Keith Cunard Mallory
LT, Rfc MC
B Flight Commander
29 Sqn, Ablee , France
DH-2's
5 Kills


Oct 13, 1916.


It was B Flight's 4 a/c against 2 Roland's today 3 DH-2's were damaged for 0 enemy.

Wulfe, what a thrilling episode! Fullofit, a nice video of air combat. Be careful out there! And congrats on the new gongs, everybody!

The latest from Julius, who is still waiting for his transfer to go through...

17. WAR AND PEACE

Sunday, 27 August 1916.

August had been a busy month for Julius. After his short meeting with Dr. Hildebrandt, the commandant of Flugplatz Johannisthal, he had been received a crash course on how to instruct people to fly. This short introduction had left Julius with more questions than answers, but the more experienced instructors at the airbase (which meant practically everybody) had been sympathetic to his plight and had offered to assist him in his work as much as they could. It was an unusual situation, but since the German air service was undergoing a massive increase in both men and machines, such ad-hoc measures were necessary to get the job done.

For his first few days as an instructor Julius had felt himself completely lost. His pupils were equally confused, and so both they and their instructor stumbled through their first week of training like men lost in a thick fog at night. The second week was already easier for all of them, as Julius began to get the hang of his job. By the final week of August, he had developed a certain routine as an instructor, and was even able to enjoy the work he was doing with the students. However, Julius never stopped hoping that he would be transferred back to the front into a fighting unit. He did not wish to be a teacher, and he could not get rid of the nagging feeling that he had somehow betrayed his comrades by getting a transfer to Johannisthal, despite not having had any choice in the matter.

***

It was the last Sunday of August, a fine sunny day. Julius was finally able to enjoy a day off from his duties – the first such Sunday since his arrival at Johannisthal. It was the perfect day for a stroll in Tiergarten, the famous and popular central park of Berlin. As usual, he was accompanied by his girlfriend Leni. They were regular visitors to the park but had been unable to go there together in many weeks now. What made this occasion even more special was the fact that Julius’s older brother, Hermann, was now with them. Hermann was a professional officer and had recently been promoted to the rank of Hauptmann. A few months earlier he had been decorated by Prussia’s highest military order of bravery, the Pour le Mérite, in recognition of his feats as a company commander in the battle of Verdun. Hermann was taller and more muscular than Julius, and he had always been the more outgoing and dominant one of the brothers.

Leni was fond of photography and carried a small camera with her. While she was attempting to photograph a pair of swans at a pond, Julius rested with his brother on a bench in the shade of an old linden tree. They were both lost in thought for some time, until Hermann broke the silence.

“You know, Julius, I think we’re all going to die. All of us in the trenches, I mean.”

This sudden sentence brought Julius out of his reveries and made him focus his full attention on Hermann. The older brother looked perfectly calm and serious.

“What are you talking about? Is it really that bad out there?”

“Yes, it is. It really is that bad in the trenches. Well, at least in all the trenches I’ve been to with my company.”

Julius didn’t know what to say, so he turned his gaze to the pond. Leni was kneeling near the water’s edge, fully focused on her photography.

“You know how I got my Blue Max? By holding a crucial section of the trenches near Fort Douaumont during a fierce French counterattack until our reinforcements arrived.”

Hermann paused and took hold of the blue cross hanging from his neck. Julius waited for him to continue.

“A good officer should know his men. Or that is what I’ve always believed. And I did my best to know them, all of them. And they died…” Hermann fell silent. For a couple of awkward seconds, Julius could see how his brother struggled with his emotions. Then Hermann regained his composure, let go of the cross, and leaned back on the bench, almost casually.

“You have a good posting here in Berlin, Julius. Don’t rush off to the front to get yourself killed! Father can’t handle the loss of both of his sons.” Hermann gazed intensely at Julius, who was at a loss for words. Finally, he managed to reply.

“Hermann, look… I think you’re being overly pessimistic. You can’t know for sure that you’re going to get killed! Anyway, you shouldn’t be thinking like that. It's not good for you. And in any case, I…” Julius’s fell silent as he saw Leni approach the bench. Apparently, she had finished photographing the swans. Hermann was also silent.

“I think I snapped a good one! Such beautiful creatures!” Leni had a broad smile on her face, and her blue eyes shone excitedly in the bright sunlight. Then she noticed the sullen looks of the two Schrecks on the bench.

“You were talking about the war, weren’t you? You promised not to!” Leni’s happy smile had now turned into a displeased frown.

“I’m sorry, Leni, we were talking about the war. But don’t blame Julius, I started it!” Hermann replied and jumped up from the bench as quickly as a panther. “Let’s go to a restaurant, I’m feeling hungry”, he continued and flashed a disarming smile at Leni. “That’s more like it”, Leni said and offered her hand to Julius, who accepted it and also stood up. “A good idea!”

Then they left the pond behind, talking nonsense and trying hard to pretend it was just another late summer’s bright Sunday, with nothing sinister about it.

Hasse, excellent story. It gives a great sense of peril without anyone being in immediate danger. I wonder if young Julius will convince his older brother to join the Air Service. Has Julius tested any new machines at Johannisthal aerodrome yet?
Carrick, stay away from those Rolands. The nurses aren’t ready for you yet!

In a DH-2 , much like a BE2. I have to keep away from everything.

Hasse, wonderful story. I hope the transfer comes through soon.
Carrick, only when running is an option!

Drogo has been told he should be well enough to return to duty in about 5days. None too early, the nurses at this hospital are battle axes!

MFair, you have to talk to Carrick. He should be able to hook Drogo up with a nurse that looks more like a halberd instead.

-___Keith Cunard Mallory SHOT DOWN ON THE WAY HOME KILLED OFF
LT, Rfc MC
B Flight Commander KAPUT
29 Sqn, Ablee , France KICKED THE CAN
DH-2's
5 Kills



Fokkers in the moring then forced down a Halbt The Arty Observers near NML spotted a e/a behind a DH-2 then shots rang out and the DH-2 spun in.

Ah, bugger. Rotten news about Mr. Mallory! Sad to see him depart, I very much liked him as a character. If only those damned brass hats had given him a reasonable scout to fly. It seems even the smartest and most cautious among us aren't impervious to the dangers of the air war.

Ahh, Right U R Wulf .

Oh, Carrick. That's too bad. And I was about to PM you with a tranfer for Mallory. PM me when you want to start a new pilot.

Oh, Carrick. That's too bad. And I was about to PM you with a tranfer for Mallory. PM me when you want to start a new pilot.

Carrick, ouch! That’s hurts Bud. On the good side, welcome to the “D’s“ with Drogo. He was feeling lonely.

While I am here, I have tried flying while Drogo is in convalescing but it’s just not the same as DID. This campaign adds the extra ingredient to really make this sim totally immersive. My hats off to Raine for putting this on and to Lou for the awards, and all the participants. The stories and escapades of your pilots breath life into the whole thing.

MFair: I agree, this version is very engrossing. Raine and Lou put icing on the DID Cake.

Raine: Right away. Sgt Rene Dessualt Lavasure a Painter from Pigalle, Paris.

Carrick, sorry to learn of Mallory's demise. May he rest in peace. Now, this new guy, Rene … what sort of "landscapes" did he paint in the Place Pigalle?

14 October, 1916 08:45
Luxeuil, Alsace Sector
3 Wing RNAS
SC Tobias Chester Mulberry
28 confirmed kills

The Fokker brought down near the base has been confirmed. Toby was sure the greedy anti-aircraft gun crews had no leg to stand on and couldn’t claim his Eindecker this time.
Today Mulberry and Colburn, along with Pellyn were to make a special delivery to the Mulhouse Switchyard. Unfortunately Colburn had to turn back with a dud engine while still over the mountains. Toby wished him good luck as he watched his wingman peel away towards the nearest aerodrome. He reached the target alone without being harassed by the local fodder. The Fokkers had become merely an inconvenience lately and Toby increasingly felt sorry for the Boche pilots being forced to fly these outdated monoplanes. It certainly didn’t diminish his desire to shoot them all down. He could deal with those Fokkers, but Rolands ... Rolands were a different matter altogether.
He approached the yard directly from the west, lining his plane and waiting for the perfect moment to drop his ordnance. His hand at the ready on the release lever. He waited, the engine running smoothly, the control column held as steady as possible. He counted backwards: four, three, t... An enormous explosion rocked his Stutter, he released his bombs prematurely, he felt the airplane become lighter. Toby quickly turned west and looked for damage. The Flak exploded so close that there had to be damage. The bombs exploded below hitting stores and causing secondary explosions. Smoke and clouds of dust were rising from the rubble. He could see little figures running in random directions. He checked his rear for any uninvited guests but all he could see was a pale vapour trailing behind him. He had a leak! Toby began to climb to gain as much altitude as he could. He knew he was running out of fuel. He also knew this leak could ignite any minute. Should he turn the engine off? If he does he will never reach the French side. He will be caught and that’s just as good as being dead. He decided to risk it. His sick Strutter continued to gain altitude and the scar of No Man’s Land was coming up closer into view. He will reach the front lines.
The petrol leaked completely out just before reaching the frontlines. The last cough of his engine and the helpless windmilling of the propeller before coming to a complete stop announced that he didn’t have much longer and he should start looking for a safe place to land. He was able to glide far enough to reach friendly side. With the engine off he could hear the cacophony of artillery below. He stuck his head past the windscreen to look beyond the nose of his plane. The wind buffeted his head, not making it an easy task. Toby saw a clearing beside the lake. There seemed enough space to put his plane there. He didn’t have much choice anyway. The plane was now only 50 feet above the ground and coming down quickly. He prayed there are no tree stumps or ditches in his path. He touched down and bounced before coming down again. He could see bomb craters all around but thankfully he miraculously avoided them. The Strutter came to a stop. It was quiet apart from the muffled sounds of shells exploding somewhere far away. It’s as everything stopped to see if he’ll make it. Toby realized he was holding his breath and was deciding if he should exhale or inhale first. He let the air out before gulping a lungful. His flight cap came off and he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was shaken and stirred but otherwise safe.

Rene Deassult Lavasure
Sgt, Esc N 68
Manancourt,en Vermois,
Frave.


14 Oct 1916.

Reported in and was posted to a patrol. Zee 5 a/c was off and looking for ze Bosche. Found them over the lines at 3000ft and the fight started. Turn and twist trying to get on their tails firing steady. I used up my 47 rd drum then hid in the murky sky doing a re load. Returning the fight had broken up and everyone was RTB The Commandant heard that I was a painter and had a shed to be painted I showed him my work He said forget it.

.

Carrick, very sorry to see the end of your man Keith, he had a fine run. Here's hoping Sgt. Lavasure has a long and lustrous career.
A drink to the dead already, "Hurrah!" for the next man to die.

Fullofit, glad to see that Toby managed to coax his dead mount back across to the friendly side. Those errant bomb hits though will no doubt give the Hun press something to write about - the murderous Brits killing innocent civilians and all that rot.

Raine, it's great to see Collins back in France. I am impressed and then some that he is able to fight and win in that steady old B.E.12. Well done.

MFair, I agree completely about flying outside of the DiD, it just seems like so much practice and testing. As for my part in giving this event a bit more life, it's really all Raine's doing, I'm just an unpaid clerk.

Hasse, a wonderful, poignant episode to catch us up on Julius. Superb writing.

Wulfe, great to see a report from your man as well. Good to know he is still on the green side of the sod. His crew is having a tough time of it and I fear it will get tougher in terms of losses. And fourteen confirmed now eh? Some more palms to the CdG are in order, HQ will look into that.

Harry, Lazlo has been busy as well I see. He's becoming an old hand in that Halb of his. Nice dead-stick landing by the way, and an enjoyable group of videos.

.

Captain Swanson has settled in nicely in his new position as 37 Squadron's station commander at Stow Maries. It's a small group with only three B.E.12s to keep track of at the moment. He has spent his time this last week or so getting to know the men in the camp and his new mount, the latter being a far cry from the Strutter he'd been flying in France. He's grateful he doesn't have to suffer one of these beasts against the Albs, or worse the Rolands. What he has had to suffer however was the same tedious, chinless colonel that his friend James Collins had to endure. The man interrogated Swany for nearly an hour about the article that broke first in the American papers and then in the British rags concerning his record and the fact that he was the highest scoring ace in the RFC, (or the RNAS for that matter). The man acted as if Swany were some sort of subversive or spy, hellbent on bringing down the proper order of His Majesty's realm. After 45 minutes of questions and less-than-thinly-veiled accusations Swany had taken enough and fired back.

"Colonel, if you tink I'm such a threat you can just cut me loose and send me back to da States. I did volunteer to help, you know, I don't need to be here. So how about I go home and just tell everyone that England wants us Americans to keep our noses out of their business, that way we can keep our million or so troops right where dey are and save da taxpayers in my country a whole lot of money. Sound good --- Sir?" A brisk salute and Captain Swanson turned and left the office without being dismissed.

He was summoned the following day to talk with General Henderson who first apologized for the interrogation, after which he reminded the Captain that, volunteer or no, he still had to follow military protocol and show the proper respect when dealing with a senior officer, no matter how large an ass that senior officer might be. Swany took an immediately liking to the General, he seemed a real soldier's soldier.

.

Good morning chaps, some more fine tales to go with my cuppa!

Carrick, sorry to see your man go west, but liking the new chap already. Forget the sheds, I can't wait to see him get to work painting the squadron's mounts

Fullofit, that was a little scary! I was beginning to wonder if the archie ever did any damage... now I know. Not good

Lou, Swany getting get the blood pressure up! Steady on there, don't want to get thrown in the doghouse

Hasse, good episode back in Berlin. Lazlo's not had the chance to visit (yet). Hope to see your man back in the fray soon!

Vizfeldwebel Lazlo Halász,

Jasta 1, Bertincourt, France
October 10th-15th 1916

Rain had dampened everyone's spirits on and off as the month of October wore on. Jasta 1 was still awaiting more replacement craft for its aging DIIs. Lazlo was quietly thanking his luck for getting a DIII early. He'd had far less engine troubles, but it was still too slow to catch the increasing number of Nieuports that they were encountering almost daily now. Ther had even been some talk of a new machine, the Albatros. Lazlo didn't know when they would see any of those, but he hoped it wouldn't be too long.

Lazlo's observation balloon claim had been denied. Typical, he thought. On the morning of the 14th the office received a communication alerting the field to approaching inbound hostile machines. Zander shouted to Lazlo to lead kette zwei and get airborne as soon as possible. It was Lazlo's first time leading a patrol. He quickly led the flight on a steep climb, thinking that they needed to get a better sight of things as quickly as possible. After they had reached about 3,000 meters, they cruised around for ten minutes before making their way back to the field. Suddenly Lazlo spotted several of the DH2 types low. He gave the signal and they swooped down on them. Lazlo eventually caught up with one of them and was able to bring it down from close range. With none of his squad around, Lazlo was going to have to rely on the nearby observation team for corroboration of his victory. He made a point of flying past the lumbering balloon, waving at the two men suspended underneath in the basket. They ignored him. Not a good sign though Lazlo, tempted to scare them with a round or two. That'd make them take notice alright!

On the 15th the rain continued, but they went up regardless. A routine patrol over to Mont St Martin filed to the south west. Just as they were approaching the field, three Nieuports arrived, French by trhe look of it. Lazlo was getting used to this routine and he managed to avoid the initial attack, twisting and turning in an attempt to locate his foe. After standing his DII on its tail, Lazlo dived and zoomed, managing to get on the tail of one of two Nieuports. He fired a short burst, narrowly missing Von Keudell's machine! After a short period the Nieuports decided they'd had enough and took off for the lines. No point in pursuing, thought Lazlo, as he turned back for home.


To be continued......

Rene Deassult Lavasure
Sgt, Esc N 68
Manancourt,en Vermois,
France,

Oct 15. 1916.

Standing line Patrol , 2 Section put up 3 a/c while 1 Section put up 2 as rovers, Spotted and attacked a flight of recon types, 1 Section attacked 1st and forced one into a spin ( Kill ? ) My section started banging away at Zee Bosche machines, I used up a full 97 rd drum Hits ? then pulled off to reload. The e/a just nosed down for home and departed in the haze.

Enjoying the stories, all. Looks like Toby Mulberry has a pretty close call - must be scary getting a fuel leak now that it can lead to you being torched! Already enjoying Rene Lavasure - hoping to see more good things from him! 'Big Red' will have to watch out for those Nieuports! Deadly, they are. Good to see Swany settled in at Stow.

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

October 14th, 1916.

On the morning of the 2nd, as we sat quietly eating our breakfast in the dining room of Pomme d’Or, Capitane Thenault cleared his throat at the head of the table. “Adjutant Blanchon is presumed killed until further notice. A replacement pilot will arrive within the next few days”. We bowed our heads in silence. For two days we had held out that we might receive word of our comrade, but we all knew the truth. Constantin was dead, lying somewhere in his wrecked Nieuport among the hills of the Alsace.

The patrols resumed their usual emptiness, with no sight of the Germans for days. In the mess at Luxeuil and back at the Hotel, our way of life continued in drink and song, and slowly our spirits returned, spurred onwards by a will for revenge. Lufbery, above all else, took to the skies each day with a fresh determination, vowing vengeance for his lost friends.

After returning from our patrol on October 8th, we made our way to the mess. Beside the bar I saw Lawrence Rumsey speaking with a tall, lean pilot I didn’t recognise. As I made my way to order my drink, Rumsey intercepted me. “Hey, James, how’d the patrol go?” he asked. “Oh, same old. Nothing but grey skies”. Behind Rumsey I noted the unfamiliar pilot, casually leaned with one elbow on the bartop, listening intently.

Rumsey gestured to him. “Hard luck. But, look! The new pilot’s here. James, this is Raymond Elmore. Raymond, this is James Fullard”. I waved a disinterested hello, before ordering myself a whiskey. As I reached into my pocket to retrieve my purse, I heard a quiet, gentle Georgia accent drift over my shoulder. “Allow me, sir”. Turning, I saw Elmore reach across and place two francs on the countertop. “And one for myself, if you will,” he said to the bartender. “Thanks,” I muttered, sipping my drink. Elmore winked and offered me a cigarette, which I took.

For the first time I studied the newcomer. He held himself with an air of dignity and poise, his casual posture somehow elegant, aristocratic. He wore a thin moustache, its edges slightly upturned, above which were two almond-shaped, deep brown eyes and short-cropped, neatly side-parted hair of the same shade. Lazily he tapped his index finger, adorned with a golden signet ring bearing some sort of family crest, against his whiskey glass in time to the gramophone. His features were handsome and fair, yet untroubled and hardened by the world. He reminded me painfully of Rockwell.

“Forgive me for prying,” he started, “but the rumour is you’ve accounted for 14 German aeroplanes. You must be quite the marksman”. I shrugged. “I’ve missed more than I’ve hit”. He let out a quiet laugh. At that point, Bert Hall appeared before us. “You the new pilot?” he asked Elmore, sizing up the new man as he lit a cigarette. “So they say. Raymond Elmore, pleased to meetcha”. Bert narrowed his eyes, annoyance betraying itself in a faintly-forming sneer on his face. “Bert Hall. Say, Raymond, you a gambling man?”. The newcomer smirked as he knocked back his whiskey. “Only when I’m playing poorly”. A predatory smile appeared on Bert’s lips. “Well, we’re about to have us a game of Poker”, he crooned, gesturing to a table in which a small group of French and English pilots were crowded. “You in?”. Elmore grinned. “Why, of course”.

As the pair went off towards the table, Luf propped himself up at the bar beside me, our lion cub trailing at his heels. “Like a fly to the spider” he muttered, shaking his head. Rumsey snorted.

As it turned out, Luf was spot-on in his assessment - however, he had the Spider and the Fly mixed up. On the morning of the 9th, as we readied ourselves for the first patrol, Bert Hall was in a foul mood. “What’s eatin’ you?” I asked him. He spat on the ground in disgust. “That damned Elmore’s a card cheat, or I’m a madman, that’s what!” he growled. Rumsey and I burst into surprised laughter. “What, you mean he got one over on the great Bert Hall, bankrupter of every card player in France?” Rumsey asked with a teasing smirk. Bert stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Didn’ get one over on nobody. Man’s a damned cheat is all”. From behind us we heard that quiet voice again, as Elmore strode up to us. “Why, Bert, what an ugly thing to say! Perhaps it just wasn’t your night last night. By any means, sir, a cheat I am not”. He wore a serpent’s grin, almost mocking. Bert turned beet red in fury, but the arrival of Thenault kept him quiet. “My Americans,” he started, “today you will be patrolling behind our lines at Belfort. Elmore, I want you to stick close behind Fullard. Don’t attempt to fight unless you have to!”. The Southerner nodded quickly in agreement.

With our orders in place, we climbed into our Nieuports and lifted up into the sky. The October cold bit at our faces as we formed up, our newcomer setting himself surprisingly well in formation behind my own ship as we turned out Eastwards. We had almost reached Belfort when suddenly I spotted two specks at the corner of a cloud. Focusing my attention, I spotted two Aviatiks heading towards us - apparently unaware of our presence. As they drew nearer I signalled the attack, diving towards the lead machine and firing into him. As I swung around, there was a flash of white as Elmore’s machine shot past an Aviatik in a dive, and just as suddenly the German machine pitched down into a nosedive. I watched, stunned, as it tumbled to earth. Setting my sights on the second German, I pulled in close behind him and held down the trigger, watching tracers rain into the enemy machine. Just as I thought I had him, a Nieuport swooped down in front of me.

In alarm I held off the trigger, as the offending pilot (Rumsey) put a final, fatal burst into the German. It tumbled after its comrade and disappeared into the woods below. As we reformed, I shot Rumsey an irritated look - I could have killed him! We would be having words later.

On the evening of the 9th, to everyone’s surprise, Elmore was given victory confirmation of his Aviatik. The armourer’s report had said he had fired just twelve bullets. When I asked him where he’d learned to shoot like that, he had simply smiled his serpent's smile and replied “Oh, just beginner’s luck”. The 10th and the 11th passed with more uneventful patrols, and on the 12th Thenault surprised me with a 48-hour pass, and so gratefully I spent two days in Luxeuil, flitting about the Cafes and idly reading the newspapers from back home. According to one American paper, the current top Royal Flying Corps ace was an American, and was currently the commander of a Squadron in England. I chuckled to myself as I read this, dismissing it as patriotic nonsense. Having gotten some of the rest I so well needed, I returned to the squadron on the 14th, just in time for another rain-drenched, eventless patrol of the lines.