HarryH, a Boelke rocket! Konrad is going to have quite a reputation. Good story!
Hasse, poor Julius. At least the claims bureau won't make him spend all his Taschengeld on little silver cups!
Lederhosen, please leave those nice Moranes alone.
Fullofit, bagging a Roland with a Np16 is no mean feat. Well done! Too bad it wasn't made official. The wounding scared the heck out of me. I think Gaston may need some leave before he gets too daring.
MFair, I'm so glad you seem to have defeated the PC gremlins and we have Jericho back. Sorry, Captain Jericho. Congratulations!
An Airman’s Odyssey – by Lt James Arthur Collins, MC
Part Forty-Five: In which ennui makes an appearance
I laid on my bed on a warm Sunday afternoon and thumb through my log book. The days are jumbled and confused, with no coherent order, just splintered images. Perhaps the log will let me reconstruct the sequence of events.
We had rain and wind for four days, but I had orderly duty and was unable to get away. The place seemed deserted. Placed two privates on charge for drunkenness. The Major was away for a couple of days at some high-level briefing, and Captain Mealing was in charge. He is overdue for leave and so is Jericho, who has just returned from hospital. Fortunately the wound is not serious, but the man is an odd duck sometimes and he seems to be carrying a grudge about being hit. It has kept him from the girl he’s keen on over in Amiens.
I should be up for leave soon, but I haven’t got my hopes up. The short stint in HE will probably make the brass hats add a month or so to my needed time. And then there is the expected push. It hasn’t been said officially yet, but we all expect all leaves to be cancelled any day now.
Still, there’s no rush. Sad letter from Dorothy on the 12th. Things are no better at home.
Wing suffers from a distinct lack of imagination. They sent us to the same sector up near Amiens to shoot up and drop hate on Hun rail lines and yards – six times we went. Now the Fokker jockeys sleep late, knowing exactly when and where we’ll appear. We have had to fight our way home every day this week. When we submit our reports, the RO continually chides Sergeant Wilson not to curse or criticise Wing. The RO is like old King Cnut trying to stop the tide. Wilson’s profanity is a force of nature. I shall have to speak with the man before he tries to form an observers’ trade union.
18 June 1916, a hundred and one years since Waterloo. None of the French seem to be marking the occasion. It’s strange to think the Huns were on our side back then. Back up to the Arras sector in the morning, a late breakfast, and then some training flights for a new stunt called contact patrols. We are learning to send signals to men on the ground, who then use flares to show us their positions. It’s all part of the preparation for the push that is coming. If we pull it off, higher command will get a much better picture of the battle than has heretofore been possible.
In the afternoon we headed north yet again, escorted by several Bristols from Number 11. Inevitably the Huns were waiting for us, two formations of Fokkers. The Bristols were outnumbered so I led our three Moranes into the scrap – my machine, the Major’s, and Lewis’s. Gradually the Huns tired of the game and broke away. Wilson got off a drum at one HA and we followed it a couple of miles into Hunland until it landed in a field. We circled and Wilson fired off two more drums without apparent effect. It is likely salvageable and we will be lucky to get credit for a kill.
"...we followed it a couple of miles into Hunland until it landed in a field."
Big news tonight in C Flight mess. Jericho has been promoted Captain. I must lay on a proper Amiens binge.