Hehe Fullofit, a conundrum we can all relate to

Gilbear du Bassy
Esc 81
La Noblette Ferme,
Verdun, France.


May 28, 1917.


Mission : Escort 3 Sopwith for bombardment of lines .

2 Section: 3 a/c Close Escort
1 Section : 3 a/c Top Flight.
Alt: 1500 meters.
E/a: Spotted 3 flights Engaged the 1 flight Albatross Scouts passing underneath.
Losses: 1 Spad + 2 Sopwith also my a/c heavy damage.
Claims: 1 e/a scout.

Remarks. Dove on e/a passing under popped off 43 rds no hits ( my gun seemed to be shooting left of the fire ring ) Then 2 were on my tail took over 20 hits and a bullet hit my leg. Manged to outrun them and RTB
Medical Rpt: Hospital till Jun 1.

Intell Rpt: Scouts maybe from Jasta 22 and Jasta 36 reported to be in the Sector using Albatross D-III,s

Both pilots out today. Cecil had a bad one and lost 2 of his men.
Horst was lucky that heavy cloud allowed his flight to escape the tripehounds again.

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Some most entertaining reading to go with my morning coffee.

MFair, I thoroughly enjoyed your reports. Edgar’s first days with Naval 8 seem to be going generally well apart from that rough landing; I hope the young fellow’s luck holds. And he may as well lean into the fact that he has a well-respected Commodore for a father, never hurts to have such connections when it comes to the Brass Hats.
As for Drago, perhaps with eight victories and the interest of the Baron now directed his way he can get himself moved to a Jasta that actually has some pluck to it. Also, I personally love flying the D.II and find it far more forgiving to tour about with than some of the later Albs.

Robert, wonderful write-up and video concerning Albert’s latest adventures. Well done with the rockets, I find it’s quite the trick to destroy anything of actual worth with them apart from the odd balloon. As to Godfrey’s go-round with that Halb, I agree, he does need to close the gap considerably before firing on his prey, elsewise it so much wasted lead.

lederhosen, that is a formidable looking pair of creatures on the sides of the CO’s new mount, well done. And what can I say about Cecil’s Airco other than that I love Guinness Extra Stout!

Fullofit, another great series of Aldi episodes. He and his crew had a tough go of it there with those Nieups. And what rotten luck on the new D.IIIs being grounded, no doubt do to wing issues. Ah well, as I said earlier, the D.II is still one of the better Albs to fly, or at least I find it so.

Carrick, from the looks of it Gilbear and his crew are in a bit of a rough patch as well. I hope their lot improves for them sooner rather than later. You know though, a few days recovery in hospital being look after by the sisters of mercy can be a welcome break.



As for my pilot's latest exploits:

A week ago on Monday the 22nd, during lunch, a courier arrived from Beauvais with a message from l’Grand Quartier Général for the CO of N81, Capitaine Tremblay. When the distances were short headquarters had taken to sending out important communiques via such couriers due to the increasing number of Boche spies that were purportedly listening in on the phone lines emanating from Paris and her surrounding communities. As Allard opened the dispatch he wondered just how effective such precautions really were when it came to keeping information from an enemy intent on having it.

Tremblay, upon reading the note, uttered a single word under his breath, “merde.” He then instructed the courier to inform GQG that preparations would begin immediately. He also instructed him to take a couple of sandwiches along for his return trip.

“Oui, mon Capitaine”, the young lad replied with a smile and a crisp nod of his head, then turned and headed for the kitchen.

As the majority of the Escadrille was already in the mess the Capitaine chose to expedite matters by making the announcement to those assembled: The group was being ordered to Fontaine, their assistance required by the 7th Army in the Alsace. “Before any of you begin asking questions”, Capitaine Tremblay declared loudly above the mutterings and grumbles, “let me just say that, as of right now, you know as much about this as I do. Now I realize we’ve all just gotten settled in here but such is the lot of a combat squadron in war, we go where we are needed. So pass the word, we start packing.” Allard took a sip of his café crème before continuing, “Let me add that we have been directed to fly any and all planes that are airworthy to our new home while everything else is to go by trucks. I will post the travel route GQG has included in the dispatch and we will fly out tomorrow morning on the first leg of our journey, weather permitting. As we currently have douze pilotes but only onze functioning aircraft, one of you will have to ride along with the gear. I will allow you gentlemen to sort out amongst yourselves who the lucky one shall be.”

The following morning proved to be wholly unfit for flying with high winds blowing the snow about everywhere. However, by early afternoon things had quieted down long enough for the aviateurs at Sacy-le-Grand to begin their sojourn to the southeast. Their first fuel stop was to be the old airship field at Trilport near Meaux. It was barely fifty kilometres away, and with a helping breeze at their tails it took them just shy of an hour to reach it. But upon landing the weather began to deteriorate again rapidly and by the time the tanks had been topped off it was evident there would be no further flying that day. The commandant of the facility kindly offered to put up Capitaine Tremblay and his men for the evening, providing them with comfortable accommodations in an old manor house in Trilport. They also enjoyed a fine evening meal at the local restaurant before retiring.

At dawn the next day the group was ready and took to the air shortly after sunrise as the winds were calm and the snow had stopped. But again, just as the day before, they’d no sooner reached their next fuel stop, this time at Villeneuve-les-Vertus, when the storms renewed. And again, they became guests of the local officer in charge. This pattern was repeated for the remainder of their trip: from Villeneuve-les-Vertus to Bar-le-Duc on the 25th; from Bar-le-Duc to Toul on the 27th; from Toul to Darney on the 28th; and finally from Darney to Fontaine on the 29th. While accommodations and the local fare changed daily, the weather remained constantly dicey. After a week of such travels Capitaine Tremblay and his crew were feeling like a band of gypsies and by the time they at last reached their new home they wanted nothing more than to settle in. Of course only time would tell just how long this spot at the southernmost reaches of the front would actually be their home.

(Note: I didn't even bother to snap and post a screenshot of Allard and his men landing at their new digs as there was nothing to see but snow blowing about all over creation. I am hoping the horrid weather breaks soon.)

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Banjoman should be back from his trip any day now and will no doubt post the latest stats chart, and with that in mind I have put together a new version of the DID Medal that could be used for the Centenary Challenge. Just as in the previous DID campaign the medal would be presented to a pilot after surviving the first 25 hours of combat flying, with the bar attachment being updated for every additional 25 hours thereafter. In addition a gold star would also be added above the bars for each 100 hours the pilot survives. I am attaching a couple of examples showing the new medal and how it would appear based on the system I've outlined.

Let me know folks if this is something you would all like to see implemented in this campaign.

Cheers!

Lou

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yep

Lou;

Another spiffing gong Sir!! Damned fine art work to boot!!

Lou,
I am sure any contribution you make to the Campaign will be enthusiastically endorsed and appreciated by the group! You have my vote and a to second to Roberts post.

Lou, great idea! Now, can we get some German-friendly medals? Iron-Cross edition?


Lou, great idea! Now, can we get some German-friendly medals? Iron-Cross edition?
Also, when Banjoman comes back perhaps he can remove the Belgians and replace with Americans in the Google survey? Doesn't look like anyone flies for the plucky-ones.

Lou, going back to Alb D.II from D.III is like going back to eating lemons after enjoying a lemonade.
BTW, you may as well have taken the transport to your new airfield. It would have been quicker!

Jasta 18
30 January 1917, Halluin

Aldi was removing his leather overcoat and placing it by the stove to dry. Ltn Strähle was lying on his back with his arms under his head and his feat sticking out of his bunk to reduce the distance between his toes and the stove. Aldi mischievously dropped some snow on his bare feet and the distance to the stove increased dramatically.
- "What's the idea?!" Paul protested while wiping the snow from between his toes.
- "Just making sure you don't forget what the world is like, while you sit here making yourself comfortable." Aldi responded.
- "It is not my fault they didn't have enough of those death-traps ready for all of us to fly." Strähle sat up on the bed rubbing his toes with his hands.
- "So, how was the morning flight?" Paul started to pull his thickest socks on.
- "Did you manage to convince our fair-play enemy to leave us alone, because we don't want to fight with inferior equipment?" Strähle was looking around for the second pair of socks to put on.
- "No, this time we've met some Nieuports with the head of an Indian on the fuselage." Aldi responded. - "They didn't seem to care what we fly as long as they do the shooting."
- "Oh, do tell!" Strähle was now on his stomach looking under the bed for his shoes.
By now Aldi had taken his flight gear off and sat down near the stove holding his hands above it.
- "We were returning from our patrol when we run into a formation of 4. They seemed to be minding their business and we decided to do likewise, but as we got closer they decided to go for our 2-seaters. As they commenced their attack we slipped behind them and caught them in crossfire with the rear gunners. Soon the whole affair turned into a fur-ball, with the 2-seaters all but forgotten."
- "So how do you like your new machine? Was it giving you any trouble?" Paul was wrapping a wool scarf around his neck.
- "Trouble? No, no trouble at all. It purred like a kitten and it behaved like one. Except this was a dogfight! I could not stay with any of those Nieuports. They simply climbed and sped away. No chance of catching them in a level fight."
- "So, you didn't get any?" Strähle had his hat on.
- "That's where you're wrong. Once my dance partner sped away I looked around and saw the same thing happen to von Bülow's target, except they were much lower than me. I had enough altitude to convert into speed and catch up to him. One good burst and he crashed into NML. We came back home right after that."
- "That's great! Congratulations! Can you pass me your gloves?" Paul was at the door. Aldi threw his gloves to Strähle and asked. - "What do you need them for?
- "It's rather cold and I need something to keep between my butt and the toilet seat." With that he slammed the door and was gone.
Aldi was too tired to go after him. Instead he decided to figure out how he's going to get new gloves and better yet, how Paul is going to pay for them.

Fullofit, Congrates on ace status. And yes, you need a new pair of gloves!
Carrick, still alive! Enjoy your stay with the pretty nurses.[/b]
[b]Lederhosen, I would think it would be hard to escape in such a conspicuous bird as the dragondile.[/b]
[b]Lou, I hope the Escadrille enjoys their new digs. I feel sorry for the Huns in the area.

Edgar Everheart
Vert Galant

Edgar carefully placed his flying kit under the bottom blanket on his cot. It was a trick he had learned from the old timers in the squad. Come morning it would be warm and toasty for him to climb into. It was a bitter cold night and he needed a rest. As he lay on his cot and pulled his blankets over him he felt dead tired but as usual could not fall asleep. The days mission had been relatively easy compared to the past few. He and two other machines had been tasked with taking down the balloon southeast of Monchy. His flight had hit it so many times he felt the machine would fly itself there. On their first pass, they had all missed with their rockets so Edgar had come back around and machined gun the balloon. It blew up just as he passed over it almost sending him and machine into oblivion!
The flight had returned home with no damage and Edgar filed a claim on the balloon even though reports had come back that the balloon was undamaged. "That black soot on the bottom of my machine didn't come from a campfire" was Edgars reply.

A few days ago they had hit Athies Junction. It was Edgar's first railway strike and he could tell this was not something the others in the flight looked forward to. Everyone in the flight was pensive. Approaching the Junction they all dived one after the other. Edgar choose a big fat warehouse for a target. Approaching the warehouse he opened up with his machine guns. At the same time a hail of bullets came up to meet him. He could hear them striking wood and fabric as he pulled up just above the building jinking as he flew up and away. Looking back he could see the warehouse smoking. He turned around for another pass, steeling himself for the hail of bullets that would surely greet him. To his surprise, the ground fire was not as bad as his first pass but he still heard a few bullets hit home. This time the warehouse was smoking heavily and he could see a few holes in the roof. He pulled in behind Schelldon to make a third pass. As they were turning back toward the Junction their was a loud bang made his machine shudder! Archie! He then felt the pain in his leg and could smell the faint odor of petrol. He immediately pulled out and headed west.

Climbing west with the hope he would have enough fuel to make it home, Edgar felt totally alone and vulnerable. He did not like this feeling. At 4000' approaching the lines his engine sputtered and died. All he could hope for was that he had enough altitude to make it across. Lower and lower he went, trying to keep flying speed. He crossed over the German trenches low enough to be met with a machine gun and rifle fire. Edgar felt as if the whole German army was shooting at him. Bullets smacked his machine on all sides and there was nothing he could do but make himself as small as possible and hope he was not hit. His machine just made it over his lines when it sat down on rough ground, skidded around and came to rest near a group of soldiers. He sat numb in the cockpit. He could not believe he had survived.

The pain in his leg was more of a bad bruise and even though he walked with a slight limp he could fly. The day after the Railway strike his flight had escorted 2 BE's to bomb a supply depot. Just over the lines they were attacked by two Rolands. It was the usual twisting and turning affair until he saw Schelldon collide with one of the Roland's. Edgar was frozen for a moment at the sight but tracers whizzing by his head brought him out of his shock as he pulled up and over to find a Halb on his tail. He quickly turned the tables and sent it crashing down into No Man's Land. He had landed with his starboard wing riddled with bullets. His flight had claimed 3 planes but every time he closed his eyes he saw Schelldons Pup exploding into a million pieces.

His claim for the balloon and the Halb had been denied but he did not much care. The realization that he would probably not survive this carnage had hit home hard.

.

MFair, I am also fearful that your Edgar may not survive this affair. But then the fates are nothing if not fickle, so who really knows.




As you wish.

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Great storytelling everyone! And those are handsome medals RAF_Louvert!

Regards,

Jeff

MFair, such a dandy report sir! The reading just keeps getting better and better!

Lou, The kaiser's versions look extremely pretty!

Hey guys I'm finally back from my extended stay in the states. I will get a status report just as soon as I can. I think there are over a 100 pages just in this thread that I have to read. It looks like RAF_Louvert has returned and it looks like he has brought his gongs with him.

edit: Ok, I exaggerated a little, there are only 13 pages to read.

Sweet! I'll take one! I know I'm pushing it, but it would be great to have medals for each nationality. This way you have to fly each one to collect them all. It's like Pokémon for WOFF! Thanks for doing this Lou.

MFair, now that you had your butt singed you'd better start being more careful.

Welcome back Banjoman!

Welcome back Bud! I hope you had a good safe trip. Looking forward to seeing your pilots update.

Welcome back Banjoman!!

Albert Earl Godfrey

31 Jan 1917 @ 09h00 Attack on Phalempin aerodrome

Sitting at briefing, Albert heard the CO announce the mornings effort would be an attack on Phalempin aerodrome as this had been determined a vital effort by the red tabs. Albert could not help but wonder why then, they were sending N17’s and N16’s in on the attack with nothing more than LePrieur rockets.
What on earth were they thinking of! It seemed to him, a fruitless effort full of potential loss for the squadron, somewhat akin to provoking an elephant with a dart! What seemed to make it worse is that only “B” flight composed of 5 pilots, was all that was being put forward for the effort. The fact that Albert’s N16 was getting long in the tooth for the front line service was quite evident and the associated risks for such a mission was not lost on him.

Albert shook himself out of his funk, in time enough to hear the details for the flight.

The wind was 8 kn from the NNW with Medium density cumulus interspersed with clear spots from 3000 ft to 9000 ft.

Caldwell was to lead “B” flight composed of Hill, Fry, Godfrey and Hall.
As usual, the flight formed up just north of the field attaining an altitude of 4800 ft before setting out on the first leg of the mission.
At 09h18 the flight arrived south of Bethune and turned east for the second leg of flight path, descending to 3800 ft. They arrived just north of Lens at 09h23, just shy of 3450 ft. From this point they turned north east towards Phalempin, accompanied by sporadic flak and arrived there at 09h27

The flight began their attack approach, and Albert singled out two hangars to unleash his ordinance on. The aim seemed true and the two hangars were soon enveloped in flame, smoke and dust. No time was wasted in climbing out of the dive to seek relief from the ground fire. Banking slightly Albert noted the damage done to the hangars and the continuing attack by his mates. He continued to climb and observe the skies above, keeping a keen eye out for any Hun scouts and observing his mates fruitless strafing attacks on the ground targets at considerable risk to themselves.

As the flight broke off the attack and reformed, Albert rejoined and they commenced their return flight to base, chastened by Hun flak all the way back to the lines, while Hun scouts were conspicuous by their absence.

Upon arrival back at base and reporting in, Albert overheard the CO on the telephone receiving front line reports from two seat observers, that little damage had been done to Phalempin. “What did they expect” he thought to himself.
As the flight was leaving the R.O., the C.O. stepped out of his office and stated, “Looks like we will be paying a revisit to Phalempin to do the job right”!
Albert looked at Caldwell, and stated, rather too loudly, “Maybe they will give us some appropriate ordinance to make that feasible”. He immediately regretted his impatience as he received a dressing down from the C.O. The fact that the Commander went lightly on him was some consolation in that it was evident he understood the underlying issue himself but was unable to alleviate the problem.

Albert wanted desprately to prove his worth, but doing so with the N16, and in these kinds of missions, made it very hard to cope.

Video cut short this time to save upload time just keep some essentials:

It's been a while. Work and real life in general has forced me to get behind on the story. At least there has been some great reading of late!

MFair, that was a very close call for Edgar. Let's try to keep him intact and have some fun with Naval 8. BTW, I really like Drago's livery. Did you make the skin yourself? Fullofit, wonderful job with Aldi's story. Too bad about the gloves. Lederhosen, you are the master of interesting skins. Love the Guinness Gun Bus. It's just too bad the Guinness toucan logo wasn't around in 1917. It would have made a great skin! Robert, nice job with the LePrieurs. I have yet to hit a thing with them. Carrick, best wishes for a successful return for Gilbear.

Lou, so Capitaine Tremblay is off to the Alsace. Please remember to pick a new emergency landing spot every five minutes. Your engine is your greatest enemy in the Vosges. And thank you for the DiD medal work. The gong fairy provided great immersion in Olham's DiD campaign. Thanks for all you do for this sim!

Anyway, here is the beginning of my effort to catch up with Colin Urquhart's story...


A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator

Part 24

The weather closed in again for a few days before clearing late on 22 January. The dispatch rider’s motorcycle interrupted our evening mess and the Squadron Commander soon after sent for his flight commanders to join him in the parlour of the Bossé farmhouse. I was told to take B Flight at 8 the following morning to clear out a bothersome kite balloon near Monchy.

Being flight commander was a pleasant experience. I’d enjoyed my few chances to lead patrols in the past. Now, however, I could set my own program. I was blessed to have Bob Little, who was probably the best pilot in the squadron. McNaughton, the Manitoban, was on my wing. He was still new, but already had proved to be a keen Hun-getter. Reggie Soar joined us, and Colin MacKenzie came along for the fun of it since his flight had no jobs until mid-day. Volunteering for a balloon-busting show wasn’t my idea of fun, and I got the impression he did not think much of it when I briefed the fellows that we would go straight in, hit the balloon, and head straight out. I believed in reforming over the lines, not four or five miles deep into Hunland and within range on the balloon’s defending Archie.

The morning was icy cold but clear. If there were any Huns about we would see them a long way off, and they would see us. A few puffy clouds stood out against the sky like icebergs floating in a cobalt sea. I wore nearly every article of clothing I owned and it took the help of two men to stuff like a cork into the cockpit of “Sheila,” my trusty Pup. The new Le Rhône started on the first swing of the prop and we lifted off.

Over the target I led the way and fired about 100 rounds at the balloon, and then loosed the Le Prieurs. I thought I had the thing, but when I looked back it was still there. I saw MacKenzie get it with his rockets and watched the thing fall.

Not a Hun rose to bother us, although Archie kept us close company until we were over our own lines. Past Arras we contour-chased and I put the wind up a number of wagons and other vehicles along the Doullens road.



We escorted a French Caudron on the 24th. The flight, a reconnaissance deep into Hunland along the Roman road toward Cambrai, proved uneventful. We crossed back over the lines after about an hour and a half and noticed a large group of aircraft to the south over Wancourt. Waving farewell to our French comrades, we turned towards the distant specks and climbed to 10000 feet, positioning ourselves between the cluster of aircraft and the sun. The machines proved to be Halberstadts, seven or eight in total. We dived on them out of the sun, but their leader must have been good for he saw us in time to turn about.

Both formations charged into the fight head on. I got only a momentary shot at one of the Huns before I was past them, climbing and turning. I saw to my delight that two of the HAs had collided, evening the odds somewhat. It had been some time since I’d been in a real dogfight and the idleness of the past weeks of poor weather showed. Like a novice I failed to keep close to my flight. Within a minute of our first contact I was a half-mile separated from the nearest Pup and was entertaining three Huns all by myself. I fought defensively, but the Huns holed my machine several times. At length two of them broke away, and for about five more minutes I circled about the remaining Halberstadt. The machine had letters on the side of the fuselage, some sort of personal marking. The pilot knew his stuff. It was normally easy to get behind a Halberstadt, but not him.



Finally, the Hun turned under me and tried to break off. I was able to get behind him and fire a long burst. The machine entered a shallow dive, streaming white smoke. The dive steepened and I watched him descend. The Hun levelled out near the ground but crash-landed among the German reserve lines, destroying his machine. Unfortunately where he came down was not within sight of our lines and, my kill being unwitnessed, Wing recorded it merely as a “driven down.”



MacKenzie failed to return from his patrol on the 24th. Squadron Commander Bromet was very upset and talked at length about Colin being our best flight commander. He dispatched C Flight to drop a message over the Hun field at Riencourt inquiring about him.

On 25 January we staged a ratting contest between my Pincher and Whiskey, an Irish terrier owned by the officers at 23 Squadron. Collectively they killed more than sixty mice and rats among the huts and farm buildings on both sides of the road. Pincher outscored Whiskey by six, which brought us all a free round in the 23 mess. I chatted a long while with a new English fellow, Edgar Everheart. His old man is an admiral or something, but Edgar himself is a nice, unassuming fellow despite having a name straight out of the Boy’s Own Paper. He's already picked up a wound stripe on a ground attack show the other day -- just a graze but it reminds me how lucky I've been. Everheart and Booker tried to button Pincher into his newly-tailored blue RNAS monkey jacket, but the pup would have none of it and bit Booker. Booker is now quite convinced that he is coming down with the bubonic plague and it took a good many whiskeys to disabuse him of the idea.

On 26 January we flew a line patrol in the Arras sector and jumped a large group of Albatros scouts. Little claimed one and I drove one down out of control, but again it was without a witness, for I’d again become separated from the others. Again Wing denied the claim.

We got a phone call from No 60 Squadron at Izel. An Albatros flew over late in the day after it had begun to snow. It had made a quick pass over the field and dropped a message saying that MacKenzie had crashed fatally and been buried with full military honours at Achiet, near Bapaume.

Raine as usual, very good reports, but i paericularly like that first pic! It's a keeper!