Rupert E. Hentzau Feldwebel, Jasta 6 Kette. Zwei Aertrycke, Aifield. 1 Unconfirmed. 1 Confirmed
Jan 22, 1917.
We had a visit from a fellow Staffel leader for Dinner and a Staff Meeting. He flew in on his Jasta Hack an Albatros C-1 since he brought Cases Of wine and Tradeable Post Cards of the Heros of da Fatherland.
#4504802 - 01/24/2012:38 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Toby’s recent Halberstadt massacre was rewarded with only two confirmed claims: the One on fire and the last one - near Doullens.
“- What’s the point of keeping us on alert, ready to take off at a moment’s notice if the alarm goes off with the enemy upon us? The whole point, seems to me, is to intercept them in the air while they’re still a safe distance away from the aerodrome.” Toby’s angry thoughts were intermingling with the noise of his engine as he was rolling down the length of the runway while scanning the sky above for the imminent attack. There! A Schwarm of bombers was approaching from the east, ready to drop their cargo. Toby’s flight was gaining altitude quickly but not fast enough to catch the two-seaters before they unload their bombs. The German bombers had free reins over the aerodrome making pass after pass dropping bombs in the process. Toby looked down at the damage. It wasn’t too bad. All the bombs so far missed the critical assets such as the hangars and the supply sheds. He then noticed two more enemy planes approaching. It was the escort and they were coming down to keep their charges safe. Mulberry knew these shapes very well. Rolands! He prepared for a tough fight. These beasts were more dangerous than all the Fokkers and Halberstadts put together. He approached one from abeam and then swung behind and below the Walfisch. The Hun didn’t notice, or simply ignored him. A bad move in either case. Toby pulled up, aimed and squeezed the trigger. The Boche was seriously damaged and began to dive for the deck. Toby lost him in the ground clutter and saw him later being chased by Flight Sub-Lieutenant Little. He then noticed the other Roland being followed by Flight Sub-Lieutenants Simpson and Soar. The Walfisch was taking them for a ride in a circle and Toby followed from afar, not willing to risk a collision. The two Pups jockeyed for position, but in the end it was Little claiming the killing blow. The Hun spun down and crashed into the ground. The two bombers were gone by now. Toby gave the signal to regroup and return to base. If only they were warned of the attack earlier ...
Toby was sitting in the cockpit of his Pup going over the flight plan. Today’s mission was to patrol friendly front lines between Arras and Boiry St. Martin. As he rolled along the ground and picking up speed he caught a glimpse of movement above. The enemy planes were right over the airfield. One of them came screaming down scattering the Pups left and right. Toby watched as the Hun was soon being chased by no less than two of his own. He stayed back and observed and when he saw they weren’t making any progress he jumped in and hit the Walfisch a few times. It was a different story after that and ‘Reggie’ finally took him out just on the outskirts of the ‘drome.
They continued with the mission and began their patrol once over Arras. They were on their third loop when Toby noticed specks on the horizon coming towards them from the north. It was a large formation and Mulberry hoped they were an Entente flight, but the luck was not on his side. Instead a Schwarm of Halberstadts descended upon them and an enormous furball ensued. Toby was sure he sent one of the Huns down trailing grey smoke behind, but he couldn’t confirm it. The rest of the angry Huns kept him very busy. After what felt like eternity, the battle dissolved into small duels. Toby ended up following one of the Halberstadts too low and was immediately harassed by the ground fire. He quickly disengaged and gained some altitude to get out of the range.
It was then that he realized he was flying east. A quick turnabout corrected his error and he was on his way back to friendly territory. Toby’s machine was badly shot up and he felt pain in his elbow. He moved his arm to test it. It was tender but everything seemed to work well enough. It must have been just grazed. He pointed his Pup towards Etrun but before he could land he had to take care of another problem. One of the Huns was following him. The enemy would surely shoot Toby down if he attempted a landing. There was nothing else to do but to make another 180 degree turn and face his foe. The German pilot had altitude advantage and an undamaged mount underneath him, but Toby was confident he could even out the odds. It took much longer than usual to get on his tail in the less than responsive Pup and even longer to bring the German machine to a comparable state, but eventually Mulberry had him on the run and finally crashing north of Arras.
He could finally land safely. As he was approaching the airfield he could see other members of his flight already disembarking from their machines and examining the damage. Toby and his flight mates were lucky to be alive.
"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."
#4504992 - 01/25/2011:52 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
The War diaries of Sebastian Von Toombs. 1903 Prussia - 23rd January 1917 Flanders Fields.
My earliest memory is my father telling me that men could fly. I stood flapping my arms in the small vegetable garden of our home in Königsberg Prussia. My home, God’s own country. I stood in drizzle, rain pricking my eyes as I looked up and willed myself skyward. Impossibly heavy, my feet remained as rooted to the earth as the beetroot growing around me.
My friends talked of us being Teutonic knights riding white chargers. Wearing shining plate armour, brightly coloured surcoats, radiant pennants flitting around their lances. We ran in circles galloping on imaginary steeds. Following each other’s tails, in tighter and tighter circles until we collapsed exhausted laughing. I ran and giggled as energetically and enthusiastically as my small comrades in arms but my imaginary steed was never a horse, always a plane. I only wanted to fly. To be a knight of the Sky, jousting and fighting the ungodly, defending the weak and bringing law, order and God’s peace to the lands over which I flew.
When war broke out I applied at once for the fledgling Luftstreitkraefte. But was refused, it was seen by many as a waste of time and manpower. Instead, along with many of my childhood friends I joined the 3rd (East Prussian) Cuirassiers. I never gave up longing to fly. Even when riding the fastest horse I longed to be airborn. Three applications later I was accepted and here I am.
I finished my basic training and was utterly shocked and thrilled to be placed in a hunting squadron. And not any hunting squadron but the fairly newly formed Jasta 18. Many of the pilots there are legends, like decorated ace Walter von Bülow-Bothkamp, mentioned in hushed tones from even the most cynical and lazy of my fellow flight students.
I arrived at 11:30pm -the weather atrocious. Halluin, our airfield was in the grip of a winter thunderstorm brewed in Norway that had rolled in from the North Sea shrieking it’s wrath on the muddy war torn earth of Flanders. Such a storm is highly unusual, so rare in fact that the rest of the squadron thought it a Tommy bombardment. Only realising their mistake when,stepping from my transport to the airfield, my truck was struck by lightning. What an entrance!
I entered the Mess dripping wet, bag in hand my dreams fulfilled. But before I could take stock of the smoky hut and the youthful faces arrayed before me, a chant began. “Thor! Thor! Thor!”
The storm had blown its self out during the night and at first light I was to begin my familiarisation flights around the airfield and immediate area. I made my way to the hanger tent housing my pristine steed, a brand new Albatros DIII, my chest bursting with pride, my heart in my throat. My gasp could be heard in Berlin as I saw my charger, for the first time, freshly painted red and blue. And there catching the morning's pink light, alongside my personal monogram, in bright white wash was Thor’s hammer ready to strike for justice and truth.
... To Be Continued
Last edited by SebToombs; 01/26/2012:09 AM.
#4504993 - 01/26/2012:37 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: Nov 2014 Posts: 3,219Fullofit
Seb, welcome to the DiD show, glad to have you with us. Our resident campaign god, (aka Raine), must have been feeling most generous assigning young Toombs to such an elite jasta right out of the gate. And Thor's hammer, eh? Could be interesting when and if Captain Swanson gets back to France and the two meet in the skies. A pair of Odin's descendants squaring off, hammer vs. lightening bolts.
Raine, outstanding luck having that Hun plane park itself in the hangar for safe-keeping. It figures the ground gunners would claim it was all their doing. Well done on passing the 25 mark for confirmed victories.
Harry, glad to learn that Lazlo is recovering well. He'll be back in the skies wreaking havoc before we know it, unless of course that nurse gets the better of him first.
Carrick, those fights certainly can be over quickly. Better luck next time for Rupert.
Fullofit, Toby has been a very busy fellow - four in one outing! That may have the Brass Hats considering a bar to his DSO. Chesty does need to dial it back a bit or he's going to have all the Huns cleared away before my man has a chance to get back into the fight.
Great stuff gents! As for my fellow, Swany will be on a boat headed for England soon. The Dutch government has finally processed his travel paperwork and are prepared to hand it over to him, provided he signs a statement saying that he wishes to relinquish his commission in the RFC. While such a document would technically mean nothing to British HQ, (as it is not a proper, formal request following the correct channels), the Dutch insist they must have it for their own records to show that, as far as they understood, Swany was a private citizen of the United States when they released him. Bureaucratic red tape and tap dancing at it's finest.
#4505031 - 01/26/2004:31 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Rupert E. Hentzau Feldwebel, Jasta 6 Kette. Zwei Fontain-Uterte, Flanders. 1 Unconfirmed. 2 Confirmed
Jan 24, 1917.
Just finished the forward move of a/c to the New Post when posted to a 4 a/c Patrol. Just got to altitude when the Flight Fuehrer led us in an attack on a mixed bunch of Spads and N-17's. I chased a N-17 while my leader chased a Spad off the right, I used most of 250 rds in the pursuit and melee on long range shots. However, one paid off. The e/a flipped over the started a death spin Crashing around our rear areas. Losses: 1 a/c forced down on our side of the lines. 2 e/a destroyed + 1 maybe seen to be smoking but diving for home.? ( Flight leaders Kill ? }
Last edited by carrick58; 01/26/2004:36 PM.
#4505036 - 01/26/2005:12 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Hi Chaps , I so am grateful to you all for the warm welcome.
RAF_Louvert, I am blessed indeed! When I got the message from Raine I jumped for joy! Among my aviation books is a beauty on Jasta 18's history and pilots so this will be super immersive for me. I've never played Jasta 18 before. Raines generous assignment, I hope, is an omen of a great campaign! The duel between Swanson and Toombs would be a corker, but I'm no way ready yet, early days!
Fullofit and carrick58 thank you for your kind words. I love all these stories and look forward to each post! My current fear is bumping into SC Tobias Chester Mulberry VC, DSC&Bar, DSO. That is one encounter I would never walk away from! He'd chalk up five in a day for sure!
The War Diaries of Sebastian von Toombs 24th and 25th of January 1917.
My first operational day in the Jasta was a shocking day I escaped death twice. I was shaken awake very rudely to the word “scramble”. A number of British planes were flying over the airfield and the fear was that they would begin dropping the bombs any moment.
We raced to our planes and began to get the things going. The engine start seemed to take an eternity in the frigid January air. The ground was icy, very bumpy and as our wheels rolled over that uneven earth I felt every tremble, every vibration as never before. Looking up I could see at least eight planes over our field, they looked to be at about 8000ft maybe more. As a Jasta we raced skyward as quickly as our Mercedes engines would carry us. I thought it would take some time but a stray look over my shoulder before I was barely minutes off the ground, and, much before I was ready, revealed a Sopworth triplane diving on us and buzzing around us like an angry green wasp, hungry to sting.
I danced the dance of death with him, spinning and turning realising just how hard it is to get on their nimble tails. Every now and then I saw the reassuring Red and Blue of my squadron mates firing at the angry wasp.
I noticed how the more experienced members of the Kette didn’t try to out turn him but used their power to fly high then low, almost as if they wanted to fight in a vertical plane while the Sopwith wanted to fight us, to his advantage, on a horizontal one. I learnt from them and unable to get any advantage I dove to earth over the airfield, building up speed leaving it to the last possible moment to pull up. In reflection this is a stunt I won’t ever pull again. I barely pulled up in time, and there are small divots near our airfield that can pay tribute to that fact. My wheels touch earth but thankfully not with enough force to rip off my undercarriage. If it had - at the speed I was going - I would have surely died.
The manoeuvre at least worked, and I was able to pull up on his starboard side. I remembered my training and shot, not at him, but just ahead him. As best I could, I kept my sights ahead of him, following him into a wide right turn. I fired about 20 seconds worth of machine guns. Then he started very slowly to try to climb, I was unsure how many hits I had, it didn’t look like many other (note to self I have got to improve my gunnery). As he climbed I fired again and again first on topside, his cockpit and upper wing, and then as he banked into a sharp left bank, I fired into his exposed belly. Again he started to pull up and climb.
By now my power advantage was evident. He rolled to the right and started diving as I gave him one more squirt of the two Spandau machine guns. I saw a puff of smoke, I had hit something significant at last. As he plummeted to ground I thought I’d scored my first victory. But suddenly when I thought it was all over he pulled up sharply. Once more the hunt for advantage was on .
I chased and was joined briefly by another Albatros. He climbed again, I came in low and fast firing all I had. My bullets ripped into his fuselage, splinters and cloth erupting as my lead hit. He had slowed to an almost stop as I flew under his wheels, just as I thought I had past him, he dropped without warning coming crashing down behind me, his propeller chewing bite marks into my tailplane. The noise was deafening, the world and my engine utterly silent, even the sound of air rushing through my rigging was silent. I was sure I would crash, totally unstable unable to pitch or yaw. But not today. The Good Lord held me in his hands.
The damage was only superficial. I leant out as far as I dared to examine the British vandalism of my Albatros, and it looked messy but was stable. Although I couldn’t hear my engine it seemed to be turning over nicely, I checked my compass set the nose east and landed safely home a few minutes later. Apart from the ringing in my ears I was unscathed. I put in a claim, but sadly it was rejected. I didn’t see him crash, but surely he did?
Today I was scheduled for a routine patrol behind our lines, I was flying number 3. It was a clear but freezing cold day, my lips are taking a battering and are chapped and bleeding after just three days of this. We saw no one else up and after an hour returned home. Safe and sound. My hearing has returned. And I’m off to buy a scarf.
To Be Continued ...
Last edited by SebToombs; 01/26/2005:13 PM.
#4505061 - 01/26/2008:40 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Carrick, looks like Rupert is getting down to business. Congrats on the confirmed kill.
Lou, worry not. There’ll be plenty of Huns to chase. Just look at Jasta 18. New pilots arriving every day. And no more medals! Chesty’s copper-nosed Pup is heavy enough as it is without Mulberry adding extra weight of his own. I hope Swany won’t take too long getting back home and getting posted to an active unit in France.
Seb, thanks for the words of confidence, but as you can see from the report below shooting down Halberstadts is one thing. Downing Albatroses is a different affair altogether. That was one exciting first mission. Mixing it up with Tripes at low altitude usually doesn’t end well for the heavy Albs. You can count your lucky stars (and Odin) for that outcome. Better luck on the next encounter. I have to remember that “trick” with chewing the tail with my prop. To quote The Great Carrick: “nice vid” and take care of your ears.
One of the Halberstadts from yesterday has been confirmed. Toby was now one enemy kill short of 50.
Toby noticed them first. They were cruising at a lower altitude, east of Bapaume. The 2 B.E.2c’s from RFC-16 on recon duties, that the ‘B’ flight was escorting, were already turning back after spotting the enemy as well. Mulberry gave the signal and descended to meet the foe. They were Albatros scouts. Four of them and not very timid. Toby hit one after getting on his six. The Hun dove away but Mulberry didn’t follow. He didn’t want to be pulled away from the main event. He switched to another Hun and followed him. He trained his gun carefully and fired. The Albatros was hit and dove, but this time Mulberry followed and continued to track his prey. Toby’s Vickers continued to hit the target, but it wasn’t slowing him down. The Hun continued to evade but the Pup’s pilot was able to place a well aimed burst and Toby knew he had him. The Albatros was flying up-side-down, ready to smash into the ground, but at the very last instant the German pilot flipped his plane right side up and continued towards his side of the mud. That was one trick Mulberry hasn’t seen before. He dove after the skillful aviator and resumed fire. Finally, after what seemed like 200 rounds the engine began to emit thin trail of vapour and the Albatros came close to the ground. Mulberry received some ground fire in the process and decided this was as far as he would go. He watched the German pilot skillfully land his stricken plane among the shell holes. Toby turned back. The rest of the flight was safe as well and Simpson claimed a downed machine. Toby put in a “forced down” claim. The enemy was getting bolder and flying more often over the front lines. Meanwhile Toby was exhausted. The constant air battles were taking their toll on the weary pilot.
Lazlo had been surprised when Oberleutnant Kummetz, their commanding officer, had driven to the field hospital to collect him. Earlier that morning of the 22nd, Lazlo had washed and dressed, with help from the nurses, and was ready to return to his Jasta. He'd had a little difficulty walking at first, the wound to his hip causing him to move stiffly, with a lop-sided gait. He'd had another surprise when the pretty little nurse had approached him and had stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear and then planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Glowing with embarrased delight he had waved to her from the car as Oblt. Kummetz drove them away.
"Ah, who's the lucky lady, then?" winked Kummetz.
"That is nurse Higginstein", said Lazlo. "I think it is I who is being the lucky one, most definitely".
"Well, they seem to have done a pretty good job of putting you back together. Thank goodness, we need need you back in the air as soon as possible. The French have been extremely active in our sector recently. It's keeping us very busy. You won't be able to fly for a couple of days because of the damned snow, but at least it will give you a chance to get moving about again". Lazlo scratched his chin, thinking back to the episode that had led to his confinement. He was apprehensive at the thought of flying again. Kummetz noticed the look of concern on his face. "Now then, don't brood on it. You made a mistake. It happens. You survived because you are a capable pilot. You will be even more aware and better equipped to deal with similar situations in the future. Remember, if you lose your wingman, you must adopt extreme caution. You should always know when to abandon the mission in favor of safety".
Von Keudell happended to be gazing out of the mess window when Kummetz's car drove up. He watched as Lazlo emerged from the vehicle. A remembrance of Lazlo's first arrival stirred. He was still enormous. Larger than life, with that shock of red hair. Only now he looked older. Worn. He had a peculiar hitch in his walk as he made his way across the field, obviously in some discomfort. They would have to administer pain killers in the form of schnapps this evening, Von Keudell thought to himself.
Oberleutnant Lazlo Halász, Jasta1, Proville, Flanders January 24th-26th 1917
Two days of watching the snow fall was enough for Lazlo. On the morning of the 24th he and his men climbed into their machines. Lazlo found the process more difficult than ever. His hip was sore and his leg stiff and difficult to maneuver into the small cockpit space. He had lost some weight, however, and once inside he felt reasonably comfortable. However, his mind was full of foreboding. He was not keen to meet his enemies right away. He needed to regain his feel for the controls, which he knew immediately had diminished greatly. Thankfully the morning's mission was to defend a nearby balloon. These defense patrols were pre arranged and shared between the local Jastas. Reports from the other Jastas suggested there was nothing much doing in terms of enemy activity, so he was hopeful that it would be a perfect opportunity to reacclimatize to things. Indeed, the mission proved uneventful.
The next day they were assigned another balloon protection mission, this time much further north, beyond the city of Douai. Supposedly the enemy had been far more active in that region. Sure enough, just beyond Douai, Lazlo's men encountered a group of Nieuports and they battled for more than ten minutes before the Frenchmen decided they'd had enough. Lazlo brought one of them down but couldn't see any of his fellow pilots around to cite as witnesses. The unlucky Frenchman had gone down into a copse about a mile south of the field at Douai. A dark column of smoke rose from within the trees. Lazlo felt exhausted by the encounter and decided to put down. He was welcomed by the local team there and given a hot mug of cocoa, while arrangements were made to transport his machine back to Proville.
On the 26th Lazlo's Jasta saw action again. They had only taken off a short while before, when Lazlo spotted AA fire above and to his formation's right. Turning to engage he counted eight enemy machines, a mix of Spads and Nieuports of the Lewis type. In the whirling melee that followed, Lazlo caught sight of a red star on the top plane of one of the Spads. Why, there you are! Lazlo's blood began to boil as he realized that he'd tangled with this fellow before. He would do better this time, he thought to himself. They twisted and turned. Lazlo managed to get the upper hand, but not for long! The French pilot was very skillful and managed to evade his attacks, eventually disappearing. Lazlo chased the other Spad for a while but gave up once it became obvious they had decided to disengage. There was no catching a Spad, thought Lazlo.
Back in Proville, gathered around the fire hearth, the men pressed Lazlo for more details about his hospital stay, most particularly, about the prettiness of the nurses. They ribbed him when it became obvious that one nurse in particular had stolen his heart. He wondered if and when he might see her again. He decided to himself that, instead of going fishing as he usually did, he would try to visit her the next time he had some leave due.
Rupert E. Hentzau Feldwebel, Jasta 6 Kette. Zwei Fontain-Uterte, Flanders. 1 Unconfirmed. 2 Confirmed
Jan 25, 1917.
Our 4 a/c kitty got jumped by 6 N-17's near the end of the Patrol No losses ,but the enemy lost 2 N-17s Three of them just headed home as the fight began. I helped on the ones staying behind banging away with my Spandau's. No kills for me but saw one just get sheared up by gun fire then fell apart.
#4505115 - 01/27/2003:20 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)