It is the Kaiser's Royal and Imperial command that the following individual be recognized for his valor:
Citation to the award reads as follows:
Leutnant der Reserve Zygmunt Dolf Hahn, in the field since June 1917 and serving with Jasta 19, has shown himself to be an outstanding Jagdflieger, having destroyed approximately one hundred enemy aeroplanes and observation balloons, a record without parallel in the world. His courage, devotion to duty, and unfailing drive to take the fight to the enemy represents the very essence of German military leadership. In recognition, he is awarded the Order of the Red Eagle, Third Class, with Crown and Swords. By order of the All Highest, Kaiser Wilhelm II, this 17. Dezember 1917.
You make the Vaterland most proud.
#4548889 - 12/18/2012:28 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Fullofit – Congratulations on the Order of the Red Eagle! It was rare when von Richthofen, a mere captain, was awarded the order. But Ziggy is still lieutenant and yet the Kaiser is conferring such a noble honour on him. Beware the curse of the Gong Fairy! We need to keep Ziggy going.
Lou – you have left us all on the edges of our seats. For some reason, though, I am not fretting too much. God protects small children, drunks, and Freddie. I can't wait for the next instalment.
Epower – another wonderful catch up episode, and a milestone as the fiftieth one. Has the good major yet seen Oliver practising at the heavy bag? It might be a good thing to invite him to watch while you discuss his use of certain aircraft. Condolences on losing your Hisso-Hisso.
Carrick – congratulations on Sergeant Thorpe's first victory.
War Journal of Flight Sub-Lieutenant George Ewan MacAlister
8 Squadron, RNAS Mont-St-Eloi, France
"A few minutes later, the searchlight caught an Albatros at 1000 feet."
Friday, 14 December 1917. A day full of news. The newspapers are full of articles about the Bolshevik uprising in Russia. The Bolsheviks have made the cowardly decision to withdraw from the war and are willing to cede much of their land in order to obtain an armistice. We all know what this means for us. As soon as the ground firms up in the spring, the enemy will have troops fresh from the East to throw at us. The Americans are in, but thus far we have seen little of them and from what I hear it will be some time before they make their presence felt.
Further, there is much talk in London of creating a combined air force. It will do away with both the RFC and the Royal Naval Air Service and we will be so much the poorer for it.
Hughes, our Welsh tenor, has been invalided home with a ruptured eardrum. His place in our cabin will be taken by Colton, the new man. Listen to me – three weeks in and I am claiming seniority!
This morning we took off laden with Cooper bombs to wish an early Christmas to a Hun railway station north of Loos. We did great damage. I saw my bombs set fire to two sheds and Squadron Commander Draper’s derailed a locomotive. We shot the place up and sent the little grey fellows scattering in all directions. Great fun!
At lunch, Draper informed me that I was now a flight commander and could put up my lieutenant’s rings. And to top it off, my pay is now up to £1/5/- a day, including flight pay and will go up an additional florin for each year as flight commander. One could almost begin to enjoy this war.
It continues to snow, making the roads difficult. Pity, because we are usually flying only once a day and could get away if only the roads were passable. We had a thought to walk to the village this afternoon but it was simply too miserable outside. Instead, White decided to teach us to play poker. We played for pennies yet he contrived to strip us of several days’ pay.
On 15 December I lead a line patrol south towards Cambrai. We engaged a very large group of Albatri west of Riencourt and had a hot time of it. After several minutes the melee broke up. I spotted a lone Albatros low over the lines northeast of Bethune and dived on it sending it down near the Hun lines. Unfortunately, the crash was not witnessed and remained on the record merely as “driven down.”
The following day, Sunday, we escorted a formation of Camels from 43 Squadron RFC. They were carrying bombs to drop on a Hun supply dump and we were their escort. We were itching to run into some Huns because, once the bombs were gone, we had fifteen Camels in a group. The enemy must have known this for they stayed away.
The wind blew hard all night and abated around five in the morning. Some nearby Australians were roasted out of bed to march up and down and pack the snow on our field. They had some choice words for us when we arrived at the hangars before dawn. Word came in that enemy aircraft were in the area and we took off in darkness, climbing as quickly as we could. There is a searchlight position on the ridge outside the village and the long tendril of light swept the sky and blinded us from time to time. At one point it briefly caught a German machine in its beam but the Hun was too high for us to reach and it quickly escaped back into the darkness. We patrolled about four nearly half-an-hour and then I fired the flare to signal a return to our aerodrome. We were surprised a minute later to be bounced by a large group of Albatros scouts diving out of the darkness. I realised my night vision is still rubbish. A Hun machine riddled my Camel with bullets before I was able to get away. Fortunately, nothing serious was damaged. A few minutes later, the searchlight caught an Albatros at 1000 feet. I was able to dive on it and send it down in pieces over the lines. Again, I had no witness and the victory remained unconfirmed.
White and I were able to get away in the afternoon and caught a drive into St-Pol-sur-Ternoise. It is a slightly larger town and seems to be a centre for rail supply. It was amusing to see German prisoners employed sweeping the street and picking up after horses. There is a stationary hospital at the edge of the town that stretches over a vast area. Shopping was a pleasure after the sparse offerings in our village. I was able to pick up several needed items, including a safety razor and blades, and oilcloth cover for our little table, some excellent chocolates, and a new pair of pyjamas. White’s shopping was of an entirely different nature. I prefer to take all my chances in the air. We had a fine tea at a place called Estaminet Fauquembergues. We tried to ask the origin of the name but neither of us could make ourselves well enough understood. They sold us a couple of bottles of excellent cognac to bring back to Mont-St-Eloi.
#4548891 - 12/18/2001:08 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Fullofit - Our posts crossed in cyberspace. I had to take a short break from full-time WOFFing to put up my remaining 4 cords of firewood before the first storm of the year. Yes, I left it a little late, I will admit, but just managed to beat the 15" of snow that dropped last night. Back at it now to find Ziggy having a run-in with Amerikanzer Schweinehunden! Those Yanks can be rather dogged once they get the scent and their SPAD13s are much faster than Z's new DVa. Hahn will need to fly carefully. Just wait until the Kaiser Bill's army meets the Teuful Hunden
What a fight in the last video! The combat just went on forever. Maybe Oliver's fights are the same and it just seems quicker when one is in the combat. Nice work there by Ziggy's mate dragging for him like that. I do love a good scissors. We're both in jeopardy if WM ever codes the AI for front quarter snapshots Confirmed by Army? Two Centurions in as many days would be a first even with Oliver's chronological challenges. Oliver knew of and looked up to the good Toby so I think it unlikely he will be heading to DH4s. HE beckons, I suspect.
Edit- And now a new Gong! Red Eagle. Wow. Congrats!
Lou - Your latest episode reminded me of the Norman Macmillan's tale of running the barrage tunnel from Voices of the Great War Interviews. The BBC, who SUCK on so many levels, (so ironic than Cecil Lewis founded that company) block non-UK viewing. Fortunately some kind soul on Youtube posted the interview here:
Freddy shot in the arse! Get him to the Chateau Anthrax at the double! Poor devil. Let's hope his pain tolerance is on the same level as that for alcohol. Oliver sends sympathies having suffered a similar mishap. Hey, he is on the correct side of the Mud, yes?
Raine - B-B is very much on Oliver's Naughty list. The new machine is a fickle beast. Thank your for the kind congratulations. I'm honestly unsure what chapter this might be since I started the "Search for Lost Time" on the July 1 diary entry in the hope of catching up. Who knew it would take me over 50 and I'm still not there. Blast those London leaves! Most evocative screenshot there. Unfortunate that such a memorable victory went unwitnessed but at Mac's torrid pace I've no doubt he will be back on the board shortly. A well-earned promotion to FC. This White sounds a bit unscrupulous fleecing novice poker players like that. Not very sporting. Maybe he keeps his thrill-seeking to "other purchases," and running the gauntlet of the
Carrick - Ripping fabric and a smoking engine?! No good, Old Bean. Excellent pic of Thorpe surrounded by that trio of Albatri. That situation looks dire indeed. Glad he made good his escape.
Last edited by epower; 12/18/2001:15 AM.
#4548900 - 12/18/2002:45 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: Nov 2014 Posts: 3,403Fullofit
Lou, a medal! Ziggy thought he’d never see one of those. This is a pretty one. Thank the Gong Fairy and the GoW for me.
Raine, ah yes, the Curse! Thanks for the reminder! That is a lovely shot of that Alb caught in the searchlight with George right behind him. Congrats on Mac’s promotion. That raise will go a long way to pay for the drinks. It looks he will need them to drown his sorrows of those unconfirmed claims. What gives?
Epower, I didn’t realize you’re a lumberjack and you’re okay. 15” of the white stuff? I don’t envy you. Meanwhile us here up north are set for a heatwave. It’s supposed to be a balmy 35F in a day or two. Yes, those SPADs are a handful. If you don’t cripple them sufficiently fast enough, they will run bravely away. Will have to wait for those D.VIIs to even think of chasing them. As to the length of that scrap, I do think it was a bit protracted. Those French are getting better. I don’t think WM needs to code anything. They seem to be doing a pretty darned good job of making holes during the head-on passes. That really must be a first in DiD to have two pilots hitting a hundred in such close proximity. I wouldn’t be surprised if it would take Hahn another half a month to actually get there though. Thanks for the congrats on the Red Eagle. Black Eagle’s next!
"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."
#4548958 - 12/18/2005:33 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: May 2012 Posts: 4,670RAF_Louvert
BOC President; Pilot Extraordinaire; Humble Man
Fullofit - Congrats to Ziggy on his most well-deserved new bling. And that is a pretty one. To his last outing, if those Frenchmen continued to work together throughout their attacks the way they do at the beginning our Zygmunt could be in a world of hurt.
Epower - Great interview with Macmillan, I’d not seen that one before that I recall, thanks for sharing. I trust you’ve read “Into the Blue”. If not you most definitely should, perhaps next to a roaring fire now that you have the last of that needed wood put up for winter. As for Freddy getting himself to the Chateau Anthrax, it’s too far off, he’ll have to make do with the nearest CCS.
Raine - MacAlister was able to experience a searchlight sortie and live to tell the tale. His luck held I see, not only in not falling victim to that sneak attack in the darkness but also in dropping one of his assailants. Now to those bloody Bolsheviks, they’ve really made a cock-up of it, freeing all those Hun troops to move to the Western Front. And Hughes caught a Blighty one in the form of a popped ear drum? There’s a fellow likely counting his own lucky stars.
KK - Apologies for the cliffhanger. Here you go.
17 December 1917 65 Squadron R.F.C. Bailleul, France
It is said that the Lord looks after children, drunks, and fools. As Captain Frederick Abbott drifted down over No Man’s Land, the engine in his mount stone dead, the Hun barrage raging below him, and the muddy earth creeping ever nearer, he considered this. He was nearly nineteen, and currently sober as a church mouse, which left only the last group to qualify for. A fool it was then, for it was clear that some unseen force was at work, given the divine glide rate the disabled Camel was now demonstrating. Freddy watched the devastated expanse of shell holes and tangled barbed wire slip beneath him dangerously close, while he searched desperately for somewhere to set down. But he floated on. He saw the British front-line trenches and forward lookout posts slide by, breathing a sigh of relief and waving to the Tommies who were giving him thumbs-ups and cheers from their hiding places. Still he floated on, sure that the wheels of the Camel must now be skimming the ground as he cleared the support trenches. Yet somehow he floated further still, defying gravity as he cleared the reserve trenches, and finally the communication trenches. A threatening vanguard of trees loomed large ahead but in it a gap, and through the gap a grassy meadow opened itself to him and the Camel at last touched down, as if set there by the Almighty’s own hand. It rolled gently and peacefully to a stop a short distance from a British observation balloon.
Captain Abbott removed his flying goggles and gloves and undid his harness, and thanked God for his deliverance. He then removed the cockpit watch from its holder on the dash and slipped it into his pocket after which he gingerly rose from his perch and climbed carefully down from his mount. As he did so he noticed a small amount of blood on the starboard side of the seat cushion surrounding the hole created by the Hun bullet when it tore through canvas, wood, wicker, and cloth before burrowing into Freddy's posterior. It was far less blood than he was expecting to see, especially considering how badly the right side of his buttocks was throbbing. Once on the ground he began a walk-around, or rather a limp-around, inspection of his Camel. The poor thing was shot up something awful; he counted at least sixty new vents. As he came around the front of his mount for the second time a tender approached from the direction of the nearby balloon and pulled up immediately next to him. A stocky. mustached First Lieutenant of medium height jumped out from the passenger side and ordered the driver, an older-looking Corporal, to take the three lads who were scrambling from the back of the tender, and push the disabled aeroplane into the nearby trees out of sight from enemy guns. He then turned to Abbott and introduced himself.
“Lieutenant Morris at your service. Are you alright Captain?”
“I am, apart from the Hun bullet lodged in my backside”, Freddy grinned. “Can’t say the same though for my old girl”, he continued as he pointed to the Camel being wheeled off. “Frederick Abbott by the way, but call me Freddy, everyone does.” The Captain held out his hand.
“A pleasure to meet you Freddy, and you must call me Dickie then”, the Lieutenant smiled back as the two men shook hands. “We best take you to have that wound attended to. There’s a clearing station about seven miles from here at Bailleul if you think you can manage a tender ride that far.”
“Bailleul, toppers, that’s where I’m stationed!” Abbott beamed. “And no worries about me managing the ride, though I may have to stand for most of it. I don’t appear to be losing much blood, and the bullet’s not going anywhere. And if you’ve a phone back at your camp I can ring up the squadron straight away and have them send a crew to collect my kite.”
“We do have a phone, and you’re welcome to it”, the Lieutenant piped back. “And I’ll post a guard on your plane until it’s been collected.”
“Spiffing - lead on then, Dickie!”
It was shortly after lunchtime when the tender reached Bailleul where Captain Abbott asked Lieutenant Morris to drop him at camp so he could remove his flying gear and check in with Major Cunningham before going over to the casualty clearing station located nearby in the large school building on the southeast edge of the Asylum. Freddy thanked Dickie for his kindness and assured him he would pay the Lieutenant and his men a return visit and drop off a gift to show his appreciation, just as soon as the situation allowed. And with that the two men parted ways. Twenty-some minutes later, with his flying kit shed and a brief report made to the Old Man, who thoughtfully provided him several shots of whiskey to help take the edge off, Abbott was taken to the North Midland CCS where his wound was attended to. As Frederick lay on his stomach on a sheeted table in the smaller of the two operating theatres at the station, trousers and drawers down to his knees, a doctor who looked far too young to be such was busily poking about in the wound on the outboard region of the Captain’s right butt cheek in an attempt to remove the Boche bullet. Abbott had passed on the morphine, (just as he had back in July for his shoulder injury), relying instead on the recently administered whiskey and his own tolerance to pain to see him through. He gritted his overly large teeth as the fledgling surgeon dug about with a forceps trying for a grip on the offending slug. An elder nurse attended, looking fairly annoyed with the whole affair as she dabbed up the rivulet of blood slowly oozing from the punctured flesh.
“Are we finding our way around back there, Doctor?” Freddy jokingly grimaced. “Wouldn’t mind being done with this before tea.” The annoyed looking nurse chuckled quietly to herself at the remark.
“Yes, yes, nearly there now - think I’ve gotten hold of it at last”, the doctor assured as he increased his grip on the forceps and slowly pulled back. “And there it is”, he stated matter-of-factly as he dropped the bloody pellet into the metal tray lying on the headend of the table, showing it to Abbott as he did so.
“Thank God”, the Captain exclaimed, then added, “and thank you Doctor.”
“Yes, yes, of course, no worries. Now you just lay here a while and we’ll let things drain a bit before we dress it. After that you can return to camp. But I want you back here in the morning so we can have another look at it and apply a clean dressing.”
The boyish surgeon was gone before Frederick had a chance to respond. A minute later, after placing a layer of gauze gently over the wound to keep the dirt out while it drained, the annoyed nurse was gone as well.
So there the King’s ace lay, alone, flat on his stomach, bare arse pointing skyward for all the world to see. Five minutes went by, then ten, then ten more, when suddenly a familiar voice was heard from the nearby door of the room.
“Well look what the cat dragged in, and showing his best face too.”
Freddy snapped his head around as he lifted himself up on his elbows and discovered that there, in the doorway, stood Nurse Ellison.
(to be continued)
#4549000 - 12/18/2010:45 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: Nov 2014 Posts: 3,403Fullofit
Lou, thanks again for such a handsome gong. Yes, those Frenchies are quite skillful lately. Must be getting better quality wine. So, it’s official: Freddy is a fool and a damned good one at that judging by all the luck he’s had during the landing. Not to say his luck did not continue during his Camel recovery, with all that whiskey. Then the operation itself, which was a success, with no hint of any splinters or infection. And to boot - nurse Ellison! God loves his childr ... fools. Looking forward to other encounter with Lizzie, and I bet so is Freddy.
18 December, 1917 08:45 Saint-Loup-en-Champagne, Marne Sector Jasta 19 Leutnant Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1 HHO PLM AO 99 confirmed kills Awaiting two claim confirmations
Still no word on the latest claims. This morning they were sent to patrol the enemy front lines between Reims and Guignicourt. Ziggy’s flight was approaching Guignicourt when Mallman began to waggle his wings. There were enemy planes around. Hahn looked back and could barely see some dots cunningly hidden by the sun. They were soon battling a flight of SPADs. One of them singled out Zygmunt and maneuvered his plane on the tail of the Albatros. It was difficult to shake the Frenchman off. They traded shots while going head to head and at one point Ziggy was certain he hit the SPAD with his undercarriage. The French machine dove to regroup and Zygmunt was able to take a few more shots. One of the bullets must have hit something vital and a stream of vapour began to trail behind the SPAD. He knew sooner or later the enemy’s engine will cease. He followed. It took a while but eventually he caught up to the French Devil, which was going slower and slower. Ziggy hated this. He hated slow planes. The risk of collision increased tenfold. He would have to be very careful. It took much longer than he’d like but in the end the crippled SPAD crash landed on the outskirts of Guignicourt. That was it. After that, Zygmunt decided to return home. His wingmen followed one after another. Once back on the ground, cleaned up and with the claim and AAR handed in, he was asked to see the C.O. Ernst Hess smiled when he saw Zygmunt come into his office. The two men have become fast friends. “- Good hunting today!” He motioned Hahn to sit down. “- I have something here for you. It came this morning after you were up there.” He pulled out a box out of his desk’s drawer and handed it to Zygmunt. It was a medal. The Order of the Red Eagle. “- This is very rare, you know. Sorry it has to be this way, but you have to understand. We can’t have dignitaries awarding gongs to disgraced officers.” Ziggy smiled. He preferred it this way. He was tired of ceremonies. This would do just fine.
Ah, much more like it - and thanks for getting me off the hook there...and such a dramatic scene, as a finishing touch. Marvelous (I don't drink anymore, and I'm not young either...well, I guess we know what group I'll be in, then...)
You guys - all of you - really knock it outta the park with the stories here (and I normally just look at the pictures )
That was a stupendous moodynight shot with the Alb caufht in the searchlifht. Love it!
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#4549010 - 12/19/2012:40 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: May 2012 Posts: 4,670RAF_Louvert
BOC President; Pilot Extraordinaire; Humble Man
Morning Patrol just reached the 1st leg when jumped by 3 Green Tail pursuit types Cheeky blokes attacking our 2 flights of 5 a/c. Good flyers every time I got to fire he slipped away in a turn. Finally my mates got him but the others got away. I thought all was ok when reforming one of the rover did a wingover and dove into the ground ? Maybe wnd and bled out was the opinion in the mess that night. Score 1 for 1.
#4549018 - 12/19/2004:20 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Carrick - Those Green Tails can be all kinds of trouble. Thorpe was fortunate to make it out unscathed.
Robert - Nice to see you dropping by again. There’s hot tea in the kettle.
KK - I don’t drink anymore either, and I am far far from young, so we’re both in that same group together. Fools is as fools does.
Raine - Congrats to MacAlister on his well-earned and well-deserved gong. Quite the war record in less than a month.
Fullofit - So no pomp and circumstance for Ziggy, eh? Ah well, it's the bling itself that counts anyway. I do wonder though how long HQ is going to hold a grudge against their highest scoring ace.
17 December 1917 65 Squadron R.F.C. Bailleul, France
“How did you know I was here Lizzie old girl, or did you just happen by to find me lying here like this and think ‘well there’s a cheeky fellow I should say hello to’. Haw!” Captain Abbott was quite pleased with his little wordplay.
“A cheeky fellow to be sure”, Nurse Ellison replied cheerily. “But no I didn’t just happen by. Nurse Crunkshaw was in the hallway describing an RFC pilot she’d just assisted with; big silly grin; refused morphine for a bullet removal; and joked with the doctor all the while he was working. Couldn’t be two of ‘em like that, I said to myself, must be my darling Freddy. So I told her I’d take care of your dressing, and here I am.” Then, with a mild tone of irritation in her voice, she added, “But where have you been? Haven’t heard a word from you since Abbeville - I thought we had a nice time together.”
“We did Lizzie, but there has been this war on you know”, Frederick remarked as the young woman finished bandaging his wound. “I came to see you on my way home on leave at the start of October, but you were nowhere to be found. All anyone could tell me was that you’d been sent to a forward field hospital near Arras to help out. I worried for you I’ll have you know.”
“Yeah?”, Nurse Ellison questioned, a coy smile on her cleanly scrubbed face. “I worried for you too Freddy - I did. Thought about you a fair bit too, wondering where you were and what you’d been up to. Must have a proper look at you so get yourself dressed, I’m done back here.” Lizzie slapped the young ace on his good butt cheek, giving a laugh as she did so.
“Not funny old girl, it’s all tender back there at the moment”, Freddy scolded while, still on his stomach, he swung his legs off the table, stood, gingerly pulled up his drawers and trousers, then turned and flashed a toothy smile at his assailant as he tucked in his shirt and tidied himself. “Hand me my tunic from the chair there would you Lizzie my dear?”
As she lifted the jacket she saw the extra pips. “A Captain? “, she remarked. And when she then helped him on with it she caught sight of the row of flash beneath his pilot’s wings. “Three ribbons? You are the proper hero now, aren’t you Freddy. You have to tell me all about it!” The young nurse beamed.
“I shall Lizzie, and you can catch me up on all that you’ve been doing!” Abbott beamed back in kind. “How about over lunch, unless you’ve already eaten? I know a place in town that’s good. Not toppers mind you, but fairly decent. Don’t know about you old girl, but I’m famished!”
“Yeah, I am too.” Lizzie paused for a moment then added, “Gawd, it is good to see you again Freddy - I missed you.”
“Missed you too old girl”, Freddy replied, realizing the moment he said it just how much he really had. “So grab your coat and hat then and let’s go!”
“I will, just give me a tick to let Beatrice know I’ll be out.”
“Sorry, Nurse Crunkshaw, the one who tended to you. We cover for each other, she’s a good sort.”
“Haw! Wouldn’t know it from looking at her, she was nothing but annoyed at me”, Freddy laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s like that with cheeky buggers.”
(to be continued)
#4549032 - 12/19/2004:46 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: Nov 2014 Posts: 3,403Fullofit
Raine, congrats on the well deserved gong! Mac is going places.
Carrick, thanks! That was a peculiar accident with the wingover. Good thing he didn’t collect Thorpe on the way down.
Lou, looks like Freddy isn’t such a fool when it comes to women. How does the saying go? The way to woman’s heart is through her stomach. Good call on that lunch. Hopefully they’ll be able to find a bistro so that Abbott can eat standing up. Great stuff. Hopefully Lizzie can seal the deal in the evening. Poor Freddy, doesn’t even know what awaits. As to the German HQ holding grudges, just you wait till ‘40. Compiegne Forest, certain railroad dining car ...
19 December, 1917 08:45 Saint-Loup-en-Champagne, Marne Sector Jasta 19 Oberleutnant Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1 HHO PLM AO RA 101 confirmed kills
The SPAD from yesterday and one from the day before have been confirmed. Ziggy has reached the one-hundred victories mark and surpassed it. The milestone was also marked by a promotion. He was now Oberleutnant again. This morning the orders came in via the telephone. Jasta 19 was instructed to intercept enemy planes heading for the factories at Sissone. They scrambled their planes immediately and were on their way searching for hostile machines. It didn’t take long before they spotted the enemy. The two dots hung ominously high above the two Schwärme. Ziggy had seen this type before. Very tough, very well armed, very difficult to take out. The two Breguets had seen them and were now diving on them as if they were scouts. Hahn sensed he’d been singled out by one of them and was now targeting him. Meanwhile, Schwarm Eins engaged the other two-seater. The wild maneuvering began and it was anybody’s guess what will happen next. What has become certain was the fact that the rear gunner had him in his sights and Zygmunt could see tracers flying by towards him. He kept low and only popped up to fire a few rounds, then dove back down. This continued until more of Hahn’s mates converged on the bomber and distracted the rear gunner. After that it was just a matter of time before the wolves ripped that sheep apart. The Breguet was flying lower and lower over the city and in the end Zygmunt’s last volley brought the bomber down. It landed on the outskirts and rolled to a stop in front of some tree trunks cut down by the artillery shells. Hahn could see soldiers surrounding the machine and preventing the crew from burning their machine. They’ve captured one of the new enemy bombers intact. Someone at HQ will be extremely pleased.
Defensive Patrol: Ran into a flight of e/a 2 seat types crossing over to our side still climbing. Manged to break up the 3 e/a B flight scored 1 forced down + 1 Destroyed a flamer. 1 SE damaged. I got off a Lewis drum load and about 40 rds of vickers but too far away to do damage.
Last edited by carrick58; 12/20/2001:56 AM.
#4549099 - 12/20/2004:55 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Fullofit - Not only am I a lumberjack and I'm OK, but I have performed that very number on stage to thunderous applause. In both cases, many decades apart, I was wearing a red and black checked flannel shirt so I felt especially Canadian, if that's even possible for an Yank. And on the subject of applause, three cheers/ huzzahs for Ziggy cracking 100 and regaining his rank. H & B! Holy Poachathon, Batman! How very disappointing that the German translation is the same. I was hoping for Der Fliedermensch or something of that ilk. Such teamwork on that Breguet, and to bring it down intact. Hopefully this feat will get Ziggy out of the Hund Haus permanently.
Carrick - Green Tails, eh? Tough outfit. Watch out for that All-Green machine. Most wily, those Boche. Balloon defense? Is that even a thing for the Entente? Never got those orders, just lucky, I guess. Thorpe continues to get the feel for the SE. Keep up the good flying. The kills will come.
Lou - Very relieved that Freddy is on the correct side of the lines, even if his arse is literally hanging in the wind. What luck that Nurse Lizzie is here! Will they play fantasy Wargames this evening? I'd suggest a LOTR Appendices reenactment, like Naughty nurses of Numenor, but Tolkein hasn't written that yet. Too bad. Ar-Pharazôn the Golden seizing the sceptre will have to wait, or will it? There are a number of those Great war interviews from that same series. I think Cecil Lewis is the only other aviator.
Raine - Good show, Mac! Congrats of the well-deserved Gong.
Robert - Hope you are well. We await your triumphant return to the Campaign.
KK- Good to see you dropping by, even if you're just browsing the pictures ____________________________________________________
À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 51 of many
26 November 1917 56 Squadron RFC Laviéville, France
8.00 Allyn and Moody looked positively green this morning. Even Flight Sergeant Pickett moved unsteadily about his duties. By all appearances, the NCOs and men of A Flight had christened my century with vigor. They had full-on bragging rights for the present and I was happy for them.
Morning escort of 2 R.E.8s from RFC-13 to bomb installations 2 miles east of Fontaine-Uterte aerodrome. A Flight was Maybery, Harmon, Dodds, Cawson and Roy. Good old F-U, scene of so much drama during my time with 54. Lost one Harry Tate to engine trouble before crossing the mud, the other bombed the target successfully then headed for home.
Over the German support trenches, three Pfalz attacked. Yellow tails! Jasta 10
I immediately latched onto one but after a short burst, nearly collided with Woodman. Got onto another and almost collided with Maybery. Enough! I broke off and went high with Roy in trail. At that point, a loud clank sounded in the engine which immediately began dropping revs. I suspected a broken rod. Firing off a green flare I dropped out and made haste for the lines. Curse you, Rainsford Balcombe-Brown!
My sweet purring B511... and now this steam shovel of an aeroplane.
Over No Man’s Land the Hispano breathed its last.
Steering toward the Advanced Landing Ground at Hervilly/Montigny-Ferme I realized I wouldn’t make it and landed instead next to a nearby balloon battery.
The salvage crew didn’t arrive until 2 o’clock. I spent the intervening time with the battery commander, Lt. Markham who, in keeping with the highest traditions of the Kite Balloon Section, proved a most affable host. I declined his offer of liquid refreshment still hoping to make the afternoon show, which was scheduled as a Distant Offensive Patrol but accepted his hospitality for lunch. In the end I missed the patrol. Richard led and after several indecisive fights, brought everyone home.
27 November 1917 56 Squadron RFC Laviéville, France
The plane lay crumpled. I found myself strangely fixated on the blue and white quartered wheels of B Flight sticking up from the inverted undercarriage that was the only recognizable part of the wreck. Arthur’s head and shoulders lay visible peeking out from under the wreckage, facing me. His eyes suddenly opened. He was alive! I tried to move but unseen hands held me fast. “Help me Ripper! Help me!” his voice rose to a panicked cry. He squirmed in pain and terror as if something were attacking him from below. “Ripper! Please, for God’s sake help me!” he screamed.
“Ripper, it’s all right, Old Man. It’s just a dream.” Richard stood over me, torch in one hand, and the other on my shoulder. His calm smiling presence brought me fully awake. When I nodded in acknowledgement he returned to his cubicle.
9.00 Barrier Patrol between the Bois de Robermont and our aerodrome at Boiry St. Martin. An easy, uneventful morning. Just as well as I was flying a spare. Moody and Allyn were in the middle of a complete overhaul of B54’s temperamental engine.
Weather closed in with heavy winds and rain washing out the afternoon patrol. The desperate fight for Bourlon Wood rages on and we can do nothing to support our infantry. Bloody Hell!
Long talk with the CO this afternoon. Yet another possible posting in England, which I refused as I had with the previous two.
"Remind me, Winningstad, how long have you been out?” asked Major Balcombe-Brown, knowing full well what the answer would be.
“Since April 1st, sir.” I replied. “Eight months come this Saturday.”
“Remarkable innings, Winningstad. You’ve batted a Century, and for a country not your own I might add. Only that naval chap Mulberry had more. VC and a rainbow of ribbons on your tunic. Brilliant. Might be time for a rest. Every man has his limit.”
Is he trying to get rid of me?
“I’ve got a bit left, sir. My place is here, leading a flight and training the new men. Work to do, yet.”
“Yes. We’ll discuss the matter another time. Thank you, Flight Commander.”
28 November 1917 56 Squadron RFC Laviéville, France
9.00 Life in the Spare continued. Escort of two R.E.8s from RFC-59 on a recce of Hun trenches from the Arras-Cambrai road to a point 6 miles north. The Harry Tate’s were exactly on time and we crossed into Hunland at 10,500 feet. Four circuits, no e/a sighted. With our friends from RFC-59 safely back to Allied territory we returned east on a free hunt. Running the length of the Arras-Cambrai we patrolled over Bourlon wood. Oddly, no e/a in sight. We retraced our path back to the northwest through a sky mysteriously devoid of enemy aircraft.
Just east of Brayelles, a single Pfalz attacked.
One vs five. The end was never in doubt.
It was done. Drawing closer I could see the pilot struggling to hold the Pfalz in flight.
The flames advanced but he fought grimly to control the machine, protecting his face with his left arm. On he flew, even as the flames licked tantalizing about him and prepared for their final embrace.
He turned to me as I drew alongside. Trick of the light or no, I could see his eyes clearly through his goggles. His expression showed no fear or anger, only sorrow. Grief for the life ending and those he would leave behind. He would never ground the machine before the flames took him and he knew it.
Slipping behind and taking careful aim, I made no vain cast. As the pitiless bronze, so too the guns shore through him.
“And the mist mantled over his eyes, and the life left him”
I hope for the same kindness if the time comes.
29 November 1917 56 Squadron RFC Laviéville, France
Mr. Right hung on the wrought iron fence making his piteous gargling noises. Lifting his face to me he spoke, mouthing words, but no sound escaped his lips. I leaned in closer straining to hear...
“8 o’clock, sir,” whispered Harris. “Some tea and a biscuit for you.”
A Flight were on standby most of the morning. At 10.30 we scrambled to clear intruding Huns near Old Mossy Face. The full flight, less Woodman, this morning: Maybery, Turnbull, Harmon, Dodds, Cawson and Roy.
Over Bapaume at 13,000 feet we saw Archie buffs 2000 feet above bracketing a pair of Hun two-seaters. We chased them for 15 minutes and finally caught them just south of Riencourt.
Instead of diving away, the two Huns reversed and flew into the trailing elements of the Flight.
By the time I closed it was already over.
Returned to patrol the space over Havrincourt Wood.
Five Periwinkle Albatri come down to play. Their blue noses shining in the sun...
Dodds in trouble! It was a baited Hun trap, and I knew it...
Dammit man, reverse your turn!
I cleared Dodds' tail, but not without cost.
The trailing Hun’s fusillade tore thru canvas and struck an aileron cable. Controls answered but the SE wanted to go over to the left. I lost sight of Dodds and skidded right to avoid the attack. Dragged the offending Albatros to Maybery who sent it down out of control.
Two Rumplers and three Albatri accounted for, but Dodds did not return. Cawson had seen him going down through a cloud with a Hun following.
Engine test of B54 this afternoon. Adequate response and power but a pale shadow of my departed B511.
Wing sent confirmation of yesterday’s Pfalz. Poor b@stard. He was too keen. 102.
No news tonight of Dodds. He is down and missing in Hunland. Six weeks, that’s how long he lasted. I flew into an obvious trap to try and save him and barely escaped myself. This was how it will happen. In my SE, I can outfly or outrun any German man or machine currently flying, but the time will come again when I must knowingly fly into ambush to save one of my men.
"But when the sun god stood bestriding the middle heaven, then the father balanced his golden scales and in them he set two fateful portions of death which lays men prostrate... and balanced it by the middle."
When would my death day prove the heavier?
30 November 1917 56 Squadron RFC Laviéville, France
I woke on my own. First night’s sleep in a week without nightmare but the ghosts continue restless. I see them in the day now, lingering at the edge of my vision or walking with a group of men.
8.45 Winter dawn patrol of our lines in front of Cambrai. Early reports this morning of a massive German counterattack on the flanks of the Cambrai push. Maybery, Turnbull, Harmon, Woodman and Cawson.
Clarissa's handiwork kept my head from freezing as we climbed past 15,000 feet. Over Old Mossy Face, high Albatri attacked. Pushing the throttle wide open, the Hispano responded with a high pitched *ping* followed by a chugging noise as it dropped revs and vomited oil onto the windscreen.
Blast your clumsy hands, Rainsford Balcombe-Brown!
I broke away, fled west and nursed B54 to the Advanced Landing Ground at Lechelle.
I rode back on the tender with the salvage crew. B54 had exploded two plugs and burst an oil line. When I saw Richard waiting for me, I knew what was coming. George Cawson was dead. The flight attacked a DFW and his SE was hit and broke apart in midair. Barely 6 weeks. That’s how long he lasted.
2.45 Afternoon show was an escort of 3 R.E.8s from RFC-12 to bomb Epinoy aerodrome. In the wretched spare again. Over the target Periwinkle Albatri, once again. I caught onto one at the first merge and put a 40-round burst into his engine. He fell out of control and smoking but as I watched him fall, he leveled at the last and landed very neatly at Epinoy aerodrome. Wily B@stard!
One of his comrades was less fortunate. Over the field another Albatros chased an SE. I dove to attack.
In the twilight he fell, thunderously, and darkness closed over both eyes.
I never saw who the SE was. When the Hun crashed, I was alone. Another unconfirmed kill. I climbed toward the setting sun. The men of A Flight slotted into place as we flew west.
We chased the sun home to Laviéville
C Flight landed just before we did. Beery’s engine faltered on takeoff and he’d failed to get off with the flight. Captain Robert Townsend took command. C Flight scrapped with a pair of two seaters and then a flock of Green Tails. Three of the Huns attacked Townsend and shot him down in flames.
Bloody November! 56 Squadron was much depleted. Ten pilots lost this month, four to HE and six to the enemy. Mac saw my silent distress and tried to offer consolation. He holds himself to an even higher standard and feels responsible when his pilots get shot at much less killed, but Mac is a professional soldier and exhibits powers of detachment I have yet to master. The weight of failure sits heavily upon me. I’ve lost two men in as many days and I was powerless to save either one.
Reports are sketchy but it’s clear the German counterattack has achieved complete surprise. The Huns have retaken Bourlon Ridge and are driving the PBI back toward their jumping off points. No news about the Albatros.
Last edited by epower; 12/20/2005:01 AM.
#4549108 - 12/20/2010:10 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Wow...a Red Eagle! That's no joke! Congrats! I've fallen quite a ways behind, but I'm hoping to make up for lost time before Christmas!
Raine: Another good yarn, and that screenshot of MacAllister going after the Albatros in the spotlight is stellar! And congrats on the gong!
Lou: A brilliantly written and thoroughly amusing two episodes. Glad your man made it back to Terra Firma save and at least partially sound.
Carrick: Be careful around those Green-Tailed artists! That lot are troublemakers, for sure....
Fullofit: My eyes must be going funny. I could have sworn I read "101 Kills"! Imagine...!
epower: There go my eyes again. Was sure I'd read "102 kills" for a second. Must have that checked out. Some very enjoyable stories, but perhaps your man ought to take the time off in England. It sounds like those 102 victories didn't come without a price, and it certainly looks like 56 has some tough neighbours...
Apologies to all I've missed.
A Sky Torn Asunder: The Memoirs of William D. Grey
Part 5: The Depot.
Pierre’s motor car was on its last legs as we arrived at the massive expanse of hangars and lined-up machines that was the Air Depot at Bourget. Davet took the lead as we entered the air park, which I was very grateful for as I surely would not know who to see or where to go if left by myself. After some enquiring to the whereabouts to one Lieutenant Bisset (a friend of Ortoli’s and Davet’s, and a test pilot at the depot), we eventually made our way to a towering Bessoneau with Spads packed in so tightly that I wondered how they were ever to be retrieved. After shaking hands with us, Bisset turned to Davet.
“Spad 31 crashed another machine? Well, no matter. I’ve got just the coucou for you. Tried her out this morning, her motor sings!”.
“Actually we need two”.
“Là, Là! Did you forget how to fly over there?”
“Very funny. By the way, Le Capitane’s asked us to get a couple of the two-hundreds if you have any spare”.
The test pilot scoffed. “Sure, we have a couple, but not for the likes of you! Not unless you’ve been transferred to Spad 3 since you were last here! But, if you want my opinion, you’re better off with one-eighties anyway. The new motors are hell to maintain. You’d be lucky to get fifteen hours out of one of them”.
Bisset invited Davet to try our replacement Spads, and he spent fifteen minutes overflying the air park in each one. Satisfied, Davet thanked Bisset, and with that we climbed into the new machines, waved a quick farewell, and took off for home. The trip back to Fere-en-Tardenois was considerably easier than our adventure to the Depot, and we were touching back down in no time at all. I wondered how far along Pierre had got with his broken-down little Fiat.
Having missed my scheduled patrol for that afternoon, the Capitane assigned me to take the first patrol on the morning of the 7th, under Ortoli’s lead. Covin and Chartoire, also on the patrol, didn’t bother to change into their uniforms, instead simply pulling their combinations over their pyjamas. This became the subject of some ridicule directed at Covin, who had some particularly loud sleeping attire, but the Frenchman was unfazed by his comrade’s mockery. “It’s more incentive not to get shot down. What would the Bosches think?” was his joking response.
The patrol went off without much incident, apart from the distant sight of some Spads bringing down a Bosche two-seater in flames. I watched with morbid interest as the German aircraft went into a dive then slowly pitched up as its elevators tore away, carving a sickly black smile in the sky.
Although there had been no Bosches to speak of, save for the one unfortunate Biplace, I had noticed a great deal of other French aeroplanes, mostly the English Biplaces that the Sopwith Escadrilles flew, sometimes being escorted over the lines by Spads. At one point I saw a group of Sopwiths flying very low over German lines. From my vantage point it seemed that the “Flak” was giving them a hell of a time, but they appeared to sail on, unfazed by the barrage. I asked Leguene about it over supper that evening, and he told me that the old war pilots who had flown since 1916 or earlier weren’t much concerned about the German anti-aircraft fire. Having experienced my first shelling only hours ago, I struggled to comprehend this. I'd found the experience, to put it lightly, quite unsettling.
Part 6: A Raid is Ordered.
The next morning, I found myself being roused at Seven O’Clock. This wasn’t Georges’ typical gentle shaking awake followed by a cup of hot cocoa - instead, I was rather sharply poked in the ribs twice before having the cover torn off of me. Before I could even protest, the loud cry of “Merde! What’s the idea, Salaud?” informed me that Davet had just received the same treatment.
The intruder was a short, black-haired Sergeant with a pencil moustache and an impish face which seemed to match perfectly his manner. Impatiently, with his arms folded, he replied. “Don’t give me it, Amette! Get up, the Capitane wants everybody in the mess now!”.
“What in the name of god is all that damned noise?” came the cry from the adjacent room. “What do you think? It’s Messier, of course!” Davet cried back, shooting a venomous glance at the Sergeant. Irritated groans and Boos echoed through the barracks. The little Sergeant, Messier, smirked at the response as if he were proud of the anger he had caused. “Up, you lazy dogs! The Capitane wants you all in the mess!” he cried back. Every French insult I knew, and some that I didn’t, were thrown back his way.
Sure enough, as we congregated in the mess we found the Capitane waiting for us. “Gentlemen, we have a special assignment today”. There were groans of protest, which were quickly silenced by the Capitane holding up a hand. “I won’t hear it! This one’s important, and you’re all assigned. We’ve been ordered to strafe the Railyard at Vivaise. The Bosches have been bringing up ammunition through there. Ortoli will lead the attacking flight, and I will lead another flight to cover the attackers”.
The Capitane went through the details of our imminent assault, and then gave the assignments. Both Davet and I were sorted into the flight that would do the strafing. I had done a little bit of strafing practice at Plessis, and didn’t have much fondness for it. It seemed bizarre to me to want to dive an aeroplane straight at the ground. The talk over breakfast was tense and anticipatory - the older pilots seemed put out at the thought of a raid, but the younger pilots seemed both nervous and excited. “What do you think will happen if I shoot an ammunition crate?” Bordage was asking with a grin. “I bet it’ll go up like a christmas tree!”. Blanc laughed deeply as he lit a cigarette. “Ha! Speaking of christmas, you might want to be less eager about flying at ground level if you want to see it, petit!”. Bordage’s face reddened to match his fiery, gallic hair. “Don’t call me Petit, Gros!”. The pilots laughed aloud together.
Our patrol time - Eleven O’Clock - rolled around, and we made our way onto the airfield. I was impressed by the sight of our Spads all lined up and ready to go. One by one, with the Capitane’s 200 Horsepower Spad in the lead, we took off, climbing up to our altitude in the usual lazy, spiralling fashion before turning out East. It was over Soissons that I suddenly realised that I had the same feeling I had experienced on my first flight with Spad 31 - that almost innocent nervous anticipation. The prospect of our raid was equal parts fascinating, exciting and worrying.
As it happened, I was not to find out what a raid was like. We had scarcely crossed the lines north of Soissons when Ortoli suddenly signalled that we were being attacked and curved sharply to the left. Confused, the rest of us followed, and I nervously searched for the attackers. Suddenly, about 500 meters above us, the silhouette of a plane appeared. I recognised the violent angular curve of its wingtips: Albatros.
A second appeared. Then two more, and another. One machine lazily circled lower with the precise calm of a predator, getting a better look at us, as we anxiously weaved below. As the Germans descended further I got a better look at their leader - he was strikingly painted, with red wheels and a spinner to match. His tail was pinstriped in red and white. They continued in their effortless, almost contemptuously lazy circle - and then, as one, they sharply pointed their nose down and fell like lightning upon us.
For the opening moments it seemed that none of the Bosches had picked me out. I circled to the right and saw Spads and Albatroses rolling frantically with one another, climbing and falling. With me straining my engine to reach them, I watched as one by one the Spads rolled over into sharp dives, the Albatroses frantically chasing them with machine guns chattering.
Suddenly I was compelled to look behind me, and to my shock I saw the red-nosed Bosche diving straight for me. Instinctually I booted the rudder and curved out of his way, and he pitched back up, flattening out at my level. For a moment we circled, almost lazily, staring at each other down the lengths of our wingtips. The sky seemed empty now - it was just me and my opponent. For a moment I saw a glint of sun from his goggles, then it was lost behind his wing as he suddenly pitched towards me again. I tried to turn my Spad to meet him, but the German machine was quicker, and soon he was behind me again. At first I felt only a mild surprise that he had gotten behind me so well, but as I curved to the right, then back to the left, then right again, a panic started to rise in my throat; I may as well have been towing the Bosche behind me with a rope.
I became more aggressive in my manoeuvring, and the Bosche coolly did the same. More than once it seemed that he had me cold, but each time I managed to spin, or dive, or slip just clear of his guns. I caught sight of a second Albatros, not too far away, and felt my heart sink. It was just then that Ortoli’s first instruction to me popped into my head, clearly as if he’d been stood beside me at that moment. “If we get into a fight and you get into trouble, dive away. Our Coucous are much faster in a dive than les Bosches”.
One more half-turn would see me pointed West. I waited until the green behind our lines flashed into view, and then I threw my stick forwards with an aggression that made me come clear out of my seat, the straps biting harshly into my shoulders. Watching over my shoulder, I watched as the Albatros quickly shrunk, his looming red spinner reducing to a pinprick against the sky. The Bosche didn’t seem to follow - assumedly he knew there was no use - and he casually turned back to the East. Looking up, I saw a pair of machines with English roundels, headed towards the fight. Shaken, I only made it as far as the aerodrome at Soissons before I came in to land, feeling as though I might be sick. As I landed and switched off, I heard the excited chattering of pilots and mechanics, and soon a crowd had formed around me as I willed my shaking hands to undo my harness.
“Allo! Where are you from?” a round-faced pilot happily called out to me as my feet touched terra firma. “Uh, Spad 31” I murmured, unbuttoning my combination and pulling my flying cap from my head. The pilot raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve just come from a fight, no? I know that look! But you must come join us in the mess and tell us about it!”.
I quietly thanked the mechanics as they wheeled my Spad away to check it over, and followed the pilots to the mess, where I was informed merrily that I was being hosted by Sopwith 55. I had lunch with four pilots and their observers, and recounted my experience as best I could. The pilots listened on, and at the mention of the Albatros’ pinstriped tail their excitement turned to quiet anger. “Mais oui. We call them the Striped Escadrille. We’ve lost some friends to them”, one pilot explained.
After lunch one of the Lieutenant-pilots phoned my Escadrille to let them know I was safe and sound. By this point I had managed to calm down a fair amount, and so I thanked the pilots of Sopwith 55 for their hospitality and climbed back into my Spad, heading for home. Ortoli had returned ahead of me, as well as the pilots of the Capitane’s flight, but Davet and Covin were nowhere to be found. The atmosphere in the mess was tense. I drew up a chair beside Ortoli, who patted me on the back as I sat down. “Good to see you alive and well, Grey. I was worried when you hadn’t come back at first”.
“I had some trouble with a Bosche” I informed him. “He damned nearly got me, but I remembered your advice. Do you know where the others are?”. Ortoli’s expression hardened. “I saw Covin get across the lines. No doubt he’s safe. I don’t know what happened to Davet”.
Surely enough, Covin returned not long after I had. He carried his usual smiling, joking demeanour, but under it he seemed rattled like myself. No word came of Davet, and I had started to worry after two hours had passed. The day fell into evening, and still no word came.
I didn’t sleep that night. When I opened my eyes, I saw Davet’s empty cot, the sheet messily bundled up at the foot of it like he usually left it. When I closed my eyes, I could feel the emptiness of the room. When I finally neared sleep, I was revisited by the red-nosed Albatros. My last conscious thought before my exhaustion finally overcame me was of the Albatros’ guns. It quite suddenly occurred to me that he hadn’t fired once, even when it seemed that he was a mere inch away from having me right in his sights. I found this terrifying - for in my mind this only proved his skill, his perfectionism. I was sure that if he had fired even once, he would undoubtedly have found his mark.
Last edited by Wulfe; 12/20/2001:28 PM.
#4549121 - 12/20/2001:46 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: Nov 2014 Posts: 3,403Fullofit
Epower, thanks again for the kudos. With that last gong Ziggy is beginning to look like a peacock. And I’m afraid the HQ won’t let him out of die Hundehütte this easily. See comment to Lou earlier. Glad to see Oliver survive his christening. That must have been some bash. That celebration could have caused a lot of damage in the aftermath judging by the performance of the next morning’s mission. And that nightmare, got to do something about that. It’ll eat poor Winningstad from the inside. Now add to that the incident with the Pfalz pilot. The nights could get interesting for dear Ollie. Has B-B recognized Winningstad’s imminent condition and is trying to save his top scoring ace from more nightly torments? I bet Clarissa would be glad to see him back, but B-B doesn’t know that. Some nice shots there in your last report. And those periwinkles again, they do prove to be a worthy foe. Ziggy has taught them well. It’s just too bad Dodds had to pay the price to find that out. That non-Hisso-Hisso continues to refuse an honest day’s work. What rotten luck! At least the victory confirmations are beginning to roll in. Congrats on the latest! Hopefully December will be a bit more calm for Oliver and No. 56. Only 3 weeks to catch up to the rest of us.
Carrick, balloon defence missions are usually quiet. Perfect time for Thorpe to relax.
Wulfe, thanks! Oh no, not you too falling behind. Hoping you’ll have that free time to make good on your promise. That was some escape! Thank God the SPAD can dive like a brick and leave everything behind. Grey must learn fast if he wishes to stay alive. Who is this German leader that toyed with William so? Excellent vid! That Hun had some skill.
20 December, 1917 Saint-Loup-en-Champagne, Marne Sector Jasta 19 Oberleutnant Zygmunt Dolf Hahn EK2 EK1 HHO PLM AO RA 102 confirmed kills
The blustery winds arrived early in the morning and continued throughout the entire day. There were no flights attempted today. The forecast report announced this weather would continue into the next day. On a more positive note the Breguet captured yesterday has been confirmed. There was nothing to do at the aerodrome during this time. Zygmunt and some of his mates decided to visit the nearby town of Rethel and find a café with something more tasty than the military rations. The Jasta was not being well supplied lately. It would also serve as an excuse to celebrate Ziggy’s recent promotion and his Roter Adlerorden. They found an establishment near the city square and took up a table closest to the window. Tybelsky was in charge of ordering for the entire group. Ziggy picked up a newspaper to leaf through while sipping his coffee from a chipped china which quickly was brought to their table. Coffee wasn’t as he remembered. There was nothing new or interesting to read. Glorious victories. Inflation. Food shortages. War bond drives. He looked at a poster plastered to the wall on unusually quickly yellowing paper. General Paul Ludwig Hans Anton von Beneckendorff und von Hindenburg was staring at him from the poster and inviting to buy war bonds. “Times are hard, but victory is certain” read the caption. Zygmunt sneered. The general was now more a politician than a military leader and Hahn did not believe politicians.
"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."
#4549175 - 12/20/2008:41 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)