Wulfe, it is tough to lose a wingman, especially in a stupid way, even one as bloodthirsty as Metayer. Man, oh man, ramming your opponent is becoming fashionable. Glad it was nothing more than a lost claim and pride (and a plane). It was another nail biter! Sounds like Fullard has made up his mind about the transfer. Good luck with that. It will be interesting to find out which brother survives the longest, which one will have the highest score, which one will get the girl …
1 May, 1916 05:00 morning mission Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux 23 confirmed kills
Gaston didn’t get much sleep last night. Delbee’s crash kept replaying in his mind throughout the night either awake or in his nightmares. He knew exactly how many times he himself came to finishing like his wingman. He had to occupy his mind. He had to fly. The morning mission took him and Adjutant Barnay over the Auve aerodrome on patrol. There was no contact with the enemy. Gaston requested another patrol to keep himself busy.
1 May, 1916 13:20 afternoon mission Senard, Verdun Sector Escadrille N37 Capitaine Gaston A. Voscadeaux 23 confirmed kills
Gaston was tired, but flying kept him sane. He volunteered for a lone wolf mission. The plan was to patrol friendly front lines north of St. Mihiel salient and catch any unsuspecting Huns brave enough to cross the lines. The strong winds buffeted the little scout and made Gaston work twice as hard to keep his mount level. He never reached the patrol area. Two Aviatiks crossed his path just north of Verdun City. He hated them with all his might. He wanted them to be gone. To be erased. Voscadeaux stalked carefully his prey and attacked when he was sure of greatest damage. Round after round went into the leading machine. He could see the Boche was in trouble and could barely keep his crate level. Even his wingman abandoned him. He just needed that final push to go over the edge. Gaston aimed again and closed in for the kill. That’s when a sudden gust of wind pushed his Nieuport into the two-seater, damaging his starboard wing. Was it fatigue? Rage? Bad luck? Gaston kept his Violette under control and watched as the Aviatik lost power and crashed into the dense Hesse Forest just south of the Verdun rail yard. He looked at his damaged wing and thought to himself: “- Gaston, tu es un idiot! Was it worth it? Is your life worth one more victory? One more number?” He was angry with himself, but this was more than just another statistic, just another award. He knew that each destroyed two-seater equaled two pairs of eyes that will not observe the troop movements anymore, two pairs of eyes that will not correct shots falling on French soldiers, two pairs of hands that will not drop any bombs, one gun less to shoot back at him. He felt compelled to shoot them all down, no matter what the cost. No matter. When he landed back at Senard, his mechanics couldn't believe what Gaston had done to Violette again. It would be another sleepless night to put everything back together.
"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."