epower: I think its a Green Light for Fido. When hes back up, She will find that he will come running at her " call or whistle. "

I couldnt find old footage in English that had such a large expanse of ships , events and people

Fullofit: I think the nurse has Fido " Collard "

Yeah, that hatchet beside them would really come in handy right now.

.

Pursuant to Army Order 204, dated 6 July 1916, the following individual is hereby presented the Wounded Stripe:



Your King and Country thank you for your sacrifice and faithful service.

.

.

Carrick - Not sure if it’s proper to congratulate someone on another Wound Stripe, so instead I’ll offer congrats on the nurses. Good boy Fido, good boy!

Epower - Doonesbury is still one of the best. Now then, Oliver was fortunate that the King is one who appreciates directness, and has a sense of humour. Who apparently does not have a sense of humour is Ackers, though he does have a point despite his drunkenness. A pilot really must look after the men that look after him and his mount.

Fullofit - Good to see Ziggy is out of hospital, but I don’t know that I agree with him letting the not-so-friendly fire incident slide. Schuster could meet with an unfortunate accident around camp you know, it is an aerodrome after all and things fall on people in such settings - heavy things.

Maeran - Brilliant! A well-executed plan, and a proper raid if ever there was one. Why should the generals have all the good stuff anyway.

Raine - You’ve been busy now, haven’t you. Vogel is back and has an even dozen, eh? Getting close to gong time methinks. That screenshot of his is outstanding, could be the cover art for your WWI novel. As to Wollenberg, the lad has a backbone what with that go-round with Kleine. And it got him into scouts where’s he’s already drawn first blood, and against a Camel no less - well done! As for who got the balloon credit, RHIP.

MFair - Could Badger become our first millionaire’s club pilot in the DiD? Here’s hoping. As for Mannock, it’s easy to talk about sharing what you’ve earned when you’re broke.


2nd Lt. Frederick Abbott continues to do well with the Bristol, and to answer your question Raine he is currently at seven confirmed claims. He has two more pending as of this morning after he and his G/O got into it with a pair of B/R buses that were above La Bellevue. While he was giving one of them what-for he was suddenly set upon by three V-strutters with red-and-white striped tails that chased him all the way back down to the aerodrome before giving up the fight. One was seen to crash after Frederick gave it a good lacing with his Vickers. However, his beloved mount is now out for at least a day after getting holed repeatedly by the trio of Albs, and by the end it was getting so unresponsive to the controls that Abbott bent the undercarriage setting her back down on the field. The young flyer was most assuredly not happy about the state his "lovely lady" was in yet again and swore he would take it out on the next Hun that crossed his sights.

.

Lou, good on Abbott. His score is rising quickly. Man I hate when those controls get sloppy. With the Nieuport against the Albs, as soon as the controls get a little slack from damage, this child is looking for a way out. Staying is a one way ticket to hell.

RAF Lou: Thanks Fido reacts well to praise and treats

Fido Bedlow
Sgt, Rfc.

33rd Medical Unit
II Corp Hospital
3rd Army Bungalow 2.
Row 4, Bed 4
Nantes, France.
July 27, 1917.


Finished second operation. Judging from the Doctors reaction, All well went well.

https://giphy.com/gifs/mr-gif-9Ai5dIk8xvBm0/fullscreen

MFair: It could be worst

https://giphy.com/gifs/cheezburger-mindwarp-doctor-80msmoARhhR16/fullscreen

Lou, it looks like a perforated Brisfit might be the norm. At this rate Abbott will have to thank his mechanics each day before even getting into his machine prior to a mission. Good to see that he is able to dish out as much in return.
As to Ziggy, I say friendly fire should be returned with thanks.

MFair, you are all too right with the poor controls after “light” damage as can be witnessed in Ziggy’s next mission.

Carrick, second operation? First they clip the tail, now the ears.

26 July, 1917 11:00
Ghistelles, Flanders Sector
Jasta 17
Offizierstellvertreter Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1
14 confirmed kills

After a long period in hospital Zygmunt was glad to be back in the air. He was basking in the true sunlight. No need for any kind of lamps. They were tasked today with intercepting enemy planes crossing the front near Diksmuide.
After reaching the assigned intercept area Schwarm Zwei remained on station lying in wait for the enemy machines that were reported to show up any minute. Ziggy noticed the large enemy plane formation first and initiated a climb to gain advantage over them. As he closed in, he could see one formation was followed by another. The first wave consisted of SPADs and Nieuports. He bypassed them, leaving them to the rest of his flight and concentrated on the following group of planes, taking them on all by himself if need be. He took another look and was instantly relieved. It was Schwarm Eins herding the enemy machines towards Schwarm Zwei. Hahn realized they had the enemy squeezed in an Albatros vice.
Zygmunt fired at an oncoming SPAD then quickly switched to a more nimble Nieuport. He fired and kept his one eye on that SPAD, which was now completing his turn behind Ziggy. The Nieuport dove and the Albatros went after, hopefully leaving the SPAD behind. The two machines duelled for a while longer until Ziggy’s final burst, which caused the little sesquiplane to dive all the way down to the deck. Hahn observed from above as the Frenchman recovered at the very last moment, but could not keep the plane level. After another semicircle above the mud he scraped his lower wing on the ground, leaving it behind and causing the entire plane to careen over the surface and finally disintegrate completely.

YouTube Link



Zygmunt looked around for more trouble, which he found pirouetting in close proximity. Two Albatrosen were chasing what looked like two more Nieuports. Hahn joined the fray and went after a machine painted in brown and green camouflage. This one had a Lewis mounted on it’s top wing, like the old Nieuports used to have. They danced for a short time before Ziggy’s well aimed volley crippled the enemy’s machine. The Nieuport went into a spiralling dive from which it never recovered. That was the last of the enemies and the Schwarm returned to Ghistelles after reforming.

YouTube Link

Lou - Good to see Freddy surviving the strong encounter, albeit with ventilated aircraft. Sounds like Tiggy Winkle will be an even more formidable foe now that he is roused to fury by the damage inflicted on his "lady."

Fullofit - Ziggy's back without missing, dare I say it, a beet. No lightning bolt Albs amongst his kills. Biding his time I see.
___________________________________________

Apologies for the long chapter. I'd prefer to dole this out in smaller chunks since there's much going on, but London is Calling, so is 3rd Ypres. There is not a moment to be lost! Take notes if you have to.


À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 11 of many



6 July 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

0445 hrs. Blinding headache. I can’t keep drinking like this. Dawn show was an escort of two Strutters from Naval 2 on their recce of the lines between the ruins of Dadizele and the Lys. Stewart, Pope, Charley, Goodbehere and Hyde. I had Stewart look after Goodbehere.
No e/a to be found in our patrol area but on our 3rd loop the Archie gunners rolled out of their bunks and gave us a shellacking. We returned to Bray Dunes with ringing ears, raw nerves, and perforated canvas.

A quick breakfast then an hour on the bag. My headache faded but Acker’s words remained. The morning was already warm, and I headed over the Dunes for a swim. The cold worked wonders on tired muscles and the salt water helped work loose the irritating scab from my latest brush with Herr Spandau.

Ackers was just waking when I returned.
“What day is it?” he croaked then groaned as the light hit his eyes. “I drank from the wrong bottle last night. What did we talk about? I don’t remember.”
“You sent over a good bit of sh#te and nonsense, a real Hurricane Bombardment. Some truth too,” I replied.
“Aye, I thought as much. Apologies.”
“Not to worry. I’ve been accosted by drunks before, but few have been so charming.”
“Now you’re talking out your arse, Rippar,” he said. “An Irishman is never drunk as long as he can hold on to a single blade of grass, and not fly off the face of the Earth.”
“I never knew that. I stand corrected.”

1500 hrs. Defensive Patrol between Steenvoorde and Bailleul town. B-Flight unchanged from the morning. Goodbehere flew Hyde’s wing. Only friendly aircraft spotted. No Huns to spoil a beautiful afternoon flight.
I pulled Goodbehere aside as we walked to the squadron office.

“What did you see, Goodbehere?”
“I saw the Harry Tate’s near Ballieul. Beastly looking things!”
“Anything else?”
Goodbehere was silent, searching his memory. The smiling, childlike expression which he normally presented to the world vanished under brows furrowed in concentration then reappeared as he exclaimed, “Oh yes! There were 4 underneath us near the end of the patrol. I think they were SPADs!”
“They were.”
“I knew I saw more than just the Harry Tates!”
“Did you see the Nieuports 4000 feet above over Steenvoorde?”
“No,” he said crestfallen.
“Those are the ones who will kill you.”
I showed him the search technique Stewart had taught me.
“Don’t worry about shooting Huns right now, just keep them from shooting you. Come home alive, Goodbehere, and a little bit smarter every day”

The office cleared. I looked at the leave rotation posted on the wall. My name was at the top. I asked Major Horn if he had any idea when I might go, and if there would be any advance warning.
“A few days at best. That’s how the system works. What provokes this inquiry?”
“There's a lady involved, sir." I said.

"I see.

“A most interesting conversation you had with His Majesty the King, yesterday. Rather novel. You won’t be the last man to lose the use of his reason in the royal presence, but as an officer you must learn to ‘walk with kings nor lose the common touch.’ You’re promoted Captain, Winningstad. You walk on a larger stage now. No more hiding in the wings. A Captain must combine the fire of the Subaltern with the discretion of the Field-Officer. Officers and men alike will look to you as an example. Make certain you set the right one.”


7 July 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

0545 hrs. Escort two Harry Tates from 42 Squadron on a bombing mission 3 miles east of Lens. No e/a sighted.

A note from Eliza! Monty is transferred to No. 2 Base Hospital in Abbeville. She’s still with 55 CCS for now but will move to No. 2 Red Cross Hospital in Rouen at the end of the month, there to join Mr. Grey Turner’s team.


1300 hrs. Another escort mission, this time 3 RE.8s from No. 6 squadron on a recce of the lines between Menen and Passchendaele. Stewart, Pope, Ackers with Foster and Goodbehere flying together. A-Flight would sweep above.

North of Menen, A-Flight shot well ahead and mixed up with a flight of Albatri.



The fight scattered widely and by the time B-flight made contact there were only two Huns remaining at our altitude. Red Tails! Jasta 11 again.



I got behind one and fired three short bursts. My heavy trigger finger had no doubt contributed to all the recent stoppages. The Hun refused to dive out and I sprayed lead all over the sky before I finally connected with a solid volley.


He fell thunderously, clawing the dust in his fingers.

After collecting the flight we followed the Harry Tates back over the lines, shadowed by a single Albatros some two thousand feet above. Nearing the lines, the madman came down and attacked us! Ackers got on him first and when he broke off, I attacked and put almost 100 rounds into him to no effect. I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn today. I moved in closer and waited for the right moment. I had him, twenty yards away. The Vickers barked for 3 rounds and fell silent. Empty! The Hun split-arsed then and dove straight down at full power. Nothing to be done but return to Bray Dunes.

Wing denied my claim. The Hun must have spontaneously combusted.



8 July 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

0600 hrs. We were to conduct a defensive patrol when the word came of an incoming Hun raid. As usual we cleared the field in time but saw no enemy aircraft.



Another Gotha Raid on London yesterday. Twenty-two aircraft in all. The Times showed a photograph of the raid, described by witnesses as a flock of birds.

Dirty weather rolled in after lunch. The afternoon show was another slog through stinging raindrops and poor visibility. Balloon strafe 3 miles south of Loos. At least the Huns would have trouble seeing our approach. Another clean run in and an excellent set-up. Buckingham danced all over the gasbag and my rocket salvo slammed home. Thinking of England!


A splendid fireball lit the grey skies.

Uncle was on the phone with Wing for nearly 30 minutes. They kept insisting the balloon was still up. This time Uncle lost the argument. Claim rejected.




9 July 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

I stood on the palace wall outside the royal apartments. Night had fallen but the festival of Athene continued throughout the City of Priam. The warm Summer breeze floated in from the Aegean. I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was she. The oil lamps in our sleeping quarters shone behind her. Their light cut through the gossamer silk of her dress, illuminating the strong lines and delicate curves of her body in a golden glow.
“Come to me, beloved. Love me,” she whispered, pulling me toward her.

A distant voice spoke, growing ever louder. “Sir…" The ancient city receded and vanished.

No Parker, not now. Go away…Oh hell, it’s gone.

“It’s 6’oclock, sir. Raining cats and dogs. Morning patrols washed out.”

“Thank you, Parker.”

Rain all day with high winds. Time to sleep in, hammer the bag, and catch up on correspondence.

A letter from Father today.



I remembered the butcher’s daughter. Pretty little thing, always serious at school. I couldn’t recall her name. Like father like son.



10 July 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

0700 hrs. Balloon strafe, this time north of Lens. The usual crew in B-Flight today: Pope, Ackers, Foster, Charley and Hyde. As before, there were no Huns up to oppose our run in to the balloon. I changed course a mile out and ran down the long axis of the dirigible. Thinking of England I let fly with the rockets, the Buckingham having proceeded them.



Pope is dead. Bane of Two-seaters which he attacked with such reckless abandon. Completely fearless in that regard. Some sort of engine failure just as he turned on final approach. He went into the trees short of the field and was killed.

There was no afternoon show today. I didn’t want to drink, not yet anyway. I tried working out my anger on the bag, but my thoughts ran into darkness almost immediately. I walked to the beach, soaked now but not even the sea provided any solace. Dammit to Hell! Why must men die from these entirely avoidable flying accidents?

I toasted Pope in the mess but then retired early, mind whirring. His death didn’t sting as much as the others’ had. Nothing like Pixley and Grevelink, or even Hill, Duxbury and Sutcliffe, who I barely knew. I was growing accustomed to it. I didn’t like that at all.



11 July 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

I rose at 0400, an hour before Parker was scheduled to wake me. A low mist hung on the field as the dawn crawled over the eastern horizon, over Hunland. The morning show would be a line patrol from Loos to Lens.

0600 hrs. A full six this morning: Ackers, Goodbehere, Hyde, Charley and Foster. Milford took Goodbehere as his wingman.

High Albs attacked us over the lines.



After the initial bounce, the fight spread out. I got the angle on an all-red Albatros and shot him through from close range. He went down out of control, crashing north of Lens.



Heading west over the lines, 2 high Pups in view. Archie puffs dead ahead. A lone Albatros on our side of the lines! He never saw me and fell just east of Neuve-Chapelle.



Circling to gather B-Flight, I found another Hun down low. I reversed and dove to attack. The Albatros was entirely black, with a red dragon painted on the fuselage. I held my fire until I couldn’t miss. The Hun fell off sharply to the left and crashed not far his comrade. There his life and strength were scattered.



1345 hrs. Line Patrol again, this time on our side of the mud. Lens to Athies. Only five this afternoon. Foster went with A-Flight.

On our second circuit of the patrol area, a DFW tried to slip past.



My first pass put some lead into the Hun but the DFW flew on. I rolled away then came back up from underneath. As I fired the Hun skidded to the right, giving his Observer a clear line of fire. I broke hard but not before the Hun put an ungodly number of bullets through 6189. Something burned across the top of my right forearm. Instruments shattered. The compass exploded, blinding me with its liquid. I tried wiping the goggles clean with my glove, but it was useless. I ripped them down around my neck, squinting against the blast of the slipstream.



Controls were barely responsive. The elevator worked as normal but 6189 wanted to roll right in the worst way. Taking no chances, I stayed high over the trees coming down to land at Bray Dunes, fighting all the while to keep her level. My landing was more of a controlled crash. I hadn’t bounced that high since my first solo. The undercarriage held and I rolled to a stop at the far end of the landing ground.



My arm hurt but all my fingers still worked. I looked at the wreckage of my windscreen and instruments wondering how I was still alive.

Cpl. Fredericks pulled a few tiny splinters of instrument glass out of my jaw. A bright red weal ran across my forearm just below the elbow crease. Another graze, another inconsequential flesh wound. Right thigh, upper back, left shoulder, left calf and now my right arm. I was running out of convenient places to be shot.

I’d made my report and returned to the tent. Ackers was off somewhere. I got the howling wind up, shuddering at the memory of today’s close shave.

I went back to Hangar 2 to check on Mitchell and Johnson. Incredibly, they were nearly halfway through replacing A6189’s shattered instruments. Mitchell was trueing the new compass before setting into the panel.

Johnson, paintbrush in hand, repaired the ‘OAW’ monogram so rudely shredded by the Hun Observer.

“How is she?” I asked.

“Minor damage, sir, other than the instruments. They’ve had it. The usual ripped canvas, already patched, sir. That brass makers plate stopped the bullet from hitting the petrol tank. Went in on an angle and lodged in the plywood. Close one there, sir.”

Was that the bullet that hit me?

“A6189 should bear your names as well.” I said. “She’s as much your Pup as mine.”
“Oh sir, that wouldn’t be right,” said Johnson, looking shocked.

“I'm not suggesting foot high letters on the top plane, Corporal, that would be excessive. Something understated and not in plain view. ‘Property of Corporals Mitchell and Johnson… or words to that effect.’ I’ll leave it to your discretion.”

“Very good, sir. We can manage that,” said Corporal Mitchell hiding a grin.

The dispatch rider brought some good news. Ackers’ kill of the DFW confirmed. That was 5 for him. He was an ace!! Hudson scored his 6th victory leading A-Flight on the dawn show. My balloon from yesterday and the three Albs from the morning, confirmed as well. 30 Huns now. A raucous mess with much singing and celebration. Goodbehere we learned has quite the singing voice. A gorgeous tenor but he doesn’t know the songs yet. More homework for him! This was Ackers’ night most of all, and I didn’t want to cast a shadow on it. When I left at 11 the party was still going. I walked the aerodrome in a gloomy mood, that d@mn Eton Boating Song stuck in my head again, along with Pixley’s words, “there will be a test, later.”

Fullofit, good thing it turned out to be comrades, taking on a whole flight will get thee killed.

EPower, well I know what you did all day. Wow, that’s a whole lot of story telling. 30 kills and a captain to boot!

Lt. Ainslie Harris
Bruay
July 27, 1917

Harris was still a bit sore from his crash landing but he was up for a flight. They were to take down a balloon East of Vimey. He had a new pilot, Lt. Benny MacArthur in his flight. As they dove on the balloon Harris let loose with his rockets and started firing with the Vickers. As he turned away at the last moment the balloon was smoking. The other Harris finished it off. They formed quickly and headed west. Harris noted activity above and started climbing. It was A Fight having a round with some V Strutters. He got on the tail of a brightly painted machine and hit it with a good burst. It dove, starting to trail smoke as it went. Badger dove after the machine. They were now low over enemy territory and Badger saw a Hun airfield ahead. “Not today” he thought as he pulled up to disengage. As he did 3 more V Strutters flashed past. Badger was cursing his stupidity when 3 of his own flight dove in to save him. He noticed a Hun slightly below and easily slipped behind it. With a few quick bursts the Hun exploded in mid air. Badger jerked the stick back and felt the heat as he passed overhead. Time to go.

Back at Bruay, the pilots filed their reports. The squadron had claimed 6 kills and 1 balloon. The merry mood was soon dashed as the afternoon show was an attack on Loo’s Junction. Badger hated low level ground attacks. At 1500 hours the squadron was on its way to the Railyard. Just east of Bethune they were set upon by some very good Huns. It was a real merry go round. They returned to Bruay. 2 machines were write offs with damage and they filed no claims. How quickly the tables can turn.

.

MFair – A good and bad day for Badger and his crew, such is war. At least they all survived. And lucky his mates were there to watch his six, even if he wasn’t watching it himself for a moment.

Epower – You covered a lot of ground in that one. Balloon attacks, escort duties, denied claims, a letter from home, the anti-German bigotry in the States, the loss of a squad mate, another near-ender, and 30 victories under Oliver’s belt. Outstanding!

Fullofit – Ziggy is back in form. Two claims right out of the gate, now let’s hope they are awarded him. And no friendly fire either.

Carrick – Glad Fido’s operations went well, despite any minor discomfort he might have felt.

.

27 July 1917
11 Squadron R.F.C.
La Bellevue, France

“Filthy rotter! He’s gotten us Thomas, you OK back there?” 2nd Lt. Abbott yelled concernedly as he throttled back the Rolls-Royce V-12.

“Still in one piece. Sent the devil down too. How about you Tiggy?” Lt Yale shouted back.

“Engine’s been hit and my windscreen is holed. And I saw him fall, fine shooting old sport”, Frederick answered. He paused for a moment, then added, “Also, I believe I’ve been shot.”

‘What?!”

“Been shot – right arm numb – spot of blood coming through my coat at the shoulder – going back to camp PDQ.”

(to be continued)


The afternoon sortie, ’B’ Flight on their way to patrol the lines at Old Mossy Face.



Over Courcelles Frederick spies a pair of DFWs heading west, a trio of V-strutters above them keeping watch.



While the majority of their flight mates busy themselves with the escorts, Abbott and Yale attack the B/R planes. Frederick pulls up on the trailing bus and makes quick work of it with a volley that stitches the DFW from nose to tail.



As the first Boche two-seater falls Abbott goes after his partner. But this enemy team is ready for the fight and no sooner has the King’s airman unleased the Vickers when the Hun gunner finds his own mark.



Windscreen shot through, engine running poorly, and his right arm suddenly gone numb, Frederick is forced to break off his attack. As he does so Thomas finishes the job and the second DFW spins away out of control.



Making as hasty a return to La Bellevue as possible, Abbott wonders just how bad his wound is. His right arm is still numb and he is starting to feel a bit lightheaded.


.

MFair- All day...If only. My muse is a timorous creature and deserts me for long stretches of time. It feels like I've been living the DID Campaign in real time these past 4 months, like that crazy guy on Subsim who used to do 1:1 time compression Uboat Patrols. Adds to the Immersion.
Quite a day. Badger dished out and then took a d@mn good thrashing. Those exploding planes remain shocking. Glad he's OK.

Lou - Freddy's been blooded, hopefully just the proverbial scratch. Another Hun down for the boys. I like your new format of a precis followed by narrative pics. I finally realized what's so appealing about the forward view of the Bristol. Visually, it's like a gigantic ring sight with the struts oriented as they are. La Bellvue is looking very fine indeed! Please tell me the approach is not over the tree-lined road.

Epower, beetween you and me Ziggy is still feeling offbeet and let’s not beet around the bush, it’s hard to draw a beet on your wingman when he’s flying behind you.
Good news on the promotion. Congrats, although Major Horn did not seem to be ecstatic about it.
Rotten luck with all those denied claims. It makes one wonder who they’re asking for confirmation, three blind mice?
Oliver, Oliver. How can you not remember the name of a pretty girl? Travesty! Tack on another hour on the bag as penance.
Bad news, sorry to hear Pope has gone west and in such an uninspired fashion. The troubling part is that Oliver went numb. Is it a self defence mechanism?
Speaking of self defence, that was close with that two-seater messing up 6189.
Congrats on the latest, confirmed this time, victories. About time and an even 30. Look who’s about to challenge the Baron.

MFair, following blindly that dastardly Hun and realizing he’s home happens to all of us. Realizing that three of his mates are diving on your tail could cost your pilot’s life. Further realizing that your wingmen are diving on the Huns that are diving on you is priceless. Hope that’s a lesson for Badger. Tough day.

Lou, that is so out of character for Abbott. He would never complain about trivial things like a bullet in his arm. Hope it is rather minor. Those two-seaters still pose a danger to the Brisfit’s crew. Hope he was able to land properly before his lightheadedness turned into lights-out.

27 July, 1917 11:30
Ghistelles, Flanders Sector
Jasta 17
Offizierstellvertreter Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1
14 confirmed kills
Awaiting two claim confirmations

Still no word on the two Nieuports from yesterday. Zygmunt is not hopeful.
Jasta 17 was ordered to escort 2 DFW’s from Ss-7 to bomb airfield at Baizieux. With clear skies the visibility was great in all directions. The only thing that was not visible were the DFW’s they were supposed to be escorting. Instead they were greeted by a flight of SPAD’s. Two of them already on Zygmunt’s tail. They seemed to work together. One would stay high while the other one would engage, but two can play at this game and soon enough Buckler engaged one of them, while Hahn was able to persecute the other. After going head to head with the French machine Ziggy was able to get on his tail and fire a few well aimed volleys. The enemy went down like a rock with no chance of recovering. A column of smoke marked the place where he had crashed. Buckler and the other Franzmann were going round in circles where the column of smoke was rising. Ziggy decided to help and engaged the enemy. Again, after a few hits the SPAD went down and never recovered. The Schwarm returned home after that.

YouTube Link



After landing and filling out reports Ziggy found out Wolff had shot down an enemy machine. It was already confirmed by other pilots, but where was the Old man himself? The phone call came in late. Wolff was taken to hospital wounded during combat. Zygmunt was distraught with his friend’s predicament and decided to see him at the hospital first chance he gets.

Fullofit (and MFair too) - As chance and GHQ would have it, Oliver was actually promoted Captain on the 4th of July, just before the awkward episode with His Majesty. In retrospect, I was a bit too subtle with that and it got buried in the DSO news. I was afraid some of this would get lost in all the catch-up I've been throwing down.

The butcher's daughter is 4, maybe 5 years younger than Oliver. We might see more on her later if he lives long enough.

Wolff, is down? Oh that's not gut. Not feeling great about yesterday's Nieuports either. Why is it RFC claim denials feel like incompetence and in the Luftstreitkräfte it seems like some nefarious kill-stealing agenda at work? Good work on the SPAD. Hope all 3 confirmations drop tomorrow.

Epower, 4 maybe 5 year age gap makes a huge difference at a tender age, but later on that gap seems to disappear. Will Brunhilde be a threat to Eliza? Only time will tell.
That’s two Nieuports from yesterday and the two SPADs from today. Ziggy’s on pins and needles.

Great reading.

Maeran – glad to hear the new PC is working out. Congratulations on the appointment to deputy flight leader. I love the line “Put it on your stationery.” And I particularly love the idea of stealing the general’s beer!

Carrick – I am waiting for Fido’s book, “Nurses I Have Known.”

Fullofit – Happy to see Ziggy out of hospital. That’s one hen that can’t be kept cooped up. It didn’t take him too long to start smashing up British aeroplanes either.

epower – Oliver is doing a fine job of teaching Goodbehere how to stay alive. Congratulations on his promotion to captain. It’s a wonderful rank. Not as snot-nosed as a subaltern and lacking the real responsibilities of the field officer. Enjoy it while you can. And I really enjoyed the letter from Mr Winningsted. Your last major episode included a real scare. You don’t want to buy the farm just before you leave comes up.

MFair – I know what you mean about turning tables. I had a bit of the same this evening, running into some enemy machines that were far too well flown for my liking.

Lou – Freddie is a classic! “Also, I believe I’ve been shot.”

Tagebuch of Offstv Hans-Dieter Vogel, EK2

Jasta 26, Iseghem (Izegem), Belgium

Part 18

25 July 1917

Heavy, low-lying cloud and rain. At other times we might spend a morning like this in bed but Oberleutnant Loerzer is keen for the Staffel to make a name for itself these days. Kogenluft has grouped several Staffels together under Richthofen; if they do it again the boss wants such a command. And so we are off to patrol the lines –freie Jagd – the best kind of patrol! I am to lead a formation of five this morning. The others are Merkl, Dahm, Blume, and Dannhuber. Only twenty minutes into a patrol we are dived on by two groups of Nieuports. One group is silver in colour and the other has a camouflage pattern. But what is unusual is that they bear French markings.

These Frenchmen are aggressive. I have not had too much difficulty with Nieuports unless their pilots are highly skilled. These fellows were slippery. The fight continues for nearly ten minutes. The wind is contrary this morning. Normally it blows us back to our side of the lines but today the wind is out of the east. Finally, one by one, we break away and dive for home. Back at Iseghem the mechanics count us as we land. We are all here but many of our machines will require patching before the next flight.

Lunch consists of sandwiches in the pilots’ hut by the field. The place smells of wet dog. Dahm has acquired a black dog with floppy ears, part spaniel I believe. Blume has an ugly grey mongrel that by all appearances is part greyhound and part weasel. He says that he wants to race it and make some money from it after the war. We look at the poor thing sleeping and farting in the corner and tell Blume that if it doesn’t win any races, at least he can run away from it. The telephone rings and Oberleutnant Loerzer answers. He tells Dannhuber, Blume, Merkel, and me to get ready. Jasta 6 was to have escorted some two-seaters to take photographs north of Ypres but their machines are shot about. We have the job now. We take off and circle for altitude east of the field toward Courtrai. Then we climb between the clouds, heading northwest towards our rendezvous point. We do not get there. English Nieuports appear through the clouds and attempt to surprise us. But the boss has seen them and we turn about. We fight them for several minutes and I chase one down to treetop level and then lose him northwest of Ledegem. I am about to give up and regroup when I spot my Englishman. He is crossing our lines at low level. I dive at full throttle and come up behind him. My first burst kills the pilot and the machine tumbles into the mud and cartwheels through the shell craters. We never find our two-seaters and return home. Our balloon observers have already phoned in my Nieuport. This is victory number thirteen.


26 July 1917

This morning dawns beautifully clear and fresh. It is an easy patrol – well behind our lines and far to the north. We even have time for coffee and toast before takeoff. It is thirty minutes to our patrol area, a friendly aerodrome south of Bruges. Just before we arrived there, Oberleutnant Loerzer signals “enemy in sight” and begins to dive off to our left. It takes me a few seconds to spot them – Sopwith two-seaters. I select my quarry and press home the attack. Now for the second time in two days I begin to question my skill. Like the French Nieuports yesterday, the Sopwiths are well handled. Our Albatrosen should totally dominate them but the English pilot I have chosen throws his machine around and often out-turns me. Gradually I chip away, hitting him with one or two rounds on each pass. Now his observer is no longer firing and I close in for the kill. I fire fifty rounds and the Sopwith snaps about and nearly gets a good shot at me. We circle about and take runs at one another expending much ammunition. But the Englishman cannot keep this up for long. Eventually he must try for home or be forced to land behind our lines. And now he rolls and dives down, heading at full speed for home. Undeterred by an observer I close the distance quickly. But now the blasted English gunner reappears. He stands in his position and turns his Lewis gun on me. I have been humbugged and break off the attack. We are over no man’s land and I decide to give it one more try. Nearly touching the ground, I stay under the Sopwith’s tail this time. I fire until he falls.

Back at Iseghem I am disappointed to learn that the Sopwith remains unconfirmed. That afternoon we had north a second time. Once more we meet a group of Sopwith two-seaters. The fight is sharp but inconclusive.


27 July 1917

The boss leads a large group of us this morning. Seven machines are bound for Rekkem to guard our balloon lines. We form up to the south-west of Menen and within minutes spot the enemy. A very large formation of white Nieuports with English markings are attacking the field at Marckebeeke. My hospital friend von Richthofen is based there and we can see the red-nosed Albatrosen of Jasta 11 lined up on the field. Suddenly the English machines swoop down and begin shooting up the aerodrome! We dive to the rescue. It is a joyous fight at low level. I catch a Nieuport in a turn and fire into the cockpit. The Nieuport immediately dips and hits the trees. A second Nieuport passes in front of me. I am behind him and above in an instant, scarcely thirty metres away. My Spandaus rip into it. But now there is another black and white Albatros merely inches below me. I pull my machine up into the right. It is Leutnant Dahm and he fires at my Nieuport, which immediately falls to the ground below and explodes. I am not sure that he even saw me.


"The Nieuport immediately dips and hits the trees."

Now the machines of both sides are widely scattered. I see columns of smoke beyond the aerodrome. There is movement! A white Nieuport is skimming over the treetops, running for home. I dive on it and fire more than 100 rounds. The English machine dips down and crashes. Elated, I decide to land at Marckebeeke to have a chat with my friend from the hospital. But as I approach the field, a red Albatros passes above me followed by six more machines, all with some red feature. Von Richthofen is leading his wolf pack to the hunt!


"But as I approach the field, a red Albatros passes above me followed by six more machines, all with some red feature."

I claim both Nieuports. Unfortunately only the first has been witnessed. Still, I have victory number fourteen.

In the afternoon we are to attack an enemy balloon north of Ypres. I am determined not to lose this opportunity and the moment the boss lowers his nose as we crossed the lines I dive at full throttle directly towards the reported position for our target. There it is, gleaming in the sunshine. I begin firing early and keep firing until I must break to avoid collision. A wisp of black smoke has emerged. I look over my shoulder as I pass and the balloon erupts into flame. I have victory number fifteen.


"I have victory number fifteen."

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Raine – Wow, fifteen now for Vogel, the man is on a streak! And an MvR wolf pack sighting, always worth noting. Now, to the wet dog smell in the pilots’ hut, something needs to be done about that, it will put one right off his feed.

Fullofit – Ziggy makes it look so easy. Those fellows never stood a chance. And fourteen for him, he’s in a contest with Vogel from the looks of it.

Epower – Glad to know that the new and improved La Bellevue looks good to your critical eye.

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27 July 1917
No.5 British Red Cross Hospital
Abbeville, France

“I say, that does smart a bit Sir”, 2nd Lt. Frederick Abbott gripped with his left hand the side of the table he was seated on as the RAMC doctor, Major Symons, probed with the forceps ever deeper into the young airman’s right shoulder.

“You should have opted for the morphine Lieutenant, as I suggested”, the doctor remarked offhandedly. “The bullet is a fair ways in there, but once we have it out all the feeling should return to your arm. It’s pressing against the nerves, you see.”

“Not all of them. There’s more than enough feeling there at the moment Sir, if I may speak frankly”, Abbott stated through gritted teeth.

“You may”, Major Symons replied as he continued digging about in the wound.

Frederick had been sent across to the hospital short minutes after landing his bus at La Bellevue, the camp medic there making a quick assessment of the situation and realizing the bullet was far too deep for him to attempt going after it. Instead, he plugged the hole to stem the bleeding which, while not profuse, had been enough to soak the young pilot’s clothing through to his flying coat and cause him some lightheadedness. As they waited for a tender to be brought up the medic had Frederick drink copious amounts of tea to replace some of the liquid he’d lost, after which he helped the wounded flyer into the transport, told him to rest and that all would be fine, and sent him on his way. By the time he arrived at Abbeville it was nearly five in the afternoon.

The nurse attending, a rather plain though not unattractive young woman of perhaps nineteen, wiped the blood from Frederick’s arm while the doctor worked. As she did so she gave the young airman a smile. Despite the pain he was currently enduring, Abbott flashed his toothy grin back at her.

“By Jove, aren’t you a pretty thing, and so attentive too. My name’s Frederick by the way, but you may call me Freddy if you like.”

The young nurse stifled a giggle, then stated firmly, “I’ll call you cheeky, Lieutenant.”

“Fair enough”, Abbott replied, “and what may I call you?”

“You may call me Nurse Ellison.”

“No first name?”

“Not for one so brazen as you”, the young woman flirted.

“A game then, I shall try and guess it”, Frederick challenged. “Let’s see, is it – CHRIST!”

Major Symons had at last gotten a grip on the pellet and pulled it out.

“No, that’s not it, nothing so sacred as that”, Nurse Ellison laughed.

“There it is Lieutenant, it was a stubborn one”, the doctor proclaimed triumphantly as he held the bloody bullet up for all to see.

“Well done, Doctor”, the nurse complimented.

“Yes, well done Sir, thank you, but a bit of warning might have been nice”, Frederick remarked with a grimace.

“You were busy chatting up my nurse, and as she was keeping you distracted I didn’t see the need”, the doctor smiled. “Now then, we’ll clean and dress the wound and sling that arm after which Nurse Ellison will find you a bed for the night.”

“Yeah, yeah I will”, the young woman agreed with a playful smile.


(to be continued)
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