MFair - My two favorite horses on my cousin's ranch were both geldings. Western quarter horses although one was half Arabian. The mare, who I used to ride bareback the half-mile up from barn to house was a bit headstrong. She'd muscle the boys off their hay when I fed them, so I improvised a rope bosal and cantered her up the hill. It had the advantage of giving the other two a head start on dinner and saving me a tough climb.

Fullof it" Ay Squadron -Matey, We should make him walk the Wing then Use a/c Dope on his outhouse seat.

Francois Gaston Pistache
Chevalier de France,
Sergant, Esc 90
Mix N-23 and N-24 Bis
Toul, Verdun.

June 4, 1917.

5 victory's
1 unconfirmed


I led 4 a/c up to search for e/a over the lines, Found 2 Older Recon types doing a photo flight. We were in echelon formation I was the furthest away so missed out on the easy pickings My wing-mates got both e/a Sadly as we reformed, 1 N-24 left the formation circled then fell like a leaf in the wind down to the ground Maybe wnd and bled out ?
Landed with 3 a/c. Spent a lot of time drinking that night but off to bed in the billets we sang " Hi Ho The Hun must Go. Hi Ho we will send him Low ". When do we want it now where do we send him Low Hi Ho. Hi Ho.

Another horseman! I knew you were a good sort. They are wonderful animals.

Lou, I am glad Major Swanson will have a talk with C-flight regarding the escort duties. I’m afraid they only know the meaning as it relates to its origins rooted in Latin - from “es cort” meaning to have ran away.

MFair, a different title for Toby? How’bout Kaputt? Oh dear!

Carrick, drinking and singing. That’s the best combination.

4 June, 1917 05:45
St. Pol-sur-Mer, Flanders Sector
RNAS-2
SC Tobias Chester Mulberry VC, DSC&Bar, DSO&Bar, Ld’H, Od’L, WS
12.9 confirmed kills

The claim on the Albatros from yesterday has been denied.
The sky was a monolith of heavy grey clouds, ready to unleash its wet load at any moment. It was the type of clouds imploring any pilots to stay on the ground and forget any notions of aerial combat. It was that type of weather Mulberry and his flight were ordered to brave and provide troop movements across the No-Man’s Land north of Ypres. Toby had a bad feeling they shouldn’t be here, at least not without an escort. The Hun presence in this area was growing steadily and without numerical superiority, he would present himself as a tasty morsel for some hotshot Boche. As soon as Mulberry arrived on station, an Albatros came down from the thick clouds and began the harassment. Toby’s fears became a reality. His flight was sent to slaughter like lambs without the comforting presence of a sheepdog. At least it wasn’t an entire Schwarm after him, but a solitary wolf looking for another feather in his cap. Well, this Hun was in for a surprise. This lamb wouldn’t go quietly down. It would go down kicking and screaming, and shooting. Toby kept the Boche in front of him at all times and fired at him every opportunity he got. After a twisting fight the German pilot decided he’d had enough. They then converted to a climbing pursuit with Toby still staying on his tail always at the edge of a stall. The Albatros’ tail was becoming a sieve as that was the only part of the plane Toby could reach, but finally smoke started to emanate from the engine and after a few more bursts it exploded mid-air.

YouTube Link



Mulberry immediately noticed another Hun overhead and followed him, but soon realized he was the one being followed. There were two on his tail. He quickly turned around to meet them and latched on to one with a red fuselage. Could that be the Baron? He fought the Hun and was certain he hit the pilot. His machine went up and immediately began a spiral down into the ground.

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Toby realized he was now too far behind the Frontlines and decided to turn back. He could see the large lake across the No-Man’s Land. It was De Blankaart and a great landmark to aim at. He was halfway across when he noticed another flight of Huns coming at him from above. One of them dove right behind the tired Airco and drew the first blood by perforating Toby’s wing. The rest of the Boche scouts looked on from above. Toby felt like he was an actor in a play, being examined by critics. He’d better put on a good show. Five scouts against one bomber always ended in tragedy but Toby preferred comedies. The few holes in the wing was all the German could manage. It was all Toby from then on. He stayed on the Huns tail throughout the reminder of the fight. They’ve been sparring for a while and the Albatros began to smoke from Mulberry’s gunfire. In the end his plane caught on fire and exploded quickly after.

YouTube Link



Toby turned his plane west, De Blankaart in front of him, but the angry Huns would not let him go so easily. Another one swooped down to punish Mulberry for his transgressions. This time an all black plane with some red ribbon painted on the fuselage attacked, but it didn’t take long for Toby to have him burning and joining another column of smoke in No-Man’s Land.

YouTube Link



Mulberry aimed his plane for the third time at De Blankaart, knowing well another one of the Boches will be along shortly, trying to knock him down. There he was. It had to be some young hare. Mulberry easily got on his rear and aimed. He squeezed the trigger, but his Vickers remained silent. Had he jammed it with that last salvo? He checked the belt. It was empty. Toby was out of ammo. This wasn’t good. Could he scare the young Hun away just by staying on his rear aiming his gun at him. Mulberry continued to track his target debating what to do next. It was all decided in the next few seconds. The young inexperienced Boche was running away, but in doing so, he was dragging Toby further into the Hunland and towards the other two remaining German planes. Toby made a split decision. Run! But it was too late. All tree Albatroses were now after him. He saw De Blankaart shimmering across the Front. It was not getting any closer. What was approaching at an alarming rate was the Hun behind. Toby was desperate. There was a full tray of ammo in the rear gun but he couldn’t count on his replacement gunner to hit anything. He was more of an observer than a gunner. The Hun fired as Mulberry pulled on the control stick, to loop his large Airco. The German couldn’t follow. Toby came out of the loop and at the back of the Hun. Another bank to port and he heard a terrible crack. Everything began to spin and then nothing. There was nothing.

YouTube Link

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Fullofit: I agree drinking and singing is very good. Trying to walk after drinking Not so good.

As for the cracking noise when in flight

https://ericletendre.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/shock1-300x224.jpg

https://claretownhill.typepad.com/weblog/images/2007/06/27/shock.jpg

Fullofit - Oh #&%#. I can't believe it. I had to watch the video again to make sure of what I was seeing. Rotten luck, old man. I am sorry.

MFair - Alas, I've not sat a horse since the Carter administration. Your post summoned the memories of those long ago Summer days and for that I thank you. Oliver is indeed going through his nine lives most Rikki Tik. Hopefully his latest brushes with death will temper his recklessness.

Lou - I will miss Sgt. Prewett as well. A great soul, to be sure, but I fear for his survival, given what's coming. I do hope he wins though and we see him again.
______________________________________


4 May 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Flez, France

Cpl. Biggins collected me at 1300 and we made our way home to the squadron. To say that he was pleased to see me again would be an understatement. I thought he might lose himself and start blubbering, but he maintained his manly composure by the narrowest margin.

“It’s wonderful to see you, sir. We thought we’d lost you to the Huns. It was terribly distressing, sir,” he said, his voice raw.
Good old Biggins. I kept silent and let him recover his emotions.



“My boy, you don’t know how happy I am to return these to you. I delayed sending them. We had hopes you might still be alive, even if you were made prisoner.”

Uncle handed over my diary and the three ‘In the event of’ letters. The one to Eliza was opened.
“My diary, Uncle?”
“Only the last pages,” he said. “We don’t want any hurtful revelations for the next of kin.”
“Beyond the minor fact of my death or capture.”
“Exactly,” he replied. I wasn’t sure if he was serious or being ironic.

I turned the letter over in my hand. I didn’t care about him reading the latest snippets of diary but this last letter to Eliza contained my most intimate thoughts, crystallized in the near-death experiences of two wingless landings. It was my valediction to the woman I loved beyond all. I’d recognized that fact even as I’d written the words to her. For another man to read it was beyond invasive. I was mortified.

Captain Nicholson saw my outrage.

“An unfortunate part of my duty when a man goes missing. I am sorry,” he said.

I made to leave but Major Horn’s voice held me to the chair.
“Lieutenant,” he said, in the calm, low, even voice he reserved for his most savage dressing downs, “Did I or did I not explicitly remove you from the morning patrol two days ago?”

Oh boy. You’re in it now, Oliver.

“You did, sir.”
“Yet you flew, and in fact led that morning patrol.”
“I did, sir.”
“Well?”
“Sir?”
“I’m sure there’s some explanation, Lieutenant,” said Major Horn, raising an eyebrow in inquiry, “beyond the obvious - disobeying a direct order from your Commanding Officer.”

“Sir, Captain Pixley was suddenly and violently taken ill. Time was of the essence. I was present, fit for duty and had to act in that moment.

“I think we both know that isn’t true.” interjected Captain Nicholson.

Oh Hell. The diary. He’d read the last entry.

“By your own admission you were in no position to fly!” he said, his voice rising slightly. “You were reckless with your own life and the lives of those men. Outrageous behavior. Outrageous!”

Uncle looked genuinely angry. I’d never witnessed him lose his composure like this. He was always the picture of calm amid the most extraordinary chaos. I’d never even seen him mildly perturbed much less red in the face and agitated as he was now. He didn’t swear and had barely raised his voice, but for him this outburst was the same as Smokey losing his mind, religion and civilized command of the English language while cursing and cuffing some miscreant greenhorn across Astoria’s decks.

“Sir, I won’t deny that the events of the previous two days were…unsettling, but I was fit enough as subsequent events bore out. Had we delayed we would have lost the element of surprise and endangered the flight. Further, not one of the other pilots assigned to B flight that morning had ever acted as Flight leader. I could not in good conscience sit idly by while they flew in harm’s way on their own. I thought it my duty to fight alongside my fellow officers and acted accordingly, sir.”

Major Horn and Captain Nicholson looked at each other knowingly. For a moment I thought one might even say “I told you so.” The Major remained silent for some time as if weighing options. Finally he said, “Very well. The matter is closed.

“You’ve had quite a start here, Winningstad,” he continued. “Six aerial victories in your first month. Few achieve that. You’ve a curious mind and some aptitude for leading, which is why I’ve assigned you such duties on occasion, despite your propensity for damaging airframes. Do not think for a moment, however, that your operational record excuses you in any way from obeying my orders. Is that clear, Lieutenant?

“Very clear, sir.”

I saluted and exited the Squadron office as quickly as I could, nearly colliding with the Wing dispatch rider on the stoop. I felt a complete heel for upsetting Uncle the way I had. The vehemence of his response was cutting, the disappointment in his voice was worse.

The messenger departed. As I walked around the building toward my hut, I could hear Major Horn and Uncle talking.

This is a bad habit, Oliver. Walk on.

I stayed.

“You put some stick to that boy, Uncle.”
“Yes I did.” Uncle replied softly.
“I know why, Uncle, but it won’t do you playing favorites like this.”
“You’re right, of course. It won’t happen again.”
“Take a look at this,” said Major Horn.
“I’ll be damned!” Uncle exclaimed. “Our first one. How could it come through so quickly? Shall we tell him?”
“No,” said Major Horn. “Let him stew, but when the time comes, you should be the one to tell him. Have we sufficient reserves, Uncle? This could be an historic evening.”
“Yes, we’re stocked,” replied Capt. Nicholson.
“Excellent,” said the Major. “Corporal Biggins, get me Wing please.”

I had no idea what that was about. I was done in. All I wanted was a bath, a nap, and a clean uniform.

My hut was empty, Cole, Hadrill and Grevelink being away with the afternoon patrol. Parker, bless him, brought me some tea.
“Very good to have you back, sir. Shall we see to that uniform?”

I set to writing. I should have died so many times; the three Albatri who shot me to pieces then mysteriously departed, the crazed diver over Flez who almost rammed me. Twice in as many days I’d torn the wings off my aeroplane and lived to tell the tale. I’d walked away unscathed, then come though the Hindenburg line as though grey-eyed Athene had called down a mist and spirited me from the battlefield. Had she guided my hands in the landings, or covered me with the Aegis as she whispered into Black Five’s ear to spare me? Did the patrolling Huns simply miss me or did she cloud their eyes? Uncle was right. I’d been reckless, careless of my life even. If Gods there were, I had tempted them sorely.

The sound of Le Rhone engines blipping roused me awake. I threw on the clean maternity jacket Parker had set out and walked down to greet those returning. It was the dawn patrol reunited. Pixley led Hadrill, Cole and Grevelink.
“Dreadful luck old bean, catching it like that when you were taking my place,” said Pixley. “I felt awful. I’m so glad you’ve come though without too much damage. Good show!”
We were all clapping each other on the back. My three hut mates tackled me and Pixley leapt on the top of the pile.

Hadrill, Grevelink and Cole had continued pressing home their attack on F-U. On egress they’d scrapped with 3 Albs and been scattered. Grevelink saw the burning wreckage of the Pup as he crossed the lines but wasn’t sure if I’d come down intact. This was why Uncle had delayed sending my letters. Mother and Father would not get a telegram reporting me missing. That was a relief.

_________________

0200

An M.C.!! I can’t believe it. I’m flabbergasted. I hoped to win a decoration someday, as did everyone else, but I never expected one to come so soon. It seems impossible.

Uncle made the announcement after dinner and the mess went completely wild. The prize binge is still going strong as I write this. Mine is the first decoration for the squadron. I’m sure it’s just the first of many. There are too many good men in 54 for that not to be the case. Uncle, Hyde, and Hudson all won their MCs last year, with the infantry no less! Strugnell’s came through last year just prior to the Somme show. I’ve no doubt he’ll add a bar at some point.

Struggy’s an interesting fellow and one our best Flight Commanders. He was my instructor at Upavon. Was that really just 4 months ago? His father was a Sgt. Major, so he was born to Khaki. Enlisted as a bugler at 15. He took his ticket in 1912 with an RAeC Certificate # in the 200s! Tonight, he showed a side of himself I’d not seen before.

“I taught you better than that, Winningstad,” he said wagging a finger in mock severity. “Thrashing the control column violently about. Tossing that poor Pup all over the sky. Pulling the wings off! Twice, man! Twice! Did it howl piteously?
“You are distracted, Winningstad. I believe your mind is elsewhere. Having trouble with the fair sex, are you? Dreaming about…”
“A Naval Engagement!” said Burr excitedly.
“The old How’s your father!” piped Hill.
“A little Rumpty-Tumpty!” said Ackers.
“Is your mind diseased, my son?” asked Strugnell, leaning in close to me and staring nose to nose.



This provoked a gale of laughter and a mass raising of glasses toward the mysterious poster prominently located on the mess wall. As an exclamation point Cole fired one of the darts he was holding and scored a bullseye on the “o” in ‘Your.”

“Bravo Monty! A fine shot.”

“I say, Uncle, where did that thing come from, and who on earth are the Social Hygiene Division of the Army Educational Commission?”
“Nobody knows,” Captain Nicholson replied. “It’s a mystery. It was here when we arrived.”
“Maybe this ‘Commission’ are some sort of secret society, like Freemasons,” said Morse.
“Or the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn,” said Hill, with a look at Stewart.
“Not that occult rubbish again, Hill. Leave it alone, I beg you,” said Stewart in exasperation.
“Maybe it’s the Frogs, trying to keep us away from their Mademoiselles.” said Ackers.
“Trying to keep you away from their Mademoiselles, more likely. How many of the de Rochefort daughters succumbed in the end?”
Ackers said nothing. Just sat there, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. After a moment he added, “It wasn’t the daughters.”

The mess went dead silent for the space of two or three seconds then erupted, everyone speaking at once.

“Nooooooooo!”
“Rotter!”
“Scoundrel!”
“You did NOT!”
“The divine Madame?! Oh, you absolute hound!”
“Out with it. Tell us everything.”
“Gentlemen do not parade their…” Ackers began pedantically.
“Yes, yes, we know,” interjected Sutton. “What was she like?”

Ackers looked about the room, playing the moment for all it was worth, then putting hands to his heart he sighed dramatically and in exaggerated French, said “For-mi-DAble.”

The mess erupted once again. Someone threw a napkin onto Ackers head. A leftover dinner roll bounced off his ear. Laughing, Ackers whipped a crust of bread at nobody in particular and the scrum was on. Before things devolved completely the banging of the president’s gavel echoed through the mess, punctuating Captain Nicholson’s exhortations.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, a moment, please!! We must not distract ourselves from the issue at hand,” said Uncle as the mess returned to order.

He turned to me. “The King, for reasons surpassing our mortal understanding, has been graciously pleased to approve the award of the Military Cross to you, my dear Winningstad. You have returned to the bosom of No. 54 Squadron as Odysseus from the House of the Death God, or in your case, from Hunland. Tradition demands that we rechristen you.

Many voices piped up, “Hear, hear!”

“Your name, Winningstad,” said Strugnell. “Vinningstad… VinningStadt! Smacks of the Hun. Did the Kaiser send you back to destroy the Royal Flying Corps one aeroplane at a time? You’re not some sort of Intelligence Agent are you, Vinningstadt?
“I imagine I’d have chosen a more English sounding name then,” I said.
“He has a point there.” This from Foster with a wry chuckle.
“But isn’t that precisely the kind of clever Hunnish answer you’d expect from a Secret Agent?” said Ackers.
“What about ‘Kitty’?! He’s got to have at least six of his nine lives left.”
“Write-off! How many of ours has he destroyed?”
“An entire flight at least,” answered Hadrill with a laugh. “He’s a veritable Jack the Ripper, our VinningStadt. Red Jack? no, Mad Jack! That has a cracking ring to it.” Hadrill looked very pleased with himself.

“Sorry to disappoint, old man, but that last one’s taken.” said Hill.

‘’What do you mean taken?!” exclaimed Pixley. “We’re not naming a racehorse.”

“It’s famously taken, I'm afraid,” continued Hill. “One of my school chums in the Royal Welch told me about it. One of their chaps, Sassin…Caesarian, I don’t remember the name, it sounded foreign. Complete maniac. Took a trench last July, single handed, then sat down to read poetry. Held up the advance on Mametz Wood for two hours. Brigade kept getting reports of friendly patrols still over. The Colonel was furious. Said he would have got the man a DSO if he’d had the sense to call up reinforcements.”

“Oh Hell. Mad Jack to the Fusiliers then,” said Hadrill dejectedly. Suddenly he perked up, “Oh I say, what about Ripper?! That’s rather apropos don’t you think?”

Much laughter. The calls of “Hear, hear” grew in volume.

Strugnell turned to the squadron, “We are agreed, gentlemen?” he asked.
Everyone nodded.
“Lieutenant Ripper Winningstad, MC.” said Strugnell raising his glass to me. “Next time leave the wings on!”
“Wings on!” echoed the assembled.

.

Epower - Outstanding! Another fine read, and a cracking new moniker for Oliver - apropos indeed. "Sisyphus" would have been another sound option, given how your man repeatedly cheats death, but then that one might have gotten twisted into something fairly less than flattering, what with that poster and all.

Fullofit - It can't be! Tell us this is only a cruel dream sequence and not the actual demise of our beloved Toby.

MFair - When might we see more from Anslie? We're jonesing for an episode.

Carrick - Nice to see Francois relaxing and having a bit of a sing-song at the end of a hard day.

.

Fullofit, I can’t believe it! Toby has gotten himself out of so many jams. As Raine would say, “I’m gutted.”

EPower, your stories are really 1st rate. Top tier stuff. As for horses, age and injuries have curtailed my riding. I’m down to two good horses, both in their 20’s that enjoy a nice walk around the place as much as I.

Lou, hopefully today Harris will cobble together his whereabouts.

MFair as u say about horses, I can say the same about Women except they are in their 40s

Francois Gaston Pistache
Chevalier de France,
Sergant, Esc 90
Mix N-23 and N-24 Bis
Toul, Verdun.

5 Victorys
1 uncomfirmed
1 Pending

Jun 5, 1917.


Mon Deiu ! A screw up. I went up with a 4 a/c section to Esc 3 Sopwith B-1's from 123 Esc. Found 3 2 seats in the location assigned and proceed to Escort. We then got hit by 6 e/a's V Struts Ended up loosing 2 B-1s and damaged to 1 N-24. I may have hit one. Upon Landing , I found out we actually joined with Esc 29 not Esc 123 who were hit by a flight of 5 and all 3 were shot down. HQ up at Army sent for the C.O. I think Zay may be sending back Zee new one.

Carrick, your down to TWOgood women in their 40’s! Your my hero hoss.

2nd Ltn. Ainslie Harris
40RFC
Bruay Airfield.

June 5th, 1917
On the first of June, Harris was called to the operations hut before the afternoon patrol. Major Tilney asked if he could lead B Flight on a patrol of friendly territory near Hondzchoote airfield. Ainslie straightened, “Well Sir, if I can get 1000 head of cattle from Texas to Montana, then I reckon I can lead a few machines to an airfield 30 minutes away Sir!” he said with a smile. The major shook his head, “You reckon?!” Ainslie smiles even bigger, “Yes Sir, I reckon so! Ya’ see, those bovines, well ya’ got to tell them where to go And make’em go in that directions so I reckon if I can find this airfield, which I can, everbody else will be following me. So, yes Sir, I reckon I can Sir! The major turned to his aid and said, “brief this man on the mission will you.” With that he left the hut. As it turned out, shortly after reaching altitude neare Bethune Ainslie’s engine went dud. He signaled for Mason to take over and shut down his engine and turned back for Bruay. When he saw he could not make it he landed about a mile north of the field. He didn’t have to wait long for help as the AE’s had seen his smoking machine come down.

That night he was to collect his kit and move to Ltn. Mason’s hut. He shook his roommate, Redler’s hand. “It’s sure been a pleasure sharin’ quarters with you my friend. I’m sure you’ll be joinin’ the ranks purdy soon. Reddler smiled, “the pleasure is all mine ol’ boy. With that, Hurley, the batman, collected Harris’s gear and made their way to Mason’s hut. Upon entering the hut , Harris saluted Ltn. Mason. Mason looked up, “Ah, Ltn. Harris! I’ve been expecting you! I was informed of the new arrangements.” Mason was a well built man and looked older than his 27 years. He walked with the aid of a cane thanks to a Hun bullet a few years back. “You can have that bunk Harris” he said pointing to the one on the right. The past occupant won’t be needing it” he said as he pulled on his pipe. Hurley started to unpack the lieutenants things when Harris interrupted him. “Good lord, Private! I may be an officer now but I aint a invalid! Not yet anyway.” With that Hurley saluted and left the tent.
Harris sat on the edge of the cot. Mason had flown every mission with Harris as they were in the same flight. Harris liked the man. He seemed straight up and he knew he was someone you could depend on in a jam. He had 13 confirmed victories. It spoke for itself.
Harris started,” Well Ltn.” Mason cut him off. “We can dispense with the formalities here Harris.” Harris continued, “well now that’s right fine by me Sir! Not much on formality no way.” Mason laughed out loud, “that is the understatement of all man!” They both had a laugh.

Yesterday, Harris led two missions. The morning show was a patrol near Menen. They attacked a flight of 7 black coloured Albatros and claimed 3 with no losses. Harris felt good. He felt he had done his job. The afternoon show was much different. Again he had engaging trouble near Menen and had to force land near Armentieres. He did not make it back to the squadron until the following day. Rain had set in and all flights were cancelled.
At dinner Harris and Mason were eating with some of the Spad pilots Of 23 RFC which included his acquaintance Ltn. Lindley. when Lindley asked how things had been, Harris replied, “not worth a #%&*$#! Ever since I busted up my old machine, I can’t get one that has an engine that will keep me in the sky long enough to make a showin’.” That brought on a discussion of engines. It seemed the Spad had the same reputation. Once the conversation went to tactics, Mason spoke up, “you just have to be a badger, like Harris here. I’ve seen him so close on the Huns tail I thought he would chew his rear with his prop! Come to think of it! That’s a fitting name for you ol boy, The Badger!l” with that they all toasted Harris’s new nick name. Harris raised his cup of coffee with the others in laughter. “You need a proper drink Badger,” said Lindley calling for a glass. “No way in hell my friend!” Replied Harris. “I’ll stick to this stuff y’all call coffee. A might weak for my tastes but it’s coffee nonetheless. Lindley started to protest but Mason interrupted, “careful man. Don’t poke the Badger!l They all roared with laughter. It was a good night.

Note: thanks to EPower for the nickname.

MFair - Badger! Excellent nickname indeed! Also, my favorite Wind in the Willows character. Not a creature you want to mess with, just like your man, Ainslie. I'm not sure how I inspired the nickname but you are most welcome. Liking the ongoing crossover. I can hardly wait to see what happens when those two hit Paris together.

Carrick - Zut alors! C'est une total Cluster. Francois now has to fight higher command stupidity as well as the Boche? Worrisome. Most worrisome.

EPower, a few posts back you compared Harris to the honey badger.

Of course! I did that , didn't I? Glad to be of service to a comrade.

The Honey Badger doesn't care... It's all the meanest parts of a Badger, Mongoose and Wolverine rolled into one very badarse critter.

Honey badger don’t care!

Oh Good, you linked the one narrated by Randall. Hilarious.

Is there any other kind?

Thanks guys. It was a shock. I was sitting in front of the monitor looking at the wreck with my palms turned up and my mouth agape, trying to comprehend what has just happened.

Lou, unfortunately that is all that she wrote. No dream, just eternal slumber.



Epower, oooo that was not nice making Oliver feel so small. Uncle loves to punish his pilots, don’t he? At least everything is getting back to normal. Congrats to Ripper on his MC.

MFair, Harris is definitely worthy of his new nickname. Hopefully that engine problem gets resolved and we may see a badger painted on his fuselage one day?

Carrick, I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a more sensible C.O. replacement who will ask Francois to fly less and take care of women more. Oui! Oui!

Francois Gaston Pistache
Chevalier de France,
Sergant, Esc 90
Mix N-23 and N-24 Bis
Toul, Verdun.

5 Victory's
2 unconfirmed


Night has fallen at Toul Aerodrome. We have gotten word that our Commandant has been transferred to Zee 107th Infantry Battalion, 220th Division, 2nd Army and is already leading by example.: