MFair, not up to snuff? How many pilots (alive) in your Jasta have as many victories as you? I takes time to gain confidence, especially in a death trap like those Fokkers.

Wulfe, you’re racking them in one after another. How are you still single? Congrats!

Carrick, way to go! Those trees never saw you coming.

Lou, that’s some rage Swany is nursing. Let’s hope he can direct it all towards the enemy instead of friends. The plane isn’t frightening enough. It needs more teeth biggrin

11 September, 1916 09:35 evening
Luxeuil, Alsace Sector
3 Wing RNAS
SC Tobias Chester Mulberry
15 confirmed kills

The mess hall was loud as always when there was a celebration. Canadians were making the most noise. They were also drinking the most. It was a celebration triggered by a sudden announcement of Flight Commander Tobias Mulberry’s promotion to Squadron Commander. By now the party devolved into a binge and a few groups have formed. The already mentioned Canadians, the reluctant British and a neutral camp consisting of Toby and Collishaw. There was a half-empty bottle of cognac between them.
“- Way to go Killer. From a lowly Sub-Lieutenant to a Squadron Commander in a span of a month. Not bad. I may wake up tomorrow to salute a general.” Ray teased. Toby didn’t even notice the “Killer” title. He decided it fit. He had killed at least fifteen Huns by the official count.
A very tipsy Art Whealy joined them at the table. “- What are you drinking here, Gentlemen?” The Torontonian inquired while grabbing the bottle and attempting to read the label with his misty eyes. “- Bah! This swill again. What I wouldn’t give for a dram of Yukon Gold! That stuff will put hair on your chest, y’know?” He saw Mulberry make a face. “- Sorry about that. Such a beautiful moment and I had to bust it.” Toby rolled his eyes. Ray joined in: “I’ve also heard the eucalyptus oil works well for that.” The jokes kept on coming every day.
“- Why can’t you be more like Collins? He’s a proper bloke. You should follow his example.” Toby was getting irritated.
Whealy was confused: “- Who?”
“- James Collins. Don’t you read papers? He was awarded Victoria Cross the other day for downing two Zeppelins over London. He’s a Canadian, one of your people.”
Whealy got up to his feet. “- Hey, watch who ya callin’ Canadian! ...” He reflected, “- I mean, watch who ya callin’ people! ...” He reflected again. His mouth was open. It moved as if he was about to say something, but had nothing smart to retort with. He was too drunk to think. He just waved his hand at them and stumbled away.
“- He’s going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow and he’s flying the morning mission.” Mulberry spoke to his friend.
Ray thought for a moment: “- I’ve heard peppermint oil works well for that.”

"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."