Fullofit, thanks for the warm welcome. Frank will not be doing any flying until the middle of December. I just wanted to go ahead and get him in the mix before I depart. Tobias has very impressive credentials! Be careful.
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!
#4498799 - 11/30/1905:42 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: Nov 2014 Posts: 3,269Fullofit
Fullofit, Toby’s balloon claim denied? I still say he’s gotten on the wrong side of one or more Brass Hats. At least his wingman is coming back. And better still, Chesty found time to get all his unmentionables in proper order.
Raine, ripping good stuff, just ripping! I’m going to enjoy seeing how things develop with this Hanson fellow. A big congrats to Collins on hitting the 20 mark.
Carrick, I’ve no doubt Rene will be on top of something, now whether it’s his game or not is another matter. Here’s hoping he gets his N17 soon.
MFair, a wonderful intro to your new man. May the fates of war be kinder to him than they have been to others.
#4498828 - 12/01/1912:44 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Arrived back at Zee Esc , posted to Solo flight up to the lines and back. Took off at 1507 Hrs and bounced a Bosche Scout at the end of Patrol. I must be Rusty or just dumb. I had 2,000 ft altitude over him and couldn't keep him in my sights. I fired off 97 rds in strings of 7 to 10 rds , hoping for a lucky hit. However. it was No Dice as the Amis say. By now. , I was diving more to keep away from him then to hit him, I was on the deck and running out of tricks when he turned for home. Gratefully, I RTB
Last edited by carrick58; 12/01/1912:50 AM.
#4498896 - 12/01/1911:27 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
The binge that followed Easom snapping out of his disconnected mood had taken its toll on the morning of the 28th. Through slanted, bloodshot eyes he gritted his teeth in a vain attempt to ease the pain as Porter delicately laid a mug of black, murky coffee on his writing-desk. “Good morning, sir,” he said in a hushed tone, “Flight Commander Mulock has asked to see you this morning, at first convenience”. Easom groaned, throwing the sheets aside and snatching up the coffee cup. “Thank you, Porter”, he responded, eyeing the little golden cross that hung around Porter’s neck. Easom wondered what he had done before the war.
At 6:30, once the sickness in his stomach had subsided enough to allow purposeful motion, Easom threw on his tunic and blearily made his way towards Red Mulock’s office. After knocking and receiving the command to enter, he did his best to present himself before his C.O in a reasonable state. It didn’t work.
“Good lord, Easom. Went a little too heavy on the sauce, last night?” He asked, the corners of his mouth flicking upwards in amusement. “Yes, sir. I apologise”, was Easom’s sheepish response. Mulock’s smile faded just as quickly as it had appeared, causing Easom to wonder if he hadn’t simply imagined it. “Well, you’ll need to get a good black cuppa’ coffee down you”. Mulock made to elaborate, but was interrupted by a second knock on the door. “Enter,” Mulock yelled, sending a needle-stab through Easom’s brain, and in came a young and fresh-looking Second Lieutenant, his eyes sparkling with anticipation from under his naval cap. “Good morning, Allen. Now that you’re both here, listen up”, Mulock continued, not missing a beat.
As Easom tried to block out the pounding in his head, he listened to Mulock’s instructions for the day. He and Rob Allen, the young Sub-Lieutenant beside him, had been assigned a special mission. They were to take their Strutters over Ypres to conduct an Artillery Spot. This set Easom at edge - he had never conducted such work before, but he elected to keep that information to himself.
At Quarter-to-Eight, Easom greeted Vance on the airfield, promptly boarding Strutter 9722, which had been fitted with a box in the observer’s cockpit, containing a lamp for coordinating with the Artillery.. As if able to sense Easom’s apprehension, Vance laid a hand on his shoulder and cheerily said “Don’ worry ‘bout anything but steering the ship. Oi’ll make sure the guns get on target”.
The props were swung, and Easom chased Allen’s Strutter into the air, sweeping outwards in a wide right-hand arc and turning southwest towards the front. As he looked back over the aerodrome, he saw the two Pups of ‘A’ flight lifting up from the aerodrome - charged with protecting them. By the time the formation had reached Dunkirk, however, the low ground mist rolling in from the sea had claimed the Pups. With Easom apprehensively following, Allen carried on without them. Mercifully, they reappeared near Poperinge.
As suddenly as a missed step in the dark, the front crept outwards from underneath the clouds. Immediately Easom stiffened, searching the skies around him for any sign of black crosses. A thick wall of cloud lingered over no-man’s-land. Reluctantly the two Strutters cut into the white mass, as behind them the Pups were again lost from view. Almost instinctively, Easom tensed again and doubled his spotting efforts. The clouds were momentarily cast in scarlet as Vance launched the signal flare to alert the battery of their arrival. From behind the English lines, a small red speck rose up in response.
Thee Strutter had just turned onto their course when, looking over his shoulder, Easom saw that the Pups, who had been flying steady and line abreast until that moment, were now swaying agitatedly. Something was amiss. Suddenly, Lt. Mack’s black-nosed Pup pitched forwards into a sharp dive, followed immediately by Lt. Keeble’s machine. Easom peered over the edge of his cockpit to follow their dive - five pairs of black crosses stared up at him. Albatroses! Easom was caught between two minds - should he stick to the task at hand? The Pups were badly outnumbered. Should he assist, and abandon Mulock’s orders?
The decision was made for him by Allen, who lifted his strutter into a stalling climb before ruddering over and coming down in a dive at the Germans. Immediately Easom followed, setting his sights on an Albatros beneath him. As he dove, a second, higher Albatros flashed through the window in his upper wings. Wrenching his Strutter out of its dive, he circled after the new Hun, staring into the face of its pilot as they wheeled around each other, posturing and threatening like stray cats. Each machine tightened their turns, and came together. The Albatros screamed over the upper wings, and Easom tore around in a left-hand turn to follow.
Chaos erupted. While chasing the tail of his Albatros, he caught glimpses of the other duels happening around him. Allen’s Strutter flashed past, and beneath him an Albatros. Closer to the German lines, two Pups danced among three Germans. Easom heard Vance’s machine-gun bark into life behind him - but he kept his eye trained on the German in front. A burst of machine-gun fire found its mark, and the Hun pulled up into a steep climb to escape, whirling infuriatingly above Easom’s Strutter. On instinct, he pitched up into a stalling climb and fired through the floor of the Albatros’ cockpit. It spiralled back down beneath him, and the chase was on again.
For what felt like an hour, Easom circled, looped, climbed, dove after the desperate German. Holes appeared in the heavy plywood fuselage as one or two more rounds from Easom’s Vickers would find the Hun. Finally, as the German had nearly made it home, Easom brought his gun fully to bear, and fired off a burst. Black smoke coughed out behind the German as his plane suddenly rattled in the air, and then, with a jolt, the propeller jammed to a standstill. Easom fired one last burst, and then watched as the Albatros sunk down into no-man’s-land, rolling along the ground and then coming to a premature stop, aided by a tree stump.
Easom looked around for the other machines in the fight. To his surprise, the skies were empty. Confused, his gaze swept up and down the lines, but there were no other machines to be seen. Deciding that it was no good to be alone over the front, Easom turned for home. By this point, they were very low - but, apparently not enough so to avoid rifle fire from the English trenches. Easom was both surprised and outraged at the muzzle flashes below, but after a moment he became amused by their attempts, weaving his machine back and forth above their heads. Then, suddenly, the side of the wicker chair exploded into straw-confetti as a single bullet pierced through the floor of the machine, before smashing through the windshield and lodging itself in the base of the Vickers. Bloody good shot, Easom thought to himself. One inch to the right, and the bullet would have struck him in the small of the back.
The other machines had already been wheeled into the Bessoneau hangars when Easom sailed 9722 down onto St. Pol. After de-planing, he headed to the Adjutant’s tent to make his report, before heading to the mess deck for lunch. As they removed their caps and stepped in, Lt. Mack appeared before them, throwing his arms around both men’s shoulders.
“Glad to see you! We were a bit worried when you didn’t show up after that scrap”. “Aye! But, here we are, and we bagged another Albatros!” replied Vance. “You never!” came Allen’s voice from across the room. “Aye we did! Chased him around for at least 10 minutes!” “Well, congratulations are in order!” Mack summarised.
The artillery battery rang St. Pol at One O’Clock. After expressing their disappointment at not receiving any signals from the aeroplanes, they went on to note that they had watched the whole air battle, and had seen two Albatroses go down. Later in the same evening, Easom and Mack were each credited with an Albatros destroyed.
Last edited by Wulfe; 12/01/1911:27 PM.
#4498912 - 12/02/1912:56 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Went on a Sausage bursting party and had a ;one Bosche Scout dive on us causing a scatter. With my Lewis barking, I followed down to the deck then over shot the e/a, pulled to clear the jam on the last 3 rds in the drum. Spotted the e/a on the ground so filed a claim. Rejected. Upon returning heard that ny mates got Zee balloon which was a diversion as 2nd String French Infantry was filling the line.
Lou, with all this stuff ripping around it was only logical for Toby to make sure his unmentionables were in order.
Carrick, looks like Rene is holding his own against the growing threat of Hun machines. Too bad about the unconfirmed kill. Better luck next time.
Wulfe, excellent imagery of flying through those thick clouds. It is claustrophobic with an added pinch of clenched butt cheeks when those Albatrosen finally show up. Congrats on another victory. Evan is on fire! With flying like that the brass hats will have to take notice and promote him to a Pup. The Huns will rue the day. They will rue that day. I guarantee.
"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."
#4499030 - 12/02/1908:18 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Argh, since I got back from the UK I've been spending too much time on my cloud mod, and dare I say it, other distractions from WOFF in the form of Assetto Corsa (where I'm busy making liveries for British F4 cars) and OOTP Baseball (doing audio effects editing for the next version). Apologies for my absence. I'll try to get caught up this week on all your fine story telling and get Lazlo's stats up to date.
Wulfe, just read your last episode. You're a talented writer!
Offensive Patrol: I Led the patrol of 5 a/c and Knocked down 2 Bosche Scouts. We climbed to 4300 meters before crossing the lines the spotted 2 w/a below at 3000 meters. The leading a/c bounced the e/a guns barking then up to reload the chaser a/c came in on the fun getting the 1st Hun then my section slanted down making a firing pass. I watched as my wingman fired off a string of shots and the e/a spun out of control and crashed. ( older model Fokker ? ). Score 2 for 0 losses.
Last edited by carrick58; 12/03/1901:53 AM.
#4499052 - 12/03/1902:24 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Lazlo had begun to settle into his permanent leadership role with Kette zwei. He'd managed two successful escort missions, both times delighted and amazed in equal measure that a) he had managed to locate the assigned 2-seaters at the correct rendevouz spot, and b) had been able to ward off several attempts by the enemy to interfere. Apart from one brief tangle with a lone Nieuport, Lazlo had seen little sign of enemy activity since his return from leave. He assumed they were laying low due to the supposed threat of German air superiority. He wished it were true! While he had become used to his DII, it was no match for the Nieuports and could barely hold its own against the DH2. The Jasta's pilot roster was going through some changes. New arrivals included Otto Von Hohne, who had moved across from Jasta 2 and had 6 victories, and two promising young pilots, Paul Bona and Hans Kummetz, who were both assigned to fly with Lazlo.
December had begun clear and cold. Rumours were circulating that they might finally be getting new machines any day now. Lazlo desperately hoped they would be the new Albatros type.
Carrick, you are still encountering Eindeckers?! Those poor Huns. They have no chance in hell against Rene now. God help them.
Harry, good luck with all your other projects. And it just so happens that there seems to be a slowdown in air activity at the front. Perfect timing to pick up extra work. Hope you’ll get your Albatros right away and not get frustrated when you’re the only one without one. The brass hats somehow prefer to pick on the flesh and blood pilots.
As they were rolling down the grassy field, their necks were craning high up to spot the incoming enemy. The call came in just fifteen minutes ago warning the aerodrome of incoming enemy bombers. There! Two black dots stood out against the blue sky background. They had to be at least 10,000 feet high. Toby’s flight would never catch them in time to prevent the attack. They continued to climb nonetheless, hoping to at least catch the enemy on their way home. Toby was murdering his monosoupape, wringing every last ounce of horsepower from it. He could see the explosions rocking the aerodrome. Big clouds of dust and dirt heaving into the air. One of the huts exploded in a gigantic ball of flame. They were climbing ever so higher. Finally they caught up to their assailants near the front lines, just north-west of Bellevue. The Huns didn’t expect the attack, cruising without a care in the world, already congratulating themselves on a clean getaway. His wingmen opened fire from behind first, while Toby snuck below the belly of the lead Walfisch and pulled up. The gunner was surprised and completely ignored Mulberry’s Nieuport while dealing with the two Pups on his tail. Toby climbed up to level and commenced his attack. His Lewis hammered at the Bosche, while his wingmen distracted the gunner. Mulberry watched as bits of fuselage and wings began to come off the bomber. Finally, the Roland dipped its nose and went into a dive with the pilot slumped over the controls. Toby estimated he had less than 20 rounds left in his tray but since they were over friendly territory he allowed the rest of the flight to molest the trailing Roland. The second Hun had a lot more luck on his side. After numerous attacks Toby’s wingmen were licking their wounds while the Walfisch defiantly crossed the NML and flew home. Even the last of Mulberry’s ammunition wasn’t enough to bring it down. “- Until next time!” Toby gave the retreating Hun one final look and brought his plane home. Once back on the ground, he put in a claim for the Roland that crashed into the field. He wished to have his Pup back. The extra ammunition it carried would certainly have seen the second Roland destroyed. For now, the confirmation of the kill would have to suffice. It was Mulberry’s 40th.
Carrick, the Spad has never been a favourite of mine. This ability is hopeless, and the thing handles like a refrigerator. At least you can run away when you need to. I used Von S’s flight model mod to ensure I was operating the 150 hp version, which 19 Squadron used until late spring or early summer of 1917. The engine is not quite strong enough to outdistance most Huns in a climb, but nothing catches it in a dive. I am hoping to stay with the Spad at least until Collins has his next leave, likely around February.
MFair, great to see Sgt Lucas join the fray. I hope you have a nice break and will be looking forward to seeing you back in December. Best of luck, my friend!
Wulfe, great instalment in Evan Easom’s continuing saga. Congratulations on the Albatros!
HarryH, welcome back! I hope Laszlo receives his new machine soon don’t forget to watch out for that fragile top wing, especially when carrying such a heavy load.
Fullofit, not only am I impressed by Mulberry’s 40th kill, but I’m even more impressed that it’s a Roland once again. As you’ll see in the story below, I think I’m cursed when it comes to Rolands.
An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt James Arthur Collins, VC, DSO, MC
Part Eighty-Seven: In which I am holed again
Rain, lovely rain! It was bucketing down and hammering on the tin roof of our Nissen hut. I shuffled out of bed at nine-thirty, scooped some more coal into the pot-belly stove (which my British friends referred to as a “Canadian stove”), and placed my tin mug on top of it to warm the tea that corporal Turner had left by my bed. I laid out my housewife  on the oval table and took out a small sharp pair of scissors and my tweezers. With my left foot propped up on one of the chairs, I rolled up the pyjama leg and examined the ugly black thread sticking out of my left thigh.
Not being sure how much this would hurt, I took a bottle of Yukon Gold from the glass-fronted cabinet and poured a generous helping into the tea. Even lukewarm, it tasted lovely. I cut the stitches one by one and, between sips of tea, drew the thread out of my leg. Wonderful to be whole again! I laid out a clean change of clothes on the cot and wrapped everything in my oil skin groundsheet. Then I pulled some old breeches over my pyjamas and topped it off with an Arran knit sweater and my new waterproof coat, picked up at Selfridge’s before my return to France. Then it was off to town and the public baths.
Two hours of soaking in steaming hot water were followed by a trip to the newsagent and stop at the barber for a leisurely shave. The fellow in the chair when I waited my turn was Major “Crasher” Smith, OC of 27 Squadron. They were stationed across the field from us and next to 70 Squadron. They flew great plodding Martinsydes, poor fellows. “Crasher” acquired his name based on his dubious skills as a pilot, but seemed like a fine sort. He had heard of my downing a twentieth Hun and insisted on buying me lunch a few doors down at a small estaminet. He went ahead whilst I had my shave and tried to decipher the front pages of Le Temps to see what was happening in the shambles of Russian politics. I caught up with Major Smith as soon as I was done. He was two glasses of wine ahead of me and full of questions about our new Spads. We enjoyed our lunch, the ubiquitous eggs and chips. The major dropped me off outside our mess, where I discovered that Major Rodwell had been looking for me. Apparently, the officers had passed the hat to get a private dining room at L’Hotel du Rhîn in Amiens. The binge of the century was slated for that night, and moving it to the town might spare some of our mess furniture, it was thought.
We drove in two tenders and I was given the place of honour up front one of them. At the hotel, I felt even more like royalty. I was given the central position at a head table with Major Rodwell on my right and Major Harvey-Kelly – my old boss from 3 Squadron – on my left. All the pilots of the Squadron sat on a long table intersecting ours and were seated by rank with the other two flight commanders, David Henderson and Albert Russell (newly arrived to take over from Whiting, who had transferred to HE whilst I was in hospital), sitting closest to the head table. There were too many new faces, especially amongst the pilots were still forced to struggle with BE12s. I noticed young Hansel sitting at the very far end of the table to my right. He and Cook from A Flight were engaged already in a bread ball battle across the table.
Hotel du Rhîn as it appears today. The Hotel Universel (today called Le Grand Hotel de l'Univers) occupies the section of the block on the left and also dates to the First World War. The Hotel du Rhîn section, straight ahead the picture, is no longer a hotel.
The first course was a delightful consommé, and it was soon followed by the finest roast beef I had seen in years. The wine flowed like – well, like wine flows in a well-run war. By the time desert arrived, a crème caramel, everyone was pleasantly tiddly. Major Rodwell asked Olson from B Flight, our new vice -PMC, to propose the Royal Toast. The moment the “God bless ‘ims” died away, the whole table was engulfed in a cloud of blue tobacco smoke. The subbies kept the port decanters moving around the table like the little metal ball in a roulette wheel. Every minute or two, one of them would lift a decanter over his head and an attentive waiter removed it and placed a full one on the table. Platters of cheese and fruit disappeared all the while.
The OC said some fine words and I thanked him sincerely. Then Henderson stood unsteadily and made a long speech, full of Latin quotations I did not understand, that seemed to comment chiefly on how loudly I snored in the Nissen hut. Major Lawrence read a short but happy telegram from Swany back in England. Captain Watley, our recording officer, read a congratulatory telegram from General Trenchard. “Boom,” as he was called, said that he very much wished he were here but that he was still getting settled at his new headquarters . Major Harvey-Kelly then went on about my early days in Moraines at 3 Squadron, and to my surprise he then pulled out a telegram from my old observer, Sergeant Wilson. It read: “Wish I was there and no with the silly buggers that are run this machine-gun school. They are more bothered about the polish on your boots than hitting a Hun in the air. God save us from the English. Anyway it will be better after the revolution right, sir? Have a good night. Wilson.” The majors were all horrified and I could not stop laughing.
That was when poor Hansel pulled himself erect. “I haven’t done thish before,” he began.
Someone from across the table said loudly, “There’s so much you haven’t done, Warpup!” Various and sundry crude remarks followed. Hansel struggled on valiantly.
“But I wanna propose a toasht. The Captain ish my Flight Commander and he ish a jolly good egg. He hash taught me so much. Good egg. Ripping chap. Besht sort of Englishman. Not really English, though. Grew up in Canada. Like a cowboy, shee.” He began to sing “Home on the Range” in a high falsetto. Poor Hansel. It was probably his first encounter with a port decanter. He was forced back into his chair by a volley of grapes from up and down the table.
Capt Watling had a word with Ackerman and Marshall, who were later seen with their arms around Hansel, guiding him down the stairs to a side entrance. The rest of the evening was lovely and I managed to make it back to the tender before I was totally Hanseled (a word which entered the squadron vocabulary that night).
Back at the aerodrome, I saw them remove the poor boy from the other tender and guide him along the duck boards to his hut. He called out to me that he was awfully shorry and didn’t know how he would tell hish mother and that he would have to return to town and proposh to that poor girl. I take it that Ackerman and Marshall had tried to sober the boy up in a blue light establishment. It was clear he had not sobered up, and I wondered if their mission had succeeded on any other count.
The rain continued the following day. Hansel did not emerge from his hut until the afternoon, and then only to pull his port-ravished body as far as the latrines. That night, he ate two potatoes and a bread roll, drank three glasses of soda water, and retired early.
It was just as well, because on the next morning, 2 December 1916, we were bound again for deepest Hunland – a DOP nearly to Cambrai. We never actually reached the line. As we approached the front south of Arras, I spotted two Rolands below us at 8000 feet. I led Hansel and Child in a diving attack. The two Huns immediately made for home. I picked one of them and made two passes from the rear and below, starting from side to side before the enemy gunner could push his machine gun from one direction to the other. I fired more than a hundred rounds and saw little pieces falling from the two-seater, yet the wretched thing kept going. I broke off and turned around to stalk it again from below. This time I aimed carefully for the observer. But before I hit him he hit me. A bullet smashed my windscreen and passed between my arm and my left side, just nicking a rib. The blood flowed quite liberally and I cursed just as liberally. The wound was not serious but I needed to get down and to get a quick repair, so my Hun escaped. I put down at Savy and within an hour was transported by sidecar to CCS. At least this time the doctors did not feel it necessary to leave the wound open. It was a simple inoculation, cleanup, and the tailoring job. But I would be out of the air for three or four days.
Hansel and Child, at least, returned safely.
 A "housewife" is an army-issued mending kit.
 PMC = President of the Mess Committee. The toast to the King ends the formal part of the mess dinner, after which smoking and running desperately to the loo are permitted.
 With the end of the Somme battle, RFC HQ had moved from Fienvillers to St Andre on 23 November 1916.
#4499122 - 12/03/1911:15 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
After noon off, as I have a evening Escort flight ( a G-4 to the lines dropping leaflets.) I hate these missions as more often as not the bombs fall on our side or the farmers think the Germans are dropping the leaflets and complain we are doing nothing to stop it. Added ti that , I nearly get lost or crumple up a wing on landing. Since I am the Chateau's Chef des Pompiers . I got some of the riggers together and we taught Nadine the Chamber Maid the Fire Drill .
Carrick, good to have Rene back at the front and up to his usual antics. I wonder who coaxed Nadine into the fire drill, as if there's any doubt.
Harry, focus man, focus! Nice to get a catch-up on Lazlo, I wish him luck on getting those new scout planes.
Fullofit, congratulations on Toby's 40th confirmed victory, that is a milestone indeed. He had to work at it too from the looks of it, those Rolands are bullet sinks.
Raine, speaking of bullet sinks, James needs to be less of one. Very glad it was but a flesh wound this time. Congratulations as well on number 20 for Collins, and quite the blow-out at L’Hotel du Rhîn to celebrate it. But poor Hansel.
Everyone, remember to post your end-of-month stats for your pilots, HQ will need that info to determine who will be adding some more flash to their tunics.