Marcel Jules Gilbare
ESC. 15 GC 13
Senard, Verdun

20 Aug 1917.


Dawn Escort for 3 Sowith's : Lost one to some Albatros Scouts. I stayed High while the other 4 defended against 6 or 7 e/a's. waiting for a chance to join in. In the meantime while stoogie around I had a Boche just blunder in front of me so gave him Zee Rat a Tat Tat 3 times then he just turned and dove away by then 3 more a/c joined us in Zee Melee LaF machines and it was over. No claims or scores for us

Marcel Jules Gilbare
ESC. 15 GC 13
Senard, Verdun
1 Victory

20 Aug 1917.



Second Flight Balloon mission: Post to get a Hun Gas Bag along with 2 Spads as cover/ backup. As a N-23 driver I carried the Rockets and made point attacker. Zee mission went well . I used MG on 1st pass then gave him zee rockets . Zee Gas bag exploded after a brief Burn. Confirmed by the Arty and my Cover pilots. Easy Victory.

20 August, 1917 06:45 morning mission
Ghistelles, Flanders Sector
Jasta 17
Leutnant Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1 HHO
26 confirmed kills

Two Camels have been confirmed, but the red cowling went to Flak battery boys.
Balloon busting north of Ypres. Schwarm Eins raced ahead and attacked the balloon on their own. Ziggy could see the smoke beginning to rise from the gasbag. He dove and finished it off. At least that’s what he thought until they’ve returned to base and he learned Ltn Strasser, who was following him, fired the last, decisive round.

YouTube Link

More great stories gents. Please know I have read them all. A quick catch up for Ivan.

Fw Ivan Immer
Jasta 6
August 21,1917

Ivan was not in good spirits today. The Kommandant, Dostler, had been killed yesterday. Shot down by an obsolete RE no less. “If he can go down with that luck, how can anyone expect to survive this war!” he had role Schubert the night before. Dostler had been a good leader. Ivan had the utmost respect for the man. There had been a death every week since he had joined the squadron.

At 8000’ his flight had just turned south near Menen when a big fight came into view to the west. Another Jasta and Nieuports were having a real scrap. Von Adams signaled and they all joined the fray. Ivan dove on one but immediately had to pull up as tracers went by his machine. As he turned right in the climb he saw a Nieuport not 20 yards from him turning in his direction. He could see the horrified look on the Frenchman’s face and he knew his looked the same. Ivan was a little lower and a few feet ahead when he heard the crunch and his machine staggered. He fought it for a few seconds and realized he still had control. To his amazement, the Frenchman was falling completely out of control. Ivan dove east and was relieved no one followed him. Coming in low over Menen he was hit in the shoulder. He could not believe it. Some idiot with a rifle didn’t know friend from foe! His airfield was in sight and he made a rough landing with his good arm. Corporal Rupp was there and helped him from the machine. “Your bleeding bad!” The Corporal had exclaimed. “Well aren’t you observant!” Ivan said sarcastically. “You make sure you file a claim for a French Nieuport for me. I knocked the dammed thing down with my own machine. Literally!” Ivan was off to the hospital.

Note. This is the first time I have filed a claim for a plane brought down in a collision. To my surprise it was confirmed!

Raine - Vogel's meteoric rise continues, and now Now a Jasta to command. The wisdom of Loertzer the Elder will come in handy. The Black Tails, eh? Oliver's had a number of run-ins with that crowd. They'll be even deadlier now. You've created a great set up for Vogel's command. Will honest to goodness Fun actually make it into a Jasta at last?

MFair - tough loss, Dostler going down like that. The Gods of War smile on young Ivan. Not many survie a mid-air and get to claim the kill in the bargain.

Fullofit - Ziggy still pluggin away, I see. Great pics of the striped Albatri. Whats up with DIII OAW? Congrats ont he two Camels, but those blasted balloon poaching Schweinehunden! Most aggravating. That lighnight bolt coming down was extremely cool. Is that a mod or have I just missed seeing them?

Carrick - Marcel 'Le Chat' Gilbare. Stay alive. stay alive. Love the lighting in the early morning pics. Well taken.

Lederhosen - Now that is a real Magic Bus. Great job on the skin! Looking forward to Willi's return.

A great many thanks to Raine, whose timely ideas for story and generous help with 1917 London played a huge role in getting these latest chapters finished.


À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 15 of many


18 July 1917
The International
London, England

It was 3 o’clock by the time we bade Smokey farewell and returned to the International. To see him again so unexpectedly after a year was surreal. We slept late, nearly to Noon. The late night of dancing had burned most of the alcohol from our brains. The Olde Cheshire Cheese beckoned, but we were to be there before one o’clock so it was a mad dash. It was Wednesday, one of the two days of the week when the pub served its famous pudding. Eliza’s excitement grew as we approached. It was like she was sharing a secret.

A short stroll up Wine Office Court, off the north side of Fleet street, lay the our destination. Rebuilt in 1667 after the Great Fire, it remained largely unchanged since Charles II.

Entering the Olde Cheshire Cheese just prior to the day’s rush we came into a classic pub with low ceilings, dim light and a saw dusted floor. The establishment was rapidly filling with round bellied gentlemen and service types of all denominations. To the right was the small bar and caged there was an African Grey parrot, who greeted us as we walked further on.

Braaack! You’re a lovely one. Give us a kiss!

The parrot started cooing and made a series of trilling sounds. I could only think he meant Eliza.



We found a table in the Chop Room opposite the small bar giving us an excellent view of the proceedings. It was here we were told that Samuel Johnson held court. Were it not for the patrons’ modern dress, I could easily have imagined this to be the London of Dickens or Johnson’s time. In Winter, the fireplace would make this a very cozy spot.

Scotch! More Scotch!

Another outburst from the Polly the parrot, who began whistling now.

“Eliza, what is this famous pudding?” I asked.

“Rats! Rats! Rats!”

Polly commenced a purring after this latest declaration.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you,” she said. “My parents brought me here when I was 16. They had no idea about Polly. My father almost had a seizure.”

"Charley, is the pudding ready? scraaak!”

“What exactly about Polly?” I asked.
“Well, he can be a little ...coarse.” she said
“What does that mean?”

You’re quite a scoundrel yourself, Prime Minister!

“Oh my, that’s new,” said Eliza.

At long last the moment arrived. With a ceremonial flourish the head waiter, trailed by several staff appeared from the kitchen carrying on a massive tray a vessel as wide as a fat man’s torso, over the top of which lay a hemisphere of flaky pastry crust. Polly, removed from his cage for the occasion, sat perched on the manager's extended finger.


Entry of the Pudding

"Hurry with the pudding!"

Polly cried then made a perfect imitation of a champagne cork popping, followed by

“glug, glug, glug.”

The pudding came round to us. The waiter served out two massive portions of a pudding filled with steak, kidney, oysters, mushrooms, larks, and who knew what else all melded together with a rich gravy and fluffy layered crust. Polly was bobbing his head and making a purring noise, all the while looking at Eliza. It was hard to fault him for that.

“Give us a kiss, darling!”

Eliza laughed and raised her cheek as Polly nuzzled her and then made kissing noises.

We each had a glass of bitter at the ready. I was just about to speak the toast ‘Let us now praise famous parrots’ when Polly, seeing our glasses clinking together beat me to it.

“F*ck the Kaiser!”

_________________________________________________


We were stuffed, and so headed south to the Embankment for a post prandial sojourn. The day remained atypically gorgeous, and I felt no change in the glass. The weather would hold for now. River traffic was heavy, numerous barges and ferries moved in both directions.


“Oliver, why does Smokey call you ‘Young Bull’?”

“Surely you’ve reasoned that out by now, my dear,” I answered in my most mephistophelean voice.
She gave me a sidelong glance, shook her head, and whacked me playfully on the shoulder.

We walked along some distance in silence.

“Hmmm, Young Bull?” she cooed. “Maybe I could be your Eu-RO-pa.” She accented the second syllable tantalizingly and looked at me with the mischievous and alluring expression she I knew couldn’t resist.

I am bewitched. How has she ensorcelled me so completely?

“You’re a wicked, wicked woman, Eliza Ludlow, inflaming my mind with such shocking images.”

“Can you walk?” she asked, her eyes laughing.

“With increasing difficulty,” I replied. “I believe that cab may take us back to the Palace of Knossos. Should we investigate?”
She smacked my arm again but stayed with me as I led her by the hand across the narrow strip of park space and hailed the taxi.
______________________________________

Our evening we spent at Daly’s Theater, attending The Maid of the Mountains starring the famous Jose Collins. A most enjoyable escape. Bandits, gypsies, intrigue and of course, romance. Tremendous singing and all ends happily as the two lovers, Teresa, and bandit chief Baldasarré sail away together at the end.

MFair, that was a lucky break, if you know what I mean. Too bad for the Frenchman, but Ivan downs an enemy without using his guns and lives to tell the tale. Hope you don’t have to do it again.

Epower, the lightning is in the gam ... the sim. Just needs to be activated in Jara’s excellent Mission Editor, with some magic mixed in from BuckeyeBob I believe.
What can I say? The parrot has taste and a sense of humour. Am I wrong?
Sounds like the two lovebirds are enjoying each other’s company as much as they’re enjoying their time off. It’ll be something they’ll both remember fondly.

21 August, 1917 13:15
Ghistelles, Flanders Sector
Jasta 17
Leutnant Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1 HHO
26 confirmed kills

They’ve been sent to Bisseghem today for aerodrome defence duty. Yet more empty skies to entertain Jasta pilots. While returning back to base Zygmunt noticed some movement below. He decided to take a look and realized it was enemy machine trying to get back across the lines. Ziggy descended into the murk and stalked his prey. He caught up with him just behind the mud on the enemy’s side and shot him down. It took three attempts. He hit the pilot on
his third try.

YouTube Link

I do hope that is true, but the fell clutch of circumstance can be cruel, and such joyful times fleeting.

Do I sense a pinch of foreshadowing in that statement?

Marcel Jules Gilbare
ESC. 15 GC 13
Senard, Verdun
1 Victory

21 Aug 1917.


Zee wild Ride: Took off at 0646 hrs among a flight of 5 to escort 2 Sopwiths. 1 Spad turned back early then just before the lines a Flight of 6 e/a s dropped on us. The Spads turned on the e/a coming down with guns rattling. I did a 180 then dropped on an e/a ( e/a had a star on the side) as it passed hunting our 2 seats. fired off a bunch then he spun and I lost him chased another but my very well used machine could only get 90 mph at full blast. Losses: 1 Spad and 1 1 1/2 er. claims 1 e/a.

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 16 of many


19 July 1917
The International
London, England

“Oh Oliver, this is terrible! All the museums are closed! It’s dreadful! I was so looking forward to showing them to you, especially the British Museum, you would have loved it. Oh Hell!”

It was the first time I’d ever heard Eliza come close to swearing. She’d been planning this for some time and her disappointment was palpable.

“It’s the National Gallery or nothing,” she said.

The National Gallery was a revelation. To see these works in person was far beyond anything I’d imagined. Eliza was an excellent if occasionally impatient guide. I found her dragging me away from many a painting that I’d been staring at for minutes.

“Come look at this one,” she would say, eyes bright with amusement all the while.

My brain felt full. All these images swirled together, as if I were riding a mirrored carousel. Eliza was taking me by the hand toward yet another Rembrandt when I saw him.
I let go her hand as if casting off a dock line. The soft hum of background conversation faded away.



Leonardo Loredan, Doge of Venice 1502
Oil on poplar
Giovanni Bellini
(Italian, 1435 – 1516)

The portrait hung at eye level on the long wall of a shallow rectangular room. He sat in the center of the wall utterly dominating the space, as he no doubt did in life. Elected in his 64th year, he served 20 years as Doge and for 18 of those Venice was at war. He guided the Republic through some of its most desperate times. Crushed by the League of Cambrai, forced to accept a subservient role in the Holy League by Pope Julius II, he led the Venetians to victory over the Papacy and the Emperor through force of will and cunning diplomacy as the Republic recovered all her lost territorial holdings.

Bellini caught his subject almost as a photograph in paint, with subtly blurred transitions of tone and flesh hue that appeared natural. The calm gaze of command, fine wrinkles around the eyes, the enigmatic expression, all projecting a presence resonant with wisdom and power. His left eye tracked slightly wide, as if he knew we were looking at him, but he would never deign to acknowledge us. He was the Doge, after all. The asymmetry of the mouth suggested a smirk. Might he break into a wry grin at any moment? The shocking contrast of the ultramarine blue background and the painted parapet gave a sense that one could walk around behind the man, as if he were a sculpture, or physically present. All captured by Bellini’s brush over 400 years ago. I stared in open-mouthed astonishment.

You’re a long way from the farm, Oliver.

Eliza stood apart, watching me. I lost all sense of time, but eventually became aware of her returning to my side.

“When I first saw this at 16, I thought him an old man with a funny hat.” she said. “It’s a famous and important work, but I could never get past the ornamental buttons. I thought they looked like onions. He is formidable though, isn’t he?"

I kept staring at the Doge, transfixed. From the corner of my eye I could see Eliza regarding me in the same inquisitive way.
“I’ve seen these paintings before,” she said. “I’ve toured the great capitals of Europe, but I've never had your sense of awe. I envy you. Seeing you witness this for the first time, it’s like watching a child open Christmas presents. Don’t ever lose your sense of wonder, Oliver.”

We left the National Gallery and walked up Charing Cross Road toward Leicester Square.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she said.

“I'm overwhelmed,” I replied. "I feel uplifted yet mentally exhausted. All these paintings we saw today, I knew some of them but only in the abstract. Dim blackened images in the Mentor or some book. There’s nothing like this in San Francisco and I didn’t have time for museum going when I was in New York. To finally see them in life is incredible. Thank you for this, Eliza.”

She nodded, then squeezed my arm and leaned in against me.

________________________

The bath was ready. I gave Eliza her requested head start. She left the door open this time. I could hear her yelp briefly as she lowered herself into the hot water.

Oliver,” she said through the door, “what book did the clerk at the Foreign Exchange desk give you?”

“It’s a book of poetry, his own I presume, since he signed his name. T.S Eliot. Shall I read one to you or will that distract you from the task at hand?

“Yes please. I’ve never had a reader for my bath before.”
I fetched it from my bag.



“It’s entitled The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
“Eliza how’s your Italian? This first bit looks like Dante, but I can’t be sure.”
“It’s not on level with my French," she replied. "Not up to Dante, certainly.” .
“Maybe we’ll skip this canto then.” I said.

“Proceed as you will, dear reader,” she said.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;

“Oh good Lord!” she cried. That’s horrid! Such a disturbing image! I don’t care for that at all.”
I could practically hear her shudder as she spoke from the bath.

“Give it a chance, Eliza. May I continue?” I said.

“If you must,” she said.

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo...




I walked into the bathroom.
“And how did you find your first bath with reader?” I asked.
“Strange poem. Rather sad.” she said. “Such beguiling language. Were the women talking of Michelangelo prostitutes? There’s so much there. Maybe I’ll have you read it again but for now, I prefer my reader in the bath with me.”

“Your reader prefers that as well,” I said.

I removed my robe and set it on a hook. The water was still quite hot. Eliza had not used the perfumed bath salts she favored, for which I was profoundly grateful. I would not go forth this evening as a lavender-scented dandy. I settled gingerly into the tub; Eliza’s eyes widened in apprehension.

“Oliver, what are these new scars?” She leaned forward for a closer inspection. “You didn’t have these in Corbie, only the thigh wound and one on your upper back. Now these others, the left calf, the left shoulder, your arm too.”

She picked up the sponge and gently ran it over each of the scars. Washing her way from one to the other.

“So many wounds, so close.” she said, examining my right forearm.

“Death averted, each time,” I said. “A few inches right or left and I’d be dead. Just lucky I guess, or grey-eyed Athene really does send the bullets wide. Maybe it’s your prayers that keep me safe.

“That’s not funny, Oliver! Don’t joke about that. I do pray for you. How do you know?”
“Your words in parting," I replied, "the first time we met at Grovetown and I tried to kiss you, unsuccessfully as it turned out.”

She said nothing, just kept the sponge on its journey.

“This one on your forearm was recent,” she said.

“Yes. It may have saved my life. The bullet that creased my arm slowed just enough to lodge in the instrument panel instead of continuing through to the petrol tank.

“Oh my God!” she cried, voice rising in shock.

“Forgive me, Eliza. I spoke without thinking” I said. "Let’s not talk about the war.”

“Come here,” she said, holding out her arms to me. “Sit back against me and let me wash your hair.”

Her fingers began just above my ears with a rapid front to back motion climbing toward the top of my skull and gradually increasing in pressure. Warm palms covered my ears, fingertips settled lightly on my temples and began slow rotations, ever widening as they moved to my forehead. I could feel all ten fingers making tiny circles of increasing weight as she massaged my forehead then slowly marched over the top of my head and down my neck. I closed my eyes, abandoning myself to her hands.
“Lean your head back so I don’t get soap in your eyes,” she said then poured a pitcher of hot water over my head, rinsing it clean.
I lay across her slightly at angle so that our heads were nearly side by side. She set her arms around me and we drifted in blissful relaxation. Time passed but the water held its heat.

“You were rough with me yesterday, Young Bull.”

“Was it too much?” I asked, trying to conceal my alarm.

“No,” she said. “I’m not fragile, Oliver. I won’t break. You surprised me, that’s all. Taking me like that, so forcefully, so relentlessly, seemingly without end. Your ardor transported you quite out of yourself, it certainly transported me. I nearly tore the sheet, clutching at it with my fingernails.

“I saw that. Maybe it was your new hair style set me ablaze,” I replied. “Have I mentioned how much I love the look? It suits you.”

“More than once. You just like that my neck is now exposed to your importunate advances.”

“That’s true, of course, but there’s something else,” I said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I like that your hair is still long enough to pull.”

“So do I,” she whispered, biting my earlobe, and squeezing her arms around me.
_____________________________________



We arrived at the Cavendish Hotel where Miss Lewis herself greeted us in her sitting room. After a brief conversation we were then shown to our table.

The sommelier soon arrived with a bottle of champagne.
“With Miss Lewis’ compliments, sir” he said.

I’d met the redoubtable Rosa Lewis here yesterday and explained my desire for a special celebratory evening. The Duchess of Jermyn Street was known to have great affection for the Flying Corps and both her cooking and her soireés held a legendary reputation.
“You leave everything to me, dearie,” she’d said.

“You’re looking rather pleased with yourself. Is this what you were up to yesterday afternoon? What’s the occasion?” asked Eliza.

“Do you remember what we were we doing a year ago today?” I asked.
She thought for a moment. “Laconia!” she exclaimed at last.
“I almost ran you over.”
“Then you couldn’t speak for almost a minute.” she said, laughing. “Thunderstruck…as well you should be. Was that only a year ago? We were such innocents.”
“I never thought I’d see you again, and now, here we are,” I said. “I wasn’t yet Twenty.”

“Only Nineteen?” she said. “I thought you older. When is your Birthday.”

“July 21st,”

“Oliver! That’s the day after tomorrow!” she cried, clearly exasperated. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Birthdays aren’t what they used to be,” I answered. “I never thought to mention it.”

Were I forced to compare Miss Lewis’ extraordinary meal with the one we enjoyed at the Café Fou, I would be unable to choose a clear victor. Both were masters of their craft, with Eliza and I favored by their otherworldly talents.

After dinner, in Miss Lewis' sitting room, the soiree drew a fair number of RFC officers, London socialites, and one or two famous actresses. The three previous nights on the dance floor stood me in good stead. My Foxtrot was nearly passable. We danced to the wee hours, the champagne flowing freely.

Masterful, epower, masterful! Loved every line of this. And Prufrock in the tub. Unforgettable.

.

Epower – Brilliant episodes. The arrival of Smokey was classic. And the ongoing London episode has been lush: Simpson’s, the Chop Room and parrot at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, the National Gallery, the Duchess of Jermyn Street. And T.S. Elliott to boot. Wonderful writing.

Raine – Congratulations on Vogel’s promotion and on getting his own command, both well deserved. Great stuff, and my personal favorite line from your recent tales: “I fear we will lose this war because we take it too seriously.”

Fullofit – Ziggy continues his drive to catch Vogel I see, and in the process is fast approaching the most-coveted PLM. First rate videos as always, and those two screenshots of the Albs from the 19th are super.

Carrick – Sorry to see Fido gone. But he’s in a better place now, for as we know, all dogs go to heaven. Best of luck to Marcel Jules Gilbare.

MFair – Ivan and his jasta are having a tough go of it. And bringing down the enemy via collision, eh? Any way you can get the job done as long as you can walk away afterwards. Hope your man has a pleasant stay in the hospital.

Maeran – Glad to see that Lindley is still surviving the madness, despite that blue-nosed Alb’s best efforts. Head on swivel.

.

Since being away from WOFF and the forums for most of the last two weeks this was a most-enjoyable catch-up. I also got back to catching up Lieutenant Frederick Abbott which, as fate would have it, turned out to be a fairly quick job. After coming back to camp from his stay at hospital and his time with Nurse Ellison, and after the blow-out in the mess on the evening of his return, it was back to the business at hand. However, the weather was less than cooperative and it was another two days before he got into the skies, on the 5th of August. Another two days later, following several uneventful outings, he and B Flight were bounced directly over La Bellevue by a trio of Rolands. The encounter ended quickly for my man when a flying bit of something suddenly shattered the left lens of his goggles, nearly blinding him in that eye, and he had to dive out of the fight and land back at camp. After the medic removed several small pieces of glass from Freddy’s left eye he was forced to sit out for the next week while the scratches on his cornea healed. More dud weather following that curtailed nearly all flying until the 20th. And the two sorties since then have seen no air Hun that wanted to play.

.

Raine - Two of us awake and posting at the wee hours. I did use that line you told me about. The previous episode, Part 15, deals with the visit to the Olde Cheshire Cheese. Oddly, it's not in any of the books about the pub or Polly the Parrot. Not sure why...

Lou - Wonderful to have you back at it. Tough break for Freddy with the eye injury. I hope it doesn't compromise his superb vision (insert Six Million Dollar Man bionic eye sound here)

Carrick - Marcel definitely needs an up to date machine. Alas, those go to experienced pilots. At least it's not an out of date Pfalz.

Epower, loved that bit in the Gallery. It is amazing the man could reproduce the sheen on the fabric in such a lifelike fashion at the time when others struggled with perspective or even proportions. That reading in the tub followed by a sponge bath seems such a contrast to that “accidental” toilet flushing when I’m in the shower.

Lou, welcome back! I was afraid you’ve forsaken us for some better sim, like Farm Simulator, or SimFishtank. Glad it’s only a momentary lapse.
Oh dear, I can already hear the pirate calls when Abbott walks into the mess with an eyepatch on. Lucky that the weather is what it is and allows Freddy sufficient recovery time.

22 August, 1917 06:45 morning mission
Ghistelles, Flanders Sector
Jasta 17
Leutnant Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1 HHO
26 confirmed kills

Naturally the claim for the Camel behind the lines with no witness had been denied. Zygmunt didn’t expect anything else.
As they neared the Vlisseghem aerodrome on their defensive patrol, they encountered a gaggle of Camels with Strutters in tow. A confusing mass of aeroplanes ensued once the flights merged to do battle. Ziggy singled one out and began to track him. He noticed the Strutters join the fight as well. He had the upper hand, but another Camel came from out of nowhere and ruffled Hahn’s tail feathers. There was nothing to do but to abandon his original target and take care of this new one. But it was that new target that was taking care of Ziggy. The pilot had to be of some renown, he had a large white L painted on his top plane and was handing Ziggy his arse on a plate. There was no getting away. That Camel turned circles around this dreadful Albatros. Zygmunt had had enough of this experiment and wanted his old D.V back. They continued to play this game and Hahn was the big loser. Finally, Ltn Becker came to the rescue and the two of them were able to chase the Englander away. When Zygmunt landed after the mission, he was so frustrated with his mount that after getting out he stood by it and gave it a hard kick.
“- Do dupy!” He was sure his Albatros groaned.
Ernst Wendler, the Jasta CO watched him from afar and signalled to come see him after Ziggy’s outburst. Hahn didn’t care. He had had enough of this subpar machine.
“- Sit down Leutnant.” Wendler pointed at the chair in font of his desk after Zygmunt came in and saluted.
“- I see you’re not happy with the equipment Kaiser is providing us.”
“- Sir, I ...” Hahn was formulating a feeble defence.
“- Save it. I don’t care.” Wendler waved him off. “- Leutnant Gros was shot down this morning. I need someone to take over from him and lead Schwarm Zwei. Do you think you’re up to it?”
Zygmunt’s eyes went wide. Him, a Schwarmfürher? Why not? The corners of his mouth began to curl up involuntarily. Was that a smile?
“-Jawohl, mein Fürher! I’ll do my best!”
“Gut!” Wendler was pleased. “- Now, about expressing your frustration on our equipment ...”
“- But you just said you didn’t care.” Zygmunt was confused.
“- That was then. Now that you’re my Schwarmfürher I expect you to behave like one. Is that understood?”
“- Jawohl! Loud and clear. But ... I’m going to need a better plane if I’m to keep up with the rest of the Jasta.” Zygmunt crossed his fingers behind his back.
“- You’ll have your old D.V. It will be available to you tomorrow. Anything else?”
“- The food in the Kasino is ...”
“- Don’t push your luck, Leutnant. Dismissed!”

YouTube Link



22 August, 1917 12:55 afternoon mission
Ghistelles, Flanders Sector
Jasta 17
Leutnant Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1 HHO
26 confirmed kills

A flight of enemy bombers and its escort were already crossing the lines after dropping their cargo on Ghistelles. Zygmunt was in pursuit, but not gaining in his slow Albatros. He gave up and as he was turning around to return to base empty handed, another flight of enemy planes came into view. Sopwiths! He did not look forward to this fight after this morning’s encounter. Once the initial attack was over and everyone was paired with their opponent. Zygmunt battled one of the Englanders while keeping close to another pair fighting nearby. Everyone else seemed to have been driven further down after the first wave. The two aviators sparred for a while with Hahn attempting some aggressive maneuvers, the result of which was him loosing the Sopwith somewhere. After realizing he was free of his oppressor. He decided to help his wingmate with his own pesky adversary. The two Fliegers pounced on the single Britisher damaging him to some extent. In the meantime Ziggy’s original target returned for more. The two men were back at it, banking and diving. This time Hahn had the upper hand and drove his foe down to the ground. The Sopwith now running away, already near his own side of the mud. Zygmunt was relentless in his pursuit and in the end shot down his Tommie.

YouTube Link



He looked around to check the skies and noticed another pair still battling. It was his wingmate still sparring with his opponent. He was in trouble and diving for the deck while the Sopwith was close on his heals. Zygmunt didn’t think twice and directed his machine to help his wingman. It didn’t take long before he was on the Englander’s tail, chasing him across the mud. He finally dealt him a fatal blow and the plane veered to the right. Zygmunt followed and was astonished to find him crash just mere meters from his first victim. The two columns of smoke became one.

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Epower - It's good to be back, thanks. It's been a busy couple of weeks away from home. No fear on Freddy's injury affecting his keen vision, after a week it was as good as ever, fortunately.

Fullofit - Despite Ziggy's frustration with that first Camel running rings round his inferior mount, he certainly got his revenge in the following outings. Well done on him making Schwarmfürher, should have happened long ago in my opinion.

And there were indeed pirate calls when young Abbott entered the mess sporting his eye-patch. In fact his G/O, Lt. Thomas Yale, had clearly planned for it, because when Freddy walked in Thomas leapt up on a chair and led the entire room in a singing of a most apropos selection from "The Pirates of Penzance".

"Pour, oh pour the pirate sherry,
Fill, oh fill the pirate glass!
And, oh king, make us merry,
Let the pirate bumper pass!

For today our pirate 'prentice
Rises from indenture freed;
Strong his arm, and keen his scent is,
He's a Pirate now indeed!

Here’s good luck to Fredric’s ventures
Fredric’s out of his indentures.

Barely eighteen, now he’s rising,
And alone he’s fit to fly,
Which we’re bent on signalizing
With unusual revel-ry

Here’s good luck to Fredric’s ventures
Fredric’s out of his indentures.

Pour, oh pour the pirate sherry,
Fill, oh fill the pirate glass!
And, to make us more than merry,
Let the pirate bumper pass!"

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Lou, I would not have expected it any other way. You can always count on the RAF camaraderie during these trying times. Perhaps Freddy will even gain a new, more manly nickname?

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23 August 1917
11 Squadron R.F.C.
La Bellevue, France


Back in tip-top form and feeling fine as can be, Lt. Frederick Abbott leads B Flight on a dawn patrol of the front lines.



The sun crests the far horizon as the Bristols alt up towards their AO.



Just east of Boiry St. Martin seven of the Kaiser's new type V-strutters pounce on the King's airmen and the show commences.



A most dangerous game of "Follow the Leader" in which G/O Lt. Thomas Yale shows the trailing Alb just how accurate he is with his twin Lewis guns.



Turning the tables on one of his would-be attackers, Frederick makes quick work of the Hun with a solid volley from the Vickers.



Abbott then goes after the fellow's wingman who promptly scampers away. These new Albs are a bit faster than the Bristol in a dive and the Boche makes full use of his new-found advantage.



Ninety-some minutes later Frederick is forced to make a dead-stick landing as he and the rest of B Flight return to camp, his Rolls-Royce V-12 suddenly giving up the ghost.



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Carrick, Marcel seems to be doing well. Good luck to your new man.

EPower, excellent writing Sir! Fantastic pictures also. I wish I knew how to “share” videos. Chris Isaak “Wicked Games” comes to mind.

Fullofit, Ziggy will catch Vogel yet! Great Videos.

Lou, glad your back bud! Glad the eye injury was not permanent. In Eddie Rickenbacker’s autobiography he got a cinder in his eye in his youth. While playing a game of chicken with a Hun he took a bullet right through the center of his windscreen. He could not figure out why he was still alive and went back out to his plane and got in the cockpit. It was then he realized that because of the eye injury he leaned to his strong side while using the gunsight. It saved his life.

Lou, bright, rising sun in your eye(s). Darkness behind. Worst kind of conditions for that freshly healed eye. So, what’s with this speed disparity between the Brisfit and a V-Strutter? It’s the other way around when flying a D.V - Brisfits can run away at will due to their powerful engines.

MFair, it’s a tall order. Not that Ziggy isn’t trying, but Vogel’s lead is commanding.

23 August, 1917 06:50
Ghistelles, Flanders Sector
Jasta 17
Leutnant Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1 HHO
26 confirmed kills
Awaiting two claim confirmations

Back to his old trusty D.V! OAW machines were relegated to the lowest ranks and Zygmunt couldn’t be more happy about that.
He is still waiting for his two victory confirmations. There seems to be some confusion as to how many planes were observed to have been shot down.

After loitering over the Iseghem airfield for some time, the Flak opened up above Zygmunt’s Schwarm to reveal a bunch of SPADs circling above.
“- Why aren’t they diving on us? We’re sitting ducks. Why ..” and then it dawned on him: Schwarm Eins.
They were circling above too and if the enemy came down now, Eins would have an easy time of picking them off.
“- Well, let’s wait then!”
They continued to circle until the leader of the enemy formation gave the signal and they all became one. Ziggy was patient, waiting for one of the SPADs to make a mistake and then he would pounce. In the meantime he fired at enemy that crossed his path. He finally singled out one of them and gave chase. He fired and the enemy machine dove for safety, same with another one he picked out. Finally Ziggy stuck to one and followed him, but just by luck he looked back to see an upside down SPAD bearing at him with his guns blazing. Zygmunt got out of the way just in time. He quickly reassessed situation and realized he had two enemy machines chasing him. He had to do something, but what? They continued to circle each other with no one gaining advantage. In the end one of them went the wrong way, exposing his wingman to Ziggy’s wrath. The SPAD dove all the way to the ground, but this time Zygmunt followed and after short time was on his tail again and firing. There was nothing the enemy pilot could do. His machine, riddled with bullets, went down close to Menen. Ziggy let a sigh of relief.
“- That’s more like it!”

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