Operations have been rained out for the last few days. I was called into the Major's office this morning, which was quite unexpected ... wasn't aware of having screwed up anything lately. Turns out he had some big news.
"There is a new squadron forming up at St. Omer right now, and my superiors have requested recommendations for suitable promising pilots that might be a good fit with this unit. I have decided to recommended you."
I was quite taken aback. "Thank you, Sir! Might I inquire what this new squadron is?"
"RAF-29. Quite a different show altogether from what you are used to here. It's a new scout squadron; the latest equipment and all that ... DH2s I believe."
An assignment to fly the latest single-seater in a scout squadron? My head was slightly spinning. "But Sir, if I may ask, why me? There are so many other pilots here with much more experience than myself. Surely Major Davis or Major Buckminster ...."
The Major cut me off. "I have my reasons Lieutenant. Don't go giving yourself a big head. I am not sending them any of my most experienced pilots, I am sending them the best pilot that the squadron can afford to lose. And to your credit, I believe you will more quickly adapt to the new machine and tactics than most here. Bathust tells me you can throw a BE2 around like nobody else in our unit, and that's the kind of flying that will be called for over there."
So that's it. The papers are submitted and if approved I might soon be heading to RFC-29. It isn't up for discussion; the Major wasn't asking if I want to go, but telling me. It is exciting, but also dreadful. They will expect me to kill, to pull the trigger and kill. I need to think ...