will last... Banjoman, thanks again for the stats!

Carrick, from everything I can recall reading, Le Prieur rockets went off reliably. I cannot remember an account of any getting hung up in the tube. The main comment is that they fired in sequence, and the vagaries of black powder meant that sometimes a rocket had a moment's hesitation before launching so the pilots had to hold their aim to the last second.

I finally got a chance to fly with Geoffrey Corderoy after 11 days in hospital and ran into a stream of atrocious luck, capped with a new injury. And to date he has downed seven EA, six of which I saw break up or crash, but only one of which has been confirmed. I seem to have PO'd the WOFF gods somewhere along the line!

Diary of 2/Lieut. Geoffrey Corderoy, RFC
Part 9: 21-23 June 1917

21 June 1917 – La Gorgue

On standby with Lee in charge of the patrol this morning. Half an egg in me and not even a sip of tea when the klaxon goes and we are bounding for the tender. Or rather, the other chaps are bounding. I’m doing my “dot and carry one” limp and cursing, and Marchant and Ferrie, the new chap, are taking the you-know-what out of me.

The Pups have been run up by the Ack Emmas. I climb the ladder that Sergeant Norris has banged together for me – grab the upper plane and step over from the ladder onto a wooden block placed on the seat. Just a small bend in the n/s knee and I am in. Step onto the floor, toss the block over the side, belt in, and we’re off. God, it feels marvellous to be back!

It’s not my old mount, A3346. Ferrie apparently flew A3346 into a wayward tree on his first day here. This new one has just come in from depot. It still feels loose and I’m not happy with the oil pressure, which seems to waver. We take off to the west and Lee swings around to the north. He likes to get up to 10,000 over Bailleul before turning to the lines. We climb through 3000 and I note an odd vibration, and then a massive bang. I shut down immediately and fire a washout flare. It’s a short glide back to La Gorgue and a perfect touchdown after three or four S turns. Sergeant Norris suspects a faulty connector rod. It’s not a Sherlock Holmes case. Bit of connector rod fall from the engine when turned.

It rains from eleven o’clock onwards. A new flight commander has arrived from 54, Scott by name. I am ordered to accompany him along with Hughes, another of the new men, Ferrie, Joske, and Odell. We are to shoot up a rail siding near Monchy, which we do handily. I circle while the other make their final passes and begin to regroup. High above a cluster of Albatri make their way southward. Certainly they see us, as Archie has called out all his friends to play a drum roll for us, but the Huns continue on their journey and we return home unmolested.

22 June 1917

Back up this morning with Scott, Odell, Hughes, and a new fellow named Griffith. This time we are to attack groups on Hun reinforcements on the ground north of Loos. We are at 9000 feet over Lille and just turning towards our target when I feel the same vibration as yesterday. Within seconds a connecting rod explodes through the cowling and rips half of it away. I switch off before the Le Rhone can tear itself free from this wretched Pup. It is a long, lonely glide. One hears the guns below clearly. I cross the lines at 2500 feet and realise that La Gorgue is too far off. There is a stretch of open road without too many trees. A double file of infantry is marching away from me as I settle down. Nervously, I restart the engine momentarily to give them an alert. I dare not use the machine gun. They are likely to turn and fire blindly if I do. At the last moment they scatter for the verges and I put the Pup down gently.

After waiting so long to get back into action it seems I am cursed with a conshie Pup! Sgt Norris has ordered a complete new engine as he suspects the connecting rods on this one may all be defective, although nothing obvious can be seen. In the meanwhile, though, the mechanics install a new rod and I must take the same machine back.

In the afternoon we escort three RE8s from No 6 to bomb a Hun assembly area on the northern sector, almost in Ostend. I have not been this far north before. The weather is slightly clearer now, and as we slowly make our way into Hunland the Channel glistens in front of us. Then the sun breaks through and the glowing silver line of the chalk cliffs of England glimmers like the filament of an incandescent bulb stretched across the distant horizon.

Archie breaks the spell. My Pup is thrown upwards, but there is no visible harm. But the oil pressure begins to drop a minute or two later. I try to nurse the machine along. We are down at 7000 feet with the RE8s and too far to glide to safety, so I give the washout sign again and turn west. All alone again, I feel terribly vulnerable alone in the enemy sky with a machine that is giving out half the normal revs. The Pup continues to lose altitude. I finally pass our own balloon line and see the blue smoke patch over the chimneys of Veurne, about five miles off to the southwest. I make for the aerodrome there. Quickly I realise that there is no chance of making it. The revs are continuing to drop. I pick a large grassy field and swoop down in a series of tight turns. I keep parallel to a railroad line, watching closely for fences and power lines. Then with a bump I’m down and hoisting myself out of a dead Pup for the third time in two days.

It is after dinner by the time I’m back in La Gorgue. Cold mutton and a beer in the anteroom. I chat with Scott and can tell that he is wondering if I’m windy. I have a quiet word with Lieut. McNeil, the new RO, and ask him to have a chat with Sergeant Norris. Perhaps he can set Captain Scott straight about my Pup from Hell.


Me, gliding home again!


23 June 1917

I am back at the CCS in Merville, scarcely four days after gaining my release from there. Joske led a patrol around seven this morning, and I was to accompany him, Baragar, and Marchant. The weather was filthy, with drizzle and haze, so even at that hour it was dark. Joske’s machine turned onto the cinder track ahead of Marchant. Marchant’s machine started out next, and my Pup from Hell was third.

I opened the throttle and instead of the usual lurch forward, it gained speed only gradually. Using more sense that sight, I was sure that Barager’s machine would be taking off alongside mine in a moment, and I did not yet have enough speed to resist the wind’s efforts to push the Pup into the potato field beside the cinder track. I glanced over my right shoulder and in that instant, my machine left the ground, the Le Rhone coughed and missed, and the whole bloody thing came down and cartwheeled arse-over-teakettle across the aerodrome, shedding wings, propeller blades, undercarriage, and a certain Second Lieutenant Corderoy, RFC.

I awoke in the CCS with my former neighbour and officious VOD nurse Miss Sally Hutchins informing me that she intends to write my mother and insist I transfer to the Labour Corps so as to avoid smashing all our aeroplanes and would the officer like his usual Bass. It’s a rum thing when a field hospital knows one’s drink order from memory!

My head has been cut about, my right shoulder has been separated and pried back into place, and my damned knee has opened up again. It appears I should be here until the end of the month, although if my knee permits it I shall try to get some leave.

Raine: Thanks for the information. sorry about your pilot

Dutch: Dark,but nice pics.

Ignace de Lyons
ADJ
Esc 26. Bugues AF

Oct 25, 1917.


Railyard strike gone wrong. 6 of us were detailed to do a long range strike with MG ammo down by Loos. The route had us a 800 meters crossing the lines ( we could be heard 10 miles away and seen by the PBI. We took alot of ground fire and lost a ship ? ( Burned ) before the Target area was reached. Over Target spotted and attacked 5 Albatross Scouts that were slightly higher and coming in on our tails. The Flight broke apart and scattered I made a few Head on passes then ran for it with 3 on my tail. I was chased all the way back to the lines when Archie opened up and they went Home.

Target Damage: Very little
e/a : Maybe ? 1 or 2 damaged'
Losses: 1 pilot wnd and 1 damaged

Benjamin Kincaid
25 October 1917

Benjamin Kincaid was dead. All the pilots of B flight agreed on that. The man that returned from the hospital was not the mild, timid boy they knew. This man was focused. Overly so, according to some. There was something wild in his eyes and though his speech was clipped and precise, a hint of mania lurked just out of sight, like a shadow at the edge of your vision.

It was this new man that led B flight on the early morning patrol with orders to bring down a balloon just across the lines. Kincaid took off quickly, not waiting for the others to form up. He took off for the lines with a single mindedness that made the veteran pilots uneasy.

They reached the balloon without incident, yet Kincaid did not lead the others down towards it, instead circling above it, seemingly hoping to spot an enemy scout with which to exact revenge.

Abruptly, Kincaid rolled onto his port wing and sideslipped down from 10000 ft to the treetops, agressively swinging his machine onto the Hun gasbag. With one swift pass the balloon was a burning mess and Kincaid wrenched his machine around to head home, seemingly frustrated.

The other pilots avoided him at the aerodrome. This wasnt a hard feat as he shut himself in his tent and did not emerge until the briefing for the afternoon patrol. He was tasked to lead B flight on an airfield attack to Ghistelles.

Once again he roared off alone, leaving the rest of the flight to scramble along behind him. This time, Kincaid had more luck on his hunt. Two Pfalz DIII soared out of the cloudless sky, one bravely trying to buy time for the other to escape.

Kincaid put several bursts into this first foe, forcing him into a spin. Kincaid turned to follow, but before he could reacquire his target, Army had sent the Hun down in flames.

He rolled and lined up on the fleeing Pfalz. This was no expert flyer. Kincaid quickly gained and unleashed a withering barrage. The pilot lost control and began to spin. Kincaid followed him down calling his prey's bluff.

The Pfalz pulled out of the spin well above the treetops and headed towards the nearest airfield. Kincaid wanted this to be clean. He closed the gap. 300 yards. 200 yards. 100 yards. 80. 50. Just as he was about to finish the hun, a burst of machine gun fire from Kiwi tore off the Pfalzs lower right plane, as Kincaids rounds followed shortly thereafter, finding the engine and setting the craft ablaze.

Kincaid was furious. Kiwi was in the process of exiting his machine when Kincaid placed two hands indelicately on his jacket and threw him to the ground. His eyes were aflame with anger and frustration.

HE WAS MINE, KIWI! HE WAS MINE TO KILL.

Kincaid stormed away, leaving Kiwi wide eyed on his back.

The CO recognized the signs. He'd been flying long enough to know; Kincaid was clearly in need of some time to reintegrate after recovering from his grevious injuries. A spot of time as the Sqn administration officer was the ticket.

(Im headed off for three weeks for work and will be away from my machine, but good old Benjamin finally got his butt out of bed and back in the cockpit. I needed an excuse to keep him grounded)

Careful, Kincaid may come down with have a case of " L. M. F. "

Ignace de Lyons
ADJ
Esc 26. Bugues AF

Oct 26, 1917.

Escort 2 DH-4's to Roulers.
2 Sec: 5 Spads
1 Sec: 5 Spads

Remarks: Rainy ,dirty weather with No e/a contact.

Raine; Geoffrey is sure having his lot of it, what with denied claims and faulty engines and hospital stays. I found that the Pup is one of the aircraft that has a fair amount of engine failures at times, so play safe and keep your height.

Carrick, Ignace is surviving I see. Good show.

Dark Canuck, very nice story sir. I enjoyed the read.

Best Regards;

Dark Canuck,

Really great story. Hurry back, because we're craving more Kincaid