Back with Rick Rawlings and RFC #60. Mid-February, 1917. After an uneventful Friendly Territory patrol, I pulled out of the landing pattern and headed off to travel the front for a bit to see how much trouble I could stir up. Turns out, quite a bit! I encountered a flight of Rolands headed in a southewesterly direction about 1500 feet below me. Never one to learn my lesson, I dove on them fully expecting to end up in the hospital again:

For once, they only have the silver medalist marksman from the Olympics and not the gold, so I made it out relatively intact. As my flight was back at base, I filed a claim with no witness. Apparently, the nearby infantry division must have spoke well on my behalf, for it was confirmed!

My head tracking was terrible the whole time. Because of the way the video frame rate is capped, you can't see how bad it really is, twitching all over the place. Unfortunately, flying at real life dusk causes a lot of glare from the lights off my glasses, which wreaks havoc with the head tracking!

The older I get, the more I realize I don't need to be Han, Luke or Leia. I'm just happy to be rebel scum...