All, an excellent array of stories to catch up with this morning, although I was saddened to see the loss of Lavasure. Still, those stick-figure drawings are sure to appreciate in value as a result, Carrick!
MFair, your new fellow is getting stuck in early. Please be careful with him! Good account of the action!
Lou, a fine plot development in progress. Looks like we'll be seeing old Swany waving from the deck of a steamer any day now
Fullofit, Toby's only weakness is balloon busting. Aside from that he's a menace of the skies. Lazlo has warned his boys to steer clear of your lot whenever possible.
Oberleutnant Lazlo Halász, Jasta1, Proville, Flanders January 5th 1917
Lazlo had been drinking more these past few weeks. What with the festivities, along with the lack of flying due to inclement weather, the opportunities for a 'tipple' had increased significantly and Lazlo was taking full advantage. He'd even adopted the habit of slipping a hip flask filled with schnapps inside his flying jacket, to help fight off the bitter cold at 3000M.
In truth, Lazlo was suffering a slight loss of confidence. They were once again back in Halberstadts, which seemed incapable of inflicting too much damage on the French machines. Now there were rumors of a new type in the hands of the British that was equally nimble and perhaps more deadly still. It had been weeks since Lazlo and his men had tangled with the enemy. He was worried that he might be losing his touch. So, on the morning of the 5th, days into a new year, he was relieved when they were instructed to take out a balloon just the other side of the lines. Lazlo had become rather practiced at finding and bringing down these targets, so it would be a good opportunity to bolster his morale.
Von Keudell sauntered up to Lazlo as they crossed the field to their machines. "Everything alright, sir? You look a little green around the gills this morning".
"Agh, is nothing. Maybe a little sleepy but that will soon disappear. We hunt balloons this morning, ja?" The big man's forced jollity was evident to Von Keudell, but he decided not to pursue his inquiry further on this occasion. He was worried about his leader's mood, though, and concerned about his newly acquired drinking habits. In his experience, alcohol and flying didn't mix too well.
For the first time in weeks the skies seemed relatively clear, as they climbed to altitude and set a course for the lines. The fighting on the ground had been intense the past few months and now the ugly scar on the landscape had moved closer to their base of operations at Proville than ever before. However, before they had even reached the lines, Lazlo and his men encountered three Nieuport machines that seemed intent on stopping their progress. Nervously, Lazlo began the dance, twisting and turning his Halberstadt in the air, glancing about to see where his fellow pilots were engaging and who might be needing assistance. It was over as quickly as it had started, the French machine breaking off and turning tail. Still, they had done enough to unsettle Lazlo, He slipped his hand inside his jacket and brought out the flask, taking a long swig of the fiery liquid. He instantly felt calmer. Just then he noticed Von Keudell alongside. The man gave him a laconic salute, as if to say, yes, I see you, and what I see is not exactly 'by the book'. Lazlo quickly replaced the flask inside his jacket and turned the flight back toward the lines.
Their target was located just west of the lines at the delta of the river. It was important to ensure the right target, since German High Command would not acknowledge any other. Lazlo had his process well refined. He would triple check the map coordinates before commencing the mission, making sure to establish the exact location in his own mind, of the intended target. They could be extremely difficult to see, especially if any cloud happened to be present, so relative landmarks became important. He flew south along the lines until he spied the delta off to the west, when he began a gentle banked turn in that direction. He figured the balloon should become visible to his right, as they descended to 1000M. There it was! He circled to bring his machine around, facing east, with the ballon broadside in front and went in for his first pass. He was rusty! He didn't bother to use his gun sight and his bullets missed low. He pulled up and began to circle for a second pass. Just at that moment he realized they had more company! A quick survey revealed three Nieuports and a Spad! The latter made a dive for him, but he was ready and easily outmaneuvered his foe, quickly turning to attack. However, the Spad simply took off like a frightened cat and was gone in a moment. His fellow pilots seemed to be coping with the remaining Frenchmen, so Lazlo turned back toward their target. This time he crouched as best he could and lined up the gun sight. Three short bursts of fire and the balloon was soon ablaze. He roared with delight and pounded his fist on the side of the fuselage as he pulled away and nosed toward the east.
Von Keudell was once again alongside him as they came into Proville to land. The pilot slapped him on the back as they left their machines for the office to report in.
"Good work, big fellow! I'll vouch for that one, for sure. That would be eight victories now, yes?" Lazlo looked sheepish. "Just one thing, sir, if I might be so bold. Do be careful with the, er, in-flight cocktail service, if you know what I mean. I'm not certain that's going to help your aim, sir. Just between you and me". The pilot gave a friendly wink to Lazlo who immediately got the message. He realized his secret was out. He would have to be more careful.
In the office Lazlo was greeted by the adjutant who took down details of his claim, and then informed both men that they would be getting new machines. Lazlo could hardly believe it. They had only recently surrendered their Albatri and now they were to have more of them - this time they would be DIIIs!
