Fullofit, your balloon busting escapade was a great story with some of the best photos yet! The way Aldi's crowd is going, I felt truly sorry for that Tripe the following day. And the party scene was really well done. It's late at night and now I want to raid the fridge...

MFair, congrats again on the 100 hours. Be sure to keep watching your six!

Robert, it's nice to get a milk run now and then.

Carrick, how do you always find such Gifs?

Lou, thanks again for the gongs. Just missed my first one this time.

And Banjoman, your diligence in keeping this campaign going strong is greatly appreciated.

Here is the start of Franz's leave....

The Holzhauer Papers
Part 9: 20-23 May 1917

I had telegraphed home to say I would arrive at the Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof Monday at 5.00 pm. Instead I spent late Monday impatiently standing between the carriages of an overcrowded train, smoking the last of my own cigars. In my case was a large box of Wolff’s cigars for my father, but I did not have the heart to take any for me. The train stood unmoving in a siding at Aachen for nearly six hours. Westbound traffic had priority and we waited for them to pass. I thought of my poor mother and sisters. Without a doubt they would have prepared a fine meal despite the desperate shortages and now their effort and food were wasted. In my bag I had two kilos of good sausage from the pigs at the farm near our chateau back in St-Quentin-le-Petit. It was warm like midsummer and I hoped they would keep. They were wrapped in waxed paper and rags, and a quick check on their condition left my hand damp with melting fat.
It was 2.30 pm on Tuesday 22 May before I stepped onto the broad station platform under the glass atrium. No one was there to greet me. No one knew where I was. I bumped through the crowd and stepped through the west doors of the station into the bright sunlight to take in the familiar rush and style of my home city. Women glided along the sidewalks in their finery, parasols in hand; young Turks sold newspapers and shined boots. Something was missing. The large flower stalls were gone, swept away by war, I supposed. Two young soldiers in crisp, unmuddied uniforms strode past in step and saluted smartly. I returned the greeting, sloppily and late. Being an officer was still new to me, and I reminded myself to keep a sharp eye out so as to pay respect to senior ranks and not end up on charges before I got home.

Friedrichstrasse was a sea of horse-drawn cabs, and some were now driven by women. I decided to stroll down to Unter den Linden and hail a cab from there. Outside a bakery a long line of women and boys snaked down to the next corner. Some people were shouting. There was a small beer-room. Home could wait. I needed a real “gepflegtes Bier” [1] and lost thirty minutes in a Berliner’s idea of heaven.


Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof, 1917

Unter den Linder was still beautiful, but the cafés were not as busy as usual. A regiment marched past, heading for the station. I saluted their colours, as was custom. A passer-by, an old man with a black armband, muttered that you salute coffins too don’t forget. I gave him a piece of my mind for being a defeatist. A cab clicked its way towards me and I flagged it down.


Unter den Linden, 1917

The driver was a veteran of the 1914 campaign where he’d lost his left arm. He plied me with questions and seemed satisfied with my answers, especially when I told him I’d downed three French machines officially and a few more in all probability. We passed through the Brandenberg Gate and turned down Königgrätzerstrasse towards Potsdamerplatz.[2] He spoke of the shortages and the tough winter. He had brothers at the front who sent food home, though. And an uncle with a farm – that’s the ticket, he said.

“The Russkies will quit this thing,” he predicted. “Then we’ll have a good shot at the British. With them gone, the French will be no problem.” I mentioned that the Americans are in this now, but he shook that off with a shrug. “Too late,” he said. “Besides, they lost all their good blood fighting each other years ago.” I told him I hoped he was right.

It was only a couple of blocks from the square to my home on Potsdamerstrasse, and I wanted to walk the last bit. I paid the driver and gave him a bit extra. It was thanks for his optimism.

The broad carved wooden door on the ground floor looked like it always did. I banged the lion-head brass knocker and waited for Helmut, our houseman. A young girl in a blue dress and white apron opened the door instead. “Yes?” she said, inquisitively.

“I live here,” I replied. “I am Franz Holzhauer.” The girl blushed and curtsied and apologized. I could hear Maria, my older sister, calling.

“Papa, Mama, it’s Franz. He’s here!” There was a great bustle upstairs. I took the stairs three at a time and fell into my mother’s arms. She was overwhelmed with questions and tears. My father embraced me – he was not given to such shows and it shocked me. He planted a kiss on my forehead. I felt the scratch of his beard on my face for the first time since I was an infant.

I shall not bore the reader with the domestic details of the next few days. Enough to say that losing half my left pinkie was, to my mother, on a par with losing a leg and an eye. She cursed the English long and hard, despite my reminding her daily that I was fighting the French. My father was more relaxed and looked on the large bandage I wore as a thing of honour. He took me to the engineer’s club near Siemens, where he worked, to show off my decoration and my wound.

Maria’s husband was at sea, an officer on a cruiser. Victoria was working in an office in Bremen and engaged to be married to a civil servant.

The young servant girl was Hanna, from Magdeburg. Old Helmut had called up to the Landwehr, it seems. The pre-war staff had been Helmut, a cook, and two housemaids. Now Hanna worked alone most of the time, with a teenaged helper one day a week for major cleaning.

Last night’s dinner was not lost. They had prepared a large chicken and it was just as tasty the day after. Mother sometimes helped with the cooking now and had contributed potato dumplings with pickled red cabbage and chestnuts. And my sausages survived the journey! My parents and Maria were in raptures over them, and it took a great deal of strength to refuse the portions offered to me.

My father wanted to take me to a very old and expensive tailor in the city centre, but Wolff had given me the address of a man called Salomon who had a shop not at all far from home. He and his son ran their tailoring business out of their apartment on Dorotheestrasse and did work of the highest order at very good prices. Even my father, who was a terribly stuffy sort at times, had to approve. I was able to afford two tunics, a full dress and an undress type in the style of my old Jäger regiment. I even bought new breeches and leather leggings, which I spent the evenings by the fire polishing.

Best of all, there was not a monkey in sight.

Notes:

[1] Literally, a well cared-for or well-groomed beer, chilled to the perfect temperature and carefully poured into a “tulip” glass so that the head overhangs the edge without spilling, forming a “Krage,” or collar. Properly done, it’s a work of art worth waiting for.

[2] This street was renamed Ebertstrasse after the Great War.

Hello all, I am finally back in a position where I can resume flying and posting. The course turned into a switch in job positions which turned into a heck of a lot more hours at work. Ill be posting info on Benjamin Kinkaid's adventures over the last eight months soon. It has been nice catching up on your adventures!

Hey Canucks!! From one to another, welcome back!!

Raine; "Young servant girl" !! ?? Now I'm wondering if Holzhauer is married or otherwise committed! Hmmm.

Albert Earl Godfrey:

25 May 1917 @ 06h02 Patrol behind the lines to La Gorgue airfield

During briefing Scott announced the mission as a milk run to La Gorgue looking for any Hun OP that might cross the lines. It was a welcome change from the intense activity the squadron had been facing lately. The weather was not be generous to “B” flight. Godfrey’s flight had to deal with scattered rain, thunderstorms, and thick cumulous cloud cover above 4500 feet. Wind was moderate at 8 kn from the west.

“B” flight was on it’s own and comprised of Godfrey on lead with the new man Berkeley on wing, Molesworth, Caldwell, Fry and Young accompanying.

The flight took off in light rain and formed up north of the field as usual, attaining a height of 4400 ft. at 06h10. Godfrey then turned the flight north towards Bethune and at 06h19 they were over the town cruising still at 4400 ft just under the clouds. Godfrey then turned the flight NE towards La Gorgue.

At 06h25 they spotted two specs well ahead of them and Godfrey took the flight on an investigative chase until they lost the specs in the cloud cover at 06h31. Godfrey then turned the flight back on course for La Gorgue.

At 06h30 the flight again found two specs in front of them on the horizon and gave chase again. As they closed, Godfrey recognized the profile of the crafts as DFW C.V.’s. Godfrey began firing at the trailing craft rather early and continued to do so as he closed in. At 06h36 he had some good hits, saw pieces fly from the craft and watched it bank into a spiral turn, but his N23 took some hits in the process. Godfrey took evasive action banking and climbing to starboard. This placed him in a disadvantaged position on the tail of the second DFW, which promptly put several rounds into his engine. Godrey heard the clank and the rounds hit and soon his engine began to grind pitifully. There was nothing to do but shut it down or risk possible fire.
Godfrey banked sharply to starboard in a shallow descent straining his eyes to see through the prevailing thin cloud and mist for a possible place to set down. He took solace in the fact that he was on his side of the lines and close to the junction of several roads that serviced Bailleul-Loos and Bethune-Loos.

As he descended Godfrey picked the Loos-Bailleul road as his choice since he noted a convoy of trucks on their way to Bailleul. He hoped they might pick him up. Godfrey was lined up on his descent to the road and several hundred feet up when suddenly his craft took some small arms fire from his own troops.

“Damn, If they can’t see my roundels, I shudder to think what their eyesight is like”, thought Godfrey. “It’s bad enough up here facing the Hun without taking lead from our own troops”. He made a mental note to see if there was anything that needed to be done to educate the troops in the line.

Godfrey touched down on the rough road, making several short hops and then came to rest just off the road surface, not far from the convoy.

Godfrey laid a claim when he returned to Filescamp and was told the rest of his flight had reported witnessing it and all were concerned as to his whereabouts.

PS: is anyone else noticing the improvement of cloud effects provided by JJ65's ME with BuckeyeBob's most recent mod. If you are not using, please try it out, you won't regret it!

Robert, it seems everyone is having some close shaves as of late. Nice vid and report! As to the mods, I have kept up with them and drool. Being the computer dummy I dare not use them because if I have a hiccup I am dead in the water. Yes I know it's simple for most folks but not this child. I am waiting for the patch that incorporates them!

Raine, that was my intention. I'm glad it worked.

Also, I'm with Robert on that one. "Young servant girl" I think Franz up for some monkey business. Great story nonetheless.


Robert, I'm also using the cloud mod and I fear my framerate has slightly suffered because of the greater number of clouds, but I don't care. It's just too pretty.

25 May, 1917 Halluin
Jasta 18

The rain never came. Strähle, just as everyone else on the airfield was nursing a pounding headache. He was unsure if the headache was caused by the hangover, or the lack of sleep, or both.. Nevertheless they were all slated to escort a formation of DFW's on a reconnaissance flight near Lens. Schwarzkopf would lead the Schwarm. The engines droned much louder than usual and the controls seemed a lot heavier. Even the air tasted different. The brisk slipstream helped keep him awake and the rumble of the Mercedes engine helped mask the dull headache. Thankfully the two-seaters didn't take too long and they were on their way back and crossing the front lines. They've left the observation machines circling the aerodrome and proceeded to Halluin. 10 minutes later, to Strähle's great relief, their home base came into view. As they were circling to get down to the ground and slot into the landing pattern, another flight of observation machines crossed their path followed by a single Nieuport. Aldi gave chase and easily planted his plane behind the enemy.



As soon as he did that, his usually reliable Mercedes engine coughed and lost all power. He had to abandon the pursuit and glide to the airfield. The job of protecting the two-seaters fell into Strähle's hands. Already fully awake from a good dose of adrenaline he positioned himself behind the Nieuport, just like Schwarzkopf did minutes ago. He begun to hammer at the intruder, but missed. They started to circle each other, moving further and further away from the aerodrome. The Nieuport was more maneuverable and easily foiled Strähle's attempts to follow. They were now flying at each other head on. Strähle's Albatros opened up with both guns and hit the little scout straight in the engine. The prop stopped and the Nieuport was a sitting duck. It landed in the German held territory while Strähle brought his plane's nose about and proceeded to land at the base. He was parched and the first thing after getting out of his crate was to direct himself to the Kasino and find out if there was any booze left from last night. He was almost there when Aldi stopped him, while coming out of Grieffenhagen's office.
"There's a telephone call for you. Come!"
"A telephone call? For me? No one ever calls me. Do you know what's it about?"
"No idea."
Strähle went into the office and picked up the receiver. His mouth was dry and in dire need of a drink. He croaked: "Hallo?"
The voice on the other side recognized him instantly and began excitedly: "Congratulations my dear friend! Such a glorious victory! You must come here at once and inspect your trophy. I can't believe you would keep your word. Frankly I didn't take it serious...."
"Who?" Paul interrupted getting groggy and at that instant, as the wheels inside his head started to turn, it dawned on him it was the Major from last night. The Nieuport he had just shot down landed exactly at the Flak battery location he landed at two days ago. The Major was impressed and invited Paul to come and take some pictures with his trophy. Strähle didn't have to be told twice. He was there within half an hour and was told the plane will be soon transported to be evaluated by Idflieg. When the officials arrived to take possession of an intact N23, they realized that the plane's rudder had mysteriously disappeared. It was later found adorning Kasino wall at Halluin.

Helmut von Hammer
Jasta 4, JG 1.
Marcke, Flamders.
kills 7


Sep 22, 1917.Bad Luck follows me.



Our Kette was returning from a Escort mission behind the lines when I spotted 2 RE 8's. They were slightly below so peeled off and made a standard tail attack. I got off 100 rds or so then the tail gunner from one of the RE types put a few rds into my motor. The motor packed up and I went down behind enemy lines. Landing near some trees, I must Escape and Evade. ( the screen said till Oct 2 ) I suppose without the bad luck that I would not have any luck at all.

Raine: Check out report s from the Front Theres a couple of good GIF,s. I make some ( still learning how) and Raid other peoples postings. Luv your documents with notes on the page bottom. Keep em flying

Upond hearing the news of Helmut reported missing in action Reactions among the people of Hamburg flared.

https://giphy.com/gifs/GeneralHospital-general-hospital-kelly-monaco-3ohzdXgFoBB4vj439m/fullscreen

https://giphy.com/gifs/general-hospital-soap-opera-intuition-l0Iy5d4S9vY3T4O7m/fullscreen

https://giphy.com/gifs/reaction-mrw-follow-5daVsq6hkeiY0/fullscreen

Flt Sub Lt Ben Kincaid
3 RNAS

It had to end sometime I suppose. Eight glorious months of paperwork, leave passes, obscure army policy, and duty rosters. The only thing missing from the life of the Adjutant is flying. Of course that also meant the life of the Adjt came without the dying that was all to common these days. Nope, just 12 hours a day of wonderful safe admin to keep the Sqn ticking along.

It helped that I was good at it, too. The boss, Sqn Comd Ian Stratton, took notice of my administrative abilities and plunked me down behind a desk next to his office. Stratton was a former army officer, turned to the Navy against his better judgement, as he used to joke. He was a great boss. Most importantly, his decision kept me alive. I watched too many pilots, all better than me, come through the Sqn, all cherry smiles and drinks in the mess only to become an empty chair a few hours later.

Nothing could have prepared me for the Comd to go down though. He was a fantastic pilot with hundreds of combat hours. His kill rate climbed steadily throughout his tenure. The men loved him. They would return with stories of how he saved this one or that one from certain doom. But a week ago, there was no-one who could save him. By all accounts it was a jolly old dust-up, with our Camels getting the best of a flight of Albatross that had come to play. The boss waited for the his flight to form back up and began heading for our side of the lines. I'm told that is when it happened. With a snap his upper wing snapped off. Gone. Nothing anyone could do. The boys watched in horror as his Camel plunged downward. Uncontrollable, they said. Nothing he could do. Well, it was a long way down. Lots of time to think. It was the quietest night in the mess I had ever seen.

The new boss is quite different. Harder. No jokes. Worst of all, he took one look at me sitting behind a desk and became quite irate. He raved something about not having a qualified pilot pushing pencils when he could be flying. So I was done, taken away from my beloved desk and my sweet policies. No more charge reports or duty rosters. Now it was back to the killing and dying and flying. Don't get me wrong, I like flying. The Camel is a beautiful bird and a big upgrade over the Pup. Two guns and all that nonsense. Maybe Ill get lucky and get just wounded enough I can end up in the hospital again and meet some pretty nurses. Maybe Ill even get captured. That seems better than dying. I've met a couple captured Hun's who have spoken of a particularly beautiful nurse all their troops seem to fall in love with...

All those thoughts fall away as the engine hums to life. I've been picked to lead a patrol over enemy lines as deep as Ghistelles for my first show back. The new CO seems to really want me to ease into things slowly. Luke Scarborough, my new wingman seems a decent chap. He just recently came in as a replacement, but has enough experience in the air to make me feel comfortable. We are joined by three of our veteran pilots: "Kiwi" Beamish, "Army" Armstrong, and "Tich" Rochford. That is one thing about the Sqn, if you live long enough, no-one can be bothered to say your full name.

We headed out just after 0600 and turned towards the lines, climbing through the clouds at about 5000. It was gorgeous above the clouds, with nothing to see for miles in every direction. We carried on for about ten minutes before reaching the lines. My heart gave a jump as I spotted three planes several thousand feet below us. I was about to react when I realized that it was just A Flight on their way to a different party. We carried on into the vicinity of Ghistelles, then turned North for the Coast. Every second over the lines was agony. I was tensed waiting for the sound of bullets snapping by from an unseen foe. I checked my watch constantly. Finally, 20 minutes had passed. The boss had demanded no less than 25 minutes over the target area. Deciding that cowardice was the better part of valour, I bravely turned my tail to Germany and fled westward for home. I didn't begin to relax until my wheels touched down.

I exited my camel on shaky legs and headed to the mess, hoping for a coffee and something stronger to put in it.

Fullofit, nice pic of the captured Nieuport. Congratulations.

Carrick, what will become of the Countess while you are away! Glad you survived.


Canuck, glad to see you back in the fray. Nice story Hoss! Stay frosty, it's dangerous out there.

MFair: The Countess ran off ( eloped) with the General.

Fullofit: Nice job

Canuck: Good story.

Albert Earl Godfrey

27 May 1917 @ 04h22 Patrol our lines between Lens and Loos

Scott announced “The mission today gentlemen is a line patrol between Lens and Loos. Visibility will be poor as we expect continued heavy cumulus and light rain most of the day with winds of 8 kn from the NNW. There have been a number of reports coming in of Hun OP active in this area and it is your job to discourage them.

Godfrey, you will be leading “B” flight and taking Scott, Molesworth, Rutherford and Young on your patrol. Lloyd you will be leading “A” flight and taking Caldwell and Horn to assist as necessary.”

There is one further announcement gentleman. You will all be relieved to know that Berkeley made it back from yesterday’s patrol and has been given a 48 hour pass. It is also worth noting that Godfrey will be receiving the VC in the very near future according to a report that came in last night and the claims of the previous day have all been granted. There will be cause for some celebration tonight in the mess, and congratulations on excellent performance have come down from the Brass. In my opinion it is well deserved, so keep your wits about you this morning, we don’t want any empty chairs! Dismissed!”

As the men cleared from the briefing there were many modes of congratulations conferred on Godfrey as they headed for the door. Rutherford while jostling Godfrey announced, “Bishop is two kills behind you at 21, you are giving the man quite a chase mate!”. Godfrey just smiled and said “Bishop has been flying a lot of lone wolf patrols of late and that suits me just fine. I wouldn’t want his aggressive ways challenging any potential kill directly in front of me! He is an excellent pilot but he scares me a tad in a melee!”

The flights took of and formed up north of the field as usual, attaining 8400 ft. by 04h40, at which point they set out north towards Bethune. They arrived there at 04h45, barely able to make out the town building below through all the cloud cover. The constant drizzle took the comfort out of the flight and hindered greatly, visibility as it streaked the windscreen.

The flight turned east towards Lens and reached the lines at 04h50, still at 8400 ft. Godfrey could make out two RE8’s escorted by three Pups off his starboard side and observed them as they approached and crossed under his flight.

At 04h55 “B” flight was at 11,000 ft., and Godfrey spotted six flecks on the eastern horizon. They were somewhat below his flight and headed north bound. He suspected they were scouts by their number. He attempted to follow them with the hope of gaining some opportunity but he soon lost them in the clouds. After several minutes chasing Godfrey wrote off the pursuit and continued his flight towards Loos at 05h02.

The flight turned SSW just shy of Loos and at 05h06 Godfrey nted about a half dozen specs swirling about off his port wing as a good distance. He took the flight in that direction towards the lines and soon discovered “A” flight was mixing it up with some Albatros DIII’s. “B” flight wasted no time is joining the fray and Godfrey had short encounters with several of the Huns in which he sent several bursts at them driving them from their intended quarry. He had recognized the DIII’s were of Jasta 3.

The mixup was over almost as soon as it started, with scouts scattering in all directions. Godfrey broke off an attack with one Hun and watched Scott pick up the attack chasing the Hun to ground. Godfrey waited until Scott dispatched the Hun and then joined him to turn towards La Gorgue, the nearest airfield.

The rest of the flight had dispersed and were nowhere in sight as the two made their way west. Approaching La Gorgue Godfrey noted a lone Albatros coming east intended on passing him on his port side. Godfrey banked left to cut off the retreat and realizing the Hun had some speed on him he sent several volleys at the tail of the retreating DIII. It worked, the Hun went into a banking left climb which allowed Godfrey to close on him and within seconds Godfrey was pounding lead into the fuselage, cockpit and engine of the DIII. It belched black smoke, broke up in front of him and went down in several pieces. Godfrey looked around and could not find Scott but did find Rutherford had closed up and was now on his port side joining him.

Both of them turned back towards La Gorgue and made a safe landing there, finding that Scott, Molesworth and Yound had already landed.

Everyone but Godfrey had suffered light damage to their craft with an expected 2 day repair required.

“A” flight had not arrived but Caldwell came in about 20 minutes later with Light damage to his craft in the form or many bullet holes in the upper and lower port wings. It was Caldwell who identified, that Lloyd and Horn both had to ditch their craft several miles east of La Gorgue. Reports came in identifying the Lloyd was ok but that Horn had been lightly wounded. It seems he had split the end of his nose during the crash but was otherwise fine.

“Godfrey noted that a few drinks that evening would surely help alleviate and pain in the nose that Horn might be suffering.”

Caldwell was first to thank Godfrey for bringing the flight in to help. For once the cavalry was not late to the rescue.

Here is the latest status report on last week's activities.

Robert, nice report! Congrats on VC.
Banjoman, thanks for the stats!

Tnx Fullofit!!

Carrick, somehow I missed the Countess running off. Just as well. She would have been your downfall!

Robert, Congratulations on the medal. Staying alive in a Nieuport would warrant the decoration by itself.

Banjoman, thanks for the stats Bud. Much appreciated.

Tnx MFair, but with regards to the Nieup 23, it's not a bad mount, as long as I stay clear of those DR1's!!

MFair:

Helmut's Family get together s will be difficult. of course , he does have other options the Princess Edwina ( a lot of costume parties ) https://giphy.com/gifs/olivia-munn-XcgPjNMFd8YJW/fullscreen

Then there is the Baroness Flavia https://giphy.com/gifs/actress-PXy5ZM7msbrpu/fullscreen Of course , she did have 4 husbands ?

Carrick, here is a quick instructional video regarding the taming of the Countess...



Fullofit, outstanding story and photos once again. Robert, I've finally caught up with all your videos. Congrats on the latest victory and VC. You should do an investiture story. Dark Canuck, it's really great to see you back in the campaign and to learn you live so close by. There's a visit to some purveyor of cheap beer in our future! And Banjoman, thanks once more for the stats.

Franz Holzhauer is back in action...

The Holzhauer Papers
Part 10: 25-28 May 1917

On my last day in Berlin I accompanied my father on the long tram ride across town to the “Siemenstadt” on Nonnendammallee. Here stood the huge factory halls of the Siemens switchgear plant.[1] The government had decreed that a large section of the plant should be turned over to aircraft manufacturing, Every night at dinner Father had railed bitterly at the increasing tides of revolution, so he had the brilliant idea to get Siemens to invite me for a morale-boosting visit at the plant. Just last month, the workers at AEG had gone on strike in protest against the war, agitating for peace without territorial expansion. [2] It seemed that I was judged singularly equipped to prevent such a thing happening at Siemens.


Siemenstadt, 1910

I was met at the plant by the Managing Director, Herr Doktor Something or Other. He wore a fine goatee and monocle and sidled along tapping his walking stick as he chatted with a visiting general from the Imperial Staff. This fellow was a Prussian of the classic cut. Short hair, ridiculous moustache, immaculate bearing. He was smart, I’ll give you that. More brains per square head, as they say. He questioned me sharply about my service and my thoughts about the war, all the while glancing disdainfully at my EK2 ribbon, unaccompanied as it was by any other trinkets. I believe he was expecting von Richthofen or Voss and got Holzhauer. I wondered whom he’d annoyed at headquarters to be given this assignment.

About two thousand workers gathered in an open field beside a factory hall to hear me. A speaker’s platform stood adorned with two wooden iron crosses in laurel wreaths, and black, white, and red bunting hung everywhere. The general made a brief speech about the impending destruction of the British and French, about the collapse of the decaying Russian state due to the disloyalty of Russian workers, about the Kaiser’s love of the German people, and about how protestors deserved to be shot.

Then Herr Doktor Something or Other introduced someone who singlehandedly had swept the French from the skies over the Aisne, inspired by the love of his family and by his deep devotion to his fatherland and to his home city of Berlin. It was a few minutes before it dawned on me that this was my own introduction. Dutiful applause followed and I made my way to the podium. Fear gripped me and no sound came out of my throat when I tried to begin. I could hear quiet ripples of laughter out in the crowd.

“Fellow Germans,” I began. “You have heard much about duty and devotion. You have been told of victories to come. Let me now give you one man’s ideas.”

That was good. The only problem was that I had no ideas. I don’t know what I’d expected. Walk though the plant and shake some hands, maybe. But not this. Not this.

“The enemy is not weak. The enemy is not beaten.” I felt the general’s eyes boring into me from behind. “This will be a hard fight. But if you don’t let us down, I promise you we will do everything in our power to prevail. Look around you. This place shows that Germans can build and create finer things than anyone on this earth. Not counting French champagne or English cigarettes, of course.”

There was laughter. I began to feel better.

“I am no von Richthofen. I am no Hindenburg. I’m not even an engineer or an assembler or a toolmaker. But I am a Berliner and I can fly aeroplanes if you can build them. And if there are enough aeroplanes and enough Berliners, we’ll have nothing to worry about. In fact we’ll have all the French champagne and English cigarettes we can handle. And maybe some solid meals to go with them. But we need you to do your bit.”

There was wild cheering now. I glanced over my shoulder. The general had a face like a boiled pudding about to collapse, but my father and his boss were laughing. That’s all that mattered.

“All right, I know how much you hate speeches. But I suspect fighting in the air might interest you. So let me answer any questions you may have.” I heard the general’s chair scrape on the flooring. “As much as security permits,” I added.

For fifteen minutes I regaled them with stories, including tales of my two greatest foes, the monkeys Heini and Rieke. When I stepped down from the dais, the applause and cheering were genuine. Even the general said that I’d make a good politician as long as it wasn’t for some party where he’d have to see me hanged.

The journey back to St-Quentin-le-Petit took 26 hours. On my arrival I was surprised to see that some of our machines had been replaced with the new Type Vs, more powerful and more strongly built. To my delight, all the old gang were there – with one unexpected exception. Wolfgang Günther had been hurt in a crash and had been away recovering. Hauptmann von Sell had just learned, though, that he was not returning and was transferring instead to Jasta 3. Buckler, of course, was still away at the Jagdfliegerschule, being taught to do the thing he already did so well. Mysteries of the military mind...

28 May 1917 was my first time back in the air. I still had my old Albatros DIII. The patrol included a new pilot, Unteroffizier Siegfried, along with Sachsenberg, Schuster, and Schräder. Ours was a defensive barrier patrol over our airfields to the west. We climbed directly towards Laon and began to wander about the surrounding area. Off in the distance I saw a large formation of Spads heading north. They were higher and outnumbered us, so I kept away from them and angled towards the east so as to have the sun at our back. The French disappeared in the distance; after about fifteen minutes they returned to our patrol area. We were at the same altitude now, about 3500 metres, but Schuster had engine problems and dropped out. There were seven of them and four of us. I followed them at a distance, hoping for a straggler. Suddenly all seven of them turned east towards us. To make matters worse, a formation of Nieuports suddenly emerged from some clouds a couple of kilometres to the north of us. I turned and dived towards home. Perhaps only some will follow us that far, or perhaps the Flak from our airfield will scare them off.

But these Frenchmen were determined. All seven chased us to St-Quentin-le-Petit and four Nieuports joined them. We had our hands full. I fought defensively for nearly ten minutes, getting only a few bursts away at fleeting targets, and none of them from close range. Every time a French machine was in my sights, one or two more opened fire on me from behind. Rounds perforated the tail and right lower wing of my machine, but it held together. Eventually the French got tired and headed home, too fast to be followed. I landed with and trundled up to the tent hangar, bathed in sweat. It was eight-thirty in the morning and I needed a brandy.


"Rounds perforated the tail and right lower wing of my machine, but it held together."

NOTES:

[1] The giant facility was built in 1917 to manufacture switchgear -- essential because of Germany’s recent conversion from direct to alternating current. A large area of the plant, however, was devoted to aircraft manufacture from 1917 to 1918.

[2] Inspired by the Independent Social Democrats, a revolutionary splinter group expelled from the Social Democratic Party, 5000 AEG employees went on strike in April 1917 to demand an end to the war.