Lou, I’m at a loss for words. The last of the trio who started out is gone. We will surely miss Swany.

Lou, I'm stunned. As MFair said, this is the end to the saga that began for the three of us so long ago at Long Branch field in Toronto. All those stories and all those laughs. It has been a long ride and a good one. In the end, at least Swany went quickly and without flames. I hope he enjoys Valhalla.

I'm also going to regret not seeing more of your beautiful Estree-Blanche mod. Take your time and please come back to us soon. Don't forget the rules about.visibility for new guys. I find it really makes a difference in the early part of a career. If you stick with the RFC, at least better machines are just around the corner.

Thank you for all the good times you brought us with Swany.

Oh no, Lou. This is heart wrenching. I hadn't fully made the connection until just now that Swanny's passing marks the end of a 19 month saga for you, Raine and MFair.

Last of the Old Hands. Oliver will be crushed. He so wanted to meet his idol, the great Swanson.

Aw, man, this is almost too much to bear. One minute Swany was there, the next minute he's gone. He didn't even have time to learn his desk job!

On the positive side, in real life, owing to his promotion to Squadron commander and his growing administrative duties, Major (temp) Swanson probably would have survived the war and either returned to the States or become an honorary Baron or something similar in France or England. When the ball goes up for the next Great War, I could easily imagine Col. Swanson being one of the volunteers for the Doolittle raid or some other equally historic mission. But now, we'll never know.

I'm also distressed we won't be able to hear more about the adventures of Jeeves, Minderbender, and O'Rielly. I'm sure Lou would have come up with some very entertaining stories!

Best wishes for your next pilot, Lou! A toast to the original three!

Amen to that.

How can one sign up?

Welcome, FAA_fan!

I have been playing the role of the campaign gods/fate since we started this round. The full rules for the campaign are given at the first page of this thread. All you need to do is PM me with a thumbnail sketch of your man's backstory. You are not required to go through the training scenarios – we did that only back in December 1915 (i.e. December 2018). I will respond ASAP with your assigned squadron. See the rules for your starting rank when you set up your pilot. Transfers and medals are handled by RAF_Louvert and me rather than by the in-game system. We try to keep it a little more historical. Also, I recommend slowing down some of the promotions, especially for British pilots. Typically you can let the game handle promotion up to lieutenant. After that, you should delay promotion to captain until ready to take command of a flight (feel free to consult on that point). Similarly, promotion to major happens far too quickly. We recommend delaying it until after your second six-month tour in France.

The pilot accounts that you read here are the heart of the campaign. The more you put into them, the more immersive this thing becomes, and the more historically accurate the better (for just a few examples, see anything by epower or Maeran or Wulfe). For someone like Lou, losing a pilot like Swany is a gut wrenching experience. You have breathed so much life into your character by that time that every mission has a high pucker factor and every victory is especially sweet.

Don't hesitate to write with any questions.

Welcome to the air war FAA_fan!.

All the details are in the first few posts of this thread, but basically; send your pilots name to Raine and he will assign you a squadron. Good luck and I look forward to hearing how you get on.

EDIT Raine beat me to it with the answer. As to the historical thing, aw shucks. I've always thought of myself as less of an example and more of a warning

Lou, I'm shocked. But for how awful it is to lose a long standing pilot, I think you wrote his ending beautifully.

We stand beneath resounding rafters,
The walls around us are bare,
They echo back our laugher,
It seems like the dead are still there.

So stand to your glasses steady,
This world is a world full of lies
A toast to the dead already,
And hurrah for the next man who dies!

Who dreads to the dust returning?
Who shrinks from the sable shore?
Where the high and haughty yearning
Of the soul returns no more.

So stand to your glasses steady,
This world is a world full of lies
A toast to the dead already,
And hurrah for the next man who dies! 

How is it that this this this game - can bring us such immense joy, and such deep sadness ?

shredward

e power: A perfect send off.

RAF Lou:

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

5 Victory's
4 unconfirmed

June 12, 1917.


Deep penetration mission to lower the enemy's morale . Our 5 a/c just crossed the lines and Zee Boys attacked a recon type. I spotted other game and the fight was on . One was a god set up I turn behind the Bosche and crept up to 200 yds and held the trigger down then attacked another . As we swilled about I found a spot so ran for home.

Oh no! Not Swany!



Sorry to hear the last of the “A’s” is gone. The journey has ended for the troubled Minnesotan. He is at peace now, together with his other two friends. A story that will be difficult to forget. Nurse Mead got the shortest end of the stick in the end. Will she ever fall for another pilot? It is doubtful.
Do the Huns even realize what they have done? It is doubtful.
Major Swanson, off you go to find a comfortable spot on that cloud and look on. The war continues. The stories of young men pitting themselves against each another in the unforgiving skies continue. The life continues.
R.I.P. Randolph A. Swanson

11 June, 1917 08:45
St-Quentin-le-Petit, Marne Sector
Jasta 17
Feldwebel Zygmunt Dolf Hahn
No confirmed kills

Ziggy learned the bad news in the morning. His claim of yesterday’s Luftsieg has been denied. No unit could confirm witnessing his victory. The crestfallen youngster was being consoled by Feldwebel Wolff.
“- Look at it this way, Junge. Killing people is not something you want to keep a record of. Do you want to be famous for murdering people? Ja I know, it is war but shooting people dead is still murder. No matter how you justify it. Try to bring them down in one piece, your conscience will be clear and you will have your proof, without any need for witnesses, ja?”
Ziggy wasn’t convinced. What Jakob suggested only made his job harder. He just wanted to be in the newspapers, have his own Sanke post card, enjoy ladies fainting at the sound of his name, have all men he passes on the street clamour to shake his hand, children sing songs about him. He wanted to bathe in champagne. The usual things every Flieger craves. For now, he’ll just have to be patient. What does that old man know anyway?
Their task this morning was to patrol friendly front lines near Reims.
They were just getting on the way. They haven’t even reached their initial waypoint when the Schwarmfürher Strasser broke formation and everyone followed. Motor kaputt? No, much worse! A gaggle of Nieuport scouts descended on Schwarm Eins and some remnants decided to go after Zwei as well. Ziggy noticed one coming at him on his port side. The snail eater passed underneath and continued on, chasing after one of Ziggy’s flight mates. That suited Hahn just fine. He latched on to his tail and commenced his hunt. There was something odd about how this Nieuport was flying. He seemed to enjoy flying inverted. Was it a ruse? Was Ziggy about to fall into a trap? The enemy continued his strange dance, which allowed The Albatros to catch up. Hahn aimed at the French machine and fired. He hit him and continued his pursuit. Few more hits, the Nieuport was getting out of shape. He then attempted to get away in a dive, but Ziggy zeroed in and sent volley after volley. The Franzmann never pulled up. Zygmunt saw this and pulled another loop above the vanquished enemy’s burning wreck. Someone had to see this one. He was so close to his aerodrome.

YouTube Link

Welcome FAA Fan.

Carrick - You are a magnet for 2-seaters. I think I've run into 3 in all my entire campaign. Love the pic with you and the Alb, it appears you're flying formation

FAA Fan - Welcome to our obsession.

Fullofit - Most disheartening about Ziggy's claim denial. Good to see him bounce back and score on his next sortie.

Shredward - Game?! What game?! WOFF is our vehicle for jumping between the bubbles of the multiverse.



10 May 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Flez, France

0745 hrs. Escort two Harry Tate’s from RFC-34 to photograph lines over Bullecourt. Pixley, Mac & Sutton. Great difficulty keeping formation in the low visibility at 10,000 ft. Constant worry about colliding as we punched through walls of cloud. No e/a sighted.

With Grevelink’s help I created some plans for one of Mr. Fairbairn’s full height heavy bags. After a few minutes watching my sorry attempts at drawing, Grevelink just shook his head in dismay and took the pencil from me. I dictated the idea of what I was after. I’ve let my condition lapse. I was completely blown after a short sprint the other day to take the flight from Pixley and this won’t do. I showed the plans to Cpl. Johnson, who surprising was rather enthusiastic about the project. I think he appreciates the distraction from tending to my wounded Pups.

I’ve just heard the news that Captain Ball is missing. Nobody’s quite sure about the circumstances. It’s heavy blow if he is killed. You’d think the Huns would be vaunting triumphantly if they’d taken him alive but there’s nothing from the German newspapers.


1630 hrs. Barrier patrol. Intercept incoming enemy aircraft west of Mont St. Martin Aerodrome. Stewart leading today with Hudson, Mac and Hyde. Heavy clouds. Over the Amiens – St. Quentin road we tangled with 6 Albatri.



Two of them took an unhealthy interest in me but they were careless with their speed and I was able to spiral up and get above them. After I’d swooped down on them twice, they’d had enough and dove low, running east for home.

Pixley had an exciting afternoon with A flight. He fought a 2-seater for 15 minutes eventually sending it down into a house. He was shot about by 3 Huns and as he crossed the lines at 50 feet came under heavy ground fire. His port wing buckled, and he crashed in a shell hole then walked out of the wreck without a scratch. Incredible.

“I think you might be contagious, Ripper.” he said with a laugh. “Good thing I wasn’t any higher.”

An early night for me. I’ve a note from Eliza and I want to write her back tonite.




11 May 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Flez, France


0545 hrs. Airfield attack on F-U. Back to the scene of the crime! I led Charley, Mac. Nobby, and Sutton. 3 Passes. No visible damage. We need better weaponry for this.

Terrible news. H.C. Duxbury of C Flight went down behind the lines. On a DOP he was hit by Archie and separated from the formation. 3 Huns attacked him then and he went down in a slow spin and caught fire before crashing. I didn’t know him very well and we never flew together but on top of Hadrill this is jarring. No news yet. There's hope he may have survived the crash.

1440 hrs. Defensive patrol near our old haunts in Chipilly. Stewart, Foster & Charley No e/a sighted

Cole went with Strugnell and A flight today and shot down a two-seater. His second in 3 days!



12 May 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Flez, France

0650 hrs. Stewart led. I flew #2 with Sutton, Nobby, and Hyde on a DOP between Masny aerodrome and a point 2 miles SE of Lens. Over Havrincourt Wood 4-5 Albatri sat 2000 ft on top of us. The Huns proved quite adept at maintaining their altitude advantage. For for some minutes they attacked from above then returned up out of our reach. I dodged 2-3 of them on successive passes but on the last pass they shot me up something fierce. I don’t think they hit anything solid, but my wing canvas was shredded. By now B flight was completely dispersed, each man fighting it out on his own.



“The Hun with a white snake on his plane got too ambitious.”

He stayed down at my altitude and around and around we went. I landed a few snapshots as we spiraled down.


Finally I got onto him and fired 30-40 rounds landing many around the cockpit. He slewed to the right, turned over on his back and went straight down, crashing in our lines SW of Cambrai.


“Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.”



1500 hrs. Line patrol no e/a sighted

Monty Cole got another Hun with A flight this afternoon. That’s his 4th overall and his third victory in the last four days. Preparations for the binge are underway as I write this.

We’ve three new additions to the squadron. Major Sutcliffe who joined last week plus Chalmers and Kantell who just arrived today. Chalmers is Hadrill’s successor in our hut. I must say it’s quite a shock to have a new man in Hadrill’s space so quickly but that’s how it goes, and I’ll just have to get accustomed to it. As for Sutcliffe, it’s somewhat unusual to have a Major as a flight officer but he seems a decent fellow.





13 May 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Flez, France

Balloon hunt west of ProNville. Stewart, me, Foster, Cole, and Sutton.


Tangled with co-alt Albs over Mossy Face and the flight scattered.




I shot one up badly and he started smoking. I put one more burst into him from medium range and he crashed 3 miles west of Marcoing along the Bapaume - Marcoing road.



Gravelink was with me. We headed for the balloon with a high Albatros lurking ominously overhead.



I let loose with the Buckingham 400 yards out watching with hypnotic fascination the tiny flashes spattering across the balloon’s surface. Don’t get mesmerized, Oliver. Pay attention! Remembering the Charley Method I waited until 100 yards, thought of England, and pushed the trigger for the rockets. Nothing. Hang fire. I continued firing all the way thru with incendiary breaking left at the last moment. Pulling away I saw two smoking columns rising above the gasbag that soon blossomed into a full explosion. Not quite the 4th of July but it would serve. Gravelink, like my shadow, kept his station 30 yards off my port quarter as we headed west to the lines.

Albatros in! Our high friend had finally come down for a scrap, but after a single go round his courage failed him or his reason prevailed, and he broke off. All sped for home.

Sgt Atwater was mortified to learn of the rocket malfunction and immediately began tearing down the Rocket harnesses. A bullet had severed the ignition wire.

White Snake, plus the morning’s balloon and Albatros all confirmed by Wing. The white snake Albatros pilot was named Lowenhardt. I have 9 now.

.

Attention!



Le Ministre de la guerre, République Française, wishes to present an award to the following individual:



The people of France thank you sincerely for your patriotism and your loyal and faithful service.

.

Wow, a Gong. Thanks

e power: My pilots have a tendency to stray from the mission outlines and roam around. its one of the things that I luv about OFF there is always something going on besides just the assigned mission.

@Carrick, yes it's one of the many great things about WOFF - I usually parallel the mission outlines but veer off, further onto enemy territory - I've also now started deleting a secondary waypoint or two using JJJ's Mission Ed. - and it works great.

@All, popped in for a visit and shocked to see that Swany has disappeared too, preceded by Toby and the illustrious Capt. Collins - to meet up with other departed heroes like Aldi Schwarzkopf from the 2018 DiD thread. The "Hawkmen" and the third Doctor Who salute thee, 'gents.

Von S

Patrick insisted that Lindley file his report before going anywhere. After hurriedly going through events with Captain Pye, the pilots of C flight finally headed out to the crash site. This was about a quarter of a mile from Bruay in a wood near a village called Lapignuy. They weren’t the first on the site and even as they tripped over tree roots in their haste, C flight saw pilots from 40 squadron pulling at the white rudder.

The wings had been smashed to a mess of fabric and match wood and the impact had broken the fuselage in two. It struck Lindley that the break was in a strange box pattern, with straight lines and a rectangular projection forward that seemed to point at the empty cockpit of the fallen Albatros.

“Hi! That is property of twenty three squadron!” McGregor called out.
“I don’t see your name on it,” one of the Nieuport pilots replied. He stuck his finger through a hole in the fuselage. “Is this how you treat your things? We shan't get you another.”
“Which one of you got him?” Keen of 40 asked.
“I did,” Patrick declared as he inspected the scene. “Although he originally had me. Lindley here dived in and threw him off my tail. He definitely deserves a share.”

“Where is the pilot?” a pale looking Lindley asked.
“Under there,” ‘Badger' Harris pointed out a sheet of wing fabric that had been pulled over the body. A boot poked out accusingly. “You don’t have to look. His face is a bit of a mess. I reckon he died when he hit the ground. Real quick.”

A tall 2nd Lieutenant who looked a bit older than his fellow officers grimaced. “He was burning though. The flames got to the cockpit.” He looked across at the blackened parts of the wreck. ‘Sizzle, sizzle.” The final bizarre comment sounded almost happy. “Bloody Germans,” He explained. “Have you heard that they got Swanson?”

The Spad pilots were stunned.

“Swanson?” Patrick recovered. “I thought he was flying a desk?” He paused in thought. “I'll see if the old man will sanction a few drinks.”
“Squadron night?”
“Squadron night indeed. Since we’re sharing our mess, I imagine you lot are invited. Bring the rudder. It'll look good on the wall.


Earlier that day
There was a glow in the east that represented the promise of a fine summer day. Captain Patrick strolled over to the assembled pilots of C flight. The group were shuffling around and trying to check their flying kit while gulping hot mugs of tea.
“Right chaps, we are on ground attack,” groans came up from the more experienced pilots. “We are to hit Phalempin aerodrome. Intelligence has it that Jasta 30 are there. We are to ruin their morning. Strafe the hangars, maybe we can get lucky and hit something explosive. I'll see you on the line up at 05:30.”

Spads tore down toward the German aerodrome. As they closed in, Lindley spotted men pushing tiny dark aeroplanes into motion. He could imagine the urgency on the ground. He squeezed off a burst at one of the canvas hangars, but he had a new plan.

Sweeping over the aerodrome and disappearing behind the tree line, he pulled up and banked in a climbing turn.
Sweeping down behind the Albatros scouts, Lindley fired slashing bursts at the rear most aeroplanes as they climbed sluggishly into the morning sky. The German pilots ducked in their seats and pushed downward to hug the ground as they turned back for the protection of the aerodrome machine gunners.

Those gunners persuaded Lindley not to pursue them. Instead he continued down the line. The lead aircraft had enough flying speed now to turn to fight. But maybe not enough. Lindley shot at an Albatros and the pilot over corrected his turn. The black crossed machine toppled over and dived, too briefly, before smashing into the ground as if it was never meant to fly.

The next machine wasn’t just fighting Lindley. O'Grady’s Spad swept into view and Lindley watched as the Irishman poured scorning bullets into the hapless Albatros. After a short dose of this punishment, the Albatros dived at full speed into the ground.

“That’s good enough, I’d say" thought Lindley. He could see Spads heading west and so he gave the hangars of Phalempin a cursory glance and turned to follow.

Lindley was some distance behind the others even as they approached Bruay. Something caught his eye. Below and to the left, a yellow Spad was swirling in a tight turn.

It was no landing circle. As he peered down, Lindley could see an Albatros chasing the Spad. Lindley pushed the stick forward. As the Hispano engine raced, Lindley prayed that he would make it in time.

He did make it. The white tailed Albatros swerved sharply as Lindley fired at the German machine which had somehow followed the returning Spads all the way back to their own aerodrome. Lindley followed and got several good shots in.

Suddenly another Spad appeared between Lindley and his quarry. It was Patrick, C flight’s leader. His stripe-nosed Spad ducked and weaved behind the Albatros until flames flickered down the nose. The flames hadn’t got far before the German machine smashed into the trees.

One by one the Spads landed on the field at Bruay. Lindley was excited as the pilots assembled near the reporting office.

“Well done, lad,” Patrick congratulated Lindley. “That Hun nearly got me before you jumped in.”
“It didn’t crash far from here,” Lindley jabbered. “Can we go and have a look?”

Major Wilkinson was also aware of Swanson's death. He gave a green light to a squadron binge, on the condition that a 3 man flight was on notice for the dawn patrol. Lots were drawn and B flight lost.

“We will still have a toast to Swanson,” Warman of B flight vowed. “We just have to retire before it gets too messy.”

Trucks were sent out to look for extra supplies, particularly spirits, which the mess officer feared might be exhausted in the evening. 40 squadron were invited, as Patrick had predicted. Major Tilney accepted, but instructed the mess waiters to remove many of the better chairs.

Long before dinner, the rudder of the white Albatros was installed on the wall of the mess dining room. Patrick toasted it before the officers were called to sit.
“Brave man, to try to bounce us right after we bounced his aerodrome.” McGregor commented.
“Foolish more likely. He let his anger get the better of him.”
“His was a righteous anger,” declared Molesworth of 40 squadron. “It's unsporting to attack a fellow when he is taking off.”
“It's an excellent time,” Mannock replied. “They would do it to us if they could. Don't give the rotten Hun the chance.”
“Now, now Mick. If you were a real gentleman, then you might understand.”
“Gentlemen won't win this war,” Mannock growled. “Our job is to shoot them in the back before they know what hit them.”

40 squadron had an announcement of their own during the toasts. “Congratulations to our American volunteer,” declared Lt Keen. “Badger here, stand up Badger has got another confirmed victory. That's five now and we have a confirmed ace.”

2nd Lt Harris grinned and nodded at the cheering rows of men. “Thank you all,” he replied. “It's a fine thing to hear your applause. It makes me feel like I've come a long way from getting bawled out for sticking around when a fight broke out.”

After dinner was over, the drinking started in earnest. O'Grady and Patrick were competing to see who could down their drinks the fastest and Lindley was sitting it out. Harris came over to see what was wrong with him.

“Nothing at all, Badger. Just need to take a breather. These chaps are champions on the lash.”
Harris swirled a glass of lemonade in front of him. “Not really my sport either, Hoss. You don't have to drink with them.”
“C flight has a reputation to uphold you know.” Lindley looked around the room. “I say, they haven't moved the piano.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Oh, nothing. I play a bit you know. My mother had me take lessons. I wonder...”

Sitting at the battered upright piano, Lindley looked at the scatter of sheet music that had been left around. “Let's see. How about this one? I reckon that I can I can do this one. Maybe just the chords for starters.”

“The young aviator lay dying,
as on the aerodrome he lay..”

The piano playing wasn't brilliant, but drink and the cameraderie were forgiving. The by the time that the song called for the engine to be rebuilt, half of the pilots in the room were bellowing out the words as they sloshed more brandy into glasses and O'Grady opened a new bottle of whiskey for himself and swigged it directly.

“I'll be riding a cloud in the morning,
No engine before me to cuss.

“Shake the lead from your feet and get busy,
There's another lad needing this bus!”

“Hurrah! Play another one! Do you know Sister Susan?”
“Can't say I do. Is she pretty?”

U Guys certainly keep me entertained Good yarns with my coffee.