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#4513793 - 03/31/20 08:26 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) ***** [Re: Raine]  
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RAF_Louvert Offline
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L'Etoile du Nord
.

Not sure how others are handling this, but what I've been doing is going back into my old posts from years gone by and I attach the images to those, then link to them for my posts here. Gets rid of the clutter in the current threads and I don't need another hosting service for post pics.

.

#4513795 - 03/31/20 08:45 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fullofit Online content
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Ajax, ON
Raine, back in the air. Finally! Enough of this tail chasing. Oh wait, you still have to do that. I for one am glad you’re after the German pilots and not French girls ... no, wait. That didn’t come out right. Look a balloon!
exitstageleft
That is an excellent explosion screenie!

Carrick, not a good time to run out of pilots, or planes.

Lou, a quiet day. Enjoy it while you can. I hear the Germans are getting ready for a fight. Hopefully Swany will be up to the challenge. That is an impressive mission count. One short of 300. Amazing!

Beanie, glad you’re still with us. That is a lot of flying you have to catch up. There will be a few bad weather days in March so that should help.
Too bad about the rejected claim.

Epower and Bob, I have no answer for you. I use the SimHQ wonky way of posting pictures. That’s why I do the vids instead.


31 March, 1917 08:00
Auchel, Flanders Sector
RNAS-8
SC Tobias Chester Mulberry VC, DSC&Bar, DSO&Bar, L d’H
86 confirmed kills

B Flight
SC Tobias C Mulberry
FSL Francis Wickham (wingman)
FC John A M Allan
FSL Robert A ‘Bob’ Little
FSL Anthony ‘Rex’ Arnold
FSL Edward Duncan Crundall

The Albatros from yesterday has been confirmed.
Patrol behind friendly front lines over LaGorgue aerodrome. It was an uneventful flight, so Toby decided to change things up a bit. He went hunting over the Front and found immediately something to do there. A lone Albatros with a white tail challenged Toby to a duel ...

YouTube Link



"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."
#4513796 - 03/31/20 08:47 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 3,269
Fullofit Online content
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Fullofit  Online Content
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Ajax, ON
End of Month Stats:

Squadron Commander Tobias Chester Mulberry, VC, DSC & Bar, DSO & Bar, L d’H
RNAS 8
Auchel, Flanders Sector
Sopwith Triplane
222 missions
268.97 hrs
86 victories
157 claims


"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."
#4513800 - 03/31/20 09:26 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Beanie Offline
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Canterbury, Kent
Cheers Fullofit I am really enjoying WOFF PE. There have been so many improvements, it just makes the game even more immersive. Although many of the missions do not even end up with contacts with the enemy - it just keeps you on your toes. I have never looked back so many times. Also I am getting back into skinning - with the amount of skins OBD give you to play with - there is so much choice. Impressive stats by the way.


'Der Fuchs'

BOC Member
'BWOC BWOC BWOC'
#4513805 - 03/31/20 09:47 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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carrick58 Online content
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Nigel Farnsworth Philby
Sgt, Rfc
1 Rfc Sqn
Flanders
2 unconfirmed
Bell Asylum, Flanders
N-17 Lewis.


End of month Status:

19.2 Hrs
54 Missions.



Last edited by carrick58; 03/31/20 09:49 PM.
#4513817 - 03/31/20 10:35 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Nigel Farnsworth Philby
Sgt, Rfc
1 Rfc Sqn
Flanders
2 unconfirmed
Bell Asylum, Flanders

April !, 1917.

Weather seems to be clearing, I was off with 2 other a/c chasing a Big Snooper machine over the lines. We got close then the e/a nosed over and going deep for Hunland. RTB


Attached Files CFS3 2020-03-31 15-11-10-90.jpgCFS3 2020-03-31 15-18-34-41.jpgCFS3 2020-03-31 15-25-10-43.jpg
Last edited by carrick58; 03/31/20 10:36 PM.
#4513826 - 04/01/20 12:33 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: RAF_Louvert]  
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epower Offline
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Originally Posted by RAF_Louvert
.

Not sure how others are handling this, but what I've been doing is going back into my old posts from years gone by and I attach the images to those, then link to them for my posts here. Gets rid of the clutter in the current threads and I don't need another hosting service for post pics.

.


That is particularly sneaky of you, Louvert. An elegant solution.

#4513827 - 04/01/20 12:54 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Raine Offline
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It's the end of March already! Hard to believe. The next month will be a nailbiter for the Entente pilots especially.

Here is the latest episode from Collins.

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

Part One Hundred and Eleven: In which I meet a gallant Hun


March went out like a lamb after all. It had been a horrendous winter, yet today was glorious, with cerulean skies and a lovely warm zephyr drifting up from the south. Back in the autumn, Ian Henderson had passed through a domestic phase and planted tulips in a bed outside our hut. The first three were already popping up where only a week and a half ago there had been a dusting of snow. They would be yellow. I wondered where Henderson was now.

Our patrol took us north past Arras and Bethune and over the lines, where we were to attack the Hun aerodrome at Houplin. Such stunts were futile without bomb racks. The view from higher up was that they were was good for morale. The troops would be cheered if we showed the flag in Hunland, shot off rounds, and provided entertainment for the Prussian Archie merchants. All I can say is that our lads in the trenches must be easily amused if that is true. But what a day! We took off – Sheeley, Reed, Orlebar, and me. My machine had the leader’s streamers on the outer struts and tail. Orlebar was second-in-command, indicated by a single streamer on his tail. There was no idle circling for height this morning. With nearly fifty miles to go, I simply turned north north-east and began to climb, levelling off at seventy-five hundred feet as we approached Bethune. There we turned due east and headed over the lines. The Hun aerodrome stood out clearly in the bright morning light, the sun reflecting off the metal roofs of it sheds. I led the first strafe. Two machines were visible on the field, and Albatros and a monoplane I could not identify, possibly a captured Morane. I shot them up. There was no sign of damage to the aircraft but the Hun mechanics certainly seemed to have the wind up! To my surprise, some heavy Archie then made its presence felt and I zigzagged away to the east. I watched the others have a go at the place and followed up with a second pass at it myself.

As I was climbing away three dots appeared in the distance to the south and five more approachrf from the north. I fired a green Very light. According to my orders, this was the official C Flight signal for “Bugger this for a lark.” I headed west, climbing out of range of ground fire, and circled about just behind the Hun lines. Sheeley, Reed, and Orlebar soon appeared and headed in my direction. I saw two Albatri dive on them but their attack was half-hearted – a few bursts from more than three hundred yards’ range and then they climbed away. We regrouped and climbed south over the lines. As we approached Lens, its giant twin slag heaps unmistakable (Ben Murray referred to them as “the Lady of Lens”), two Albatros scouts flew directly in front of us, from right to left. They were only five hundred feet above us and a mere thousand yards off. I immediately gave chase and one of them turned to attack the four of us while the other ran. This solo attack was most un-Hunlike. The Albatros jockey was a stout fellow. He came at me head on and we exchanged several bursts. I was able to skid out of the line of his bullets. We repeated this several times, a regular jousting match. At various times, one or two of my mates joined in and potted away at the Hun.

[Linked Image]
"The pilot of the Albatros did not slacken."

The pilot of the Albatros did not slacken. His machine was one of the older types, a DII. I think I put a few rounds into it in a full deflection shot, for he rolled on his back and dived under me. It took a few seconds to find him, by which time he was skimming the earth above the German trench lines and heading straight for the nearby aerodrome at Phalempin. I dived at him and fired more than a hundred rounds from long range without apparent result. By this time the combination of ground fire and Archie had convinced me that it was time for lunch. I broke off and gathered up the others. We headed home. For the first time in months I felt sweat running down my back. It was a good feeling.

Attached Files Fight with Frankl.png
#4513828 - 04/01/20 12:59 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Raine Offline
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End of March stats…

Capt James Arthur Collins VC, DSO, MC
Flight Commander C Flight
19 Squadron RFC
Fienvillers, France
Spad 7, 150 hp

343 missions
326.89 hours
31 kills
58 claims

#4513830 - 04/01/20 01:06 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Raine, you know better than to chase an EA low over the lines. But, you did turn back. Stay safe Pard.

Fullofit, foolish Hun didn’t know who he was messing with.


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!
#4513831 - 04/01/20 01:16 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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I'm falling behind again, surprise surprise. I'll play catch-up tomorrow, hopefully! Terrific tales, all.

2nd. Lt. Evan C. Easom,
No. 48 Squadron R.F.C,

27 - 29 March, 1917.


The atmosphere at La Bellevue was charged on the morning of the 27th, following the German attack the previous day. Evan had found it amusing, watching everybody go about their business with their necks craned skywards, looking for signs of marauding air-huns. But, on this morning, neither the Reconnaissance Machine nor the bomb-equipped Rolands had returned.

The sitting quarters of the mess had been re-furnished with a blackboard detailing the scheduled sorties of each flight, meaning that the pilots could forego the trip to the flight offices until they returned from their sorties to file their reports. At the top of the board, written in bold white chalk, were the words “TODAY: FORWARD ACTION”. Evan wondered if this was in retaliation to the Hun raid on them yesterday. There were three sorties scheduled for the day, all Offensive Patrols in the region of Arras, and ‘B’ flight had the first ‘show’ over Monchy-le-Preux. He felt a strange anticipation as he had his breakfast that morning. Twice, now, he had scrapped with the Hun, and he felt that today would be his chance to finally have one confirmed.

Holliday, who was unusually misplaced from his typical seat on the piano stool, looked up from his meal at the mess table. “You on the Monchy show as well, Easom?” he asked. “Yes. I’m looking forwards to it. Reckon we’ll see any Huns?”. Holliday frowned. “I certainly hope not. I’d like a quiet morning, thanks. Besides, not much we can do if a gang of Vee-Strutters shows up, except stay in our formation and hope our Observers convince them to go home early!”. Evan smiled. “Well, I’m not sure! I had the turn on the last two Huns I ran up against!”. Holliday’s gaze turned serious. “Heavens, man. The Bristol’s an observation machine, not a scout! You go looking for a fight and you’ll be a dead duck. Besides, you haven’t met the Vee-Strutter yet. Don’t be so damned cocky”. “Sorry, I’m only keen is all,” Evan replied, and Holliday scoffed. “Well, don’t be”.

At a quarter to ten the pilots and Observers of ‘B’ flight started towards their Nissen huts to collect their flying gear, and at five to eleven, as the machines were being wheeled out, they chatted among themselves on the edge of the flight line before climbing into their machines and awaiting Holliday’s signal. With all five motors running, Holliday made one final sweeping glance over the machines of the flight before signalling for take-off. A moment later, his Bristol roared awake and shot down the field. Evan watched in anticipation as the second machine rolled in response, and then he pushed his own throttle forwards, his anticipation growing as the Bristol lazily lifted off of the ground.

Immediately as the front loomed out of the clouds, Evan began to anxiously scan the skies for any trace of Huns. At just 4,200 feet, he could make out more detail of the endless carnage below him. In the trenches he saw the occasional pin-prick of pink, an infantryman turning his head skywards to watch the passing machines. The flight crept out further towards Hunland, and behind Evan’s back he felt Wickham rotating their machine’s turret, keeping vigil. As the Brisols oveflew the East of Arras, Evan spotted high and to their right a single, dirty brown machine appeared from behind a cloud. Squinting his eyes, he felt the pit of his stomach drop as he took in the sleek, fishlike wood fuselage and the distinctive struts. It was a German. It was a Vee-Strutter!

Wilkinson had seen the German as well. His rotating had ceased, and now he kept his guns firmly pointed towards the Hun. Defiantly, the German stayed his course, above and to the right, paralleling the five Bristols. Suddenly, two more machines rounded the edge of the cloud. Evan’s heart began to race as the three Huns lazily, almost contemptuously, banked towards them. Immediately as they did so a scarlet Very light shot upwards from Holliday’s cockpit That meant that they were under attack. Instinctually the other Bristols closed up, and shakily Evan followed suit. In a blink the three distant shapes of the vee-strutters closed in and grew, and in awe Evan watched a bright red machine with a striking yellow tail half-loop over the top of them. In a flash the second Albatros, this one painted a sleek black and with a yellow tail to match his comrade, Fighting his instinct to chase, Evan held his formation, reminding himself that his was a two-seat reconnaissance machine. Simultaneously, five pairs of Vickers opened up at the attackers. As he turned to watch, the two Vee-strutters hooked nimbly around.

All of a sudden Evan felt helpless and exposed, holding his place in the formation and watching as the red Vee-Strutter dove. Evan felt his stomach turn as he realised that he was the Hun’s intended target. Time seemed to slow as he watched two glistening black machine-guns coming to bear, his tension rising, his nerves straining as the guns almost casually turned closer towards him. “This is mad!” he cried out, his wind being whipped away by the howls of the wind. Just as the Hun had brought his weapons to bear, Evan cracked, wrenching his machine to the right and curving violently out of formation. Startled, the red Albatros looped back up and away from the formation. Evan’s eyes caught a flash to his left, and as he whipped his head to follow he saw the black Albatros now circling to get behind him. Twisting the other way, Evan wrestled the stick and pulled hard into another breaking turn, before rolling back on his side and reversing the other way. The sleek, nimble black machine at his tail mimicked the manoeuvre, and together they carved S-patterns through the sky, the German trying to bring his guns to bear, Evan weaving and toiling to keep his Bristol out of the German’s firing arc. Eventually, at the end of an ‘S’, Evan wrenched his machine up into a loop, kicking the rudder and rolling over the top of the German and coming down behind him. Barely containing himself, he fired wildly at the Hun, who immediately turned East. The German machine was faster, but in his haste to get away he was flying straight and level. Evan lined up his sights, and pulled the trigger. The black Albatros twitched, its yellow rudder slipping to the side, and suddenly the Vee-Strutter fell into a dizzying, tumbling spiral towards the earth. Evan exulted, watching as the stricken Hun fell for 1,000 feet before bursting into flames, before he had to roll his machine right-side up and his victim disappeared from view.

Looking around, he realised that his formation was nowhere to be seen, and so he turned West. It wasn’t long before he spotted his comrades, still in formation, with the red Vee-Strutter distantly following to their left. Just as suddenly as he had spotted them, two Bristols turned sharply right as another Vee-Strutter dived on them from behind a cloud, and then yet another. From within English lines Evan saw two more Vee-Strutters, closing in on his formation. In an instant he recognised their situation - the Huns had surrounded them! Gripping the control column fiercely, he brought his machine into a climb. Before he could reach the fight, however, tracer suddenly crossed his nose from the left. Pulling away in alarm he saw a Vee-Strutter, impossibly close, its guns flashing yellow as a second burst crossed over his head. Wickham immediately swung his Lewis guns around in reply, firing a burst at the German who then dove under their Bristol. The Vee-Strutter shot out in front of them, and instinctually Evan dropped his nose and fired another burst. The Hun dropped a wing and fell into a spin - he was going down! Grinning stupidly, Evan watched as the dark blue machine spiralled down towards the earth.

Without warning another burst of tracers screamed past him - and these ones were accurate. Bullets sparked off his cowling and tore into his wings, and in horrified shock Evan dove away. Wickham again fired, but this hun was not to be so easily dissuaded. As Evan looked backwards, straining against his shoulder-straps to see past Wickham, he felt a sudden surge of terrified nausea. Behind his machine, glinting in the sun, was a green-white trail of fuel leaking from his machine. In a blind panic he switched the engine off, fearing at any moment they would burst into flames. Another hail of gunfire struck his machine. All his courage destroyed, he pitched sharply down and dove West. As he looked behind again, he saw two Bristols closing on his pursuer and firing. The German looped away with the two machines following.

The ground rushed up to meet Evan at sickening speed as he looked despairingly over the rows of picket-fences that skirted each field. “Idiot!” he cried out to himself, realising he had forgotten to look for a place to land before switching off. His airspeed dropping at a disturbing rate, he weaved and tried to find an angle to avoid the fences, only just managing to pull to the left of one as the machine heavily came down on its wheels, rolling slowly to a stop.

Immediately he wrestled with the straps to free himself. “We’re leaking fuel! Let’s get the hell out of this thing!” Wickham cried, as the two airmen scrambled out of their seats and leapt down, running to a safe distance before flopping down onto the grass, gulping heavy, shaky breaths. After a moment of silence, Wickham began to laugh. “You’re a madman, do you know that, Evan?” he asked, his laughter rising to hysteria. Evan stared at him dumbly, then looked down at his gauntleted hands. He was surprised to find that he was violently shaking, and that he felt like he was about to vomit. They sat like that, Wickham grinning foolishly and Evan trembling, for a minute or two, before the Observer rose to his feet and helped Evan up.

“Now, then. Just where the hell are we?” Wickham asked, producing a pack of Woodbines and offering one to Evan. Gratefully snatching the cigarette up, Evan shrugged. “I...I think just South of Arras”. “Well, we’d better let the Captain know where we are. I bet we’ll bump into someone to point us in the right direction if we find a road”.

The two airmen decided to head North, towards where they hoped Arras lay. Cursing as they navigated the various hedgerows and fences, they finally spotted a row of bessoneaux, partially obscured by a treeline, and found themselves mercifully on an aerodrome. Naturally their unannounced arrival, in flying gear and on foot, no less, was met with suspicion by the guard on the gate, but after producing their papers they were let in and escorted by an Orderly to the Squadron’s C.O, who informed them that they had arrived at Boiry St. Martin and let them use the telephone to call La Bellevue. Once Capt. Robinson had been made aware of their location, they were able to conscript a guard for their machine, whom they (to their great displeasure) led back to their Bristol on foot, where they awaited for an hour and a half the breakdown crew to retrieve their machine.

That night in the mess, as the ‘B’ flight pilots excitedly told the story of their aerial battle against the dreaded Vee-strutters, Capt. Robinson’s orderly arrived, seeking out evan and standing to attention before him. “Good evening, Sir,” the orderly said, his tone almost irritatingly formal. “Captain Robinson asked me to inform you that he received a telephone call from the trenches. It appears that an Infantry Captain saw your Vee-Strutter falling in flames earlier today. Congratulations, sir!”. There was a raucous cheer of applause from the aircrew, as Evan flushed, failing to contain his wide, schoolboy grin. “Your first Hun! Drinks are on you tonight, my boy!” came Tidmarsh’s triumphant call.

All in all, it seemed rather a poor deal for Evan. After a night of outrageous indulgence, with Holliday going like a man possessed at his battered old piano, he found himself the next morning penniless and with a tremendous headache. Curled up in his cot and feeling sorry for himself, it took him several moments to realise that he could hear the familiar tink-tink of rain falling against the Nissen’s roof. Almost if to answer his thoughts, Rast appeared in the doorway, his flying coat thrown over his head. “No flying today,” he said, sounding slightly disappointed. Evan breathed a pained sigh of relief, throwing the covers over his head and allowing himself to sink once more into a sleep. He didn’t wake again until noon.

The rest of the day passed like mollasses, as the dud weather persisted and slowed the aerodrome’s excitement of the previous day’s fighting into a looming, overpowering boredom. Evan tried what he could to alleviate this, stopping by the mess and chatting idly with his fellow ‘B’ flight pilots, wandering in and out of the hangars, disinterestedly watching the ack-emmas at work, trying to find an article worth reading in what old, outdated papers he could find strewn around. It came as a great relief to him when night fell, and he turned in early. The morning of the 29th, to Evan’s relief, was met with the sun lighting up the rain-soaked grass like a shimmering ocean, and he hastened to the mess to read the day’s assignments. Again the board’s header read “FORWARD ACTION”. ‘B’ Flight was scheduled to go up at two O’Clock. As he had a late breakfast, he listened enviously to the ‘A’ flight pilots taking off in their Bristols.

Scarcely thirty minutes later, the door of the mess flew open, crashing with a tremendous BANG against the inner wall and interrupting the Nocturne that Holliday had been playing, much to his anger. Swinging his gaze towards the commotion, Evan saw Tidmarsh and Wilkie, great grins on their still oil-stained faces, excitedly clawing their flying gear off and exchanging frantic conversation. “I’m telling you, it was him!” cried Tidmarsh. “I know! Can you believe it?” replied Wilkie. Holliday’s frustration was outweighed by his curiosity. “Who are you talking about, dammit?” he asked, impatiently. Tidmarsh beamed at him, his teeth seeming impossibly white against his filthy face. “Today, when we were over Soncamp. We were jumped on by a gang of Vee-Strutters. I thought we were for it, but then I saw it! A Sopwith scout, with its tail painted blue! It came in and started knocking Huns down left and right! It was Captain Swanson!”.

Holliday raised an eyebrow. “Captain Swanson? As in, the, Captain Swanson VC?”. Practically giddy, Tidmarsh nodded. “Well, aren’t you a lucky chap?” Holliday remarked, with a smirk. “Let’s hope our star turn keeps looking out for us, eh?”.

By the time Two O’Clock had rolled around, the skies had again greyed and rain poured down once more on La Bellevue. Despairingly, Evan watched as Robinson’s Orderly came into the mess and promptly struck off all remaining sorties, including the ‘B’ flight show. Later that night in the mess, with all pilots present, Evan heard the lengthened version of ‘A’ flight’s encounter with the top-scoring Ace, Swanson.

Last edited by Wulfe; 04/01/20 01:16 AM.
#4513835 - 04/01/20 02:25 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Raine: Ur pilot has over 300 hrs. Wow.

#4513836 - 04/01/20 02:47 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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This has been on U tube for awhile but still very sweet and fits in the the start of Bloody April.

https://youtu.be/7sbZ4PN7jkg

Last edited by carrick58; 04/01/20 02:47 AM.
#4513844 - 04/01/20 05:00 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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epower Offline
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For those of you keeping score at home, you're not imagining things. Oliver has indeed travelled backwards throught time and space from the 30th to the 25th.


March 25, 1917 Folkestone, England

Not surprisingly the weather is dreadful and the Channel raging. Transport to Boulogne must wait until tomorrow morning. What a whirlwind it’s been. Was it really a mere 6 months ago that I bade Smokey farewell on the train platform? I’ve barely had time to write since joining the RFC. My diary is a jumbled mess of loose papers and hastily scribbled entries. Today I will collect the various stray pages and assemble them into a proper chronicle of events.
____________________________________________________________


July 3, 1916 - Northern Pacific RR

My hasty flight from Seattle is now a few days behind me and I’ve barely had time to collect my thoughts. It all happened so fast. I do miss Smokey and the boys. Our farewell seems utterly inadequate and I feel quite the heel not traveling home to see Mother and Father before heading off to war. Thank goodness for the two weeks at home this past Christmas.

Father and I had many a long talk in the library after dinner. For the first time I felt like we were speaking as two men, not just as father and son. He was fascinated by my adventures in the Far East. We spent more than the usual time revisiting the Iliad of his beloved Homer. His recitation of Hektor before the ships of the Achaeans from Book 11 was as passionate as ever. Father would never say it, but I know my refusal to attend the University hurt him deeply. We talked a bit about the war, and it was clear he knew I’d be joining up at some point. America can’t stay neutral indefinitely. We’ve got to get in the fight!
I’m sure Mother suspected since amidst the flurry of her holiday preparations she was regularly testing the rusty state of my French. Ever the teacher she took my schoolboy command of the Frankish tongue as a personal affront. Mother put her usual brave face on things, but I saw her brushing back tears several times when she thought no one was watching. My running off to sea was a dreadful shock and now this. I hope she won’t worry too much.

July 4, 1916, Minneapolis

What a wonder it is to travel across the landscape of our country. Seeing the Rocky Mountains, the plains of Montana and the Dakotas is breathtaking. One of my fellow travelers called it Big Sky Country. Boy was he right.
It’s Independence Day and we’re stopped in Minneapolis which is the eastern terminus of the Northern Pacific line. I’ll have a chance send a telegram home and post a letter to Smokey. Tomorrow a new train but tonight, fireworks!

July 10, 1916, New York City

Arrived in New York City late this afternoon, thus concluding my first journey by train. My mind is whirring still with the image of that aeroplane flying over the fields and the astonished farmer looking on. What must it be like to fly? How amazing!
In the very crowded dining car last night an older couple, Mr. and Mrs. Van Gelder, kindly invited me to join them and we passed a very pleasant evening together. They boarded at Minneapolis and are returning home to New York. When I mentioned I was going to England they insisted I *simply must* take passage on a Cunard liner and made one or two suggestions as to hotels in the city. I’ve been living like a high roller on my Seattle winnings and I must admit it’s a nice change from my berth on Astoria. I’m still flush but I can’t get carried away.

New York is like nothing I’ve ever seen. The buildings here are of such a tremendous scale, far surpassing even the tallest in San Francisco. So many people of different nationality, language, and appearance. The place itself buzzes with a strange energy.
Of the hotels recommended by the Van Gelders, one was not only affordable but also located right next to the New York Public Library. Father will be green with envy when I tell him.

July 12, 1916

Disaster! I visited the Cunard offices and for good measure those of White Star Line and neither has a ship leaving for England for 3 weeks. Worse, the plague is here. Apparently, thousands in the city are stricken with Polio with more cases being reported each day. People are fleeing the city in panic. How did I not learn of this before I arrived? Cunard has a ship, the Laconia, leaving from Boston on the 16th, but the next ship after that one departs early August. Playing it safe I booked a second-class cabin, so my passage is guaranteed but my bankroll is quite a bit lighter. I must get out of this city.

July 15th, 1916 - Boston

I made good my escape from New York City and after a much-delayed train in intolerably humid weather I arrived in Boston yesterday. Funds are not exactly tight, but I think my days as a high roller may be coming to an end. I was tempted by a poker game I saw developing in the pub last night but I was in a vile mood and something about the crowd felt wrong – like there was some sort of violence lurking just below the surface. I'm beginning to realize that I'm now completely on my own.

The weather broke this morning a bit cooler. A beautiful day. I spent the morning in the Boston Public Library catching up on the war news. Looks like the British infantry are catching all kinds of Hell in France. I wonder how the Flying Corps are faring.
Spent the afternoon at Fenway Park watching the Boston Red Sox play the second game of a doubleheader. Boston’s pitcher Babe Ruth was brilliant and the Red Sox beat the St. Louis Browns 17-4. Too bad there’s no baseball in England, just cricket, whatever that is.
I’ve been going out of my mind with the frustration of waiting but the day is almost here. Tomorrow, I take ship for England.

July 17th, 1916 - RMS Laconia, North Atlantic

[Linked Image]

Settled in for the crossing which will take 5 days. Laconia is recently returned to Cunard after serving the Royal Navy. She’s fast which is a good thing since we’re sailing alone. I trust her speed will keep her away from any German submarines lurking off the English coast. In addition, she’s astonishingly smooth through the waves. I learned she’s the first Cunard ship fitted with some sort of anti-roll tanks.

My second-class cabin is quite nicely appointed and I appear to have the place to myself. My luck continues! The stewards are all first-rate fellows and taking good care of me. For my part, I’m still playing the high-roller and tipping them well.

The Dining room is spacious and well-lit. Far superior to Astoria’s rather cramped main dining cabin.

[Linked Image]

The 2nd class smoking lounge too is very comfortable. I suspect I may be spending some time in here. We shall see if anybody wants to play poker...

[Linked Image]

July 20, 1916 - Liverpool, England

England at last! A fine crossing - fair weather and no sign of Kaiser Bill’s Navy. The 2nd class smoking lounge proved a poor hunting ground. All praise to the 3rd class saloon - a much livelier place, chock full of willing players. Much better scenery too. Fortuna, in the end, proved elusive. Cold cards plus sheer bad luck doomed my hope of riches. I barely broke even.

As for the scenery, we had with us a troop of volunteer nurses from the American Red Cross, heading for assignment in France. Their Matron, who could’ve taught Smokey a thing or two about a fearsome scowl, kept a close watch whenever they gathered in the lounge or dining saloon. I’d almost no chance to socialize with any of them until yesterday.

Despairing of cards, I walked the Promenade deck in the late afternoon and, distracted by the stunning views, I nearly ran over Miss Eliza Ludlow of Chicago, Illinois. I tacked sharply at last the second and, with an awkward stumble, narrowly avoided a collision. Mr. Fairbairn would have scolded me sharply for my clumsiness. It took me longer than I would have liked to recover my composure. I just kept staring at her. What a dish!! She was beautiful. No doubt I looked quite the fool, but she seemed more amused than offended. With a laugh she introduced herself and we struck up a conversation. She told me she’d left college when the war began, training nonstop for two years and couldn’t wait to get to France. How very forthright. Never met a girl like her before.

“And what draws you across the Atlantic, Mr. Winningstad?
“The war, Miss Ludlow. I’m going to join the Royal Flying Corps.”
“Are you, Mr. Winningstad?” She smiled at me. “How marvelous!”

I don’t remember much of what we spoke about after that…She was such an easy person to talk to and I kept circling the Promenade deck with her hoping the conversation wouldn’t end. I asked her to join me for dinner but she declined. Some sort of formal nurse gathering the last night of the voyage. I told her I’d look to see her tomorrow before we disembarked.

This morning I rose early and wandered the ship, returning often to the dining saloon but found no sign of her among the crowds. Finally, as Laconia docked, I saw Eliza at the rail about to descend the gangplank. She waved. “I’m so sorry I missed you this morning, Mr. Winningstad but the Captain invited our unit to breakfast in the first class dining room.”

“I do wish I’d met you earlier in the voyage, Miss Ludlow.”
“I wish that too, Oliver. Write me care of the Red Cross.”
“I will, Miss Ludlow, I…”

At that moment the crowd surged unexpectedly and swept her away with her fellow nurses as they made their way off the ship. She turned, waved and smiled at me once more.

“It’s Eliza to you, silly!” Then she was gone.


Attached Files laconia2.jpgDining Saloon.pngSmoking Lounge.png
Last edited by epower; 04/02/20 02:20 AM.
#4513901 - 04/01/20 02:41 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Jul 2012
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Beanie Offline
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Beanie  Offline
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Canterbury, Kent
Unteroffizier Karl Roth

Jasta 6 Fontaine-Uterte 1 - 8 March 1917

1 March: Patrol Behind Enemy Front Lines – Longavernes
Kette engaged 2 British BE2c over area of Vaux-en-Vermandais. Lt Karolus Barenfanger claimed a BE2c shot down in flames. Claim was rejected. (Being an ace Karolus Barenfanger does not get his first and only kill until 02 May 17 when flying with Jasta 28W).

2 March: Patrol Friendly Front Lines – Bullecourt to Haurincourt
Excellent flying weather. Enemy spotted but were not engaged.

3 March: Close Air Support (Roland CII from Ss-11) – Hervilly/Montigny Ferme
Attack did not cause much damage to the enemy.

4 March: Balloon Defence – area of Riencourt and Bullecourt
Feldwebel Kurt Kuppers returned to Fontaine-Uterte with engine failure. The aircraft was damaged on landing and Kurt was lucky to have survived.

5 March: Patrol Friendly Front Lines – Haurincourt
Flight cancelled due to adverse weather.

6 March: Transfer - Wassigny
Jasta 6 transferred to Wassigny airfield as their home field.

7/8 March: Flights cancelled due to adverse weather.


'Der Fuchs'

BOC Member
'BWOC BWOC BWOC'
#4513915 - 04/01/20 03:38 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Dec 2012
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MFair Offline
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MFair  Offline
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Epower, your stories are up there with the rest of the best of our group. Looking forward to reading of your exploits at the front.

Beanie, it just hit me that you and I are in the same Jasta! Ganz is in hospital at the moment so keep the boys in line till I get back.


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!
#4513944 - 04/01/20 04:38 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Beanie Offline
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Beanie  Offline
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MFair, I will have them line the drinks up in the mess for your return.


'Der Fuchs'

BOC Member
'BWOC BWOC BWOC'
#4513952 - 04/01/20 05:16 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: MFair]  
Joined: May 2012
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epower Offline
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epower  Offline
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Originally Posted by MFair
Epower, your stories are up there with the rest of the best of our group. Looking forward to reading of your exploits at the front.


Thanks MFair.
I've not written this much since school days. Oliver is starting to get mighty real. I do hope he doesn't cop it early after so many hours of writing his backstory. It's gonna get REALLY immersive (read: puckering) when he meets the Hun.

#4513954 - 04/01/20 05:19 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Jul 2012
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Beanie Offline
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Beanie  Offline
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Canterbury, Kent
epower - I look forward to the unfolding story - excellent


'Der Fuchs'

BOC Member
'BWOC BWOC BWOC'
#4513995 - 04/01/20 08:39 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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epower Offline
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epower  Offline
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Posts: 471
For those of you keeping score at home, you're not imagining things. Oliver has indeed travelled backwards throught time and space from the 30th to the 25th.

March 25, 1917 - Folkestone, England

Sitting here by the window watching the Channel boil and waves heave. No sea room here, just a lee shore and Death waiting. I pity those poor devils in the Spanish Armada if they faced weather like this in such tight quarters. How we will cross tomorrow I have no idea. Still sifting through the scattered pages and reliving the moments therein. I wonder how Eliza is doing? She’s not answered any of my letters.
_________________________________________________________________


July 21, 1916 – London

Caught the train from Liverpool yesterday which did not arrive until very early this morning. Engine problems of some sort. Little sleep but I’m excited to finally be here. I’m now sitting in the War Office with a large number of other fellows, many of whom are already in uniform. I don’t have an appointment. I’m hoping for the best and as I wait, I’m trying to make sense of the past two days. Eliza. Yesterday. The game. Did that really happen?

The train ran into trouble and pulled off on a siding around Noon. When the conductor announced that it would be some time before we were moving again many of us disembarked to stretch our legs. Nearby was a school and what appeared to be a large ball field pitch. So very green. I never saw grass that color in Northern California.

A group of us gathered at the rail hedge to watch the game match. The players stood in a seemingly random but well-spread circular formation around what appeared to be a pitcher bowler and two batters batsmen opposite a pair of home plates wickets. The pitcher bowler, after a tremendous running start launched an absolute rocket that one-hopped toward the batter batsman who caught the ball flush and blasted it far beyond the reach of all the players. A home run? “Six!,” someone said. The next hit was a sharp grounder and both batter batsman and his teammate near the pitcher bowler ran to exchange places.

“I don’t understand.” Oh, how I would regret those simple words.
“No, I don’t suppose you Yanks see much cricket in America,” said the distinguished looking older fellow standing next to me.
“No sir, but we do play baseball. I think the games may be related.”
“Baseball. Really? I used to play cricket!” An odd gleam came to his face. “I was bowling to an ex-County player… gave him a half volley just outside the off stump. He put his left foot down the wicket, hit the ball back at me like a bullet! Never a chance to move…”
He continued reliving the bright moments of his playing days, then launched into a stupefying explanation of the game. Innings. Overs. Silly mid-off. Short leg. Long on. Paceman. Seamers. Googly…My mind desperately sought escape.

Some hours later I returned to full consciousness as the players left the field pitch. “Is it over?” “Just the tea interval.” At that moment the conductor called us to board. Salvation had come at last.

No luck at the War Office today. I suppose showing up mid-afternoon unannounced wasn’t the best plan. I filled out some documents and gave them to an aide. An hour later he returned. “Monday morning, 10 o’clock. Room 613A.”


July 24, 1916

War Office this morning. Room 613A. Staff-Captain Harold Robinson-Hughes had some questions.

“Why do you want to join the Royal Flying Corps?”
“To fly, sir, and fight the Germans.”
“Quite right. Ever been up in an aeroplane, Winningstad?”
“No, sir. I did see one, once.”
“Did you? That’s encouraging. Says here you’ve been some years at sea. Good thing you’ve come to us first. Can’t have all you chaps running off to the Senior service, what?”
“No, sir.”
“Completed school…no university, but knowledge of classics, history…some languages. Latin, I see. Some Greek. It’s good to see you Yanks haven’t completely reverted to savagery. You're not artistic are you?"
"Not at all, sir."
"Thank goodness. Let me see... six feet tall…any sports?"
“Football and baseball, sir.”
“Your American football, I imagine. What’s baseball?
“It’s like cricket, sir. Round bat though and there are 4 bases on a diamond.”
“Sounds rather confusing. Look here Winningstad, it’s awfully good of you to come this far while the rest of your country sits out the war, but there’s one wrinkle. You’ll have to swear an oath to His Majesty when you take up your commission.”
“Will that cause a problem, sir?”
“Might get a bit sticky if you Yanks ever join the war.”
“I’ll take that chance, sir.”
“That’s the spirit. Let me see what I can do.”


July 29, 1916

At last the waiting is over! I’ve been accepted into the Royal Flying Corps!
Message from the War office this morning:
“You will report to Reading on the seventh of August…”
Preliminary training.
I must write to Mother, Father and Smokey with the news. So much to do now and little time.

Last edited by epower; 04/03/20 02:40 PM.
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