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#4467832 - 03/28/19 02:33 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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MFair, that is a beautiful picture. Hope Jericho can smooth things over with the Major. Maybe should have gone to one of the Ack-Emmas see if they could take the dent out?


"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."
#4467834 - 03/28/19 03:37 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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I think I'm given a lot more credit for my entries than I'm entitled to! Thank you, all!

Lou - What a great slice of backstory , and expertly woven in with our present-day Swany. I'm keen to read more about Swany's life prior to the war - and, of course, the current point of interest - what will he do about Georgette?

Fullofit
- Just excellent. I was holding my own breath while reading - I was scared that if I made a sound while reading along, Gaston would be found out! And that cliffhanger - torturous!! Just, brilliant stuff. I continue to be on the edge of my seat in anticipation of what comes next.

MFair - Oh, no! Not the Major's car! Let's hope Jericho finds him in an agreeable mood when he explains himself! Really enjoyed the touch about his father's advice - Jericho has a great, and very unique, depth of character. Looking forward to more! Oh, and lovely picture of Cappy! As Carrick says, you can see how well cared for he is.

Carrick - Glad the Fokkers have been keeping their distance from you. Here's hoping they leave your N12 alone to continue the good spotting work. Great pic of the old artillery piece!


2nd. Lieut. Graham A. Campbell,
No. 20 Squadron R.F.C (On Leave),
London, England.

March 28th, 1916.


I bade my parents farewell yesterday after a lovingly prepared breakfast, set out by my mother. By the time we had rid the table of the mountains of ham, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, bread and butter and, of course, tea, I rather decided that I wouldn’t need any supper that night. Outside the doorway, my mother hugged me with tears in her eyes. “Now, you be careful, Graham”. My father was less sentimental - at least, from the outside. Giving my hand a firm, pride-filled pressure, he looked me in the eye and simply said “Good luck”. A more carefully chosen farewell he couldn’t have produced. Making my way back to the station, I was braced to see one or two Sherwood Foresters making their way home in their dirt and blood-streaked uniforms. Outside the station, I enjoyed the spectacle of an infantryman proposing to his sweetheart - the few passers-by, myself included, applauded as she threw her arms around him with a heartfelt “Yes!”. Part of me wondered if he would return for the wedding, but my reasonable side venomously pushed that fatalistic thought away.

Back, then, to the Cavendish and the clutches of London Society. I was amazed when Rosa Lewis put me up for a second time, mentioning with a coy smile that “I’m sure Dame Huxley would be more than happy to cover the expenses of a fighting man!”.

[Linked Image]
Back at the Cavendish


I settled in, neatly arranging my personal effects within the room, this time on the top floor, and promptly headed back out, my new R.F.C cap upon my head and my ivory-gripped webley on my hip, bound for Hawkes & Co. The same tailor was busying himself taking impossibly fast measurements of a Captain as I entered. Looking over his shoulder, he nodded in acknowledgement, and a blurred flurry of arms he promptly folded his measure, turned to the Captain and requested a moment, and beckoned me to the counter. His brow furrowed as he flicked through several tickets, comparing them to the suits hanging on the rack behind him, and with a soft “ah,” he produced an immaculately-cut uniform. My uniform!
“Would you care to change now, sir, and see how it fits?”. Hurriedly I took the suit from him, excitedly jumping into a changing booth, where I tore away my tired old Sergeant’s uniform. Almost tripping myself up as I pulled the trousers on, I went about converting myself into 2nd. Lieutenant Campbell, pausing to marvel at my reflection in the full-length mirror beside me. With an air of importance, I strolled out of the dressing room, my old uniform folded over my arm. “It’s a perfect fit,” I said to the Tailor, who smiled and bowed his head. The Captain, who had regarded me with disinterest as I had entered, nodded slowly. Taking both my old and my new spare uniforms, I made back for the comforts of the Cavendish.

[Linked Image]
The uniform of an officer of the Sherwood Foresters

Rosa clapped her hands together in joy as I stepped into the sitting room. “Ah! Campbell! Now you fit the picture!”. I reddened slightly, grinning like a fool. A glass of champagne was pressed into my hand, as a record was fitted onto the large gramophone at the edge of the room. The night was one of decadence, the likes of which I was experiencing from a new perspective - I could become the centre of the conversation, the voice of the room, my inhibitions that I had worn with my Sergeant's uniform were expelled.

Towards the end of the evening, I found myself speaking to a pair of young ladies in powder-blue dresses. They gasped in awe at my stories of flying over the front, and tittered at my tales of Jimmy Reynard’s exploits. Each tale of young Switch-Off’s more sentimental moments were met with an obligatory “awh!” from the ladies. As I recounted the most recent tale, of my being shot down, I suddenly noticed the Blonde one’s eyelids flitting, the slight parting curve of her lips and the sideways, suggestive glance rolling into one fluid, deliberate message. I felt the heat under my collar rising, and my pulse quickened slightly as her deep blue eyes found mines.

Just then came a great booming voice like an archie burst beside my ear, loudly crying out “Shot down, eh? Rotten luck, hah! I’ll tell you for what to do against those damned two-seaters!”. Flinching from the invasive din, I spun around on my heel to find a portly Warrant Officer, his plump cheeks as red as the wine in his glass. From underneath an unkempt bushy moustache that resembled the head of a brush, a row of crooked, yellowing teeth flaring out at me in a less-than-picturesque grin.

“Oh, er, thanks,” I distractedly mumbled, turning back to my present company, who were now smirking in amusement. I felt irritation flaring up as the boom of the Warrant Officer’s voice came again. “You have to get below their tails, or come at them from the front, see! That way, their guns won’t get you!”. I turned to face him again, a forced smile on my face, which very quickly faded once I noticed the absence of any wings on his chest. “Say, why don’t we get another drink! Your wine is nearly done!” I suggested, through gritted teeth. Happily laughing, he agreed, and we made for the nearest attendee.

No further than five steps away from our two lovely companions, I leaned in close to the Warrant Officer and whispered in his ear “Look, can’t you see what’s happening over there? Push off, will you?”. After a pause, a thought came to me, and I awkwardly added “Er, that’s an order!”. He spun round rather blatantly to stare at the two ladies, and then back to me. “Ohhh,” he said, pressing a fat finger to the side of his nose. “Happy hunting, sir!”. To keep up the ruse, I stood with him as our drinks were brought over, and then hastily I turned back to the two ladies - but my heart sunk when I found an empty space where they had been waiting. I tapped the shoulder of a Lieutenant nearby. “The two ladies here..?” I started, and he gave me a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, chum, I think your claim’s been rejected”. He patted me on the shoulder as I miserably thanked him, letting him go back to his conversation. Deflated, I shuffled my feet back towards the W.O. “Go on, then,” I said with a hefty sigh, “tell me about these Aviatiks”. He flashed a friendly yellow grin at me. "So, when you're under the Hun's tail - actually, what bus do you fly? Anyway..."




Last edited by Wulfe; 03/28/19 03:50 AM.

Aircraft Profiles of the Deep Immersion DiD Campaign: http://simhq.com/forum/ubbthreads.p...deep-immersion-did-challenge#Post4468813
#4467840 - 03/28/19 08:24 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Wulfe, ouch! Shot down again and she never even fired a shot! Ripping story as always.
Fullofit, what can I say. Jericho was so flustered by the time they made it back he was not thinking straight.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
BOC Member since....I can't remember!
#4467851 - 03/28/19 10:21 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Lt. Mark Jericho
Brauy Aerodrome
March 28, 1916

It did not go as bad as Jericho thought with the Major. After looking at the small dent in the fender he said “could have been worse I suppose. I’m sure the mechanics can put her to rights. No harm done, eh”. Jericho was shellshocked. The Major added, “by the way, C Flight is on for the 1st show tomorrow. Bombing Haubourdin and as of yet it seems there will not be any escorts.” Jericho did not know wether to be happy the Major didn”t seem upset about the car or go plan his funeral!

It was cloudy and cold but visibility was good. They slowly climbed to altitude near Bethune. It took almost 30 minutes for the loaded Morane to climb out. With the wind buffeting the craft Jericho struggled to keep her from stalling each time they turned into the wind. Soon they turned east and were over the mud. “At least i’m not down in that crap” Jericho thought to himself. He kept scanning the sky for the dreaded Eindeckers. As they approached Haubourdin, Jericho concentrated on the bomb run and tried his best to stay in formation against the protesting Morane. The first Archie burst startled Jericho. “D#*n that was close” he said aloud! Griffin released his eggs and Jericho and Dickens did the same. They 3 Moranes turned in unison. Relieved of the extra weight the machine responded much better. Jericho always liked the feel of her once that weight was gone. The circled once to assess the damage and headed west. He was now on high alert as it seemed the Fokker’s always hit them on the way home. As they crossed the lines he relaxed a bit. 15 minutes later they were circling the field and Jericho was thinking of Breakfast. They had flattened 2 hangers and most likely damaged a machine or two. “C” Flight was given a hardy congratulations from the Major.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
BOC Member since....I can't remember!
#4467858 - 03/28/19 12:00 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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MFair, any man who cares about horses as much as you so clearly do is aces in my book. What a wonderful photo. As to the Major and the car, I knew he'd be fine about it. The roads were slippery after all, and there is a war on. What's a dented fender here or there.

Wulfe, “Sorry, chum, I think your claim’s been rejected”. Priceless! Great pic of The Cavendish, by the way, and another stellar episode.

Carrick, Emile is doing the backbone work of the air service with those arty spotting missions.

Fullofit, you are keeping us all on pins and needles. Who is it that is about to find our Gaston? Inquiring minds want to know.
As to Swany being a fatalist, he is not. He believes people make their own choices and pick their own paths in life - the future is not predetermined. He resolves this contradictory belief with his strong Lutheran belief that God is omnipotent and knows everything we ever have done, are doing, or will do, by imagining God existing outside of time. God observes, (but does not control), every moment and every incident of everyone's lives at the exact same instant, always and forever, which is how He is all-knowing. Therefore, we have free will within our understanding of time as we experience it, and God remains all-knowing. At least this is how my fellow has resolved the paradox in his own mind.

.

#4467949 - 03/28/19 05:26 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Well now Wulfe, an officer and a gentleman. And with that new spiffy uniform no lady will be able to resist Graham. (Except those two) I’m intrigued by the W.O. - he better be somebody important.
MFair, I am glad the Major was this lenient, then if you think about it, sending you over to bomb Haubourdin without escort may have been punishment enough.
Lou, if this philosophy works for Swany, then who am I to say otherwise?



26-27 March, 1916
Somewhere north of Verdun behind enemy lines
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux

A head crowned in silver hair poked into the wall opening at the top of the ladder.
“- Allô? Y-a quelqu’un ici?”

* * *

He was ripping into the white flesh of the cooked fish with his fingers and devouring it. A steaming cup of mulled wine was sitting beside and its spiced aroma was enticing Gaston to drink it. The old man was sitting beside and nibbling on his piece of the fish.
“- We will have to wait for the sunset before I can ferry you down the river, but no further than the front.” The old man announced. That suited Gaston just fine. He still needed time to regain his strength. The old man’s name was Hugo. His only son was killed in ‘14 and because of his advanced age the Germans didn’t bother him too much. Hugo, on the other hand, was terribly bothered by the Germans and would do anything to spite them.
The morning sun was replaced by dark clouds and heavy rains. They’ve whiled away the hours discussing this war and the one before it. The current state of affairs and France’s chances of winning this wretched contest. They’ve joked that at the current rate the men keep killing each other, there will be none remaining at the end and only women will be left to run the country. Hugo thought that would have been worse than losing to the Germans, but Gaston wasn’t so sure. As the evening approached, the sun peeked out from under the clouds in a crimson send off and soon after the world was swallowed by the omnipresent darkness. It was time.
The old fisherman and the aviateur approached the small fishing boat, more of a raft than anything, with a long pole to push off the bottom. Both of them moved in silence getting drenched by the torrents of vicious squalls. Hugo cursed this weather, but Gaston praised the timing. It would mask their passage along the river. He couldn’t have asked for a better cover. They boarded the boat and the old man took his place at the stern. They floated silently along the agitated surface of the waterway looking out for any signs of German patrols. Hugo kept the boat steady as Gaston observed distant lights and fires. Ahead of them the flashes in the sky attempted to hypnotize them with each round from the 88’s and the 75’s. The old man steered the boat toward the west bank. Voscadeaux jumped off when the boat hit the shore and tied the vessel to the nearby tree stump. It was time to say goodbye. Gaston embraced the old fisherman to thank him for all his help. They both wished each other luck and as the boat was about to depart Hugo reached into his coat and passed Gaston something wrapped in an old rag.
“- It was my son’s.” Hugo’s face disappeared in the rain as the boat cast off. The figure of the old man and his boat soon dissolved into the murk. Gaston was left on the shore with the gift. It was heavy and rigid. The rag came off to reveal a bayonet. “- Aha, La Rosalie. Bon!” Gaston was full of gratitude to Hugo. It was perhaps the only memento the old man had of his dead boy. Voscadeaux understood the sacrifice Hugo made, so that he could have a fighting chance. It will be useless against a rifle, but in hand to hand combat it’s much better than the hoe. Gaston stayed on the river bank a little longer holding the bayonet in his hand. The cold rain was hitting his face. Some of the drops running down his cheeks were still warm.
He needed to get back across the No Man’s Land. Night was the best time, but not while he was behind the lines. Sentries would be posted every 100 meters. He decided to spend the night and try to infiltrate the trenches during the day, when the battle daze would be at its peak. For now he would look for a place to sleep and in the morning ... well, he’ll see about that when he gets there. He found one of the fields with the stacks of hay covered with a blanket and secured with crossed ropes staked to the ground. Gaston crawled into one of the stacks and settled for the night.
He woke up the next morning to the happy chirps of birds. His head poked out of the hay stack just in time to see a German soldier in a stahlhelm, holding a rifle approaching him. Gaston quickly ducked back in and observed the Hun from his secret shelter. The man walked around while undoing his belt. He propped the rifle against the stack and hid behind it to relieve himself. Gaston slid out of his hiding spot and carefully approached the unsuspecting soldier with his bayonet in hand.


"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."
#4467954 - 03/28/19 06:11 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Gripping stuff, Fullofit. And the entire scene with Hugo was exceptional. Very moving.

As for philosophy, each man has his own. To quote the late, great John Lennon: "Whatever gets you through the night, it's all right, it's all right."

.

#4467956 - 03/28/19 06:16 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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There's a lot going on out there. Leave, dinner parties, narrow escapes!

Aleck A. MacKinlay
March 28, 1916

After three days of inclement weather (wet snow) we resumed the business of waging war, fighting a blustery wet wind to range artillery pieces east of Nieuport. The Germans were home in bed apparently and we arrived home, sodden and cold, after a successful and uneventful mission.


Attached Files Combat Flight Simulator 3 Screenshot 2019.03.28 - 11.03.51.43.jpg
Last edited by 77_Scout; 03/28/19 06:16 PM.
#4467967 - 03/28/19 08:51 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Emile Benoit La Mont
Sgt, N 26
St. Pol-sur-mer, AF
Flanders.

March 28 1916.


I could have gotten Zee Hun if only I had a front gun. On solo patrol over the lines and came across a Hun a little above so swung to the side and my Ob opened up the swung back and under taking a few hits. I was in a small glide at full power to get ahead of him when I noticed with a front gun I was in a perfect spot. A last, it was not be as we pull ahead of him he banked my ob may have damaged him as he cut loose with 2 long streams of shots . As my Ob reloaded , Zee bosche nosed down and was gone.

Attached Files CFS3 2019-03-28 13-17-51-54.jpgCFS3 2019-03-28 13-18-02-54.jpgCFS3 2019-03-28 13-23-29-96.jpg
Last edited by carrick58; 03/28/19 08:52 PM.
#4467977 - 03/28/19 10:33 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fullofit, cliffhanger after cliffhanger! Good stuff. I thought you were going to get pissed on for a minute there.
Scout, the Huns have seemed to stay down for me also.
Carrick, tough luck on that one. A front gun would be nice.
Lou, I will take that compliment any day. Thank you Sir!

Lt. Mark Jericho
Bruay Aerodrome

The mess was a little quiet tonight. No particular reason other than the missions had been uneventful for the past few except for Jim’s confirmed Hun. Swany was not saying anything and Jim was not much for conversation either as he was still a little hungover from the big party last night. Jericho was eyeing the piece of meat on the end of his fork. “I swear this horse flesh” he said to no one in particular.

Christian, Jericho’s observer sitting across the table, asked “What do you think is up with the Huns? No one is seeing them.” Jericho put his fork down with a loud clank and looked at Christian. In a very loud voice which got everyone’s attention asked him, “you didn’t hear?”
“Hear what?” Christian asked puzzled.
“About the letter the Keizer sent to all the Hun Pilots! Don’t you read Hoss?” Jericho asked. Now everyone at the table was listening to the two Lieutenants.
“I say Jericho, what are you talking about!?” Christian replied, getting a little annoyed.
Jericho rolled his eyes and leaned forward. “The letter that told them not to attack Morane’s for any reason!”
Christian, with the rest of the pilots sitting at the table, looked at Jericho. “Your daft old boy!” Christian said taking a drink.
Jericho continued, “It’s true!” Jericho stood up and stood behind Swany and put a hand on each of his shoulders then continued “The Keizer sent out a letter saying there is a Morane pilot from America that is blood kin to Oden and he knocks down Eindeckers by shooting lighting bolts out his arse!”
The mess went berserk! The laughter could be heard at the front! Someone shouted over the laughter, “tell us Swany, do ye stand up in the cockpit and drop your breeches or do ye just let fly?!” This brought the mess to a new level of laughter at Swany’s expense with all manner of lewd questions concerning his secret weapon.
No one even noticed Jericho had made his way to the door. One look back at his hut mate and he laughed all the way to his bunk at what he had done.


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
BOC Member since....I can't remember!
#4467999 - 03/29/19 01:03 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Maeran, Stanley's tale is coming in small but delicious sips. Don't stay away too long.

Fullofit, the tension is killing me. Very well crafted escape (I hope) story!

Lou, I absolutely loved the story of Swany in the tree and its connection to his current conditions. Now, where does the Georgette arc take us???

MFair, I'm glad you survived the encounter with the CO. Harvey-Kelly was a bit of a wild man, so I'd guess it's not his first dented fender. And I love the photo of Cappy. As you said, it tells it all. And I'm glad you had more success than Jimm at Haubourdin. Maybe we won't have to go back.

Wulfe, the new uniform nearly did its job. How did they let a WO into the Cavendish? You know, once they've seen a sergeant's uniform in there, all the boundaries are gone!

Carrick, I hope you get your front gun soon!

Scout, let's hope things stay quiet until you're out of Quirks.


An Airman’s Odyssey – by James Arthur Collins
Part Thirty: In which we acquire a work of art

We got to sleep late on Monday, a Good Thing as I was nursing a bit of a headache. A little too much sauce on my goose, I told everyone at lunch. Wet snow was falling, and the orders delivered last night had changed twice already by noon. The fellows all agreed that we should not go up today. The gusts were too strong and the Moranes threatened to fly away if pushed out of the hangars. I found an armchair near the fire and spread an old newspaper out and fell asleep while pretending to read it.

I awoke with a start with the Major standing over me. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. It’s time for you and Mother Goose to get some exercise.” Mother Goose was Sergeant Wilson’s new nickname since our hunting prowess had become fodder for the senior NCOs’ mess banter. I likely had a name too, but so far I had not found it out.

There was a new sergeant pilot, a man named Adams, and this would be his first patrol. Major Harvey-Kelly wanted him to join us as far as the lines, and had assigned him an experienced observer, McNaughton. Our task was to drop some bombs on the Hun aerodrome at Haubourdin, near Loos. A De Havilland was to meet with us on the way. We went out to the hangar and found our Parasol staked down outside and rocking in the wind. Four bombs were fixed to the undercarriage. The Ack Emmas were in a giddy mood, looking at each other and then at Wilson and me. Something was afoot but I was feeling too miserable to care what it was. Wilson was already in his seat, stowing drums for the Lewis gun. Just before climbing aboard, I walked around the machine and there it was. On the right side of the fuselage, just below the observer’s position, was a beautifully-rendered painting of Mother Goose. How it had been done was a mystery, for I recognized it at once. When I was six or seven, my mother and I had sailed to England to visit family at Christmas and we’d gone to Drury Lane to see Dan Leno in his new pantomime of Mother Goose – and the painting on our Morane was the very same as the one that was on the outside of the Drury Lane Theatre!

[Linked Image]
"Mother Goose"

The flight was difficult because the winds buffeted our machines, which threatened to stall every few seconds. When we arrived at the lines, we circled to await the De Havilland. After twenty minutes, I pulled abreast of the Major, who was anxiously looking back at Sergeant Adams’ machine every few seconds. Adams was struggling to hold station. The Major pointed at the cowling of his Morane and signalled for me to separate. He was having some form of problem and did not want to leave Adams. It was growing dark already under the heavy cloud as I headed off into Hunland alone. Sporadic Archie escorted me to Loos, where I found the skies above Haubourdin’s empty. Three Fokkers were on the field, and mechanics were trying to guide them to the safety of their hangars. One tent hangar was blown down flat. I lined up the hangars and began a shallow dive, pulling the release lever at 2000 feet. Unfortunately I’d misjudged and my bombs carried past their intended destination and exploded harmlessly in the fields beyond. The air about me was thick with machine gun fire and several rounds smacked into our machine. We wasted no time in heading west. Three Fokkers approached from the south, about 2000 feet higher than us, but we made it away without their seeing us. We flew west into the setting sun and settled into Bruay as the last light died.

[Linked Image]
"We flew west into the setting sun..."

On Tuesday, 28 March 1916, I once again was given a chance to lead a patrol. Just two machines, mine and Sergeant Bayetto’s this time. We fought wind and rain down to Monchy and dropped bombs on the Hun trench lines. It was a ridiculous show. The Germans were in their deep dugouts while we were bounced around by a surfeit of Archie. But ours is not to reason why.

Attached Files Mother goose.jpgSunset.png
#4468003 - 03/29/19 01:45 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Raine, that sunset shot is fantastic, another fine episode. And oh, that new livery! winkngrin

MFair, what can I say about your mess episode, except to finish it.
.

After Lieutenant Jericho had thrown his friend Swanson to the wolves he quietly slinked away, the gales of laughter covering his furtive retreat from the mess. This left Swany alone to face the withering fire now trained directly at him. The young airman could feel his face beginning to flush but he knew full well that if he let any embarrassment or ire show it would only make things a hundred times worse, so he fought back his initial reaction. Instead, he let a broad smile spread across his face as he slowly shook his head side to side. When the sniggering and jibes began to settle a bit he lifted the wine he’d been nursing through supper and quaffed it down in one go, then plunked the empty glass back on the table with a theatrical flair and announced in a bold voice, “Vell, tanks to Mark it looks like my secret is out.” The mess quieted, and Swany continued. “It’s true, I am the great great great great great great grandson of Odin, the Norse god of war and of the sky. That’s why I’m so dam’d good at flying and fighting.”

“And do you shoot the lightning bolts from your arse then as well?” someone repeated, though Swany wasn’t sure who due to the hoots and chortles that followed.

“Who said dat?” Swany fired back with a grin. “I’ll bet it was Christian. Vell, whoever it vas, you stand me a few beers, a half dozen hard-boiled eggs, and a jar of pickled radishes and in about an hour you can experience those lightning bolts firsthand.”

More waves of laughter, more joking and jabs, more alcohol-induced cleverness. Swany managed to give as good as he got throughout the exchange. Then someone started banging on the piano and it all turned into a riotous singsong.

It was nearly midnight when 2nd Lt. Swanson slipped quietly back into his hut. He had removed his boots before he’d entered so as not to wake anyone. He crept over to his bunk and set down his boots, then crossed the room to Mark’s bed. His friend was sound asleep as Swany bent down, silently grabbed the side rail, and flipped the bed and it’s occupant onto the floor. Jericho sat up bolt straight, blanket flying, ready to fight, and called out into the dark, “What the hell!”

“Goodnight Mark”, Swany replied as he crawled into his own, upright bed.

“Yeah, I deserved that”, Jericho chuckled. “G’night pard.”

.

#4468012 - 03/29/19 02:40 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Jul 2014
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Raine Online content
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The Mother Goose livery, I hasten to add, was not only Louvert's art -- it was his idea. Thanks again!

#4468014 - 03/29/19 02:46 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 3,464
RAF_Louvert Offline
BOC President; Pilot Extraordinaire; Humble Man
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Senior Member

Joined: May 2012
Posts: 3,464
L'Etoile du Nord
.

You are most welcome Raine, my pleasure. Happy to help out when I can.

.

#4468025 - 03/29/19 10:42 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Nov 2014
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Fullofit Online content
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Fullofit  Online Content
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Ajax, ON
Scout, better wet than dead. Let the sleeping dogs lie and all that.
Carrick, if the N12 had a forward firing gun then it would be called a Strutter winkngrin
MFair, you are embarrassing one of your best friends. I hope you’ll be able to make it up to him.
Raine, Collins is flying a plane with his RIO callsign “Goose”. Don’t you think calling him Maverick would be appropriate. Bet you after all this they’re going to open a flight school named “Best Cannon”. Excellent sunset pic.
Lou, I have a feeling Swany is about to cause Ragnarok with his antics. And that bit with Jericho’s bed, a well deserved revenge. You’re just lucky he doesn’t sleep with his .45 under the pillow.

Enjoying everyone’s reports. So much to go through. I hope no one is annoyed that Gaston is still stuck behind the enemy lines and falling behind with his flying duties. I promise it’ll be over soon. I just need to figure out how to get him across safely. Any ideas?


"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."
#4468039 - 03/29/19 02:03 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 2,425
Fullofit Online content
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Fullofit  Online Content
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Ajax, ON
27 March, 1916
Somewhere north of Verdun just behind the enemy lines
Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux

Gaston was stealthily approaching the German soldier from behind. The bayonet in his hand at the ready. He could see the steam rising while the Hun was urinating. Suddenly the soldier turned around and Gaston without wasting a moment plunged the bayonet into the man’s throat, just below the Adam’s apple. There was a sound similar to that when a knife pierces an overripe cantaloupe. Soldier’s eyes wide open from the shock accused Gaston of murder. His mouth screwed in a grimace tried to scream, but only managed a gurgling sound. Blood started to pour from his mouth. The man was clawing at Gaston, his movements weaker and weaker and finally going slack altogether. The entire body was now hanging limp on the bayonet. Gaston didn’t want the blood to touch his hand but he couldn’t let go of the weapon. The blood from the wound and the dead soldier’s mouth was now flowing freely onto his arm, soaking his sleeve and dripping down below his elbow. He finally let go. The Hun’s lifeless body dropped to the ground at Voscadeaux’s feet. Gaston pulled the bayonet out of the Hun’s throat. The action was accompanied by a sick slurping sound. He wiped the weapon on the dead man’s clothes and begun to undress the flaccid body. Once that was done, Gaston rolled the stiff underneath the hey stack. The blood on the stained uniform had to be disguised somehow. He rubbed it against the wet ground, making sure red gets covered completely with dirt. He then proceeded to dress himself in the German uniform. It was a little tight, especially in the crotch area. Gaston put on the stahlhelm and picked up the rifle standing propped against the stack. Finally he begun to march. He made five steps and collapsed. He was breathing deeply and then he let it all go. Gaston wept. He just killed in cold blood. The man’s face twisted in agony was hovering inches from his own. Gaston relived the the horror he could see in the dying man’s eyes. He could smell his bad breath. He could feel the tobacco stained fingers clawing at him, trying to free himself. And then it was all over ...
He picked himself up again. His legs were carrying him, but his brain was not guiding him. Gaston needed a moment. He rummaged through the dead soldier’s possessions. There wasn’t much. Ammunition for the rifle, some rations which Gaston consumed immediately, half-empty flask of water and documents. Voscadeaux needed to go south. The Front. Don’t get caught. Survive. He was walking on the side of the road. Trucks and horse drawn carriages were passing him by. A column of enemy soldiers approached. Gaston joined at the back, trying to look like one of them. He started to notice the landscape. Burned out houses, soldiers resting in the ditch by the road, crates with ammunition, an ambulance, more soldiers, crosses, bomb craters filled with rain water, barbed wire. He could smell now. The air tasted of smoke, rotting flesh and death. He could smell the dead soldier on his uniform. He could clearly distinguish the stench of urine mixed with damp earth and the tang of blood. They have reached the reserve trenches. The German column continued to march through the mud of Verdun.


"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."
#4468050 - 03/29/19 03:52 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
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lederhosen Offline
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Germany
9 März 1916
Frescaty, Kasta 11.

“Are you sure Thillot sous les cotes”, Willi and Pruess nodded quickly. The Hauptmann's finger moved over the map from Hadonville, then west to the front.
“Heinz get on the blower to ...let me see here, 10th Infantry Div, perhaps 50 Rgt can have a look. Ask the Balloon section at Hadonville for confirmation too please Heinz”

The two airmen stood quietly looking at the map.

“Well you two had your hands full. Still, HQ will be a little unhappy about the bombing not being done. Suppose the weather wasn't good anyway. “

“No Sir. It was mostly cloudy with haze below 1000m. Rainy at times too.” said Pruess

“And you Willi, whats your excuse?”

“umm, I'm quite sure that we were found by two scout planes Herr Hauptmann. Looked to me as if they were diving towards us Sir.”

“That's correct Herr Hauptmann. I gave Willi the order to dump the bombs. We then went into a cloud bank where we lost sight of each other Sir.”

“ I suppose that was the right thing to do. I'm confident you made sure that no one was below when you dropped them?” . Two faces flushed and became very warm due to the blood rushing into them. Willi and Pruess realized that they hadn't bothered to look. If they hit someone below then they would be in a great pile of poo.

The Kasta Hauptmann sat back, keeping his eyes glued at the two of them, he already knew the answer. “Go on.”

“We made it to the front, patrolled the lines without incident. And returned for home.” Pruess said while looking to Willi for support.

Willi took the hint, “I decided to fly straight home. Hadonville is easy enough to make out from altitude. As we neared the Balloon position there we noticed Flak going of slightly behind us. Obltn.Pruess spotted these two scout planes heading west....or home for them. I went into a left hand turn to have a better look Sir. I was sure that they had not seen us..perhaps due to the cloudy sky Sir.”

“Yes I felt pretty sure of that too Sir, and it proved to be correct Sir.”

Willi continued, “Against all the odds they actually didn't see us coming Sir. I mean they must have been new pilots or flat out overconfident.”

“Willi did a good job creeping up from behind. The opening salvo sent the first one directly down into a spiral. I'm sure he couldn't recover and probably went in Sir. His friend must have been deaf, drunk or both. He didn't react one bit. Willi squirted a few burst and he also started falling Sir”.

“I followed him down Sir, as he made signs of gaining control again. When he righted himself I just dropped behind and gave him another burst. Eventually his engine stopped. Problem now was that the Roland can't fly that slow. I wanted to give Oblnt.Preuss the 'coup de grace' but it didn't work out Sir.”

“But time was running out now Sir,” Preuss interrupted, “The Franzmann was high enough to glide over the front, even with a dud engine. So I ordered Willi to finish him off Sir. Which he did. Flamer, so some one must of seen it Sir.”

“Heinz any word ? …...no. Keep on it old man. Well, put your claims in the two of you. I'll have to think up a story for HQ.” The Hauptmann looked over to Heinz,”any ideas about this cockup?”

“Jawohl Herr Hauptmann. It was a faulty release lever. Oblnt.Pruess would have had to of climbed out onto the undercarriage and manually release them Sir.”

“Really ! Good idea Heinz. Have that written into morning orders please.”

[Linked Image]

[Linked Image]

[Linked Image]

[Linked Image]

Last edited by lederhosen; 03/29/19 03:55 PM.

make mistakes and learn from them

I5 4440 3.1Ghz, Asrock B85m Pro3, Gtx 1060 3GB
#4468096 - 03/29/19 09:02 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Aug 2018
Posts: 276
Wulfe Offline
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Posts: 276
Wow! Lots going on!! Where to begin...?

MFair - looks like our Cowboy got away with denting the Major's car! Still, better watch your back for the next few days, eh? As for his jokes in the mess, glad to see that the No. 3 boys aren't swayed by Swany's successes in the air - nobody's safe from some good ol' R.F.C ribbing!

Fullofit - Gaston's attempted escape from Hunland has to be one of the single best episodes I've read so far. I've been on the edge of my seat with baited breath throughout the whole ordeal, and it's only getting better with each new entry. The bayonetting of the infantryman was especially harrowing to read. Truly brilliant, gripping stuff. I only hope that Gaston finally makes it back safely, and that his killing of the enemy soldier won't have too negative of an effect on his psyche...

Carrick - hard luck with the Aviatik getting away, but good show driving him off! Looking forwards to Emile getting himself a single-seat ship...

Raine
- Fantastic addition to your bus! Poor Andrews will never, EVER, live down the goose incident now! Great detail about the drury lane show as well. Sounds like it was a bit of a tense show as well, glad you sneaked off before the Fokkers got a good look at you, and I'm glad the ground fire didn't get either of the mother gooses on board wink

Lou - Sweet revenge! Glad to see Swany took the whole thing lightly. Laughing my head off while picturing Jericho blindly squaring up in the darkness, clueless as to what just happened! Still thoroughly enjoying the crossovers between the No. 3 pilots - and it makes for some great entries!

Lederhosen
- Sounds like you've got a strict Hauptmann on your hands! Fortunately, it seems that sly old Willi's a match for him. He's more than a match for the Nieuports as well, apparently - congratulations on the victory!




2nd. Lieut. Graham A. Campbell,
No. 20 Squadron R.F.C (On Leave),
London, England.

March 29th, 1916.


The intrusive W.O of last night, as it turned out, was (almost) an aristocrat, despite his unpleasant appearance, and managed to sneak his way into the higher throes of society using his family prestige, as opposed to his military standing. His name was Andrew Miller, and as we exhausted the Cavendish’s supply of Brandy & Wine he recalled his story to me, as the evening transitioned into morning, in the type of alcoholic haze that creates deep bonds between drinking companions - that is, until the next morning.

Although he, himself, was rather obnoxious, Miller had a rather interesting history behind him. In a scandalous affair, his mother had him out of wedlock shortly before marrying Lord Something-or-other of the somewhere-important-estate (I admit that, at first, I only politely nodded and half-listened as he spoke). His adoptive father tolerated him when in the company of others, but bore a deep distaste for this child, the son of another man, whom he had to pretend was his own to avoid scandal. According to Miller, his adoptive father was never particularly cruel, nor kind - he was simply distant, seeing through the boy as one would overlook a ghost. The only love he was afforded was from his mother, who would spoil him at every opportunity.


Through his days in a reclusive private school, and his evenings tinkering alone with his most prized possession, a B.S.A. motorcycle, Miller became rather eccentric and socially awkward, missing the ‘social cues’ that came naturally to others. This, he reckoned, was in part due to the fact that his adoptive father wanted him to remain as unseen as he could manage. As he put it, the only words the man would utter his way were “By my good grace you live under my roof. Don’t do anything to embarrass my name”. Miller grinned as he bragged that in spite he had used the very name he was not to dishonour to secure his room in the Cavendish - him - a lowly Warrant Officer!

With the outbreak of war with Germany came a fresh problem. I listened wide-eyed as Miller leaned in close, his smoke-breath rasping in my ear and his beady eyes flicking around the room, as he urgently whispered “You see, Graham, my birth name is not Andrew Miller. My mother’s father was a German - and in his memory she gave me a proper Bosche name. My real name is Müller”. It was then that my gaze nervously swept the room. “They haven’t questioned you about being a spy?”. He shook his head, slowly.

I was fully attentive as he explained that, embarrassed and frustrated, and not wanting to provoke even the slightest suggestion of treachery, his adoptive father had immediately forced his mother to change his name, and had arranged for him to be sent to the Flying Corps to disappear behind a desk. He was washing his hands of his adopted problem. Bitterly, Miller muttered under his breath “With his influence, I could easily have been a Lieutenant. Maybe even a pilot! But, the old man said it would draw attention to our connection. Can you imagine?”.

I had felt awfully sympathetic for the poor W.O - a throwaway that had landed in the most savage war of our species. What a disproportionate misfortune. “So, what will you do in France?” I had asked him, and his crooked smile returned. “Well, as it turns out, tinkering around with the old B.S.A. made me quite the dab-hand at mechanics, so I’ll be fitting engines with No. 24. I’m actually off to France tomorrow!”.

I woke late in the morning today, and headed downstairs to have my breakfast. On the second floor I found Miller exiting his room with the same objective. Still pitying the man for his tragic tale, I joined him and we breakfasted together. Checking a silver pocketwatch, he jumped up, smoothed off his uniform, and declared “Okay. Time to go”. I accompanied him to Charing Cross station, allowing him to idly chat away to me about his (usually rather odd) interests. As we stood in the grand entryway of the station, I noticed that he had begun to stammer slightly, and realised that in among the soldiers at the station were the odd walking-wounded. As a one-legged private hobbled past us on crutches, I heard Miller’s breathing quicken. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I smiled and said to him “Oh, don’t be nervous, Miller, all the squadrons sit far behind the lines. You’ll be okay”.


This seemed to pacify him, and he begun to calm down, thanking me. We shook hands, and I lit a cigarette, watching him be swallowed into the sea of Khaki, the men bound for Dover and then France. When he had disappeared completely from sight, I detoured back towards the Cavendish, walking a wide loop so as to skirt the banks of the Thames again before turning off at the Horseguards and walking up past the Whitehall Recruiting Office, outside of which stood a long queue of young, unkempt working-class men (and boys), all excitedly chatting and sharing cigarettes as they waited their turn to be posted into hell.

[Linked Image]
Charing Cross Station.

[Linked Image]
The Recruiting Office at Whitehall.

In the entrance hall of the Cavendish, a Porter approached me, extending a red-velvet arm towards me and holding out a sheet of paper. “Mr. Campbell, a telegram has arrived for you, sir”. I thanked him and slid down into one of the chairs, holding the telegram up and flicking over it.

LIEUTENANT CAMPBELL

YOU ARE REQUIRED ON MARCH 31 AT 9 A M TO REPORT TO THE RFC OFFICE AT MASONS YARD TO RECEIVE YOUR NEW POSTING. ENSURE THAT YOU BRING YOUR PROPER IDENTIFICATION.


I re-read the telegram, my heart dropping like a stone in my chest. My new posting? I wasn’t going back to No.20?. I tried to make myself excited to find out where I would be headed next, but my thoughts were clouded with worry for Switch-Off, Reynard, Edith, and my other pals at No. 20. I wondered if everybody was okay, and if the Hun had been giving them as much trouble as we had been experiencing before my departure. I felt rather a cad for not being there, not sharing in the danger with them, and now I wasn’t even going back?

Although I was in a funk for the remainder of the day, curiosity slowly crept in, and I begun to wonder about this new posting. What squadron would it be, and what machines did they fly? Would it be another Fee squadron, or maybe Quirks? Surely not Parasols…

Turning in early in the evening, I lay awake in my bed, my Webley resting on the bedside cabinet, and listed off the squadrons I knew of in my head. But, before long, my mood had shifted again and my thoughts were back with No.20. I slipped into uneasy dreams of dogfights and early morning funerals.

Last edited by Wulfe; 03/30/19 12:12 AM.

Aircraft Profiles of the Deep Immersion DiD Campaign: http://simhq.com/forum/ubbthreads.p...deep-immersion-did-challenge#Post4468813
#4468126 - 03/30/19 01:33 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Wulfe]  
Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 2,425
Fullofit Online content
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Fullofit  Online Content
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Ajax, ON
Originally Posted by Wulfe
Fullofit - Gaston's attempted escape from Hunland has to be one of the single best episodes I've read so far. I've been on the edge of my seat with baited breath throughout the whole ordeal, and it's only getting better with each new entry. The bayonetting of the infantryman was especially harrowing to read. Truly brilliant, gripping stuff. I only hope that Gaston finally makes it back safely, and that his killing of the enemy soldier won't have too negative of an effect on his psyche...

Wulfe, thank you for the complement. It means a lot to me, especially coming from the master. I'm afraid that after all that, the escape itself will be rather anticlimactic.
What?! A new posting? This better be a nice move to a DH2 squadron. Who knows? Maybe Miller could be your Ack-Emma? Looking forward to see where Campbell will end up, but sorry the rest of the gang will be left behind.

Lederhosen, congrats on your victory. Great action shots.


"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."
#4468195 - 03/30/19 03:36 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 1,718
Hasse Offline
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Yikes, so many new stories posted here while I was away! It's going to take a while to read them all. I predict one cup of coffee won't be enough... reading

Here's the latest from Julius.


10. AN EXERCISE IN FRUSTRATION

'Tis a lesson you should heed:
Try, try, try again.
If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try, try again.


- An old proverb

March 30, 1916. Early morning, somewhere over the Albert-Bapaume road, XIV. Reserve-Korps sector.

It was just another typical patrol flight over the trenches, or so Julius had believed until he spotted a suspicious-looking machine approaching the lines from the West, several hundred meters below his Fokker. A quick look through the binoculars confirmed the sighting as an English Blériot type two-seater biplane, exactly the kind of machine the Fokkers of the Bertincourt Abteilung were supposed to hunt down and eliminate. With the sun behind his back and having an altitude advantage, Julius was in a perfect position for an attack. He cocked his Spandau, reduced the throttle of the rotating Oberursel engine, and guided his Fokker into a shallow dive. The enemy two-seater quickly grew bigger and Julius moved his head to aim through the gunsight. There was no reaction from the English pilot - he flew on without changing course. Within seconds Julius had approached so close to the biplane that he could easily see the markings painted on its wings and fuselage.

It was the perfect moment, and Julius pressed the firing switch on the control column. The Spandau fired a short burst - and then stopped! Julius kept pressing the switch, but the gun remained silent. He passed the two-seater, all the while struggling with the firing mechanism. If Julius had at that moment looked at the enemy machine, he would have seen its surprised observer finally reacting to the attack and attempting to turn his gun towards the Fokker. But Julius saw nothing of it. He was desperately hammering at his gun, trying to get its mechanism working again. Alas, it was of no use. Julius refused to give up and turned his Fokker to chase the British machine, which was now frantically changing its course back to where it had come from. The Blériot type was hopelessly slow and clumsy, so Julius was able to catch it without trouble. However, he was still unable to get his Spandau working. Julius knew from his training that the observer of the Blériot type had a very awkward field of fire for his gun, so he kept his Fokker in such a position that the Englishman was unable to take a shot at him.

The fruitless chase went on for a while. The Englishmen soon realized something was wrong with the Fokker that had failed to open fire at them, despite being in a perfect position to do so, and stopped trying to evade Julius. Finally he decided to give up and return to Bertincourt. But before he turned away, Julius raised his left hand and shook his middle finger at the lucky Englishmen. The gentleman flying the two-seater kindly returned the gesture.

Julius had ample time to curse his bad luck as he flew back to Bertincourt. He vowed to do better next time, and to give the enemy something worse than just the finger.

[Linked Image]


"Upon my word I've had as much excitement on a car as in the air, especially since the R.F.C. have had women drivers."

James McCudden, Five Years in the Royal Flying Corps
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