SGT. Brent Baskerville
RFC-3, Morane Saulnier
January 30, 1916

I have never been so insulted in all my life! I don't think I even want to go back up with these braggarts and fools!

I've had a total of three flights and thought I did tolerably well. In the second match on the 25th instant we attacked the airfield at Haubourdin: 3 of us led by Lieutenant Norton. Our Moranes flew over the lines at well - I'm not really sure how high as the French builders do not believe in altimeters - but low enough to clearly see the workers below us trying to push gear and an unlucky two-seater out of harm's way. I made sure to swing behind Lt. Norton as I dropped my bombs this time, but Norton guessed wrong as well so all four of our bombs missed.

One day off and on the 27th instant we were off to spot for artillery NE of Loos on a brilliant day.

Fortunately the Krauts did not choose to contest us, so we arrived home.

That afternoon, while sitting with my mates in the officers lounge, we heard the low drone of engines followed by screams and shouts: The Germans launched a counter-raid! Bombs fell across the field. The only tent to take a hit was, of course, mine.

That wasn't the insult. You can't hate them for doing their jobs.

No, the insult came when Lt. Norton took me aside, explained there was an irregularity with my paperwork, and taken that with the German raid perhaps it was better if I messed and supped with the inferior officers for the time being. With sergeants for Christ's sake!

There are three sergeants plus myself, and I was greeted with mostly indifference and a complete lack of interest in my family's pedigree. Only Sergeant Foster was civil, and that because he was part of the attack where we all earned kills on the 24th. Apparently on that scale we are tied for second, trailing only 2nd Lieutenant O'Keefe with three.

Wonderful. I'm equal in skill to a sergeant.

I will have to begin plotting my escape - and my revenge - from these infernal men.