Casale's run of bad luck continues and he once again was forced out of the formation en route due to engine troubles. He had no luck in finding a safe field an ended up amongst the trees, fortunately he survived unscathed. We met 3 x E.III's at the front. Managed to latch on to one and expended all of my ammunition but wasn't able to aim very well due to the lack of any gunsight. Quite embarassing really, waffling along behind him armed with nothing but fould language and wondering how to awkwardly disentangle myself from this situation. Fortunately the Fokker wasn't keen on continuing the fight either and we went our separate ways with a wave and a waggle of the wings.Soon after rounds struck my little Bebe and I stuffed everything into a corner in the most panicky way. I thought another Fokker had come to end my miserable existence but it was only rifle and MG fire. I sped away west, picking my way through the low cloud and mountains until I got home.
The Adjutant tore strips off of Rockwell that night, calling him 'terry blay" and a "cochon" for his poor formation flying. Kiffin had been 50 ft too high the entire time and not being able to see him did make my life quite trying for me I must admit, I was terrified of pranging into him almost the whole time. The Adjutant then gestured toward me with his pipe stem, muttering something about "Le Garcon" and shaking his head glumly.
I later learned that he was berating Rockwell by stating that "Even the boy is able to hold station better than he was". I daren't allow myself feel any satisfaction at this translation, tomorrow the fiesty adjutant might fancy a strip of myself with his supper.
This seemed to amuse everyone anyway and I was referred to as "Garcon" all night in the mess which caused the mess attendants no end of consternation, each one of them snapping to attention whenever the word was uttered. It turns out that waiters and mess attendants are typically summoned by the word. All night it was "Garcon" this and "Garcon" that. "Garcon, would you please pass the salt" and what have you. Eventually the amusement of this spent itself, but not before it had been decided by all that my Lafayette name was to be "Boy". Caporal Roger "Boy" Maurchand.
Let's pretend I got the BWOC badge to embed here.
Wenn ihr sieg im deine Kampf selbst gegen, wirst stark wie Stahl sein.