Flying an airfield attack mission with the US 103rd Aero Squadron in March of 1918 (FYI, the dates and days of the week in 2019 line up with those of 1918). On my first pass over the enemy airfield I take a hit. As I'm starting my second run...nice and low, about a half mile short of the field...my engine dies. No warning, just..................... I'm in a SPAD VII, at top speed and less than a hundred feet in altitude and the field is literally a postage stamp surrounded by woods too thick to clear. So I pull a hard left, make a 210 to kill off as much airspeed as possible and land it. Safely. On the airfield that I had just been shooting up.
"Well, old boy," I think, "the war's over for you. Good thing I like beer and sausages. I just hope they don't take my shooting at them a few minutes ago personally. After all, as Marvin will say in a movie called RED nearly 100 years from now, 'Some people hold onto things like that'."
Ctrl+Q, mission debrief and, lo and behold, I escaped and rejoined my squadron and was on another mission just three days later. I couldn't believe it. I land smack in the middle of an enemy airfield and still manage to escape, almost immediately.
I hope they aren't too hard on the guy who captured me. Nice enough fellow. Pilot. Leutnant, if I remember my German rank insignia from the intelligence briefings. Said his name was Klink. Wilhelm Klink.