Lou, that was some display. Great description of the show and the pictures to go with it. How did you get the Eindecker and the Parasol to sit beside each other?
Loftyc, tough luck! New aerodrome, new machine, new gunner. I have a feeling the gunners under the balloon must have been on their tea break. As to your gunner, remember there is no animation of the gunner switching guns. You will see the rear gun move, that’s about it. If he’s not using his front gun, he may be still using the rear one. It’s hard to tell. But if you are patient, don’t rock the plane too much and he is not aiming at some other target behind you, he should eventually switch to the front position. Sometimes he will not shoot no matter what. I call that a catastrophic gun jam.
Carrick, too bad about Emile. Good luck with Keith. Beware of the spins.
MFair, no disrespect intended, just simple facts of life. There are good chances that one of those Captains would have been the carrier.
Great story Mark and thank you for sharing Skillit’s bio with us. I definitely wish to live as long.
Wulfe, the book is dirt cheap on Kindle $0.99 Oh, I am thinking James is planning a transfer already. It would be too bad to leave the gang at Ochey. You bring so much life to the aerodrome, even on the boring days.
Gaston woke up to the sound of murmurs, coughs, moans of pain, sobs and prayers. He had no idea where he was. He was laying in a bed. He overheard an exchange between two men occupying beds closest to his. “- What am I to do now?” “- Cheer up. It’s not that bad. At least you are alive.” “- What sort of life will I have? Look at me. My arm is missing!” Gaston’s heart suddenly started to beat quicker. It felt as if someone placed a cannon ball on his chest. “- My arm!” Gaston remembered. He was shot in his left arm. Hundreds of maimed bodies flashed through his mind. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel his arm! He could sense the blood pulsing quickly through his veins. He reached with his right hand to where his left arm should be. He felt for it. There was something there. With fear feasting on his stomach he squeezed lightly. A jolt of pain went through his body. Gaston grimaced, but after the pain subsided he grinned with relief. He still had his arm. Gaston was flying through the air in Violette. He was dreaming again.
“- Shhh! He’s waking up!” A female voice jolted Gaston back to consciousness. He opened his eyes and saw an angel. She was hovering above his head, wiping his forehead with damp cloth. “- Don’t you move, I’m going to get the doctor!” The angel vanished. Another figure appeared, much less angelic in appearance. Gaston couldn’t keep his eyes open. His eyelids were made of lead. His children were laughing. His wife smiled and extended her arms to hug him.
“- You are very lucky Monsieur Voscadeaux. The bullet missed the bone. You will simply need more rest to regain your strength. You have lost a lot of blood. I will prescribe heroin for your pain and we will have to wait and see.” The doctor was a frail man, almost transparent in complexion. His gaunt face was decorated by an unkempt goatee. His bald head reflected light coming through the hospital tall windows. Gaston was sitting on the bed propped up by the pillows. He watched the reflection dance on the good doctor’s bald brain-case and realized that the clouds were replaced by the sun and the blue skies. He had the sudden urge to smell the exhaust fumes and feel the castor oil on his face. “- Doctor, how soon will I be able to leave this place?” Gaston expected a simple reply. “- Well, that depends entirely on you, Monsieur. When you have enough rest and you feel strong enough.” The spindly doctor was cleaning his spectacles with a cloth. “- But Doctor, the war could be over by that time. Is there anything you could do to speed up my recovery?” Gaston’s voice betrayed impatience. The doctor placed the spectacles back on the bridge of his nose and leaned closer to Voscadeaux: “- I am conducting experiments on the effects of tobacco smoke enemas. If you want to try ...” “- Let me stop you right there doc. Nobody’s blowing smoke up my tuckus!” Gaston was not amused. The disappointment in the doctor’s voice was palpable: “- In that case, rest is all I can suggest. If you need anything else, just let the nurses know. Good day.” He pointed at the two girls standing against the wall, chatting with each other. Gaston cast his gaze in the direction the doctor pointed. One of the nurses was the angel and her friend was the opposite.
Voscadeaux’s arm was starting to feel much better. He was able to move it without too much pain. This morning he completed a set of 100 bicep curls with his left hand. The two nurses continued to observe him from across the room raising their hands to cover their mouths and whisper to each other. This was always followed by a series of giggles. Each time this occurred Gaston was under the impression somehow his private parts were showing from under the covers and he reached under the blanket to check, which in turn evoked more giggles. The doctor came by earlier and announced that Gaston was ready to be released. Voscadeaux was looking forward to it. He would be back at the aerodrome tomorrow.
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."