Having graduated to occasional Flight Leader I lead "B" Flight of 60 Squadron over the lines for a jaunt against the Huns on 22 January 1917 about 5 miles behind the lines.
One subject in Flight Leader School I must have missed was to avoid dogfights in the clouds during a snowstorm. I collide with my foe sustaining damage. Not sure what happened to him.
I recovered from the spin and found, at full throttle with maximum rudder and bank, I could fly level (sort of) and had to steer with the elevator with very minor altitude corrections with the rudder! I thought this was especially cool as I have read a historical account of a pilot having to do the same thing. Rickenbacker after losing wing fabric in a N28? How about that for a damage model eh?
Anyway, once recovering my wits, I began to ponder how in the world I was going to land at full throttle and all canted about in a some field. Figured I wasn't but if I was going to die I may as well get a decent burial by doing so in friendly territory. My boys, no doubt already planning on dividing up my gear, escort me across the lines to watch the fun. Crossing NML I choose what appears to be the largest open area and aim for it. Try cutting back on my throttle a bit to at least have a chance of surviving but cannot as the nose quickly drops. So, putting back on the gas, I try to "land" as flat and slow as possible. A smash-up follows of course complete with bloody goggles. Took a pic then exited to attend my funeral but reports of my death were premature. Hopefully when I return from the hospital in two weeks the February weather will be much nicer .

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