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#4489722 - 09/17/19 01:39 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Fullofit]  
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Originally Posted by Fullofit


Harry, that was one roasted Big Red! Did you remember to turn the engine off? It appears Lazlo burned his Arschloch. This won’t sit well with him.

.


Groan wink

#4489730 - 09/17/19 02:49 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Wulfe -- Welcome to Luxeuil. You'll have to have Fullard connect with Chesty Mulberry there. I hadn't realised that the Escadrille got its lion cubs just before that move.

Fullofit -- That was a close call. Getting out of that alive is worth missing out on the claims.

HarryH -- Now forgetting a claim, that's another matter. Poor Lazlo! And to have his Hinterteil roasted too... I've never had a fire break out behind the cockpit before.

Lou -- Those 4 sorties must have been truly a grind, especially flying at night. The photos, however, were incredible.

MFair -- Welcome back. And Drogo marches on!

Carrick -- hearty congrats on the elusive fifth.

Hasse -- delighted to have you back. Looking forward to The Continuing Adventures of Julius!


Collins has had an exciting encounter at low altitude...


An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt. James Arthur Collins VC, MC

Part Sixty-Two: In which someone interesting appears...


Aitken became a bit of a bother over the next two days. He had his people from the Express follow me about and pose me for photographs in various aircraft, in a carriage in front of Westminster, and so forth. And when I was finally rid of them I had the Illustrated War News, The People, and even the Daily Mirror. On the 16th, Leefe Robinson and I opened a home for orphaned children, many of whose families were victims of the airship raids. I travelled to Leicester on the 17th for a dinner and fête in support of several other charities. When I could, I drove back to North Weald and tried to get a flight in, but the weather conspired to ground us.

I travelled twice to the Hotel Cecil to campaign for a return to France. I fear the red tabs are determined to keep me behind a desk in some subterranean office. After a visit on 19 September during which I tried without success to see Lord Hugh Cecil, whom I had met at Lady St. Helier’s with Aitken, I retired to the Savoy Bar to give my salaams to Jimmy. I ordered a Manhatten cocktail and removed from my pocket a letter I’d received but left unread. The envelope showed it was from Mr. Carson, the comptroller at the Collins distillery back in Ontario.

My dear Mr. Collins,

Everyone here is overjoyed at the news of your Victoria Cross. The papers have been full of praise and every detail of your flying career is being outlined back home. If you can manage a bit of leave, you will be overwhelmed by the reception you are sure to receive.

Orders for Yukon Gold are swelling since the announcement, and we are contemplating a label with your image wearing the VC. I trust you will approve. I am sailing to Liverpool at the end of the month and will set up several brokers in the UK to take advantage of this wonderful opportunity...


Horrified, I obtained some Savoy Hotel stationery and took a corner table at the back of the bar. I immediately wrote to Carson, telling him bluntly that under no circumstances were my name, uniform, and VC to be touted in advertising. My connexion to the distillery could be mentioned discreetly in conversation with the press, but the decoration was not to be exploited under any circumstance. Of course, a group of brokers was a fine idea, but my instructions must be made clear to them. Perhaps we could meet for dinner when he reached London, if I were still here.

So it was that I was in a foul mood when a young woman sat at my table and asked for a light. She was well-dressed, with the wide collar of her white blouse spilling over a finely-cut suit of grey tweed. Three-quarter length dress and high black boots. She was striking rather than pretty. Sharply-featured, piercing eyes, blue, I think. A long, regal nose and firm mouth and chin. She smoked a Sobranie in an amber holder. I waited for her to ask for my signature or to tell me she had named her baby Jimmy, or Yukon, or such nonsense.

“Captain Collins, it is a pleasure. Tell me, will you be able to get back to France or will they hole you up here?” She sounded American, perhaps Canadian, but probably American. She widened her eyes in anticipation of an answer.

“Excuse me, we haven’t been introduced,” I said.

“Oh dammit,” she said. “It doesn’t take long for you to become totally English, does it?” Then she laughed and held out a gloved hand. “Alex Anderson. Short for Alexandra.”

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago,” she said. She rummaged in her bag and produced a card which announced her attachment as a “special correspondent” for the Chicago Tribune.

“So you’re off to France yourself?” I ventured.

“Not if Whitehall can help it,” said Alex. “I’ve been in London three weeks and so far have been able to send back only two or three stories about life on the home front, rationing, and then one splendid one about your Zeppelin coming down. Thank you for that.”

“My pleasure,” I said. “Glad to be of service.” I confessed I had never met a woman journalist before. She said I was not alone. It was difficult enough for a male journalist to get over to France, but next to impossible for a woman. I ordered some champagne and we chatted comfortably about the challenge of fitting into the London scene. She never seemed to ask about the VC, but within the hour I’d given her a detailed account of the Zeppelin raids. She’d produced a small notebook and jotted down the odd word here and there.

“Look, Alex, I really didn’t plan to talk so much. And you haven’t taken many notes. It’s just that it’s...rather technical, and...”

She smiled, and rested her chin on a fist, scanning me up and down. “Tell you what, Jim. Buy me dinner tomorrow and I’ll let you read the story before I file it, okay?”

“How about Rules on Maiden Lane in Covent Garden? Six o’clock. It has to be early. If the weather is fair, I’ll want to be in North Weald by ten.”

[Linked Image]
Rules Restaurant, Est. 1798

Attached Files Rules.jpg
#4489755 - 09/17/19 12:06 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Raine, James best keep his wits about him, something tells me he's met his match in Alex. She could prove far more dangerous than the air Huns.

Oh Harry, I feel awful for poor Lazlo. The worse fate for any airman is to burn. I hope the stout fellow can recover quickly, but I fear it will be a long painful road for Big Red.

Wulfe, I knew that lion cub would be making an appearance soon. An excellent telling of this classic bit of history concerning N.124 Américaine.

Fullofit, it's no wonder Swany's feelings about the enemy have changed. Since coming to France he's lost two gunners that he'd grown very close with and come to depend on, as well as his good friend and fellow American Mark Jericho. Also, since the beginning of the Somme Offensive, over two-thirds of 70 Squadron's original 36 pilots and G/Os have either been killed or captured, with twelve of those in the last week alone, (an RFC record that no one would want to hold). Add to this the fact that Captain Swanson has been wounded three times himself and because of it he still must follow the health regimen to keep his headaches at bay, and must resort to the cane on occasion when his leg is hurting. Losing Chris simply was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. The following may provide more insight as to where our young ace's head is at as of late.

.

After the marathon on the 15th Swany had been lying in his bed trying to fall asleep. Despite his body aching to do so his mind kept racing, preventing him from drifting off into slumber. A memory unexpectedly appeared:


He was sixteen, in a deep pine woods in northern Minnesota, working with his uncle, felling trees. The elder had gone back to the wagon at the trail-head to fetch their lunch. Swany had decided he would get his starting cuts made on the next tree that was to be dropped, and picking up his freshly dressed four-pound felling axe he headed towards the big pine. He hadn't taken two steps when he heard a loud crashing noise behind him. He spun round to see a sow black bear charging at him full tilt, it had to be 300 pounds if it were an ounce. There was no time to think, the monster had already covered half of the 100 feet or so between itself and the young woodsman in the time it had taken Swany to see it. In the next instant and operating purely on instinct, (just as the bear was), Swany swung the axe high above his head and brought it down with all the strength and speed his adrenaline-fueled muscles could muster. The crisp, heavy, razor-sharp blade caught the bear just at the back of the snout next to its left eye, splitting through the fur and thick bone and plunging deep into its brain. The speed and weight of the bear threw Swany backwards a good fifteen feet, slamming him into the tall pine, knocking the breath from his lungs. He dropped to the ground on all fours, gasping for air as he snapped his gaze back up, expecting to be eye-to-eye with his killer. Instead what he saw was the bear motionless on the ground directly in front of him, its front legs folded under its heavy body, eyes closed, tongue draped from the corner of its open mouth. The axe head was well buried in the bear's skull, the handle cracked clean off. A ribbon of blood oozed out. Swany got shakily to his feet, then collapsed back down from the fear now suddenly sweeping through him. He began to cry. It was this scene his uncle returned to brief moments later.

"My Godt", was all the elder said, then walked over and helped his shaken, weeping nephew to his feet, putting an arm across the young man's shoulder. A minute or so passed.

"Soooo - are ya cryin' becuss yer scared, or are ya cryin' becuss ya broke yer axe?"

Swany shook his head, wiped his eyes, and looked at his uncle. The man was grinning, while a mixed look of concern and relief lined his face. Swany smiled back, then let out a small laugh.

"Da axe - I'm cryin' about da axe."

"Goodt boy!" his uncle boomed. "Ve can fix da axe, but first ve got to skin and butcher dis bear. I'll go get da knifess - you come vit me diss time."


The Captain hadn't thought about that incident in a long while; at first it made him smile, then it made him deeply homesick. Here he was in France, fighting a war, for what exactly? Hell with the war, he was fighting an enemy just to keep himself alive - just like he'd done with that bear. And that's what his enemies were - animals. They were only out to kill you. So you'd better by god kill them first, as fast as you can, with every ounce of strength you have. And don't think about it either. You think about it and you're dead. You kill 'em on instinct, pure and simple.

Swany drifted off to sleep.

.

#4489757 - 09/17/19 12:54 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Lou, great story. I love Swany's vignettes about Northern Minnesota. I hope he holds it together until his leave comes through.

#4489758 - 09/17/19 01:05 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Thanks Raine, they are one of my favorite bits to write. And I am sure Swany will keep it together. More than anything he's having a crisis of conscience at the moment as he tries to rationalize the unbridled killing of other human beings.

.

#4489759 - 09/17/19 01:06 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Attention!

[Linked Image]

His Majesty King George V hereby confers the following honour:

[Linked Image]

A grateful people thank you for your service and loyalty.

.

#4489760 - 09/17/19 01:32 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Achtung!

[Linked Image]

It is the Kaiser's Royal and Imperial command that the following individual be recognized for his valor:

[Linked Image]

You make the Vaterland most proud.

.

#4489776 - 09/17/19 03:48 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Well, mostly proud. We won’t discuss that afternoon last week when you, the Jasta Weiße Gehörnte Heidschnucke, and the macaque were nowhere to be found, only to just as mysteriously reappear, you looking particularly pleased with yourself


We will remember them.
#4489777 - 09/17/19 03:50 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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hee hee, Shredward, you're funny. biggrin

.
.

17 September 1916
Fienvillers, France

Major Lawrence, having completed numerous interviews with witnesses, and after a phone call to and brief conversation with General Trenchard, has submitted the following recommendation:

[Linked Image]

It will now move along through the proper and usual plethora of channels and hopefully be approved sometime in the next four weeks or so. Given that the General has attached his name to the commendation it may go a bit quicker, but only time will tell. The British Army's penchant for moving mind-numbingly slow when it comes to shuffling papers is, after all, legendary.

.

#4489783 - 09/17/19 04:43 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Lou, lovely work on the 3121! Shredward, you have reminded me of a Scottish friend who told me that when he worked in Alberta, he discovered his Indian name was "Dances With Sheep."

#4489786 - 09/17/19 04:54 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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So, a sheep, a monkey, and a flieger walk into a bierstube in Düsseldorf. The bartender shouts, "Hold on, we don't serve you kind here!" The sheep and monkey look at each other, then the monkey turns to the flieger and says, "Sorry buddy, we tried, you're gonna have to leave."





it's funnier in the original German

.

#4489791 - 09/17/19 05:52 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Lou - I agree with Raine. The stories of North Dakota are always wonderful, and give Swany some fantastic backstory. Eagerly awaiting the ol' 3121 to be approved.

Raine - uh-oh, Collins' new pal sounds like she could be a handful...he;s faced Eindeckers, Rolands and Zeppelins, but how will he fair against Alex? As for the cub, IIRC they picked up Whiskey on the trip to Paris, and Soda came on the scene a little later.

Congrats on the new gongs, everyone!


Sous. Lt. James B. Fullard,
Esc. N.124 'Americaine',
Luxeuil, France.


September 17th, 1916



In the early morning we sat crowded around Mr. Robinson’s finely-crafted dining table, with a wonderful breakfast of poached eggs, thick slices of ham, croissants, fruits, buttered toast and all other manner of food that had been conspicuously absent from the front. As we tucked in, the American reporter that our host had invited sat with notebook in hand, intrusively firing off questions at us in his nasal, high-pitched voice. “Well, boys, the folks back home think you’re all just swell! We’re dyin’ to know a little more about’cha! Lieutenant Fullard - what’s it like fighting the Germans above the clouds?”. I shrugged, sipping at my coffee. “Dunno”. The reporter frowned slightly. “Aw, c’mon! You must have some stories of daring, bravado, adventure! The folks back home want to know!”. I sat my coffee mug down, before smirking slightly. “Well, I don’t know about myself, but Bill Thaw…

Luf, Kiffin Rockwell and Bill were all absent from our little impromptu press meeting, as they were off collecting their Lion Cub, which had been born on a cruise bound from Africa and had since been unwanted by its Brazillian Doctor owner. With their absence, I decided to have a little fun at their expense. “...Bill Thaw is the real hero of the Escadrille...you know, he once strafed an artillery battery until he was out of ammunition! And, you know what he did then?”. The reporter, furiously scribbling, hung on my every word. “Go on!” he urged. “Well, he landed his Nieuport right there on the Bosche side, pulled out his sidearm, and he silenced that damned artillery battery singlehanded, dispatching whatever Bosches he hadn’t got with his Millitraleuse!”. There were several coughs in unison, as the pilots stifled their laughter. Awestruck, the reporter quickly wrote down these details. “Well,” Thenault said, “we had better be off. Back to the front today, you know. Mr. Robinson, it’s always a pleasure”. We excused ourselves and made our way out into the street.

Immediately as we rounded the corner the pilots burst into howling fits of laughter. “Did you see that reporter’s face?” Masson cried out. “He totally bought that stupid story!”. I laughed and threw an arm around his shoulder. “Now just wait until ol’ Bill sees that story in the news!”. Giggling like schoolboys at the reporter’s expense, we made our way towards the Gare de l’Est. Sure enough, we were met at the steps by Bill, Kiffin and Luf. In Luf’s hand was a rope leash - and there it was at his feet - a lion cub! “My god, you weren’t kiddin’!” I cried out, stooping down cautiously to inspect our new mascot. It let out a tired roar and rubbed its face against my knee, and instinctively I fell backwards with a yelp. Kiffin chuckled. “Aw, don’t be scared James! He’s a little saint! Wouldn’t hurt a fly”. To demonstrate the point, he knelt down and rubbed the cub behind the ears. It purred in delight - a sound that sent a chill down my spine. As it yawned and stretched out I saw its razor-claws extend from its paws. “And how you gonna get it back?” Bert Hall asked. “Er…” Kiffin started, but Bill cut him off. “Ah, don’t worry. I have a plan”. He disappeared into the station, reappearing some minutes later grinning and holding up a ticket. I looked over it, shaking my head in disbelief. “A dog ticket, Bill? Come on, pal, you honestly think they’ll buy that?” I asked, with a disbelieving grin on my face.

Our train pulled into the station, the steam from its funnel rolling up and blanketing the ceiling of the station in a great sheet resembling an overcast sky. Into the train we piled, taking up two tables in amongst some other pilots and several nurses. Presently the ticket inspector was along, and we handed off our passes one by one. Then came the moment of truth. Blanchon and I tried to hide our snickering as the inspector stopped dead in his tracks as he reached Thaw. After coming to his senses, the inspector looked down at the dog ticket that Thaw was holding out to him, straight-faced and serious. “What kind of animal is that?” the inspector asked testily. “An African dog” was Thaw’s curt reply. I covered my grin with my hand as Blanchon tucked his face into his tunic, shaking with silent laughter. Slowly the inspector took the ticket, eyed over the cub once more, and slowly turned to make his way down the carriage. No sooner had he done so when our little mascot stretched out, bore his claws, and let out a happy roar.

Chaos ensued. Several of the nurses screamed in terror and bolted out of their seats, fleeing the beast. The ticket inspector fell back, his face flushed in surprise. “Off! Off my train!” he bellowed. “Get that animal off!” The escadrille pilots burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter as Thaw shouted a curse at the ticket inspector. Once the hilarity had died down we were bustled off the train and taken to the station-master, who decreed that we would not be able to travel unless our mascot was caged. With a sigh, I went with Thaw to fetch a cage and we bundled our poor little friend into it. Looking up at us with inquisitive eyes as we stowed him in the luggage carriage, I suddenly felt a stab of guilt. “Sorry, little buddy” I told the lion, which let out a low grumble in reply. “Should we leave him something to drink?” I asked Thaw, who nodded. Producing a plate from his suitcase, he removed a hip flask from his pocket and poured out some whiskey on to the plate, pushing it into the cage. Immediately the little cub started happily lapping it up. I shot Thaw an inquisitive glance, and he shrugged. “He loves the stuff” was his casual response.

On the long train ride back, we discussed the events of our Paris holiday, the news we’d heard about the new German machines, and, of course, we deliberated on what to name our new mascot. We felt it only appropriate that the men that had purchased the beast should get to name it - which included me. After a short chat we decided to name the lion after its favourite drink - and thus, our lion cub was christened ‘Whiskey’.


It was nearing Four O’Clock when we arrived at the station in Luxeuil-les-Bains, and after retrieving a miserable-looking Whiskey from his cage, we headed to Hotel de la Pomme d’Or to arrange our billetts and drop off our suitcases. As if to spite us, the rain was falling heavily in the sector once again, and by the time we had traversed the muddy streets we looked as if we’d never left the front. As we stood by the checking-in desk there was a young scream, and we looked up the staircase to see two young girls, the daughters of the proprietor, staring down at Whiskey. “Oh no,” Thaw muttered, but to our shock the two girls came bounding down the stairs and immediately started fussing over the young cub. I held my breath as Whiskey roared in protest, but before long he had rolled onto his side and allowed the two girls to pet him. I breathed out in shaky relief.

[Linked Image]

We sorted out our billetts and headed, at last, to see our new aerodrome. Or, I should say, my new aerodrome. Kiffin, Bert Hall, Thaw, De Laage and Thenault were already well-familiar with the place, and wasted no time in calling upon the infamous Capitane Happe, the commander of the Luxeuil bombing group and a pilot of some fame within the Escadrille’s original members. As we entered his office Thenault introduced us one-by-one. I noticed the Capitane had eight small boxes on his table, lined neatly in a row. “What are those?” Masson asked, and the heavy-set Capitane peered up over his desk. “Croix de Guerres, to send to the families of the pilotes we lost on the last Habsheim raid”. It was on that macabre note that we left the Capitane’s office.

After being introduced, Luf and I decided to head to the mess. As we entered, brushing down the loose raindrops from our tunics, I was shocked to hear English chatter among the pilots! Before I could figure out the reason, a pilot in a sharp black uniform which I didn’t recognise appeared before us. “Aha! You must be the Americans!”. He extended an arm. “Chris Draper. Pleased to meet you!”. I shook his hand warmly. “James Fullard. Say, I didn’t know there was an English Squadron here! I thought the R.F.C were all busy with that big scrap in the Somme!”. Draper laughed. “Well, they might be! Us fine gentlemen of the Royal Naval Air Service, however, are defending the skies of the Alsace. Want a drink?”.

We walked over to the bartop and ordered ourselves a whiskey each. “Apologies for the noise, by the way. You can blame the Canadians” Draper told us, and there were several shouted protests from one of the nearby tables. I laughed, and said a quick hello to the pilots. “Well, let’s introduce you, shall we?” Draper suggested, leading us over to the table.

“This here’s Ray Collishaw. He’s a good sort, or so I’m told”. The man issued a quick hello. “And that’s Art Whealy. He takes some getting used to”. There was a laugh around the table, as Art made a rude gesture at Draper. “And here,” he gestured to an individual who sat at the head of the table, lounging back with a half-empty Cognac bottle resting loosely in his hand, “is our star turn. Toby Mulberry”.

Immediately I recognised something in the pilot’s face. He reminded me of Luf, Messier, Tartaux. He’s a killer, I thought to myself. I extended a hand across the table.

“Pleased to meet’cha, Toby. I’m James Fullard”.

Last edited by Wulfe; 09/17/19 08:34 PM.

Aircraft Profiles of the Deep Immersion DiD Campaign: http://simhq.com/forum/ubbthreads.p...deep-immersion-did-challenge#Post4468813
#4489794 - 09/17/19 07:17 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Wulfe, what a wonderfully crafted tale. I'm curious, is any of the story of Whisky's train trip historical? If not, it should be. Great read. And I loved the last few paragraphs with Toby and Fullard...

#4489799 - 09/17/19 08:15 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Originally Posted by Raine
Wulfe, what a wonderfully crafted tale. I'm curious, is any of the story of Whisky's train trip historical? If not, it should be. Great read. And I loved the last few paragraphs with Toby and Fullard...


According to Thenault's memoir, it's all true save for them leaving on the same day - Thaw actually had to stay behind for an extra day and had to have a cage for Whiskey fashioned in order to get him to Luxeuil by train!

Last edited by Wulfe; 09/17/19 08:16 PM.

Aircraft Profiles of the Deep Immersion DiD Campaign: http://simhq.com/forum/ubbthreads.p...deep-immersion-did-challenge#Post4468813
#4489802 - 09/17/19 09:48 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt. James Arthur Collins, VC, MC

Part Sixty-Three: In which I am enchanted


I was raised on the Prairies with plain food: steaks, sausages, pork chops, meat pies. Vegetables were turnips and potatoes in winter, tomatoes and cucumbers in summer. Spice was salt and pepper. I had become a bit more adventurous in France. But the menu at Rules frightened me nearly as much as Alex did. Of course, they gave a menu only to me, as any decent gentleman should order for his lady, or so I’m told.

Alex eyed me over the rim of her crystal sherry glass. “Let me tell you a secret, Jim. In a joint like this, you just ask the waiter what he’d recommend tonight. The key is to make it sound like you’re just too bored with it all to read the menu yourself.”

“Right. My luck, he’d just figure I can’t read either.”

The waiter was returning but before he could do so, the maître d’ arrived with a chilled bottle of champagne with the Hunnish name of Krug. “1905, sir, an excellent year. This is with the compliments of the house and our gratitude.” God, having a VC could have its rewards in this city. And now the waiter...well, he was waiting.

“Ah, what would you recommend to start with this fine champagne? In fact, what would you recommend for our main course?” Nonchalant, I think. Not overtly clueless at least. In any event, the man did not miss a beat. He recommended the lobster bisque and a duck à la something. All I heard and understood was that it had port in it. Good enough for me, and I hoped it was good enough for Alex.

“You seem quite comfortable in a good restaurant, Alex. I’m assuming your family must be well settled.”

“My father is an accountant,” she said. “His specialty is helping wealthy clients hide their incomes. We passed an amendment to the Constitution a few years ago that has paved the way for federal taxes on the income of wealthy citizens. Our wealthy citizens would rather pay their accountant than the country, it seems.”

“We haven’t taxed income in Canada,” I told her. “Just business profits during the war. They’re talking about it a bit, at least as a temporary thing. So how does a lady like you wind up in journalism?”

“Jim,” she said, “you make it sound like white slavery. I’m interested in things other than knitting and church, and I like to write. Besides, Daddy said it was quite impossible, so I did it.”

“And your mother?”

“Scandalised. Proud, too, I suspect.” She winked.

The soup arrived. I put lobster bisque on my must remember list. I looked about for the waiter and he arrived at my side in an instant. “Do you have a Château Ausone?” I asked. The waiter hid his surprise. It was the wine I'd had with Aitken. Thank you, Max. Alex showed me her article about my episodes with the Zeppelins. It was truly well done. She showed an understanding of everything I’d spoken of. No breathless exaggeration or typical journalese “Kaiser’s devils” nonsense. Even the loneliness and bitter cold of the night sky had been captured. I asked her to omit naming our machines as BE12s – no other change. She seemed pleased.

After dinner I walked her home – a flat near the end of New North Street in Holburn. She was trying to find a way to France to cover the war, and I was not of much help. She wanted to see more of England, and I had a car. I suggested a day trip to the coast. She suggested a longer trip, with proper arrangements, of course. “Let’s discuss it when we meet again,” I said.

“Friday?” she replied.

“Savoy Bar, five o’clock,” I said.

#4489806 - 09/17/19 10:12 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Apr 2001
Posts: 645
Shredward Offline
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Shredward  Offline
Member

Joined: Apr 2001
Posts: 645
Lake Louise, AB Canada
Originally Posted by Raine
Lou, lovely work on the 3121! Shredward, you have reminded me of a Scottish friend who told me that when he worked in Alberta, he discovered his Indian name was "Dances With Sheep."


Alberta, where men are men, and sheep are nervous

Cheers,
shredward


We will remember them.
#4489810 - 09/17/19 10:47 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 2,593
Fullofit Online content
Senior Member
Fullofit  Online Content
Senior Member

Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 2,593
Ajax, ON
Raine, you think her eyes were blue?! Where, pray tell, were you looking?! BTW, with so many pictures taken, when is Sanke releasing your card?
Well done, despite what Lou suspects of Alex, I think James is keeping up.

Lou, loved that bit! M’thinks a picture of a broken axe should grace Swany’s aeroplane. Somewhere.

Congrats to Carrick and MFair on spiffy new bling. Soon the two of you will look like Christmas trees which all those decorations.

Shredward, where does the monkey figure in this equation? I’m having a tough time imagining it. Never mind, I don’t want to know!

Wulfe, an African dog?! You kill me. Excellent adventure and now back to the miserable weather and the misery of the Front life.


17 September, 1916
Luxeuil, Alsace Sector
3 Wing RNAS
SC Tobias Chester Mulberry
16 confirmed kills

The rain was back after a nice stretch of fair weather. The young British pilot continued to follow his C.O. pleading his case.
“- No, I will not let you take one of the Nieuports for a joyride. Not even if you call it flight evaluation. It is not your job!” Captain Elder was walking quickly as if attempingt to lose Toby.
“- But the Americans won’t even know. They’re not even here.” Mulberry was grasping straws now.
“- As a matter of fact I have just received a telegram from Capitaine Thenault of N.124 that his pilots are on the way and will be arriving this afternoon. Nothing doing!” ‘Daddy’ was becoming testy.
“- But ...”
“- For the final time, Commander, No! Thou shall not covet thy neighbour’s aeroplane! It is a commandment. Obey it!”
Toby knew not to push it any further, but a new idea popped into his head. “Captain, when are we going to get new machines? The news of those new Fokkers must worry you as well. It looks like single-seater Strutters is a sound idea ...” Toby was interrupted.
“- That is true and to test it further we are assigning to you a wingman. He will also fly a Strutter solo. If this is successful we will think about creating an entire squadron of these.” Elder was glad the conversation took a different turn.
Toby wasn’t happy with the answer. “- That is not what I had in mind. What about constructing a specialized Strutter that is smaller, single-seater like ours, but scout-sized? It would definitely turn circles around the Fokkers.”
‘Daddy’ picked up his pace again. “Just because you make an aeroplane smaller it doesn’t mean it will fly any better. For all we know it could be a dog.” He wasn’t sold on the idea.
Toby wasn’t giving up this easily. “- Well, look at the Nieuports. They’ve made a smaller version of the N.10 and came up with a winner. Why can’t we do the same with the Strutter? They have their Bebe, we could have our ... erm ... baby dog.”
Captain Elder stopped. The rain was assaulting his umbrella. “- And which kennel would you like me to procure these ... pups from? Stop wasting my time. We are a bomber squadron not scouts.” It was over. Toby felt dejected. No Nieuports and no baby Strutters. He felt like having a drink. The muddy path led him directly to the mess. He could hear even outside excited voices of a crown and anchor game in progress. Toby walked in and shook the water off his raincoat. He sat down at the table with the loud Canadians, not because he craved their company, but because there was an open bottle of Cognac sitting nearby.
Half an hour later and 20 Francs lighter Toby noticed new arrivals. They must be the Americans. Draper had already approached the pair and was taking them on a tour of the place, introducing each and everyone. Art was being his polite self and introduced the guests to his repertoire of hand gestures he uses to communicate not only in the air. The message was loud and clear. Ray was chatting them up as well. They seemed like a good sort. Compared to these animals anyone could pass for a good sort. He was now being introduced as something he wasn’t proud of - the biggest killer of them all. The man across the table didn’t seem to mind it. He looked like he had been around and tackled a loss or two of his own. The eyes were telling it all. There was anguish but also the will to survive and defiance to prove himself. Most of all there was hunger to succeed, to make the Hun pay, hunger to win. Toby was impressed and took a liking to the lad.
“- Pleased to meet’cha, Toby. I’m James Fullard.”
He reached and shook the man’s hand.
“- How do you do? Welcome to our little war down here. It may be the quiet sector and the Huns fly the rickety monoplanes, but don’t let that fool you. They’re still as deadly as ever.” An idea popped into Toby’s mind. “- So, we’ve heard you are flying the new Nieuports. I wouldn’t mind having a look at them, if you don’t mind.” A grin crept up on his face.


"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."
#4489817 - 09/18/19 12:22 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Dec 2012
Posts: 2,670
MFair Offline
Senior Member
MFair  Offline
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Joined: Dec 2012
Posts: 2,670
Gents, these stories are over the top! Top notch reading. Harry, in all my years of flying WOFF, that is the first tail end fire I have seen. Quick thinking Bud. And Raine, you might want to be careful!
Lou, thank you very much for the gong. Drogo will be pleased.


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!
#4489826 - 09/18/19 02:24 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Aug 2010
Posts: 5,397
carrick58 Offline
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carrick58  Offline
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Joined: Aug 2010
Posts: 5,397

#4489870 - 09/18/19 07:41 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Dec 2012
Posts: 2,670
MFair Offline
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MFair  Offline
Senior Member

Joined: Dec 2012
Posts: 2,670
Drogo Dorn
Sept. 18, 1916

Drogo was felling pretty good today. He had received a medal yesterday after the successful balloon busting mission. Dornhiem got the sausage. Today they were to patrol friendly territory south of Martincourt. The prospects of a beautiful day and an easy mission had him smiling. The three machines of Kette Zwei had just reached 3000 meters when all hell broke loose! Three Nieuports dove on them. The flight scattered to the 4 winds in short order. Drogo was in a loosing battle with one in his E IV when the Nieuport dove out of the flight. Drogo saw his chance and dove after it. He fired off one burst but pulling up he realized he had damaged his machine in the dive. He was barely able to put the machine level. He saw Stenay airfield ahead and made for it. To his horror the Nieuport had reengaged and gave his machine a burst which put several holes in it. Drogo weaved as much as he dared and each time he heard bullets hitting his machine. When he finally touched ground and came to a stop he was shaking uncontrollably. The Nieuport flashed overhead and was gone. Once he got his nerves he made the short hop back to Martincourt just in time to see Hummel, Jasta 7’s new green replacement being helped from the cockpit. He wasn’t hit. Just so shook up by his first combat that his legs had gone to jelly.

In the afternoon Drogo and Mock were called to Dornhiem’s office as he was active Kommandant. “I will be transferring out tomorrow. It has been an honor to have served with you both.” Mock and Drogo were in shock and before either could speak Dornhiem spoke again. “These will be my last orders. You two will take your old machines to the depot at Gent and pick up your new D II’s. Be back day after tomorrow. That should give you plenty of time. Dismissed.”

The two flyers saluted and left. Once outside they were jumping with joy. New machines!


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!
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