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#4516460 - 04/15/20 12:51 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) ***** [Re: Raine]  
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Beanie Offline
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Vizefeldwebel Karl Roth
Jasta 6
Wassigny 1917

Mission: 87
Flight Hours: 117
Kills: 10
Kills Claimed: 10

French Sopwith Strutter: 3
French Nieuport 17: 2
French Nieuport 23: 2
British BE2c: 1
British Sopwith Pup: 1
Observation Balloon: 1


'Der Fuchs'

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'BWOC BWOC BWOC'
#4516461 - 04/15/20 12:54 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Beanie Offline
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Lou - With that paint job are you trying the bind the enemy!


'Der Fuchs'

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#4516463 - 04/15/20 01:10 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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yup biggrin

.

#4516483 - 04/15/20 02:20 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: RAF_Louvert]  
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Fullofit Offline
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Originally Posted by RAF_Louvert
Fullofit - The Baron is dead?

Yup, or at least that's what the British propaganda will let you believe. You are welcome.

[Linked Image]

Beanie, 10 out of 10! That is some lucky streak with those claims! Which General's daughter did Herr Roth have to sleep with to pull that off? winkngrin

Attached Files 1917-04-15.JPG

"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."
#4516492 - 04/15/20 02:42 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Beanie Offline
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Fullofit - 99 kills that's impressive, also get to bag the baron himself

When it comes to claims I only make claims on aircraft I see flame or crash. I also put down as much information concerning the enemy as that seems to help. I also use the excellent claims template that was put on the forum.


'Der Fuchs'

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#4516496 - 04/15/20 02:51 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fullofit Offline
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I also claim only flamers and crashes and I even have moving pictures to prove it, but my claim rate is roughly 2:1. Toby needs a General’s daughter.
If you watch that last vid, you will see that the Baron was one of the easiest kills. Lou is right. Someone green was flying the red plane.


"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."
#4516498 - 04/15/20 02:54 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Beanie, I also only claim aeroplanes that I see flame or crash, but my man's rate is about the same as Fullofit's, a little better than half get confirmed. Over the years I have tried giving more info, less info, no info at all, with witnesses and without, and it honestly does not seem to matter. The ratio has always been about the same for me over the course of a pilot's career.

Now to MvR, Swany shot him down as well. The Captain doesn't know that of course as he does not have access to the God button, but I looked and it was the Baron. That Hun has more lives than a cat.

And oh man Fullofit, what kind of party are they going to have in camp when Toby gets that next one confirmed? Better be quite the blow-out.

.

#4516501 - 04/15/20 03:17 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fullofit Offline
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Lou, I’m thinking of dividing my score by 10 so it doesn’t look this ridiculous. Toby is therefore on his ... (divide by 10, carry the four, add three and multiply by eight) ... on his 9.9 kill. Next one will be an even 10.


"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."
#4516513 - 04/15/20 03:45 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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That higher math is tricky, Fullofit. I'm thinking for my next pilot to only count every other confirmed kill, it would keep things at a more believable level. Or, we could set our player's guns to their least accurate and see if that might do the trick.

.

#4516524 - 04/15/20 04:17 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fullofit Offline
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Lou, it’s the same thing, you’re just being more generous to yourself. Instead of dividing by 10, you are dividing by 2 (then carry 6, subtract 3 and round up). salute


"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."
#4516528 - 04/15/20 04:45 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Beanie Offline
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So I am about due a rejected claim or claim(s) - I need to get the general's daughter another present!


'Der Fuchs'

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'BWOC BWOC BWOC'
#4516532 - 04/15/20 05:10 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fullofit Offline
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Well, a present would be nice and then a little something. But make sure there are no witnesses when you make that claim winkngrin


"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."
#4516537 - 04/15/20 05:24 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Beanie Offline
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Karl Roth new paint job. Not has flamboyant as Lou's but it does have beer! cheers

Fullofit - now you know why Karl is always smiling salute

Attached Files Shot04-15-20-18-09-00.jpg
Last edited by Beanie; 04/15/20 05:27 PM.

'Der Fuchs'

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'BWOC BWOC BWOC'
#4516539 - 04/15/20 05:36 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fullofit Offline
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Beer is good. Is that the reason he’s always smiling?


"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."
#4516541 - 04/15/20 05:45 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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It's a happy monk that has a beer. Which reminds me of their traditional table prayer: "Beer is great, beer is good, always drink it when you should. Amen."

.

#4516550 - 04/15/20 07:00 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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epower Offline
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Boy, has this been quite the expedition. After some very tough sledding, I think I'm through to the other side. Let's hope I don't have to do that much research for one entry again.
Apologies for the length of the installment below but chopping it up when I'm still 9 days behind didn't make much sense.

_______________________________________________________

28 March 1917,
Boulogne to St. Omer
The train moves ponderously. I doubt we’re making more than 10 mph. At this rate I won’t arrive until mid-afternoon. Dear Lord, another stop…
________________________________________________


Quite the send-off my final night at Gosport. Much singing and toasting in the mess. I think the others know they'll ship out soon. The Old Man himself presented me with my wings, of which I am immensely proud.

Off to London on the 23rd. At Fortnum & Mason and I arranged a care package of tea and other goodies for Eliza. Treated myself to a fine dinner. A night out in London beckoned, but my thoughts were elsewhere, so I contented myself with a visit to Trafalgar square and Picadilly Circus, then spent the remainder of the evening with Father’s Iliad. Morning train to Folkestone.


29. March 1917
Pilot’s pool
St. Omer, France

Didn’t arrive yesterday until 1700. Nine hours on that awful train. One bright spot though. My late arrival got me a freshly vacated billet here. Most of the replacement pilots are staying in town.
The Aircraft Park at St. Omer is a sprawling, haphazard looking complex of support buildings, Nissen huts and scores of hangars, practically a small city unto itself. I’ve never seen so many aeroplanes in one place before. There must be well over a thousand men working here.

Met with the CO this morning.

“Gosport…some hours in Bristols…not many in the DH, none in the Nieuport. He paused and continued reading my logbook. “Eight whole hours in Sopwiths … nearly enough to make you dangerous, Winningstad. But to whom? You’ve logged more time than many of the chaps coming through here. I’m surprised you didn’t get orders sooner. Let’s get you a little more time in something you might actually fly. Take up one of the Pups over there and get familiar with the countryside, then this afternoon have a go in a Bristol. To the West, Winningstad, always to the West is that clear?”
I have a chance, anyway. The Bristol seems a fine machine, but she’s no Pup.

30 March, 1917
St. Omer, France

Up at dawn and off in the Pup. When I returned, several pilots collecting aircraft for their squadrons dropped into the mess. They weren’t sugar coating anything about the situation at the front. We listened intently as they spoke about recent losses, and the new V-strut Albatros scout which is so much faster than our machines.
High winds cancelled all afternoon flights, so with 7 fellow replacement pilots I headed into St. Omer to their favorite estaminet. Over several bottles of a lovely red, Petrus I think it was called, we kicked about the revelations of the ferry pilots. A couple fellows called it a ploy to frighten the new lads. I didn’t think so, and neither did most of the others. Those pilots were recounting events they’d witnessed first-hand and men they’d known, now Gone West. These weren’t sea stories to frighten the greenhorns.

31 March, 1917
St Omer, France

Flying as the weather permits. This morning I was happily stunting about in the Pup, surveying my aerial domain, when some sneaky #%&*$# crept up on me unawares. Never saw him until his Pup drew alongside. Gave me a terrible shock. He sat there for a long moment smiling, then waved and peeled away. By now I’d recovered some of my composure and angrily gave chase, but he was gone. Vanished completely. Where the hell did he go?! Rage cooled and reason returned. My visitor was just skylarking and having some sport, but as they say in Olde Blighty, it put the wind up me something fierce. I slunk back to St. Omer, thoroughly chastened, knowing full well I’d been caught woolgathering.
If he were a Hun, Oliver? “Dear Mr & Mrs Winningstad, it is my sad duty to report… “

Up in the Bristol I spent the entire flight gently changing heading, craning my neck about with the sole purpose of sighting other aeroplanes. I saw three separate flights – two below and one high, high above. My God! Have there always been this many aircraft aloft?


1 April, 1917

St. Omer, France

Summoned to the Adjutant this afternoon. I’m posted to No. 54 Squadron! Sopwith Pups. Fortuna be praised! They’re sending transport for me tomorrow morning. 54 Sqn. are in Chipilly near the Somme. I think Eliza is in that area with 55 CCS, but I’m not entirely sure. The censor, ever vigilant, consistently blacks anything in her letters hinting at location. I dashed off a quick note to Eliza with the good news, and then wrote Mother and Father a long letter.

2 April 1917
St. Omer, France

Waiting. Waiting. Morning come and gone.

After lunch, a pilot at the next table held forth on a wide variety of subjects ranging from aerial tactics to the proper conduct of the war. I hadn’t seen him before. An Irishman, by his accent. When his companions excused themselves, we set to talking. He wasn’t shy about sharing his opinions, and he had some rather unorthodox ideas about air fighting.

“You’ve seen front line service before I take it?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he said.
Confident fellow. At that moment, a sergeant approached and announced that my transport had arrived.

“Well, I’m off. My name’s Winningstad, by the way.”
We shook hands.
“Mannock,” he replied. “Good luck to you.”


Chipilly lies almost 70 miles south of St. Omer as the crow flies, and nearly 100 miles by road. Transport turned out the be the observer’s seat of a DH. Quite the stroke of luck. The thought of 100 miles in a Crossley on these crowded mud-churned roads, or another adventure on a French train was not a pleasant one. Approaching Chipilly from the East, we flew over a small lake and touched down at a field surrounded on three sides by low hills.

[Linked Image]

All flights were away on afternoon patrol and the aerodrome felt deserted. I sat in the squadron office with Major Kelham Horn, OC, answering his many questions about my background, and my flying hours, but most of his inquiry concerned my time at Upavon and Gosport.
“The Major give you those wings himself?”
“He did, sir.”
“Very good, Winningstad,” he said. “Welcome to 54 Squadron. Corporal Biggins here will show you to your billet. Tomorrow we’ll get you acquainted with the lay of the land.”

Very high spirits in the mess after dinner. I went round the room with Captain Nicholson, our Adjutant. As he introduced me to the squadron, I discovered the cause for celebration. This morning Sutton bagged his first Hun and confirmation had just come through.

Another surprise, Strugnell, is here. Captain Strugnell now, and as it turns out, my new Flight Commander.
“Still floating in midair, Winningstad?” he said with a slight grin.
“No sir.”
“Let’s get you another drink, then.”


3 April 1917

Chipilly, France

Rain this morning. All flights grounded. Maybe I can get out this afternoon.

I settled into the mess and spent the morning studying the sector map the Adj gave me.
Around 1030 Strugnell walked past and seeing the map and my scattered notes, he stopped.
“Be able to draw this from memory. Remember to map into Hunland as well. There will be a test later,” he said with an amused smile.

I wasn’t sure if he was joking. Sure enough, an hour later he returned, turned the sector map over on the table and handed me a blank sheet of paper. You have 10 minutes, Winningstad. Begin.”

“Time!” Examining my work, he scowled. “You missed quite a few forward aerodromes. You must know where the forward fields are. All of them. Continue Winningstad, except this time,” he rotated the map a quarter turn, "draw it from Hunland, so you can find your way home.”

Rain all afternoon. No flight for me today.

Returning the map to Captain Nicholson, I asked if he knew where 55 CCS were.
He thought for a moment and said, “Grovetown. South of Meaulte. About 3 or 4 miles away.”
He saw my face light up but said nothing.
“The road Northeast from Morlancourt,” he said dryly, and returned to his reports.

Eliza so close! I must see her and soon. My plans for arranging transport died in the cradle, however, as Major Horn approached and introduced me to Flight Sergeant MacDonald, the Chief Mechanic. This latter worthy took me on a long, looping tour of the maintenance facilities, gun butts and finally to the hangar where I met my Pup. There he left me in the keeping of Corporals Mitchell and Johnson, my mechanic and rigger, respectively.

A6215 had a weathered look to her and given the number of sailmaker’s patches, she’d seen some action. Corporal Mitchell followed me as I walked around the aeroplane.
“She may look a little worn, sir” he said, “but the motor’s tip top and she’ll fly true.”
“Aye, that she will, sir,” added Corporal Johnson. “Wires are all nearly new, but not so new that they’ve not stretched a wee bit. Ah trued ‘em up this very morning. Ye must tell us, sir, after each flight how she goes.”

4 April 1917
Chipilly, France

After another morning of map study with Professor Strugnell, I have a better sense of the territory, or so I believe. Most of the squadron spent the day in the village, but talk is brewing of a trip to Corbie if rain continues tomorrow.

5 April 1917
Chipilly, France

Morning rain. By early afternoon all flights cancelled for the day. The Corbie Expedition was on and I gratefully tagged along.

“I say, where are we going? Corbie’s that way. In the opposite direction.”
“We’re dropping off Winningstad first.”
"Why? He's new. He can walk."

At Grovetown I hopped off the lorry to some hooting and choice comments.
“I see now. A recce of the local nurses, eh Winningstad? You’re a quick operator. Or have you got clap?”

Grovetown was quiet in the late afternoon. That wouldn’t last, not with what was coming. I found the reception tent. A Sister informed me Eliza was out but would return within half an hour. I walked the grounds marveling at the number of large tents serving as hospital wards, almost seventy all told. No. 55 Casualty Clearing Station lay spread out across fields near a small wood. A rail spur of the main line from Albert ran through the site. This way the wounded would travel to the main rear area hospitals. No trains today but a constant stream of trucks delivering supplies, then heading north towards Albert.

[Linked Image]

Completing my circuit, I stood outside the reception tent. The weather was clearing. We’d be flying tomorrow. Not far away, I saw two people emerge from the railway garden. They looked as lovers, arm in arm, returning home after a stroll. It was Eliza, accompanied by an infantry officer.

As they drew near, I saw Eliza’s companion to be a Major. I didn’t recognize his collar badge. He was tall, well over 6 feet, fair of face, with large blue eyes that looked out on a world he no doubt considered his own. Phoebus Apollo come down from Olympus. The Major was an incredibly handsome man and knew it. He approached wearing an easy smile.

As I saluted the Major, Eliza recognized me, and in some shock and surprise, cried, “Oliver!”

“You know Miss Ludlow, Leftenant?”
“Yes, sir. We sailed from America on Laconia.”
“Ah. How interesting that must have been for you.”

Apollo returned his attention to Eliza.

“My dear, I must depart. Thank you for a delightful afternoon.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. My thoughts turned to murder.
Training his Olympian gaze upon me, he nodded slightly, as one might when acknowledging an inferior.
“Good day Leftenant.”
“Good day, sir.” I saluted. Was I supposed to do that?
He smiled his easy smile, returned my salute, and walked off to a waiting car.

That smug, condescending SOB! He saw how I looked at Eliza right off, and wasn’t remotely concerned. He thinks he’s there with her! Sing Goddess the anger… Eliza’s voice drew me back.

“Oh Oliver, how are you here?” She took both my hands in hers. “I only got your note this morning. You are so close by and…” Smiling, she stepped back, appraising me as if for the first time. “You have your wings. How Marvelous!”

Same old Eliza! How long had I rehearsed this moment? Inspire me, oh Muse…
“I had to come see you,” was all I could manage. I just stood there, holding her hands and smiling. Dolt!
“I know, Oliver. I missed you too.”

“Wait here,” she said, and dashed inside, emerging a short while later wearing a greatcoat. Her sisters could cover her for an hour perhaps two. She took my hand and we set off for a low rise. Descending the hill beyond, we reached the edge of the nearby wood, and following the path came to a clearing. A small bench lay here. Despite the rain the carpet of leaves and old acorns was almost dry.

We sat, holding hands like children, laughing often, excitedly asking questions, and recounting our recent adventures. Occasionally her attention went elsewhere for stretches of time. At the last, I just stopped talking and let her softly return from wherever she'd gone.

Eliza didn’t look tired so much as drawn. Her face was thinner now and a little paler. The full lips, her smile and the laughing glance were still as I remembered, but tiny lines of creased her forehead where none had before. And in her eyes, something altered, as when gazing into an antique mirror that is ever so slightly out of true. Imperceptible to anyone who had not known her on Laconia, but there, nonetheless.

Presently she looked at her watch.
“I’m sorry Oliver but we must head back.”

As we walked up the path, she took my arm.

“Do your ‘poor boys’ still write you heaps of letters?”
“They do indeed. I have a new correspondent though. A certain “Leftenant” of the Royal Flying Corps,” she said.
“And the Major?” I inquired, keeping my voice as level as I could.
“Major Harding-Royce comes weekly to visit those of his men too badly wounded to travel.”

Blast Apollo anyway. How dare he have any human decency!


“He sounds like a fine officer, but surely that’s not the only reason he visits.”
“What do you mean?”
“Does he kiss the other Sisters’ hands?
“Oh, that’s just his manner, Oliver. It’s not what you think. It’s…” She struggled for the words.
“He understands. We see things through the same lens. I can’t explain it.”

Whatever does that mean? Understands what? He thinks Eliza belongs to him, but she doesn’t see it.

We started down the hill toward the camp.

“When can you visit again, Oliver?”
“I don’t know. The show’s going to start soon, and when it does, we’ll both be hard at it for who knows how long. No time for visits then, even when it’s raining.”

Nearing the rows of tents, a brief rain shower caught us in the open. I took her hand and we raced to the shelter of a solitary oak tree. I put my hand to her cheek, caressing the side of her face. She leaned her head toward it. I felt the warmth and pressure. She softened as I drew her to me, but then suddenly stepped back, taking both my hands in hers as she had earlier.
“I’m sorry. I can’t” she whispered.
“God keep you safe, Oliver.”
Before I could respond, she stood on her toes, kissed me on the cheek, and walked quickly into the station

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________



*Note: While the reader may scoff and cry “deus ex machina,” if not “pfffffft!”, at Oliver’s good luck in finding himself 4 miles from Eliza, the author pleads innocence in this case. Knowing from the start that Oliver would go to 54 Sqn, Eliza’s attachment to 55 CCS was based on that unit’s arrival in France just prior to the Fall Offensive, and a desire to let historical events drive the narrative. Finding the two in such close proximity came as quite a surprise. A costly surprise at that. The Grovetown visit was a scene meant for Summer (should Oliver live so long…) when several months of additional writing experience might render it a far less daunting task. A case of write first, research later. Perhaps not the best practice in the long run, but it made for some highly ”immersive,” if challenging days.







Last edited by epower; 04/19/20 04:12 PM.
#4516571 - 04/15/20 08:39 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Wonderful story-telling, epower. I see we have another Faulkner or Hemingway in our midst! Very nice character exposition, with just enough mystery to keep the reader wanting more. I only hope your character stays alive long enough for us to learn more about the enigmatic Eliza and the dashing, but mysterious, Major Apollo.


“With Major Lawrence, mercy is a passion. With me it is merely good manners. You may judge which motive is the more reliable.”
#4516576 - 04/15/20 09:02 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Beanie, congratulations on reaching 10 victories with Roth!

Epower, that was a masterpiece! Where did you find the plan for 36 CCS? Great stuff. I know what you mean about the writing leading you into rabbit holes of research. A month ago I thought I was going to write about Jim Collins meeting Alexandra in Paris. I then discovered that Robert Service was there around the same time. And I have no idea how that led to researching French winery sales in 1917 and fine restaurants of Bordeaux. Somehow all those stories came together. What should have been 15 minutes work leaves you exhausted and bleary-eyed at two in the morning.

And now for the bad news…

Bertie Wilder lasted only three days at the front. On 12 April he learned at breakfast that his second Hun had been confirmed by gunners at Boiry St Martin. He went on patrol for the second time that day at 1220 in the afternoon. The five Nieuports of C Flight were bounced a little south of Arras by eight Albatros DIIIs of Jasta 18. Wilder turned to follow one of the blue and red enemy machines that was on the tail of a Nieuport when he came under fire from another Hun. The first burst wounded him badly and he began to bleed out. He spun out of the fight as steeply as he dared, pulling out around 3000 feet over the German trench lines. He headed for the one bit of green to the west that was visible through his dazed eyes. Unfortunately, the HA followed him down – or perhaps it was one of the original Hun's friends – and the next burst hit him again. By this time Wilder could scarcely make out the ground. He put his machine down roughly and died a minute later. I was starting to grow fond of the evil little man. It would have been interesting to see how his inclination towards social climbing within the squadron would chafe on Mannock. I had some rough ideas how that relationship might develop.

[Linked Image]
Final Flight

In any event, later this evening I will introduce my third pilot, Michael Colin McKinnon. McKinnon is a Canadian from Halifax, Nova Scotia. Like my third pilot in the first DiD campaign, Cam Fraser, he will be telling his stories in a series of letters to his younger brother. If McKinnon falls to Bloody April as quickly as Bertie Wilder, I may have to switch sides with the next fellow.

Attached Files Final flight.jpg
#4516581 - 04/15/20 09:48 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Posts: 1,523
Ohio, USA
Ah, shoot! I had great hopes for the rascal! He certainly had the genes for it, and the tension between him and the blue bloods in the squadron would have been entertaining to read about, I'm sure. Another young pilot lost to Bloody April!


“With Major Lawrence, mercy is a passion. With me it is merely good manners. You may judge which motive is the more reliable.”
#4516583 - 04/15/20 09:57 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 4,879
RAF_Louvert Offline
BOC President; Pilot Extraordinaire; Humble Man
RAF_Louvert  Offline
BOC President; Pilot Extraordinaire; Humble Man
Senior Member

Joined: May 2012
Posts: 4,879
L'Etoile du Nord
.

Bertie, we hardly knew ye. Sorry to see your new man go Raine, and so quickly. As Bob said, Bloody April claims another. I look forward to McKinnon's opening adventures.

Epower - brilliant! Fine storytelling indeed. And I too can empathize with the merry research chase one can be led on when writing these stories. But let's be honest, it's half the fun sometimes.

.

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