Fullofit - So the boys are off to tear up St. Quentin. What mischief awaits? And speaking of mischief, Oliver is not out of the woods yet...
À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 58 of many
28 December 1917 Lion Hotel Shrewsbury, Shropshire
Last game with the boys this morning. How they laughed when they tackled me.
The lobby was crowded as I saw them off. Alice took my hand. “Farewell, Captain Winningstad, and thank you,” was all she said. No further words were necessary. We’d said everything the previous night.
Georgie held tight to the ball and kept looking up with sad eyes. I dropped down to his eye level and we shook hands.
To Teddy I gave the copy of The Jungle Book I’d found in the bookshop.
“The story doesn’t end, Teddy.” I said as he took my hand. “Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you for the ball, Captain Winningstad!” cried Georgie. “And for the stories,” added Teddy.
When they left, I found a chair in the Fireplace Room. I was just getting comfortable by the fire when a voice in imitation of a childish accent spoke from behind me. “Oh please Captain Winningstad, sir, will you read me a story?”
She stood there in the same sable coat as I’d seen the other night.
“Clarissa! What on earth are you doing here?!” I exclaimed, leaping to my feet.
Smooth Oliver. Very smooth.
Clarissa teetered on the verge of laughter, enjoying my shock and confusion.
“I’m ill-accustomed to hearing ‘No’ to a summons, to say nothing of being thrown over for children, especially ones with such beautiful mothers. None have dared such a thing! And to receive in reply an invitation to such a …center of culture as Shrewsbury… well, this is an historic day. I admit, I was vexed at first, then intrigued. You’re not predictable, Oliver, I must say.”
“I am greatly relieved you think so,” I replied jauntily.
“There’s another reason, mon aviateur magnifique,” she said taking the other chair by the fire. “Word of your recent heroics reached the London papers. This morning's edition of the Daily Mail was positively gushing. The game is afoot, and I fear your quiet Shropshire holiday is about to get very noisy indeed.
“Those jackals are the reason I bolted here. They dogged my every move in London. Now this d*mn article in the Chronicle ruined everything. Come to rescue me, have you?”
“And not a moment too soon. You’d have a ready-made family if you kept on,” she said.
I thought I heard something else in her teasing. What was she not saying?
I was prepared this time for the soft knock on the door.
The temptation of Alice, and all the emotions I’d locked away these last months smashed through their cell doors and found riotous expression in the act of love. I’d never known a woman with such furious passion, such fierce appetite, yet Clarissa’s ravening hunger ultimately surpassed my own. What began as desperate need became so much more. We were again as elemental creatures of myth, bound together in fiery mating.
When the slow time of our lovemaking finally gave way to the present, we lay together, eyes melding as our bodies remained locked in embrace. Neither of us moved for a long time.
“You missed me, mon aviateur magnifique,” she spoke at last. It was not a question. “One might almost think you’ve kept celibate, like some warrior monk.”
“Really?!” She seemed incredulous. “Did you not ravage half the khaki-fevered debutantes of London?”
‘Nearly. Some theater girls did bring me to an opium den in Mayfair.”
“One of Reginald’s drug-fueled orgies?! Oh, Oliver, you haven’t wasted any time. I’m impressed. What other mysteries have you withheld from me? Tell.”
“Nothing to tell. I left immediately.”
“Oh,” she said with a sniff of disappointment. “I was hoping for a story.”
“No doubt. How do you know about Reginald’s orgies?”
“Now, now. We girls have our secrets,” she replied, smiling like the Cheshire cat.
Curiouser and curiouser. Why wasn’t she angry?
“Do you still have those posh Dunhill cigarettes?” she asked.
Rising, I retrieved two from my silver case and lit them in succession, handing one to Clarissa. She coiled up against me as we sat up smoking, the trail of her exhaled smoke roiling upwards, assuming fanciful, dancing shapes, as though it were an expression of her mood or an instrument of her will. The Dunhill, instead of making me jumpy and scattering my thoughts, sharpened my faculties.
“That war mother, she was beautiful. Did you have her?” asked Clarissa.
“She wanted her hero. She had the look… Such aching need in her eyes. A missed opportunity. What she might have done for you, Oliver, I can only imagine… Clarissa described then a carnal scenario of such baroque nature, and in graphic detail, comprising acts one might hesitate to request from even the most seasoned professional, that I was struck dumb momentarily.
“Gods! What a picture.”
“Don’t pretend to be shocked, Oliver,” she admonished playfully.
A gallic shrug was my only response.
“You desired her,” she said with an air of certitude. Clarissa eyes now flashed gold. The dragon was fully awake.
I thought about lying, but Clarissa would see through any of my paltry attempts to deflect the truth.
“Very much so, especially after playing the ascetic as I did in London. There was something otherworldly about her but she was a prisoner’s wife, and there are rules about that sort of thing.”
“Yes, I suppose there are,” Clarissa replied thoughtfully, “but I don’t recall reading them anywhere.”
“None of them have been written down.”
“It’s like that, is it?” she said, taking a long drag of the Dunhill then gently exhaling and drawing the smoke back into her nostrils. Again, her golden eyes arced with fire. “Honor can be so inconvenient.”
Last edited by epower; 03/13/2102:00 AM.
#4559689 - 03/13/2102:12 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
B flight went aloft to chase away some some recon on the lines. Our Flying C.O. led our 5 a/c. Spotted the Huns 2 machines and clawed to reach up to them only to have turn for home as we fell out of the shy in the thin air. Reforming, We spotted 7 V struts weaving right to left above us 2 breaking off the rest compact. Again we clawed for height, but they scattered and dove on us I shot up one as it swung by at long ranger then 2 of the Huns dropped on me Spandua s chatting. My wing got hit u could hear the wooden Spar crack then a a Tail spin stated flipping me over and over as I spun into the ground KIA shot down by Albatross DV a's Yellow tails. Sqn score 1, lost 2 SE's Rode it down, KIA, Splattered on Flanders Fields., but got one.
#4559736 - 03/13/2103:15 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: Nov 2014 Posts: 3,410Fullofit
Epower, he is not out of the woods, but I see his wood is out and lathed into shape. You’ve been a busy beaver with all these reports coming in fast and furious. So, Oliver’d chosen Clarissa’s heel then. Hopefully he knows what happens to praying mantis male after copulation. Stay on your toes, Oliver! Stay on your toes. I’m surprised that our salty dog sailor, who’d been to Singapore, Hong Kong et al., would be so taken aback by Clarissa’s description of said carnal scenario. Wouldn’t the experience of his previous life on the seas prepare him for such an eventuality?
Carrick, say it ain’t so. Your most successful pilot is no more. RIP 2 Lt J. K. Thorpe. Off to the next incarnation.
13 March, 1918 10:45 Guise, Flanders Sector Jasta 19, JG II Leutnant Rudolf Emil Fuchs EK1, HHO 42 confirmed kills
Escort a Rumpler from FA 33 on recon of enemy front sector across from Peronne. Rudi was sure this would be an easy mission. All they had to do was follow a large, slow biplane. They didn’t even have to navigate. How hard could it be? Everything changed once they were in the air. The Schwarm was approaching the rendezvous point when Fuchs noticed a dot following another dot, with yet another dot descending upon the first two dots. Two SPADs were engaged in a fight with the poor Rumpler. Rudi couldn’t get there fast enough. He was almost sure it would be all over before he could get there. He was so close now. Just a little bit more. He chanced a long range shot. It worked. The SPAD was spooked and disengaged. He watched the French machine descend in a spiral, flipping upside down, trying to regain control, but it was no use. He crashed close to the aerodrome. Fuchs couldn’t believe his luck.
He then noticed another plane above. It wasn’t a SPAD. It looked different and green all over. Even the roundels looked different. It had to be a Britisher! Rudi continued to track the new machine, but he was too low to intercept. Instead, he noticed another one of the planes coming straight at him. He pulled up and sprayed the bottom of the enemy craft with bullets. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This crate also began to spiral down to crash beneath. But as the plane was just about to smash into the ground, the pilot levelled out and attempted to get away by blending with his surroundings. Rudi wasn’t fooled. He dropped like a hawk and sprayed the unfamiliar machine with his Spandaus. The Britisher tried to outmaneuver the Fokker, but it wasn’t meant to be. Another volley sent the green plane out of control down into the ground.
Fuchs was trying to get his flight to form up behind. Some Dreideckers were already following, but between them he noticed one of the enemy planes. It was too late to do anything. The Englander was on poor Leutnant Schneider’s tail. Rudi watched in terror the enemy open fire and devastate the triplane. Parts of wings detached from the machine and the Fokker tumbled towards the earth. Fuchs was on the Englander’s tail in a flash and letting long bursts of hate into the angular plane. This time it was the Britisher that was losing bits of his plane. Rudi continued to fire until the enemy’s engine caught on fire. It was quick after that. The S.E.5 went into a shallow dive and smashed into the ground.
It was time to turn back, the Rumpler was nowhere to be seen and there was no point of them overflying the Front for no good reason. Hopefully their Rumpler was already on his way to the nearest aerodrome. Fuchs gave signal to return and was leading the Schwarm home when he noticed Flak explosions to his left. It looked like there were more strugglers. There, right in the midst of the puffs of black smoke, was another Britisher trying desperately to get back across the lines. As soon as Rudi pointed the nose of his Dreidecker in the enemy’s direction, the S.E.5 began his evasive maneuvers. Rudi followed and soon found himself behind the English crate and firing. He knew he’d landed some solid hits and watched his target take a dive into the ground, but just before the collision, the British pilot levelled out and set his plane on the direct course towards the front lines. Fuchs was not amused, he’d been outfoxed again, but was the fight over? The Fokker had an altitude advantage and could probably still catch his prey. Rudi dipped his nose and went after the target. He almost had him but the distance was still too great to engage. In his desperation he fired a few long-range volleys. One of them connected and the ugly plane wobbled. Fuchs fired again and the S.E.5 went into a corkscrew dive. Rudi was sure he had him this time and watched with satisfaction as the enemy plane was nearing the ground and its destruction. It never happened, the British pilot tricked him again and this time for good. Rudi didn’t have enough altitude nor speed to catch his target again. He saluted his skillful foe and turned his plane around for Guise. Tybelsky was right, these Englanders were something else.
Fullofit - Rudi had himself a bit of a day. Not for nothing do they refer to England as Perfidious Albion. Welcome back to Flanders. Nice work saving the hapless Rumpler. Aren't they supposed to fly at extreme altitudes? Even better shooting. I hope the claims office thinks similarly. I'm liking your upgrade to 1080 on the vids. Huge improvement over the 720. Now we just gotta get you a shiny new rig so you can upload 1440
As for Oliver, I forgot about the Praying Mantis mating behavior. Good one. As to Oliver's shock and surprise, it was likely the image of the Goddess Alice in said scenario, and the fact that he doesn't hear that kind of locker room talk from the ladies.
Last edited by epower; 03/13/2106:03 PM.
#4559761 - 03/13/2106:15 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Dodged going into the War as long as possible, But the family finally forced me . Since the family used Gliders for sport, I went into the Aero Arm. Assigned to Jasta 8 after flight school. No Transport was available so had to use the Family Company's Wagon .
Last edited by carrick58; 03/14/2103:22 AM.
#4559843 - 03/13/2111:41 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: Nov 2014 Posts: 3,410Fullofit
Epower, it was an eye opener for Rudi. There’s more to this war than just downing SPADs after all. 1080 is really taxing my system. I can’t even imagine what it would do had I been using my better monitor that runs 1440. Thankfully it’s been commandeered by HQ for the war effort. Now that Alice chapter has been closed, it’s back to being tormented by Clarissa or occasionally by Eliza, I expect. Or is there another Harpy/Siren/Succubus lying in wait to dig her claws into Oliver’s tender flesh?
Carrick, a fellow Hun! Welcome. What letter of the alphabet are you at?
"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."
#4559868 - 03/14/2103:24 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
14 March, 1918 10:45 Guise, Flanders Sector Jasta 19, JG II Leutnant Rudolf Emil Fuchs EK1, HHO 44 confirmed kills
Two of the SE5s have been confirmed. The SPAD was claimed by the Flak batteries. The Schwarm scrambled quickly after learning enemy planes were headed for factories at St. Quentin. Rudi’s Schwarm has just arrived over St. Quentin when a gaggle of SPADs appeared nearby. The furball was now in full swing and Fuchs selected one of the many French machines. He began to damage it when another one of the devils came up from behind and put a few holes in Rudi’s starboard upper plane. Damage was noticeable, his right turns became sluggish and the wounded bird wanted to stall during a tighter turn. Rudi had to make do with what was available. He continued to turn in both directions to throw off his pursuer. He then was able to fire enough lead to take out one of the French crates. The SPAD lost control and spiralled down. Fuchs didn’t wait to see if he’d crashed or not. Another of the enemy planes came into view and Rudi was on him. With a wing over and a barrel roll he positioned his Fokker behind his target and opened fire. His salvo was devastating. The second SPAD dove for the deck, but this time Rudi made sure he’d seen him go down. It looked like the Franzose was getting cleanly away, but then his plane was engulfed in flames and the SPAD crashed near the trench lines.
By this time all the remaining enemy planes have been driven away and Rudi gave signal to form up, but as soon as the Schwarm made themselves ready to return, Fuchs spotted a silver plane chasing a Dreidecker of Schwarm Eins. He quickly closed the distance and opened fire from further away. The ever alert enemy rear gunner continued to demand a respectable distance be kept away from his plane. Rudi had no trouble keeping away and firing from a distance. The silver Strutter disintegrated mid-air from the magnitude of his firepower. Once the Strutter had been dealt with, the Schwarm returned back to base.
Walter Ludwick Spatenbrau Unteroffzier, Jasta 8 Wassigny, Flanders.
March 15, 1918.
Encountered a flight of Bisfit's while on Patrol. A dangerous Aero-machine which put a few holes in mine. The fight happened so fast it was over before I could bring my Spandau's into action. We lost 3 Machines to their 1. a sad day.
Last edited by carrick58; 03/15/2107:37 PM.
#4560135 - 03/15/2108:11 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Epower, the dive for speed tactic with a dead engine was seat of the pants. “I don’t think I’ll make it! Turn and land? Try to make it?! Float over like a leaf and get creamed? Let’s try this!”
Fullofit, your videos on how to fly the Triplane will come in handy when I make a career with one.
Carrick, good luck with the new man.
2nd Ltn. Jeremiah Johnson. 41 RFC. March 15, 1918
Jeremiah made it back to his squadron the afternoon of the 12th. Major Bowman greeted him in his office. “Ah! Ltn., glad you are back! I hope your not too the worse for wear?!” “I’m still in one piece Sir, if that’s what yer askin” Johnson replied, “Ruined a good coat I’m afraid” as he showed the Major the complete tear across the back just below the shoulders. “That was close” the Major replied while examining the coat. Johnson continued, “got a real nice welt across my back and I’m a little barked up from the landing but other than that, I should be ready in the morning Sir.”
The Major motioned for Johnson to sit down. “I have been impressed with the spirit of you Yanks Ltn. I served with one of your countrymen in 56 squadron about a year ago. Fellow by the name of Oliver Winningsted, he’s made quite a name for himself. Perhaps you have heard of him?” Jeremiah kept his eyes on the Major and answered, “Seems I’ve heard mention of him Sir. Can’t say as I have met him.” Johnson held his thumb and fore finger up a half inch apart and continued, “seems to me the difference between a name for ones self and dead man is about that much! Sir!” The Major laughed, “And so it is Ltn.! And so it is! Luck does play a part! The Major got up and Johnson started to rise but the Major motioned for him to stay seated. Major Bowman opened a crude chifferobe and retrieved an old flight coat. “This should do you until you can make the necessary repairs to yours Lt. Let’s hope you can return it in one piece eh.” Johnson stood and accepted the coat. “Thank you very much Major. I’ll do my best to keep her tip top.” Before dismissing Johnson the Major inquired “I don’t know if you have heard about poor Thorpe, he didn’t make it back. I think he has your kit in his quarters for safe keeping.” Johnson shrugged, “That’s some bad luck Major, he was a good man if I’m any judge, Sir.” “Right!” the Major straightened and replied. “Get some rest as we are sure to be up tomorrow.”
The next two days had been easy flying as there was no contact. Today however, Whidman, Ackart’s replacement, had burned as his engine caught fire. It was his second mission.
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end. BOC Member since....I can't remember!
#4560154 - 03/15/2111:42 PMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Epower – every time Clarissa appears I get this "me spider, you fly" sensation. Just when Oliver has done the decent and proper thing, herself shows up ready for a good rogering.
Fullofit – good luck with your meetings with the Royal Flying Corps. Does your return to the British front suggest that you have a new machine to cope with 1918?
Carrick – your man's brewery is probably my favourite in Bavaria! Well done.
Another episode from McAlister.
War Journal of Flight Commander George Ewan MacAlister, DSO, DSC 8 Squadron, RNAS Walmer, Kent, England
Squadron Commander Draper was reluctant to approve a dance at this time. While he applauded the gesture towards building closer ties with the community, he preferred to wait until the entire squadron was together after the second round of leaves. My own leave had been approved to begin Sunday, 17 March. I proposed that the dance would be the night before even though some of those on leave would not yet have returned. I responded to the skipper’s rebuff with a more modest proposal – a slightly out of season thé dansent. The weather promised to hold warm and it would be less of a strain on the mess budget and the kitchen staff. In the end I had to promise to pay for the band from my own pocket.
I coordinated with the mess steward to prepare fruit plates, sandwiches, and trifle, plus a large tureen of turtle soup in case of chill. Our spare hangar with its stage would be the venue and the carpenter shop began work on a dance floor. I press-ganged McDonald and Johns into preparing the champagne cup and a claret punch and set off in search of music. The vicar at Old St Mary’s pointed me in the direction of the local working men’s club where I found a four-man group with a violin, accordion, clarinet, and piano. The leader, a toothless old fellow named Squires, named an extortionate price which I gladly paid. Next I had flyers printed up and posted in the post office, pubs, stores, and churches. I paid a visit to several nearby convalescent homes and a hospital in Folkestone and implored the nursing matrons to allow their flock to stray from their field to ours for one afternoon. The fact that it was only from 4 PM to 7 PM on a Saturday made the concept more palatable.
My job as social convener for the squadron was interrupted by a number of test flights and navigation exercises throughout the week, but nothing too serious. On Friday I laid in wait for Bronwyn to leave her schoolhouse and intercepted her a few hundred yards down the road.
“Not so close to the school,” she protested when I called to her. I explained that I did not have much time and asked if she had seen the notices. “Yes,” she replied. “Will you be there?”
“I’ve organised the #%&*$# thing just to get you to visit.” She shook her head and lashed.
“Then I suppose I shall have to go. Just please don’t be too forward in front of the townspeople. They prefer their schoolteachers ready for the nunnery.”
Saturday, 16 March dawned warm and clear. Orders were for a noontime navigation exercise along the coast to Margate. I flew with Thomas and Dennett. The Bentley was running a bit rough but we got away all right and it smoothed out after a while. The sun reflected blindingly off the water below as we climbed north past Sandwich Bay. Thomas flew on my port and Dennett on my starboard side. Their machines seemed absolutely stationary, scarcely bobbing up and down. We passed Ramsgate and curved along the coast to the west toward Margate. From five thousand feet I could see the shadow of my machine skimming over the farm fields. Then, just shy of Margate, my engine coughed and threw up a burst of oil. Immediately it began to sound like a pot full of stones. I gave the washout signal and turned toward Manston field, barely visible in the distance. It was already 1 PM. It took fifteen minutes before I had bled off my height and settled into the aerodrome. I sprinted to the office to report myself and to request a telephone. After a bit of a wait I connected with the duty petty officer and arranged for a recovery team. Draper came on the line and ordered me to remain with the aircraft until it was returned. “Don’t worry about your damned dance,” he assured me. “You’ll make it.” It was 3:15 PM before the tender arrived with the recovery team. They had a completely new engine to exchange for mine and I sat despondently over a cup of tea in the wardroom, certain I would not get away before nightfall. But scarcely thirty minutes later they announced that things were good enough for me to get the machine home.
“It might be a bit rough,” said Billington, but we can sort it out later. I was airborne in two minutes and circled over the field at Walmer fifteen minutes later. I could see the two white marquee tents outside the hangar where the dance was getting underway and a small crowd of men and women on the grass outside. I made a low pass over the field to ensure that there were no idlers or other obstacles in my way and then turned about and made a perfect three point landing, rolling up to within fifty yards of the group of visitors. And there, clapping daintily, stood Bronwyn. I dismounted and went over to see her.
“I need to report in and then wash my face and change into my second oiliest jacket,” I told her.
“Hurry back then,” she said. “I shall try not to dance with too many men before you get back.”
It was a wonderful afternoon. My working men’s foursome played many of the latest tunes and one of them actually had a pretty good voice. He sang “I Like Your Old French Bonnet,” which was new to Bronwyn. She was wearing a new Easter hat with red ribbons, so the song was particularly apt. The Squadron Commander was on top form. He made an impromptu speech and organised guided tours of the hangars for the visitors. For my part, I sat at a little round tin table with Bronwyn the whole time. And when the party ended I dodged the work duties and walked with Bronwyn a mile down to the clifftops. The warmth of the day lingered even as the sun dipped lower over the Channel. We walked along a pathway and she took my arm. I placed my hand over hers. She was wearing a scent, more musky than floral, a sophisticated perfume.
“The dance passed too quickly,” I said. She did not respond. A sideways glance. A half smile. “And I am growing rather fond of you, I confess.”
“Fond?” she said. “One grows fond of daffodils or dachshunds.”
I cursed under my breath. “Then what does one call it when one cannot think of anything else except a certain cryptic schoolteacher?”
Bronwyn stopped and took me by both arms. “A cryptic schoolteacher would not answer that question. But I think that you might be falling for the girl. And I think she might be falling for you.” And that was when the least worldly experienced pilot on the Western Front kissed a girl seriously for the first time. I felt the chill of the evening and held her warm and safe for as long as decently possible. At length I let go. “Why in God’s name does time keep moving forward? Why can’t you simply press a blip switch and shut it down?”
“Will I see you in church tomorrow?” she asked. I had a railroad warrant to proceed to Glasgow. I would have to telegraph my parents. Glasgow could wait.
#4560161 - 03/16/2112:39 AMRe: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018)
Joined: Nov 2014 Posts: 3,410Fullofit
MFair, thanks for the kind words, but I’m afraid this is my first Dreidecker career. Not much to learn from my bumbling about. I make it up as I go. Good news! It looks like Jeremiah is going to get his belongings back. In fact, he can return the favour and grab some of Thorpe’s gear, no?
Raine, same old clunker, unfortunately. I go where the orders take me. Not much choice there. That was some adventure before the dance even started. Good thing the mechanics worked this fast and what an entrance! Looks like the daffodils and dachshunds have taken a backseat in fanciness.
15 March, 1918 10:50 Guise, Flanders Sector Jasta 19, JG II Leutnant Rudolf Emil Fuchs EK1, HHO 45 confirmed kills
Only the SPAD shot down on fire had been credited to Fuchs. Nothing beyond that. This day saw Jasta 19 patrol friendly front lines south of Roupy. Fuchs recollects: “- They came out of the sun, much higher than us. We let them pass overhead and then I waited for them to come to us. One came to challenge me and circled above me waiting for an opportunity. Everyone else was buzzing around us. All this turning wasn’t doing the Franzose any favours. He was losing altitude, while I could do this all day, but it got a bit congested and all these crates were flying uncomfortably close to mine. I lost my SPAD for a second. That was enough for him to take some potshots at me. That made me mad and I soon returned the favour. More Fokkers came after my target. I knew this could end bad for us all. I disengaged and went after another SPAD. I saw him above, circling like a vulture. It looked like he didn’t notice me, so I came close and opened fire. He dove in a corkscrew and I couldn’t follow too closely. He was getting away. I started to spray the air in his direction, but it was one tough bird. He was moving further and further away, back to the French side. I continued to fire but my Dreidecker was too slow and I wasn’t getting anywhere this way. Then, I decided to dip the nose to pick up some speed and fire while climbing. It didn’t work the first time, but the second time ... I did get him good! He spiralled down to crash in No-Man’s Land.”
“- Later, we were coming up on St-Quentin when another Kette of enemy planes came out of the sun. They dove in pairs. One pair came after me, the other went after the rest. I watched them as they maneuvered for a better position and I picked the one that was higher than the other one. He couldn’t shake me off. I kept hammering his crate until we were both low and he couldn’t maneuver anymore. It was like shooting eine Ente! He crashed north of the city. After that we all returned home.”