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#4531033 - 07/22/20 11:27 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) ***** [Re: Raine]  
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MFair Offline
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Lou, just trying to help everyone out, especially the new recipients.

EPower, nope, no pictures. I was just joking about the goat part. I just thank the spirits that everyone didn’t have a camera during my teenage years.


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!
#4531034 - 07/22/20 11:37 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Epower, congrats on the well deserved promotion! Do us proud and don’t embarrass us like a certain lout Mulberry has.
Well done on keeping all your men alive and flying. One DSO isn’t enough.

Lou, you mean it’s not one of Tiggy-Wiggy’s superpowers? I find that hard to believe after that broken leg incident.

MFair, geez! You didn’t have to be so graphic with that curse lifting description. Now that image will be stuck with me for a while and distract me from proper flying. Good thing my pilot is still in the hospital.
That was a close call for Harris. Good thing Badger don’t care!

22 July, 1917

Hahn’s nightmare returned again. Ziggy was following the brown coloured enemy plane. They were all brown. How hideous! As he opened fire, a bullet hit his flank. He spiralled down to aerodrome below.
He woke up. His last mission again. Over and over playing in his mind, be it while dreaming or awake. There was something new this time. In his dream he noticed another aeroplane. That aeroplane was coming at him from ahead. It fired just before Ziggy was hit. That plane had pointy wingtips, an oval, cigar-like shaped fuselage. It was an Albatros! That made no sense.
It was middle of the night and Zygmunt was thirsty. He reached for a half-full glass of water standing on the nightstand beside his bed. He drained it in two gulps. He closed his eyes again ...
Ziggy was following the brown coloured enemy plane. As he opened fire, another Albatros flying towards him discharged his Spandaus at the same time. The time slowed down. The Albatros flashed by on his port side as he felt the pain of the bullet hitting his side. He could see the Albatros as if through the fog. It had a white lightning painted on its fuselage. Ltn Schuster!

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."
#4531039 - 07/22/20 11:58 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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carrick58 Offline
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Fido Iggy Bedlow
Sgt Rfc,
19 Sqn
Estree-Blanche,
Flanders, France.

July 23, 1917.

3 Victory's confirmed.
2 Unconfirmed


Morning Parade: Told my claim was accepted that makes three confirmed.

Posted to a Defensive Patrol Lt. Penland led found a flight of e/a's at the last turn around. The LT had the flight loose height and slow to attack the e/a slightly below.
{ no Speed , no surprise } They hit us with the kitchen sink. We lost 3 Spads shot down and mine got shot up by 1 pesky e/a that I couldn't get away from for Zero enemy. . Shaking like fleas on a dog, with smoke belching out and the left wing also pulling hard downward. To add insult to injury , . I had a warm wet Red spot by the arm pit. I managed to make a hard landing on our side by some Arty chaps.

Attached Files CFS3 2020-07-22 16-14-19-44.jpgCFS3 2020-07-22 16-25-16-52.jpgCFS3 2020-07-22 16-28-41-47.jpgCFS3 2020-07-22 16-31-12-48.jpg
Last edited by carrick58; 07/22/20 11:59 PM.
#4531040 - 07/23/20 12:25 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fido Bedlow
Sgt, Rfc.

The Arty Chaps sent me back to a Emergency Evac and Surgery unit for quick work then later I will be sent to a Hospital in the rear. The last thing , I remember seeing as I passed out was

Attached Files giphySG.gif
#4531052 - 07/23/20 04:26 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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epower Offline
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MFair - There's not a week goes by I don't thank whatever gods may be that cell phone cameras didn't exist when I was a youth and doing stupid things.

Alas, poor Mannock. His burden is heavy. He and Oliver came up together and spoke briefly at the No.1 AD. Maybe all three should meet. So very glad the noble Badger has survived yet another painful brush with the Hun. Rumplers. A formidable foe. Be cautious.

Fullofit - We've got ourselves a mystery here. Now Ziggy's having the dreams. Not fiery yet but painful nonetheless. More Vitamin D and Beets! No mention of nurses. What gives?

Carrick - Three confirmed. Splendid news! Not sure about Fido's Flight Commander, though. That was as bad as the proverbial rolled up newspaper whack on the nose. Glad Fido's OK. This nurse looks like she brooks no refusals. Tread carefully.
______________________________________


À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 10 of many


5 July 1917

54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

I spoke too soon about no 4th of July fireworks. The wretched Hun night bombers plastered the aerodrome. NachtKampfgeschwader hath murdered sleep! That was all. Just a nuisance raid. No damage but they made for quite a show, just when I was finally drifting off. Not much sleep last night. This is going to be a very long day. Off now to the morning’s fun…

0440 hrs. The dawn show was yet more malice directed at the Roulers rail junction. I led Pope and Foster. Gonne was flying his first ground attack today. I put him with Ackers. No e/a on the way in. We made 4 runs at the yard.

[Linked Image]
The storage sheds stubbornly refused to light, but the stockpiled supplies caught fire nicely.

Back to Bray Dunes by 0600. The King was expected by noon. The wait was interminable. I tried everything to stay occupied, reading, napping, the bag, Smokey’s breathing techniques. Nothing worked. My apprehension grew as the time drew closer. Parker had my tunic, breeches and boots looking tip top. I might make a fool of myself, but I’d look sharp doing it.

[Linked Image]
The King greeting some officers of No. 52 Squadron

I was in a complete state after the admonition of the King's military aide regarding the appropriate protocols and my expected conduct. I was barely able to stand still at attention. As the King made his way down the line of officers, my agitation reached a fever pitch. Phobos and Diemos ran rampant. A quiet mind seemed as far away as the moon. I was less nervous facing the Baron’s men.

Breathe Oliver. If you can land a wingless aeroplane you can speak with a King.
What do I say? Maybe he’ll just congratulate me and move on. Remember, don’t call him Sir, it’s Your Majesty.”

The artless aide-de-camp spoke, “Captain Winningstad, Your Majesty.”

I saluted and King George V hung the white cross of the Distinguished Service Order on my tunic.
“You are American?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty”
“Now that America are in the war, will you have a difficult time of it, having volunteered for British service?”

My mind went numb, and as if detached somehow from my person, now floated above the proceedings.

“I don’t believe so, Your Majesty, but if difficulties arise, I’m sure the US government will take my family history into account. My people have a long tradition of putting the stick to Britain.”

Eyebrows rose among the Royal party. Over the King’s shoulder I could see a surprised Major standing next to General Trenchard mouthing a silent “I say!” as his falling monocle caught and dangled on its lanyard.

“Have they really?” inquired the King.

“Yes, Your Majesty. My Norwegian ancestors sacked Lindisfarne over a thousand years ago. My Scottish ancestors smashed Edward’s army at Stirling and again at the Bannockburn. My Puritan fathers slew the King and swept away the old order. Then there was that business at Bunker Hill, and with Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown… As I said, sir, err Your Majesty, it’s a family tradition, but I’ve always gone my own way.

Gods below! You did not just say that, Oliver!


The King chuckled quietly.
“We are grateful then, Captain Winninstad, to have you in our service,” he said. He shook my hand and moved down the line.

The brass hats stared acid in my direction. General Trenchard’s fierce gaze settled uncomfortably upon me. “Make a note of that, Baring,” he said, then followed after the King.

Oh boy, I’ve put my foot in it now.

The Major, having refitted his monocle, favored me with a look of mild amusement.



1530 hrs. Line Patrol, Vimy Ridge and points 9 miles north. The usual crowd in B-Flight, Stewart, Foster, Hyde and Charley. The old guard now, given our losses.

No joy in the patrol area. Our time expired, we turned for Bray Dunes but 3 miles NW of Lens spied a DFW, slightly above. I swung the flight wide and climbed to a favorable position for attack. Down we flew, Stewart sliding out in front and pouring fire into the DFW. So much for his precious tactics.

[Linked Image]
This doesn’t look like a high astern attack to me, Stewpot.

[Linked Image]
NO!

[Linked Image]
He Collided!

Stewart was on fire and diving full out. The DFW too began its spinning danse macabre, swirling around and around as the dead Observers arms flopped about with each revolution. I lost sight of Stewart as he dove through the clouds. He appeared under control and diving for his life trying to extinguish the flames.

By the time I’d gathered Hyde and Charley he was out of sight. We searched low but found nothing.

Uncle was on the telephone as I entered the office. News was coming in of a smoking Pup going down in our patrol area. I made my report to Major Horn and went to change. There was nothing else I could do but hope. Please not Stewpot. I couldn’t bear the idea of losing the randy old satyr.

Just before dinner word came though. Stewart was alive! Alive! Such a relief. He’d force landed behind our third line trenches with only a few knocks. Biggins was off to collect him.

Both No 34 and No 52 Squadron had men receiving decorations, as did No 4 and 6 Naval. The entire Aerodrome turned into one giant prize binge, for both officers and men. We wandered to each Mess and along the hangars. I looked in envy at the Camels of the Senior Service. When would we get ours?

Stewart bounded up looking a bit worse for wear but otherwise unharmed.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “We’ll talk about my approach later.” We walked, arm in arm, back to the 54 Squadron Mess. Things were just getting started.

I begged off at midnight, being on the dawn show. After a walk about the aerodrome, I returned to our tent where I found Ackers standing near his bed in mid oration, whiskey bottle in hand. Seeing me enter he broke off his recitation.

“Where did ya go?” he asked.
“Back to the hangars.” I replied. “Johnson gave me his wounded look when I brought 6189 home full of holes.”

Ackers took another pull of the bottle. It was over half empty.

“You’re an idiot, Rippar. Dahm you, anyway. Dahm you for your blind stupidity.”

Ackers’ voice was pure Irish and that was a rare thing. The lilt of his native land inflected his everyday speech, but only just, and for reasons of his own he spoke nondescript British English. No so tonight.

“Had a wee bit ‘o the drink, have we Ackers? Gods man! You’re completely blotto!”

“Yes, I ahm. So you’ll bloody well listen to what I hahve to say.” He swayed, then recovered his balance, and drank from the bottle again. “In vino veritas. Where was I?”

“I’m an idiot,” I said.

“Quite right. Yes ya ahre. Do ya think Johnson gives a dahm for the Pups? They’re just machines. He’s afraid you’re going to die, like all the others. Hahve ya ever watched the men when a patrol’s returning? Or the Old Mahn? Or Oncle?! Now there’s a story, boyo, and ya have a leading role in thaht one. Ya think you’re the only man to lose someone?!"

"What are you going on about?" I asked.

"Highest scoring pilot in 54 by a mile, Flight Commander in every way but rank. Ya should be leading, but you’re absolute crahp, because it’s only about you! Why is thaht? And don’t get me started on how ya treat the men. Ya don’t give bollocks. Johnson was with 22. Did ya know thaht? Of course ya didn’t! He put in for transfer after they got slaughtered. Nearly hahd a breakdown, poor bahstard. Brass Hat Donkeys in their unfathomable wisdom sent him to 54, who followed 22 wherever they went. Chipilly, then to Flez. So now he feared for you, and his old mates down the flight line, those few left alive, anyway. At least he’s free of thaht, now we’re north.

"Ya act a complete sh*te to him, Rippar, to all of ‘em! Do ya know how many times he, Mitchell and who knows how many others worked all night on your machine? Ya lie here snug abed, dreaming of your fine nurse or killing thaht bahstard Voss and they’re still aht it. When was the last time ya took an interest in ‘em or what they do for ya? Have ya ever even said ‘thank you’ or ‘well done?’"

“You’re way the hell over the lines, Ackers!”

“The duty of an officer is the welfahre of his men. Remember thaht?! I expected better from an Amarican, God knows why. Ya can be worse than all of ‘em. Sometimes ya act the vilest part of the Posh Classes."

“Now that is a load of balls! Go sleep it off.”

Ackers snapped to attention and saluted.
“Cahptain Ripper Winningstad, DSO. MC. Remember thou ahrt mortal!”
He took another drink from the bottle, slammed the cork home, then collapsed on his bed.



Last edited by epower; 07/23/20 06:24 AM.
#4531087 - 07/23/20 02:27 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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epower: Newspaper ,wack on nose ! Excellent, I didnt even think of those, U gave me a good " LOL " this morning.

#4531088 - 07/23/20 02:59 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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MFair Offline
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Fullofit, Where is this dream going?

Carrick, scary stuff bud. I think you are growing too fond of the nurses. Glad Fido is still with us.

EPower, that was some speech to the King! I liked it. But then, what a dressing down Oliver was given by Ackers. Karma is a cruel mistress.

Lt. Ainslie Harris
Bruay
June 23, 1917

Harris had a bad feeling. Though alive, he had been knocked out of the sky yesterday. Now his flight was headed to the Devils Backbone. This is what he called the area around Douai. There were 8 Hun airfields around this area and B Flight was going to patrol it. They had no more than arrived at the patrol area when 5 Albatros dove on them west of Douai. The two opposing flights met each other head on and then everyone maneuvered to get on the tail of another. As Harris banked to get on a nearby Hun, he felt bullets slap into his Nieuport as another flashed past. Immediately he could smell petrol! He disengaged and climbed. Luckily, everyone was busy and left him alone. He turned west and hoped for the best. When the engine died he could see the lines not far ahead. Lower and lower he went. Would he clear the lines? Would he become a prisoner? Would he even live?! All these thoughts flashed through his mind as his Nieuport cleared the enemy trenches with, as it seemed to Harris, every Hun with a gun was shooting at him. The Nieuport hit the ground and bounced. Something took off the undercarriage and when he hit again dirt flew up over the machine as it spun around coming to a stop facing the enemy trenches. He was out in a second and dove head first into the arms of the surprised troops in the trench. “That were a close one Sir!” one of the dirty soldiers said. Harris pulled open his flight coat and took off his leather helmet. “This is the second g#$dam time in two days!” He exclaimed. An officer came up shouting orders. “Clear this area boys! They will be shelling this aeroplane in a few minutes!” With that he motioned Harris to come with him which he did.

Last edited by MFair; 07/23/20 05:41 PM.

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!
#4531126 - 07/23/20 09:39 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fullofit Offline
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Epower, no mention of nurses because there is nothing to mention. You saw the picture with the fake mountain sun. There was nothing there eye catching unfortunately. All the good ‘uns are on Richthofen’s ward. The rest is attending to Fido. And Oliver got the last one. Ziggy’s forced to fend for himself outside of the medical profession. He’d have more chance at a baker’s or a butcher’s shop.
So, looks like Winningstad managed to “impress” George while getting pinned. I wonder if this ribbon will impress Eliza? And how are those London plans coming along?
Don’t pay attention to Ackers. Just because Oliver is handy with that Vickers on that Pup doesn’t mean he has to be grateful to everybody for his success. What’s there to thank for? For doing their job? Do they thank him for doing his job? All of a sudden everyone feels entitled.
Where was I? Oh yeah, congrats on that DSO again.

MFair, the dream’s not going anywhere. It’s done it’s job by letting Ziggy remember who shot him. Now it’s time for retribution.
The Devil’s Backbone? With 8 Hun airfields around that’s more like the Devil’s Backside! Tough luck losing another plane so soon. Perhaps Badger needs to upgrade to an S.E.5? Wouldn’t that be nice?


"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."
#4531133 - 07/23/20 11:27 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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MFair Offline
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Fullofit, SE5? despite what his Majesty said, “soon” obviously has a different meaning of time in Britain than in Badgers world. It will be a while yet.

THE SHOOT DOWN PT 2

By the time Badger made it back to Bruay, he could barely get out of the tender. He was so sore and stiff he could barely walk. Morris met him and helped him to his hut. “Tell the Major I do t think I’ll be up for patrol tomorrow will you Corporal “ said Badger. As Morris left Badger said “With my regrets. As you like to say.” With that Badger lay down on his cot. Mannock walked in from dinner Ah! Badger! I heard you made it down OK? “Badger did not open his eyes. “If you mean alive, yes. Can’t rightly say I made it down ok though. I feel like I been run over by a herd of wild horses.”
Mannock sat down. “Hard landing?” Badger started to laugh but winced. “Yea you could say that. Made a mess out of the ol’ machine too.”
The two were silent for a while before Mannock spoke up. “Tell me Badger, just how rich is this gold mine of yours if you don’t mind me asking.” Badger slowly sat up to face his friend. “You ain’t been blabbing about my good fortune have you?” Mannock waved his hand in the negative and replied,” Oh dear No! Mums the word ol’ boy.”
Badger sighed and continued, “well my share of the first haul is near $50,000 US dollars. Right now it’s in a bank in Denver. Why you askin?”
“Have you ever thought about the good you could do with that kind of money?” Mannock asked.
Badger gave Mannock a funny look. “Well if you ain’t noticed, we been a bit preoccupied lately hoss! But, to answer your question, yea. I could get me a spread that would suit me to the end of my days.” Badger stared at nothing in particular and added “might even get me a couple of saloon gals to keep me company! What ya think about that friend”
Mannock shook his head. In disbelief or despair Badger could not tell. Mannock looked up and said “No, no, no. I’m talking about the good for humanity you could do with it.”
Badger was stunned. “Humanity!? Are you out of your d$mn mind! What the hell do you see below every time you fly over the lines? There ain’t no humanity around here hoss! And, if I live through this hell, I’m gonna live like a king the rest of my life!”
“Typical Capitalist viewpoint” Mannock said.
Badger looked at Mannock quizzically, Typical what? Capitalist? Never heard of such a thing. Badger edged closer to Mannock. “You hackin on me hoss?”
Mannock shook his head again “I’m just saying it’s a typical Capitalist that would come into some good luck and only think of enriching themselves instead of thinking how he could help others less fortunate.”
“Your out of your gourd Partner. One, anybody could have bought that claim but they didn’t. Didn’t think it was worth the time nor money. Two, me and my brother bought it. We took the gamble. We worked it. Nobody else. We took the gamble. Besides. How many times you come in from a flight with your machine shot to sh#t with holes inches from yer noggin! Huh! And the next feller with you catches one in the brain. Why didn’t you share a bit with him? Get yer brains blown out instead of the other feller! D#mned straight I got lucky. Got lucky today! That’s the only reason we hevin this crazy conversation.”
Badger lay back on the bed. “Were don jabberin Hoss. I like you Mick. Your a damned fine pilot and nobody can question yer bravery but right now I’d question your sanity.....hell, might even git four or five saloon girls bein’s I can afford em’”


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!
#4531139 - 07/24/20 01:20 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Raine Offline
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Carrick – Congratulations on your third victory!

MFair – I’m enjoying the relationship between Mannock and Harris. I hope your man doesn’t expect Mannock to give up his socialist politics. He won’t stop until Harris is voting for free love and state-run nurseries. And it will be interesting to see what happens now that Harris is a rich man. By the way, I’m still trying to erase the mental image of you dancing Woodstock-style under the stars. I second epower’s motion: picture or it never happened.

epower – Lovely job description you have written there: “Sneak in unobserved close behind and shoot a man in the back.” I’m looking forward to meeting Mr Goodbehere, but then again, the campaign gods know all… By the way, there were few too many close calls leading up to your meeting the King. That encounter with the candy-striped Albatri was particularly chilling. Congratulations on the DSO and the promotion! Wonderful vignette of Oliver and Georgie.

Fullofit – Poor Ziggy has been punctured yet again! As they say, friendly fire – isn’t. Tell him to lay off the beet soup. It makes for frightening bedpans. Interesting note on the Artificial Mountains Sun therapy. I wonder if the folks at your hospital have been watching too much Doctor Oz. And congratulations on the EK1.

Lou – Good to see that Tiggy Winkle got his nickname sent overseas. After researching the German service for my current pilots, I just can’t imagine one of the Baron’s fellows being christened Tiggy Winkle. The episode with Harrington literally “telling tales out of school” was hilarious. How many is Abbott up to now?


I have had some catching up to do. My Gotha pilot has traded in his SUV for something more compact and sporty…

Memoirs of Fw Werner Edmund Wollenberg

Chapter 6


We waited and waited for our next visit to England. The days were occupied with test flights and lectures and busy work. I made the mistake at dinner one night of saying that I would prefer serving in a fighting Staffel to this tedium. The next morning I was up before Hauptmann Kleine. Where he had always been friendly with his pilots, now his voice twisted into a sneer.

“So you are the one who speaks of being a bus driver, are you?” he said. “Well maybe you can drive a bus in fog and rain, but I doubt that you can hit the London docks from a Gotha.” For a minute or two I put up with this kind of talk but then it got to me. I drew myself up as straight and stiff as possible and requested a transfer to a hunting squadron.

“And what makes you think the Air Service will not have you ferrying fat officers over the front to take photographs? Do you have any idea how short your life will be?” The Hauptmann leaned back in his chair and stared.

“Then that fat officer had better hold on tight because I plan to use my machine to shoot down the enemy. So, with respect, sir, I request that my name be submitted for the Jasta-school. At least that way you will save some fat officer’s life.” The words came out before the brain formed them. They hung in the air and I was certain my military career was at an end. But the Hauptmann said he would see what he could do and he would leave the length of my life up to God.

On 8 July 1917, orders came that we were to move to Ghistelles, or Gistel, as the Flemish call it. My machine would lead that of Leutnant Herzberg and Feldwebel Doge. It was a glorious morning and after an overnight rain the land below shimmered emerald green in the early sun. The flight was short, only twenty or thirty minutes. The other group from Melle-Gontrode had landed before us so the field was easy to spot. I made a long, gentle turn to the west before coming back east to land. Suddenly, Leutnant Schwind began gesturing frantically. Ahead and above, less than a mile away, a cluster of specks emerged from the glare of the morning sun – eight English scouts!

Because we had slowed to begin our approach, the machines of Leutnant Herzberg and Feldwebel Doge were ahead of us and higher, and so they attracted the enemy’s attention first. Leutnant Schwind opened fire from his forward position at two scouts – Sopwiths – as they flashed past. Gefreiter Papenberg had his quick-firing Parabellum in action. Off to my right, Doge’s machine was banking hard about 200 metres up and three English aircraft were taking turns shooting at it. Papenberg was firing at the Sopwith, but they were long distance off. Despite his best effort, the English machines were after Doge like dogs in a bearpit. A stream of black smoke began to trail from one of the big Gotha’s engines. Slowly and gracefully, like the dying swan in the ballet, the giant bomber turned on its side and fell to the field below, where it erupted in a ball of fire.

[Linked Image]
"Slowly and gracefully, like the dying swan in the ballet, the giant bomber turned on its side and fell to the field below..."

We touched down and remained on the field with both machine guns firing until the enemy aircraft left the area. Leutnant Hapsburg succeeded in landing but his Gotha was already in flames. The crew jumped for safety even before the machine rolled to a halt. The guns fell silent. We dismounted and walked sullenly to the squadron office. We gave our report and the adjutant handed me a grey envelope. He told me to get my things together and a car would be taking me to the train station before noon. The Hauptmann remained in his office.

My valise and trunk were still on a lorry; packing was no problem. I realised immediately that the news was out since all the other airmen avoided me. I sat on my trunk in front of a hangar and smoked cigarettes until a driver pulled up and loaded my kit into one of the squadron cars.

The Jastaschule at Valenciennes was an interesting experience. Because of the demand for pilots the training had been greatly curtailed. Some of the candidates were here directly from flying school and were clearly out of their depth. Several were quickly returned to their former units. Great emphasis was placed on formation flying and here my experience with the Englandgeschwader was of great benefit. My greatest challenge was becoming used to the sensitivity of single seat scouts. We flew mainly Halberstadts and some older Albatros single seaters. Twice in my short time there students were involved in midair collisions. We kept the local church and gravediggers busy. Training in combat tactics was interesting – a course in applied common sense. I hoped it would all make the same sense in the heat of the moment.

On 20 July 1917, that moment approached. I was called to my course commander’s office and informed that there was an urgent need for pilots and I was to report immediately to Jasta 7 at Bisseghem, just outside Menen. The British push near Ypres demanded more new pilots every day.

I reported to the Jasta that night. Its commander had been killed a few days before and a Leutnant Turcke was acting CO. He walked me around the Kasino, established in a small hotel, and introduced me to the other pilots. I was given a room on the third floor. There were two beds and the other was empty. I was told to expect a roommate in a day or so.

My first day as a Jagdflieger began at five the next morning, 21 July 1917. Five of our Albatros DV scouts took off into a clear dawn. Enemy machines were seen over the Ypres salient. Vzfw Sowa led the formation, with Leutnants Turcke, Mauk, Bilik, and me. My station was to the right of Sowa, with Bilik behind and to my right. To be honest, I saw little except Sowa’s wingtip. I did not care if I was shot down as long as I did not lose my station in the formation! We headed south towards Lille, climbed to 3000 metres, and then turned northwest. Scarcely had we turned north when we encountered a large group of nimble brown scouts. These were the new English Sopwith machines with twin Vickers machine guns. I had learned to beware of trying to turn with these, especially to the right.

Our wonderful formation did not survive the first three seconds of the fight. The enemy were among us and it was every man for himself. For several minutes I simply twisted and turned and tried not to lose height. I looked behind my back as much or more than I looked forward. Twice I fired wildly at English machines flashing in front of me, and once I heard a machine gun firing at me from close behind and smelled the phosphorus of its tracer rounds as they flew past my worried skull. Then as if by magic I found myself above the fight and was able to take stock of the situation. I saw a black Albatros a kilometre away and below me; a Sopwith was turning onto its tail. With one last check over my shoulder, I dived to the rescue. I could scarcely believe my luck when the Englishman did not turn as I bore down on him. I throttled back, drawing to within ten metres before firing. The Sopwith snapped to the right and rolled beneath me. I turned in a vertical bank. For a moment I saw him well below but when I turned to get a better view he was gone. It seems safe now to go lower so I did so, hoping I would see the enemy machine against the sky. But it had disappeared. I was directly over the ancient fortress of Lille.

There were two machines visible to the west and I gave chase. The leading machine proved to be an Albatros. It was being stalked by a Sopwith, and I in turn now stalked the Sopwith. Before I got to it, the Albatros turned about and climbed away. The Sopwith, however, continued over the lines, heading home. But before he reached safety I was behind him and firing. The English machine shuddered and slid away to the left. I watched as it fell. For a moment it seemed to recover and it crossed over the English trenches. But then its nose dipped and it crashed into the mud.

I claimed both machines – Sopwith “Camels” they are called. I reported honestly that I did not see the first machine crash but could not find it after it rolled beneath me. Despite this a report had been received that the machine had indeed crashed close to the fort at Lille. I had my first victory! Ironically, the second Sopwith that I saw it the ground was not witnessed and remained unconfirmed. Nonetheless, it was a good start and I was treated to several glasses of beer after dinner that night.

We did fly again that day but saw no more enemy machines.

We flew twice on 22 July. This time I was surprised to learn that Leutnant Turcke had assigned me to lead the formation. The others joked that Turcke was no fool. The leader in a formation was the person least likely to cause a collision and I was told that I should not read any positive message into the assignment. Our mission was to meet several DFW two seaters over Passchendaele and escort them to bomb a British aerodrome well over the lines near Dunkirk. I believe it is fair to say we were all very nervous about this assignment. Bilik referred to the Dunkirk area as “darkest Africa,” a place where men visited but did not return from. We need not have worried. Before we even crossed the lines, two large groups of British scouts – Spads and Nieuports – were on us. They had destroyed the DFWs before we arrived and our four Albatros scouts had to deal with more than ten enemy machines. The fight was similar to the morning’s adventure the previous day. I sprayed the sky with machine-gun bullets and possibly hit one or two Englanders without result, but mostly I jinked about and looked over my shoulder. In the end I found myself alone and returned to Bisseghem dejected and fearing I had lost the entire flight. But, one by one, the Albatrosen returned and we were all accounted for. In fact, Bilik had bagged a Spad!

[Linked Image]
"Before we even crossed the lines, two large groups of British scouts – Spads and Nieuports – were on us."

Our afternoon flight was uneventful and I was grateful for the boredom. That night I sank into my little bed shortly after dinner. We had a pilots’ hut over at the field and I was on duty there at 4:45 AM. I was proud of my new role in the Jasta, yet the lazy side of me wondered if I didn’t prefer the boredom of flying Gothas.

On the morning of 23 July 1917, we were awakened at four thirty and mustered at the pilots hut on the field. Leutnant Bilik had our orders. There was a new captive balloon north of Ypres, about six miles beyond the British lines. We were to destroy it and I was to lead. The others took great pleasure in describing the dangers of balloon attacks – clusters of Flak batteries and machine guns with squadrons of English Camels circling above!

Navigation was simple. There is a broad, round, swampy pool in the area that is visible from a very long distance. We took off and flew directly northwest, forming up en route. Directly across from the pond we turned west and made a straight line for our target. I scanned the sky carefully for enemy scouts but saw nothing. As we passed the pond, I led our little group in a dive directly for the balloon. Where is it? Don’t tell me I’m in the wrong place. And then, there it was. I began firing when I was still four or five hundred metres away and kept firing in long bursts until I saw flame. The thing erupted in my face and I narrowly escaped crashing into it. Leutnant Kunz and Leutnant von Beaulieu-Marconnay were close behind and had to fly through the smoke. Only Leutnant Bilik kept his jacket free from soot. We reported to Leutnant Turcke on our return. The others had fired on the balloon as well and the acting Staffelfuehrer asked us to decide who should get credit. We retired to the front room for coffee and toast. Although I was sure I had caused the balloon to burn I suggested that Leutnant Kunz had administered the coup de grace. Certainly, I thought, they will courteously insist that I take the credit. But Leutnant Kunz simply said “thank you” and that settled the matter.
In the afternoon we were to patrol behind our lines north towards the coast. I had not gone far when my engine began to run rough and vibrate in the most terrifying manner. I switched off and circled about looking for a place to land. I saw that I was very close to our aerodrome at Rumbeke. I spiralled down and made a perfect three-point landing. So ended my second day as a Jastaflieger.

Attached Files End of a Gotha.jpgDogfight.jpg
#4531143 - 07/24/20 01:49 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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carrick58 Offline
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Great stories Keep em flying

#4531145 - 07/24/20 02:02 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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MFair Offline
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Raine, Edmund is already making a name for himself as a scout pilot. 40 RFC patrols the Menen area a good bit. I feel we shall meet at some point.

For the record, Mark don’t dance. Clothed or otherwise.


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!
#4531146 - 07/24/20 02:20 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Jul 2014
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Raine Offline
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400 pages of DID Campaign! So much great stuff from all of you! And here, finally, I get Vogel back in action…

Tagebuch of Offstv Hans-Dieter Vogel, EK2

Jasta 26, Iseghem (Izegem), Belgium

Part 17

20 July 1917.


I expect to be discharged from the hospital in the morning. I am permitted to take walks through the town and spend a few pleasant hours in the stores. Von Richthofen has a penchant for good German mustard, especially the grainy kind, so I find a store that sells me a jar. I also managed to find a small amount of kielbasa sausage which I smuggle in for him wrapped in paper. One does not take chances with Nurse Kaete!
He is grateful and we spend a few minutes talking. He has recently taken command of a Jagdgeschwader, a group of four Staffeln. I enquire what he can teach me about the art of leading men. At first he avoids the topic, as if to say that such things should be as natural as breathing to a German of high birth. But I push a little harder. I speak to him of the balance between respect and comradeship and the need to set a high standard and hold men to it. He warms to the topic. I find his philosophy perfectly suited to the nature of our country. He is uncompromising and blunt. Men meet his expectation or they leave his sight. There is none of the softer element of noblesse oblige that I see in the English gentleman I have met. But he is not without humour, although his humour has a somewhat hard edge. I realise that I will not be like him if I have the chance to lead. That is neither good nor bad. It is just so.

22 July 1917.

I am a free man again. Von Richthofen and Wolff left yesterday. Now I wait outside with my small case. They are sending a car to bring me back to Iseghem.

23 July 1917.

I wanted to fly today but I must see a doctor from headquarters before I am clear to go. Oberleutnant Loertzer says he is happy to see me back and will have me lead a flight in the morning. We have a new officer named Merkl who will be with me. I am cautioned to keep him alive. And I have a roommate – Feldwebel Leibnitz. He comes from somewhere up on the Baltic coast and is very anxious to prove himself here.

24 July 1917.


At last I am back in action. After lounging about the pilots’ hut and periodically bothering the adjutant who is scanning the western sky with our mounted telescope, I am bored. The telephone rings. English machines have been cited to the south. It is shortly before seven when we take to the sky. I scarcely notice my missing finger and am soon back into the rhythm of our wonderful life. There is scarcely a cloud in the sky. Even at three thousand metres I am not frozen stiff. The other machines bob up and down relative to mine. I look over at Merkl who is just to my right. He is grinning from ear to ear and nods his head to say he is fine.

We see them as we reach altitude over Roulers before turning south – seven English two seaters with a tractor configuration. We climb to meet them, still too low to put the sun at our back. We are close enough to see that they are Sopwiths. When we are still just out of range they spot us and turn into the attack. We have met these “lords” before. Their machines have red and white tails. For a couple of minutes the fight is a wild tangle. English machines flash past, their rear gunners firing this way and that at us. Then the fight spreads out and one can see some order to it. I look for Merkl and am relieved to see him following close behind me. Now I see a Sopwith diving onto one of our black and white striped Albatrosen. This one will be mine! I dive on him and fire directly into the fuselage. The gunner disappears in his seat. The Sopwith spends downward and I follow, a little more gently and sensitive to the great failing of the Albatros, its desire to lose its wings at inopportune moments. I catch the Englander and fire again. This time he falls in a spin and does not recover. His machine lands between the lines. And now I am alone.

I return to Iseghem and state my claim to the Sopwith. The adjutant says he will call the artillery but by lunch he has been unable to confirm the fall of the machine.

Oberleutnant Loertzer leads us in the afternoon. The British have a new balloon near Ypres. We head north to appoint we have selected to begin our approach over the lines. The balloon is eight kilometres behind the front. I settle in for the flight and without warning the boss fires a flare. His engine is giving him difficulty and he leaves a formation. I am his number two and take over the flight. We turn west and enter enemy territory, the smashed city of Ypres passing beneath our left wings. This is Indian territory. Many English squadrons are based in this area and we keep our eyes scanning around. But there is nothing to be found and within a couple of minutes I lead my comrades in a long, steady dive toward the balloon, already visible against the green fields below. I begin firing early and continue in short, staccato bursts. The balloon begins to smoke and then, just seconds before I break away, the flame emerges and the thing erupts.

[Linked Image]
"The balloon begins to smoke and then, just seconds before I break away, the flame emerges and the thing erupts."

There is no doubt this time. We climb away to the east having done our duty. And I have my twelfth victory.

Attached Files Kill 12.jpg
#4531147 - 07/24/20 02:27 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: MFair]  
Joined: Jul 2014
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Raine Offline
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Originally Posted by MFair
For the record, Mark don’t dance. Clothed or otherwise.


We are birds of a feather then, Mark. Can't dance. Never could. Never really wanted to (don't tell my wife). My golf is pretty much like my dancing. Last time I tried it my buddy said it looked like a primitive form of agriculture.

#4531164 - 07/24/20 11:32 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Aug 2012
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Maeran Offline
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UK
Much tinkering with the new pc. It seems to be going OK now. Heres a story that moves things along for Lindley



“There’s a chateau just across the road,” Lindley thought to himself as he ran his fingernails idly against the fabric wall of his shed. Each officer in the squadron had the luxury of an individual hut to sleep in, but Lindley often found himself wondering if he would be more comfortable in an elegant bedroom with Louis IV furniture. “Yes,” he concluded after a brief thought experiment, “yes I would.”

There was a rap on the door, which was the most solid part of the structure.

“Oh, hello Mac,” Lindley greeted McGregor as his wing-mate peeped inside.
“Lindley, I’ve got good news.”
Lindley gave the wall one last flick and sat up. “Good news is always welcome. What is it?”
“Well,” the Canadian pilot sat down on a stool that Lindley pointed out to him, “there’s two good pieces of news really. First off, your Albatri over Dixmude has been accepted. That makes six, so you’re an ace even to people who don’t count balloons.”

Lindley beamed, looking like a schoolboy getting praise in assembly. He jumped up and started rummaging in the chest that contained his worldly belongings. “That is good news! I have something here for a toast. What’s the other thing?”

“Patrick is getting a promotion. They are sending him off to command some Nieuport squadron,”* Mac continued. “Oh thanks,” he said, taking a proffered tin cup with Brandy in it.
“Jolly good for him. Who will be leading C? It’ll be O’Grady won’t it?”
Mac took a sip of his drink. “Well… there we have it. The Old Man wants someone who gets results. I became an ace this month, you became an ace this month. Langland is nearly an ace and he just joined us. And O’Grady…”
Lindley nodded. “He’s just had bad luck,” he defended the flight deputy. “Can’t help it if the dice doesn’t go your way.”
“There are things that you can do to help it though.” Mac replied. “Wilks** wants me to try my hand at the job. O’Grady is going to be put out, but I’ll keep him as deputy. But, well, you know what he’s like when he drinks.”
“We all like a drink Mac.”
Mac smiled and wiggled his tin cup, “right enough. But you’re six stone wet and you get up in the morning after a few. That’s why I’d like you to shadow O’Grady and step in when you need to.”
“Deputy, deputy, flight leader?”
“Put it on your stationary.”


That day’s work included an escort job with the RE8s from 21 squadron. It was uneventful enough and Lindley hoped that the slow 2 seaters got the photos that they needed.

Mac swept O’Grady and Lindley up as they left the recording office.
“Gentlemen!” he announced, with a broad smile. “We have much to celebrate! Don’t you think we should see Patrick off in style?”
“Of course we should,” O’Grady smiled back. “Would we ever do otherwise?”
“I’ll get right to it, because time is of the essence. I want to get Patrick some beer.”

The two pilots stopped and looked at him oddly. “Beer,” O’Grady repeated flatly.
“Yes, beer. But not any old beer. The best beer!” Mac pointed out east toward the hop poles.
“You know the monastery over there? Surrounded by clearance stations?”
“Westfletern or something like that?”
“Yes. They use these hops and brew beer. It’s amazing stuff. Only this month the King himself visited the brewery to try some. And the Belgian king too, but of course he’d like Belgian beer.”
“OK, let’s go get some then,” Lindley declared. “See if it’s as good as you say.”
“That’s the thing,” Mac wrangled. “It’s so popular; and the monks don’t brew too much of it. We can’t just go and buy it from the abbot.”
“Why even mention the beer then,” O’Grady asked.
“General Gough has a regular order,” Mac told them. “a couple of crates every day for him and his pals in the chateau. What I’m proposing, Gentlemen, is a raid.”
You think we should steal General Gough’s beer?” O’Grady hissed. “Don’t you think he’ll get angry?”
“I’ve heard that he prefers champagne.” McGregor sniffed, “the beer is just for showing off. Buys the rarest beer in the world, doesn’t even drink it.”
“It’s a travesty,” O’Grady said earnestly.
“What’s your plan?” asked Lindley.



“This is your plan?” asked Lindley.
They were standing on a single carriage road that lead through a wood. Shortly up ahead, the track would meet the road that La Lovie sat upon. This was the shortest route between the monastery of Sint Sextus at Westvleteren and the HQ of General Gough. Lindley was, as he had been for the last half an hour, trying not to stare at the young woman who was standing with them.

She was a few years older than Lindley and seemed to ooze confidence. Her blouse and skirt fascinated Lindley. They seemed to be mostly like what most women wore in northern France (and Belgium as the woman had repeatedly corrected him). But somehow the skirt frequently flung a little higher, the blouse opened a little more than Lindley was used to and the woman would laugh.

“Yes it is,” Mac assured him. “We’ll be hiding in the woods when the General’s delivery comes by. Katje here will drop her basket and the lorry driver will stop and help her. While he is distracted, you two get up into the back and find the beer. Pass it down to me and we run off into the bushes.”

“Will Katje be alright?” Lindley asked, concerned.
Katje laughed, “thank you! I’ll be fine. This is easy for me.”
Lindley went red for what may have been the fifth time that afternoon.
“Enough!” Mac pushed him toward the trees. “They’re coming!”

From his hiding place amongst the ferns, Lindley heard the lorry clattering along. Then a squeal of the brakes and a cry of “Blimey!” as the lorry stopped.

“Can I help you miss?” Lindley heard the driver ask. Katje replied in a torrent of Flemish. “Well, let me help miss. Least I can do.” Katje said something else and giggled.

In moments O’Grady was over the back of the lorry and rifling through the boxes even as Lindley pulled himself up. Soon they found a case of bottles that were marked with the Trappist mark.

Lindley and O’Grady handed the case over to Mac, who peered toward the front of the lorry and dashed off into the trees. Lindley leapt down and ran for cover. O’Grady made to follow.

The motor roared hoarsely and the Lorry began to pull away. The Irishman was stood dumbfounded on the back as it picked up speed.


__________________________________________

*60 squadron
** Major Wilkinson has been CO of 23 since May.

#4531179 - 07/24/20 01:16 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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Maeran, glad to see Badgers old friend is doing well. O’Grady better jump while he has the chance!

Raine, I had the same analogy applied to when I was learning to cast a fly rod. “You look like a monkey hoeing cotton!” Was my mates description of my casting abilities.


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!
#4531203 - 07/24/20 03:53 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Aug 2010
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carrick58 Offline
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carrick58  Offline
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Posts: 6,659
Fido Bedlow
Sgt, Rfc.

33rd Medical Unit
II Corp Hospital
3rd Army Bungalow 2.
Row 4, Bed 4
Nantes, France.

Woke up here in Nantes, Seems really busy. However, my Nurse stopped by to Chat, Her Ex- Navy BF used to tell her news from the Sea War. As Sea-plane Pilot
He saw the Fleet put out to Sea many times. Including Jutland last year.

https://youtu.be/Xa9JTWepBU4

Attached Files 187a4654c038b7e8b0940fb411b03045 shirly eatom.jpg
#4531207 - 07/24/20 04:51 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 737
epower Offline
Artless Aide-de-camp
epower  Offline
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Joined: May 2012
Posts: 737
Originally Posted by Raine
Lovely job description you have written there: “Sneak in unobserved close behind and shoot a man in the back.”

Raine - I'd like to take credit, but it's a direct quote from the man himself, on the 50th anniversary of the RAF. Also the last para, word for word, adjusted only to present tense. Coldblooded, isn't it?
Well done Hans-Dieter and Werner both. This Lt. Kunz fellow though, Werner might have to watch him. Lesson learned.
I knew you'd be running two characters eventually. A good thing too, given Vogel's recent bout of hospital visits. The two-pilot experience could be the best life insurance policy and has the additional bonus of doubling your WOFF time.

MFair - Another near death experience for Badger. I hate those nervy glides over the mud. In 1917, $50k equates to £10,000 and change. Mick has already spent it for him. Maybe not the best timing on his part, broaching the matter with a shopworn Ainsley. Nicely done there, working Mannock's socialist leanings into the narrative. What to do with all that money..? After a filthy weekend with that raven-haired lovely, that is.

Maeran - Congrats on the new rig. Deputy, Deputy. It's a start. As for Lindley's involvement in this recent caper, The Case(s)of the General's Beer, I hope it doesn't end badly, or worse, with broken beer bottles.

Fullofit - Sorry to hear about the grim scenery for Ziggy. When does the beetdown of a certain Jasta mate happen?

Carrick - Goodness, this one has a "come hither" like nobody's business. She'll get Fido growling I have no doubt. I'm confused though, the nurse's boyfriend is Ex-Navy, (red light) or her Ex-boyfriend is Navy (green light) I need more coffee. Cool old footage. Surreal with the narration in Italian.

Last edited by epower; 07/24/20 06:25 PM.
#4531271 - 07/24/20 10:58 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Nov 2014
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Fullofit Offline
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Fullofit  Offline
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Posts: 3,696
Ajax, ON
MFair, well done! I’m with badger. As soon as one gets more money than the next guy, everyone thinks he should share. Somehow no one else is sharing their good fortune with Badger. Mannock needs to move to Russia an find out first hand about communism before he starts knocking capitalism. Little git. It’s easy to “manage” someone else’s wealth. I say Badger should drown in saloon girls if that’s his pleasure. As long as none of them is a gold-digger.

Raine, finally Werner found his stones and let the Hauptmann know about it. I was surprised he didn’t end up driving an apple barge with a fat officer at the back. I was also surprised Werner didn’t end up in Jasta 26 with Hans-Dieter. That would have been interesting. I wonder if the two men would become friends? In any case congrats on a confirmed kill on your first outing as a Jasta Flieger.
Speaking of Hans, way to get in Baron’s good graces with a kielbasa! That man know as how to please. Glad to see Hans back in an Albatros and making mess of the British. It’s good to know the missing finger isn’t a hindrance. He’s due for a visit from the Gong Fairy soon, isn’t he?

Maeran, congrats on the “promotion”. You definitely should put that on your stationary. Who knows? In about a 100 years it may be worth something.
That was an excellent beer raid, but O’Grady will have a lot of explaining to do, unless he jumps off the lorry at full speed.

Carrick, Fido better be careful around this nurse. She looks like she likes to keep things on a short leash.

Epower, I’m afraid the voice of reason forbids beetdown, but you never know. Things happen during a furball.

24 July, 1917

“- You want my advice Junge?” Wolff responded thoughtfully after Zygmunt told him what his dream made him remember.
“- I’d let it go. Forget about it. It was just a dream. Schuster is an officer. You can’t touch him. Just ignore it. It’ll be better for all of us.” Jakob was getting antsy and wanted to leave the hospital as soon as possible. He volunteered to come pick Ziggy up and deliver him back to Jasta. Hahn was already packed and ready to go. One of the plump nurses even gave him a jar of beet soup as a parting gift. He just had to share his revelation with someone right away, and who better than his good friend Jakob Wolff, the wise pilot from Hamburg.
Zygmunt mulled over Wolff’s words in his mind and decided to follow his friend’s advice. If an Albatros with a white lightning on the side of the fuselage happens to fly in front of his gunsights and if he happens to press the trigger, he will not have any regrets about it. But he kept that thought to himself.
“- By the way, the boss let it slip that you’ve been awarded the Eiserne Kreuz 1. Klasse. Congratulations! You should visit hospitals more often. You’d have a chest full of medals by now.” Wolff was definitely jealous of the award.”
“- Oh really? I guess that makes up for the lack of pretty nurses then.” Ziggy winked at the older man.
“- I don’t know. A comfortable bed and a woman bringing you a bowl of soup should be reward enough, but no. Our hero needs his medals.” Jakob continued to tease.
“- Ready to go? I’ve had enough of bed rest and mountain sun lamps.” Ziggy lifted himself off the bed he was sitting on.
“- Let’s go! This place gives me the willies.” Wolff was already in the doorway.
“- Do you want to try some of this beet soup?”


"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."
#4531277 - 07/24/20 11:55 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 737
epower Offline
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epower  Offline
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Posts: 737
Fullofit - Just sayin...

Attached Files Screenshot_2020-07-24 Doonesbury by Garry Trudeau for May 31, 1982 GoComics com.png
Last edited by epower; 07/25/20 03:49 AM.
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