Leutenant-zur-see Jacob Kühn, EK1, HHO, PLM
Marine-Feld-Jagdstaffel 1
Jabbeke airfield

35 confirmed kills

18th May 1918

Morning sortie

Oberleutenant Saschenberg took the briefing and explained that he would lead Kette Zwei down to Passchendaele this morning.

The weather was perfect once more and Jacob took time to enjoy the sun on his face as he awaited his turn to take off.

As they formed up, Saschenberg's aircraft seemed to lurch to the left. Jacob, on Saschenberg's left, slowed and watched Saschenberg fight to regain control.

Saschenberg pointed towards his controls and back towards the airfield. He just about managed to turn.

Jacob and the others carried on. Jacob then realised that all the other aircraft, including Leutenant Heinrich, formed up with him as the lead. Even though, officially, Leutenant Heinrich, who had been on Saschenberg's right, was senior.

That was about as interesting as the morning sortie went. No contact was made and the rest of Kette Zwei arrived home safe and sound some 80 minutes later.

On landing, Jacob happened to walk past Saschenberg's office. He could clearly hear Saschenberg tearing a strip off the chief mechanic..."it's not you who has to fly these #%&*$# machines is it Grüder! I barely made it down alive because that #%&*$# control wire snapped!" said Saschenberg.

Jacob decided against earwigging and went to clean up.


Afternoon sortie

Oberleutenant Saschenberg also took the afternoon sortie involving Kette Zwei, although Kette Zwei seemed to include just about everyone it seemed as they took off.

He was using the reserve DVa and Jacob and the others formed up on him as they climbed.

They headed down to Ypres again. Although the weather was ideal again the sortie passed without incident and all pilots landed safely.

After cleaning up and having some dinner Jacob retired to his quarters to work on his letter to Marguerite......

Mlle M, Dupont
Hôpital Saint-Pierre
Rue aux Laines
Bruxelles

18th May 1918

Dear Marguerite

I received your letter the other day and thank you for writing to me. It brought a smile to my face and warm glow to my heart to hear from you again.

So your sister wants to do nursing as well? I know your concerns dear Marguerite, but don't be too harsh, she has the ideal role model in that regard, her big sister. It is not surprising she wants to follow in your footsteps.

I'm glad you have a lot of questions for me, as I do for you. I also have a lot of news. I have been promoted since our meeting, I'm an officer now. I have also had the good fortune to receive some awards. One I've already been presented with, the second however has brought an opportunity I simply cannot pass by.

The presentation will be made in Brussels next Tuesday. I then have leave until late on Wednesday.

I would very much like to meet you again if you are able to. I will head to the Cafe Rubens as soon as I am able after the presentation in the hope you will be able to join me. If not we can meet on the Wednesday.

We both have so much to talk about.

To answer your question though. I really don't know what I'll do once this war is over. Flying is an option certainly, but what interests me more is having a home, a base from which to live my life. If that life then involves flying then so be it.

I will finish now and I cannot wait until next week.

Stay safe sweet Marguerite.

Yours

Jacob




Jacob left his quarters to put his letter in the mail tray. As he crossed towards the adjutants office he saw Ulrich, the dispatch rider heading towards his motorcycle.

"Ulrich! Eine minuten danke" Jacob called out.

"Are you heading out with despatches now?" asked Jacob.

"Yes herr Leutenant" said Ulrich.

"Are you heading towards Brussels by chance?" Jacob queried.

"I'm heading to our base in Zeebrugge first then onto Brussels yes" said Ulrich.

"Do you know Brussels well?" asked Jacob

"With all the messages I've taken there I know it very well" said Ulrich

"Do you happen to know the Hôpital Saint-Pierre?" Jacob said.

"Yes I do, it is quite near the headquarters of Generaloberst von Falkenhausen where I am to deliver some papers" said Ulrich.

After some bartering, Ulrich agreed to take Jacob's letter directly to Marguerite's hospital. This meant she'd get it by tomorrow. Two bottles of schnapps were a small price thought Jacob.

Albert Tross: Yes Sir ! Staying Safe is a Big Plus for my pilots they generally get the short end of the stick. Or Worst

Fullofit - Well, being a balloon busting expert and ace is still being a balloon busting ace. Now if only balloons in WOFF were nearly as deadly as they were in life.
Hmm, suppose so though, well. I've not had many problems with it thus far so I don't particularly mind.
Well, what's there to say, taking the good with the bad is the way of any airman it seems! Dean for example risking breaking his own wing and getting shot up just to get himself another victory and takedown a Hunnish Hannover... That could be a band you know. The Hunnish Hannovers. Or the worse, an empty patrol with absolutely nothing happening in it, still quite bad. Same with Pyotr though. For one, he's an ace now, so congratulations on that! For the bad though, there's the ineffective raids on Hun aerodromes and then the rather unfortunate fight with triplanes, but hey! At least Pyotr wasn't shot down. Still had to get repairs though, most unfortunately! What possible action he could've missed! Well, always another time. Well, with all the animals gone I see Pyotr goes for the oil! His spree never ends
As for the hangover, that might just be the possibility! At this point one oughta question his own memories

Tross - Well, debatable on the hangover, but if there was any then by the time he was fighting that Hannover it would've been gone. Raging bull in ferocity and carelessness, given the use of a damaged to the point of rolling over wing for tighter turns. But it paid off!
Seems like the pilots preferred to have Jacob in the lead, huh? Shows a whole lotta faith in him then! Not surprisingly. And then an opportunity to write such a decent letter, for a most reasonable price too. Two bottles seem like nothing compared to that, eh?


Carrick - Better be alive than dead, as it goes.


2/LT Dean Andrews Cunningham
№64 Squadron RAF
Izles-Les-Hameux, Flanders
18th May, 1918.

8 confirmed

I was awoken in the early morning, way earlier than most others in the Squadron and called over to Hayden's office. I was most intrigued by this, and wanted to figure out just why he roused me from sleep this early to go speak to him. Once I got there, it became clear, and I became most excited at the prospect currently in front of me. Turns out that Hayden after some consideration decided to put me in charge of B flight for our sortie, given how I was one of the more skilled airmen of the squadron. Seeing both opportunity to prove myself and self satisfaction of getting this far and not having to follow the lead of some unknowing lieutenant, I gladly accepted and Hayden spent the next hour or so going over maps and plan for the mission ahead, which was the bombing of a Hun railyard that I think the squadron is rather familiar with by now.

Slightly nervous and excited, I got into my crate and took off into the blue, the rest of B flight following me. It was an interesting feeling, that. Having so many people follow you into combat and put their trust in you felt almost empowering. I was going to do exactly what was expected of me and not let anyone down, that was my own little task for the sortie, and I intended to see it through. Sadly, it seems like fate did not agree with me at all. Flying through Archie fire, we got over our target and begun an attack, dropping bombs with good accuracy and blowing apart a train along with setting fire to several buildings and what appeared to be trucks. That was certainly some good damage, but I wanted to ensure that they wouldn't recover. Thus, we headed into a turn to begin our strafing when all of a sudden I heard a sickening crash. Looking around, I quickly spotted the cause of it. Two SE5s, evidently both trying to turn for the attack, must've either misjudged their place or weren't looking around and ended up violently colliding. All I could do was sit and watch as they both spiralled down, one missing a wing and spewing out smoke while the other simply fell, both crashing into fireballs on the ground. Any thoughts of continuing the mission went out the window and I signalled the flight to break and return home.

Getting home, I felt utterly angry. This was meant to be my chance to prove myself and what happens? Two of my men end up killing themselves. Of course, it wasn't my fault that they were too blind to notice just where they were going, but good Lord did it feel that way! In an utterly sour mood, I reported to Hayden and had to go through going over the collision during debrief. Despite Hayden's reassurance that this happens and that there wasn't much I could've done, I still couldn't hold myself and went on a mild angry rant in regards to always keeping an eye out for your flight and any other crafts in the area when doing things to everyone else involved. In hindsight, I really doubt they needed that, but I was too troubled to care. Worse yet, there was another planned sortie for the day, this time patrolling behind friendly lines over some army camp down south, so the flying wasn't even over yet.

Thankfully, and perhaps expectantly, Hayden took pity on me and decided that I wouldn't be leading anything for this flight, and instead put me down on the actual Flight Lead's wing. Not what I would've prefered, but I suppose that was the best I'd get. Thus, we took off and an hour or so later came back home having not seen any Hun or problems over there. That in itself was good not just for me but most likely the Hun as well, as if we were to meet any I'm sure my anger would've won the battle against my logical reasoning... Squadron curbed in numbers again, though not as badly. 12 airmen, all with machines. Replacements coming in the next few days... Maybe those ones will have more awareness.

Albert, you could look at it this way. If Pyotr didn’t waste his ammo on shooting the tents and such, he’d have enough to take down the Dreidecker. On the other hand if he hadn’t shot up the tents and such, then perhaps the Dreideckers would not show up at all. In either case I’m confident the Hun ended up with soiled trousers as well.
A quiet day for our hero and some excitement for the C.O. Sounds like the technical support discipline is getting lax. They probably could use a few sleepless nights repairing damaged machines to get into shape. Hopefully the C.O. earful will make a difference.
Now Jacob has something to look forward to, a day with Marguerite. I wander if she’ll be impressed by his new award?

18 May, 1918 05:40 dawn patrol
Hétomesnil, Marne Sector
Esc SPA 67, GC 12
Sergent Pyotr Fyodor Smirnov MM
SPAD VII
5 confirmed kills

With his freshly repaired SPAD Pyotr could continue to bring fight to the enemy. This morning they were sent to patrol enemy front lines between Noyon and Montdidier. No contact unfortunately.

18 May, 1918 10:40 morning mission
Hétomesnil, Marne Sector
Esc SPA 67, GC 12
Sergent Pyotr Fyodor Smirnov MM
SPAD VII
5 confirmed kills

Their second mission of the day was to patrol over factories at Beauvais. Mission was uneventful until they’ve reached their airfield on the way back, some sneaky bombers took advantage of the absence of the escadrille and were in the process of leaving some bombs behind. Fortunately they were caught red handed and were severely punished for their transgression. Pyotr saw one of his wingmates attack the beast and decided to help. He watched the bomber grow in his gunsight and opened fire. With one burst he severed one of the wings. Needless to say the bomber had great difficulties remaining afloat and was dragged to earth by his deadly cargo. Pyotr was pleased with himself.

YouTube Link

NR, true some pilots made a career out of taking out balloons. Hopefully Dean won’t have to resort to that.
There is always a plus with that minus, but it all depends how you look at it. No Dreidecker for Pyotr, but he’s alive. There is spilt oil, but no animals were harmed. Dean is now a flight leader, the success or failure of mission rests squarely on his shoulders. Again some good with the bad. Tough luck on that initial mission. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Hopefully Cunningham will regain his self confidence and war will continue as usual.

18 May, 1918 15:35 afternoon mission
Hétomesnil, Marne Sector
Esc SPA 67, GC 12
Sergent Pyotr Fyodor Smirnov MM
SPAD VII
5 confirmed kills
Awaiting one claim confirmation

Smirnov dismounted his SPAD and collapsed out of exhaustion. He needed a few minutes to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.
The mission started like any other. They were sent to patrol enemy front lines between Noyon and Roye. The flight was hopping from cloud to cloud while approaching the Front. After another one of those dives into the clouds, Pyotr emerged on the other side all by himself. He was surprised by this and looked around for the others. What he saw made the blood curdle in his veins. Dreideckers everywhere. They’ve been laying in wait and attacked while the SPADs entered the cloud. Pyotr was below them all and diving to pick up speed and put as much distance as possible between them and his plane. He could see one of the Triplanes following him while the rest ravaged the remaining SPADs.
He panicked and pulled up to face his pursuer. He could see the Fokker fire at him, but thankfully missed. Smirnov tried some very clumsy maneuvers but all he managed was make his crate stall. He was not pleased with himself for doing that. It was a rookie move, but somehow it made the enemy think he was falling out of control and the Boche, instead of making sure of finishing off his prey, began to turn back to his own side. Pyotr didn’t wait for an invitation and followed the Fokker. He could see these were the same Fliegers from yesterday - the green tails. They certainly were looking for payback, but this time it was the Hun on the receiving end trying to evade Smirnov’s attack. He did a much better job of it than Pyotr did just a minute ago, but the damage was done and the Dreidecker was not as nimble anymore as it was at the beginning of the engagement. Pyotr continued to chip away at his target, not making much progress. Were these planes bulletproof? The Boche was flying close to the ground. Smirnov would have him! He needed to be patient. He looked up and his heart sunk to the pit of his stomach. Another Fokker was coming to get him! He looked again. No, two more of those blasted Dreideckers were coming to help their friend and Pyotr’s SPAD was on the menu. He managed to fire a few more rounds into his original target, cursed him to high heavens and was forced to face his new opponents. Thankfully only one attacked while the other one stayed high to cover Smirnov’s escape route. They were confident and they had a reason to be. There was only one problem: the Russian would not give up this easily. Pyotr kept his machine low to minimize the enemy’s diving attacks. He was even able to trun with his opponent, albeit in large circles. Did it work? Not really, but it was sufficient to keep the Fokker at bay. At some point Smirnov was able to damage the Boche and would continue to do so, were it not for the Hun above. He was just waiting for an opportunity to engage and seeing his wingmate in trouble he intervened. Second Dreidecker was now getting away and Pyotr had to deal with a fresh one. This one had a black and white checkered square on the side of his machine. No doubt some sort of lucky charm and Smirnov was determined to prove it otherwise. The two airmen tangled and this time the SPAD came out on top. He was certain the enemy was by now desperate to get back to his side. Low on fuel, maybe low on ammo and there was no one coming to help him this time. This green tail must go down! Pyotr continued to fire at the enemy machine and was astounded how much punishment these little birds could take, but in the end the Dreidecker spent all of its height and crashed into the ground. Smirnov let out a jubilant whoop and as quickly as he could piloted his tiered SPAD back to base. He was laughing hysterically all the way back. Laughing, singing and looking back in case there were any more Boches coming after him.

For some reason YouTube was giving me problems with the upload. I had to split it into two parts. Kills the immersion.

YouTube Link Part 1




YouTube Link Part 2

NotRelevant : Any day above ground is better then below it.

19 May, 1918 07:45 morning mission
Hétomesnil, Marne Sector
Esc SPA 67, GC 12
Sergent Pyotr Fyodor Smirnov MM
SPAD VII
7 confirmed kills

The two-seater with the blown off wing near the aerodrome was denied. Something about only the airfield’s Anti-Aérienne could do such damage to a plane and the claim went to them. It didn’t matter, Pyotr was satisfied with two confirmed Dreideckers from the afternoon show. He was quickly becoming a Triplane-slayer.
Patrol over factories at Beauvais. The mission was a dud. Nothing to see and nothing to shoot at.

19 May, 1918 15:00 afternoon mission
Hétomesnil, Marne Sector
Esc SPA 67, GC 12
Sergent Pyotr Fyodor Smirnov MM
SPAD VII
7 confirmed kills

It’s off to attack Champien airfield again. Seems like they’ll never be rid of this task. The mission went as expected. Little damage and no enemy activity.

Carrick - Staying alive is not only a Bee Gees song, it's a pretty good metaphor for everything.

NR - So Cunningham is made flight lead, good news. What wasn't good news was those two SE's becoming many pieces of SE's thanks to hitting each other. On a ground attack sortie as well, you can half understand it in a wild dogfight. Thankfully Hayden seemed understanding but it's still gonna hurt.

Fullofit - Shame about that two seater getting denied but Pyotr did a fine job on those Dreideckers. They had their chance, I thought he was in trouble for a moment but they missed and he made them pay. He did well using the SPADs one true advantage, it's speed, and at low altitude too. 7 confirmed now for Pyotr, he's moving on up nicely.

Leutenant-zur-see Jacob Kühn, EK1, HHO, PLM
Marine-Feld-Jagdstaffel 1
Jabbeke airfield

35 confirmed kills

19th May 1918

11.45am Jabbeke

Most of the Jasta had set off already on a patrol around Nieuwpoort earlier in the morning when the Adjutant's phone rang.

'What was that you say, a flight of four bombers heading our way?" said the Adjutant.

The airfield alarm sounded and Jacob's aircraft was started, only two other Albatrosse were available with Brenner and Wagner the available pilots.

Jacob climbed into his Albatros and looked skyward. It was crystal clear again, not a cloud was in the sky as he started off down the runway.

He could just about see the dots which represented the enemy bombers above Ghistelles and getting nearer. The sun however was making seeing above very difficult, it was dazzlingly bright.


11.45am Brussels

Ulrich climbed off his bike and walked into the Hôpital Saint-Pierre. The receptionist looked rather uneasy at the sight of the burly German in a huge leather greatcoat.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked.

"I have a letter here for one of your staff, shall I pass it to you?" said Ulrich.

"Erm.....yes of course leave it with me" said the receptionist.

"Vielen danke, auf wiedersehen" said Ulrich who turned and left the reception.

The receptionist looked at the front of the letter......"Mlle M, Dupont.....that must be Marguerite" said the receptionist to herself and placed the letter in a small tray on her counter.


11.50am Jabbeke

Jacob looked up again and tried to focus but had to squint hard in the sunlight. He saw four definite aircraft now, it looked like Strutters. They were far higher than Jacob and the other two.

Jacob was expecting the Strutters to dive down, but they hadn't yet. Maybe they hadn't seen Jacob's little Kette.


11.50am Brussels

Marguerite had finished her class that morning, teaching new nurses how to keep the equipment sterile. She sent them for some lunch 10 minutes early, she'd had enough of them already.

She waited for the last nurse to leave and then headed off to her room, as she passed through reception the receptionist called her back, "Marguerite, there is a letter for you" said the receptionist.

"Merci, Sophie" said Marguerite as she took the letter from the tray. She looked at it, she recognised the writing straight away.

Full of happiness she made her way to her room.


11.55am Jabbeke

Jacob and his pair of wingmen climbed up steadily towards the Strutters who were now over the airfield.

Jacob was uneasy, 'they'd have normally attacked us by now' he thought.

He tried to cover his eyes and look into the beaming sun.......'what was that, there are more there' he thought.......just then bullets ripped into his Albatros... "Scheisse!!" He shouted and instinctively rolled away.

Six Camels fell upon the hapless trio of Albatrosse. Jacob evaded another attack and fired as a Camel flew across his sights.

He looked back over his left shoulder, he saw Wagner's Albatros trailing thick smoke.

He turned to the right as tightly as he could to try and help Wagner but as he got closer the Albatros burst into flames in front of him.

At that moment he looked down and to his left.....just in time to see Brenner's Albatros lose it's top left wing and begin a downward spiral.

Jacob latched onto a Camel and poured both barrels into him. He was about to deliver the coup de grâce when bullets hit his wing. He glanced back and saw two Camels latching onto him.

He turned left and pulled the stick into his chest.


12.00pm Brussels

Marguerite closed her door and lit a small gaslight under the kettle on top of it.

She made herself a cup of tea and sat down. She took the letter from her breast pocket and smiled again.

She opened the envelope and took the letter out.



12.05pm Jabbeke

Jacob was in a vicious turning circle and as he looked around he saw six Camels all engaged with him. As he turned one of the Camels slowed slightly and climbed, Jacob nosed up a little and put a long burst into him. The Camel shuddered and Jacob hit him again. Just then bullets ripped into his wing. Jacob heard a snap and his aircraft fell further to the left. Jacob tried to right himself but the aircraft didn't respond.

He kicked his rudder and this only flattened the spin he was now in. The ground was now racing up towards him.


12.09pm Brussels

Marguerite took a sip of tea as she read the letter. She was quite flushed with excitement....."promotion"...."awards"......"Brussels"...."leave". She quietly spoke the words to herself and then sat back, her face awash with happiness.


12.10pm Jabbeke

Jacob saw the ground near now, he thought of Marguerite..... in a Fokker DVII.......then blackness.

Jacob's Albatros hit the ground at the exact same time as the Camel he'd downed.......... both exploded.

Albert – Writing your character's final chapter is one of the most difficult things to do in this campaign. Jacobs last episode was wonderfully conceived and executed. Well done! I hope that Marguerite does not end up sitting alone in that café waiting for him.

NR – Rotten luck on your first patrol as leader. Mind you, the way Cunningham is going he will have plenty more opportunities to lead and he has nothing to prove.

Fullofit – I have never seen a Fokker triplane take so much damage without falling apart. At least you bagged a two seater as compensation.

Kebab – Albrecht can leave the souvenirs to the British. He collects pretty nurses!

Carrick – What? Only one post since my last? Have you met some real nurses?

MFair – I swear, my fellow McAlister must be the only pilot on the Western front to get plain, businesslike nurses. Sorry to hear you're back in hospital, but it seems that you are in good hands.

Albert, WHAT?!!
Jacob can’t be dead, he just got his PLM, oh … I see. The Gong Fairy. That’s a kick to the nads.
That looked like a slaughter. Those Camels were relentless and Kühn paid the price, as did his kameraden. Ruhe in Frieden.
Poor Marguerite.

Raine, I think HA’s get nine lives, ie., extra helping of hit points. That, or Pyotr’s aim is way off.

Raine: Na, Real Life got in the way. Having the roof redone.

How many times must that have happened in WW1? The poignancy rang out to me as soon as it happened.

Jacob should have dived as soon as he saw Wagner get it. That was his error. Those Camels knew what they were doing though, firstly coming directly out of a bright sun and then as soon as Jacob looked like getting one, he had several on his tail. They flew as a unit.

War Journal of Captain George Ewan MacAlister, DSO, DSC
74 Squadron, RAF
Larnach Hospital for Wounded Officers
Hove (Brighton), Sussex

Part 44


Nurse Callaghan inflicting her therapy


Within a day of arriving at the Larnach Hospital I managed to get a hobble and a wheelchair push as far as the post office, where I dispatched a telegram to Bronwyn.

IN LARNACH HOSPITAL FOR WOUNDED OFFICERS IN HOVE STOP WELL BUT STILL CONFINED STOP CAN YOU VISIT STOP LOVE GEORGE

I waited for the next two days for a response. Each time I heard footsteps approaching our little ward my heart gave a leap but there was no telegram. Mowbray taught me to play gin rummy and we played countless games in the reading room. He had been wounded in the thigh during the German push and was still in a great deal of pain, yet he insisted on sitting in the reading room for at least two hours every day. A local vicar visited, a young ginger-headed chap with a silly sense of humour but awfully good-natured. Mrs Nevill laid on tea and Garibaldi biscuits for his visit.

Sarsen proved a good companion. He had taken a shell fragment in his heel and the wound had recently closed. He was my partner in strenuous therapy sessions conducted by a severe nurse named Callaghan, who referred to herself as a reconstruction aide but whom Sarsen christened Bl*ody Mary. She would force me to walk back and forward between parallel bars and allowed no stopping, after which she would bend my lower leg in every way imaginable without allowance for screams of pain. Still, I was able to do a little more each day.

Dinner tonight was fish, peas, and potatoes. We had rice pudding with jam for afters. And just when I no longer gave it a thought, a courier arrived with a telegram for me. I ripped it open.

THERE TOMORROW STOP GET LEAVE NOON UNTIL TWO STOP WE WILL TAKE TO LUNCH STOP LOVE BRONWYN

“We”? Who the hell are “we”?

Fullofit - Well, it wouldn't be the worst way to make a living as a pilot, taking out balloon, but still there's more prestigious things out there!
It really does come down to that duality in the end, and as for Dean's confidence, I'm sure he'll get over it. Not like he could've done much. Still a big shame though, for that to happen on a man's first mission leading.
A big wow in regards to Pyotrs flight though! What an intense fight, and there were certainly plenty of times when going against a triplane like that could've gone wrong, nevermind several. But in the end Pyotr prevails and overcomes even that. Congratulations! The bomber was a rather nice job too, of course, even if denied.
Truly is amazing how much damage they all can take though, eh? Those boche planes are just built different it seems.

Carrick - Well said, hah. Well said.

Tross - It does indeed hurt and makes one most disappointed, but I guess it is what it is!
Ah, lordy. What a tragic and most unfortunate end... Poor Marguerite too. And it was going so well too...!

Raine - Oh I'm sure that'll happen and those opportunities will arise if he lives long enough!
The recovery is going well I see, which is good! Though who exactly are 'we' indeed. Wonder what shall happen.




2/LT Dean Andrews Cunningham
№64 Squadron RAF
Izles-Les-Hameux, Flanders
19th May, 1918.

8 confirmed 1 pending

My earlier calls and desires for action and a proper fight with the Hun have finally been answered by fate, though unfortunately not in the way I was expecting, almost like with everything else that I have to end up enduring down here at the front. Today was to be another normal day, besides the previous losses. First up was an escort mission, escorting some french bombers over to the lines in order to drop a few presents down for the Hun. Nothing that we've not done before, so we went up in a six man formation into the semi cloudy sky. Not long after we climbed and met up with the bombers and started heading for the lines, not expecting much...

All of a sudden we saw them. Directly ahead of us, above and coming closer was an entire formation of Hun planes, Albs and Triplanes. They were headed straight for us, and at this range and in this weather there was no way they wouldn't notice us. A collision was unavoidable, so we steadied ourselves and eventually it came... The Huns went diving while we broke, avoiding their attacks. Soon everyone separated into their own little fights, and I quickly found myself a diving Albatross to stick to. I got to his six and begun firing, with the Hun starting to evade. I got plenty of shots off, but with these guns it barely seemed to do much damage and eventually another hun got on my 6, forcing me to go evasive while I took several hits. Several stalls, tight turns, and getting peppered with fragments from my plane getting ripped up by bullets I managed to return fire. This charade went on for a good minute before the Hun eventually turned and started heading for home. My engine was stuttering so I did not follow him, instead also turning for home while trying to manage my engine.

Halfway over our lines my engine gave out, but with a little effort I managed to get it to switch on once more in full power. This was really helpful, as close to our lines I spied a lonely black Alb right above me, who decided to dive on me. I made a simple turn as he went towards me in an almost straight vertical angle, firing away and completely missing. He then pulled out of his dive, landing right into my sights. I didn't waste any time and began to assault this Hun, really grateful my engine was back at full power for this. He couldn't do anything as I stuck to him like glue, sending burst after burst into his wings and fuselage, his plane starting to slow... That is, until he broke to the side and right into a cloud, where I unfortunately lost him! I done the most logical thing and rapidly climbed, starting to trail back towards the Hun lines, keeping the sharpest lookout I could muster over the ground and skies but unfortunately there wasn't a single sign of my opponent! I spent another ten or so minutes just circling, hoping to catch a single glimpse but unfortunately I've seen nothing and thus ended up returning to base.

Coming home the results of the sortie came in. 1 confirmed kill of an Albatross, plus my as of now unverified claim of the Alb I lost in the clouds, with the reasoning that I shot him up incredibly badly and I simply didn't see him going back to Hun lines, meaning he must've either crashed or landed on our side of the lines somewhere... Hopefully someone provides me with evidence of that, or at least confirms that they've seen something. In return for these 2 claims, we lost 3 airmen, one of whom was none other than Lieutenant Lehman himself...I suppose this did not surprise me given his bad skills as a pilot, and I did want the man gone, but it was still a blow to the Squadron. All of our machines, too, had to be sent off to repairs.

Despite this Hayden decided to personally lead us on another flight, flying to bomb a railyard which fortunately came and went with a lot more success, most of our bombs hitting the target before we turned and headed for home uninterrupted by anymore Hun patrols. I'm sure had the whole squadron been doing the escort operation, the outcome would've been a lot more different. Unfortunately, all we can do now is simply deal with the losses again and wait for replacements.. Maybe if that Hun of mine gets confirmed, at least it won't be as much of a complete waste...

Just back to dreadful news. So very sorry, Albert, to hear about Jacob. The gods of war are cruel to cast him down just as he was on his way to Marguerite. The Curse is real! I echo Raine's sentiments about the skillful way you crafted his valedictory episode. Well done.

Back at it after a week's vacation celebrating 30 years with SWMBO.
Ten forum pages may take me some time to digest, so I shall set Oliver's latest episode here before I proceed to catch up with all your adventures.
Much gratitude to Lou for a most enjoyable collaboration. This most recent account of Oliver and Freddy was much improved by his crisp turn of phrase and sharp editorial eye.
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À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 82

(continued from previous entry)


7 May 1918
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London

Finally settled into the RAC. Most frustrating that I must wait until the stitches come out on the 9th before taking advantage of the Turkish bath, the Frigidarium or the marvelous pool.

A grand day touring the countryside with Freddy. As arranged, he met me at Folkestone.
I waited until the mad rush of leave goers raced ahead toward the leave train then disembarked onto the Folkestone dock. Freddy stood leaning against a small 2 seat automobile painted the most striking shade of pale green.



“What Ho, Ripper!” Freddy greeted with his signature toothy grin. “Spiffing morning for a jaunt, eh what?”
Before I could answer he had relieved me of my kit and shoe-horned it into the deceptively large boot of his sporty little mount.
“Hop in, old top, while I get us started.”

He motioned to the door on the portside of the vehicle, (the only door, I soon noticed), then zipped round to starboard where he bounced up onto the running board and reached in to set a brace of knobs and a switch on the dash before bouncing back down and racing to the front. There he took hold of the starting crank poking out below the radiator and gave it a short, quick turn, bringing the petite beast to life. Then it was back to starboard where he bounded once more up onto the running board and with his long stork-like legs stepped over both the side of the vehicle and the spare tire and rim mounted there, settling deftly into the cockpit, feet and hands landing instinctively on the appropriate controls.
“And we’re off!”

It was a magnificent day for a drive. We traveled down the coast, past the Esplanade at Sandgate and on toward Hythe, where I’d spent a frozen week learning gunnery last February.



I watched Freddy working the various pedals and levers of the little car, which I learned was an AC 10. He drove with a gleeful enthusiasm, expertly catching each corner at the apex and carrying just the right amount of speed through the turns as we raced down the country roads. His was not quite the wild and reckless abandon of Aunt Rhea driving her monstrous Daimler, the world’s fastest production automobile, but it was close. Still, there was a precision in the way he carved his way along and despite the breakneck speeds, I always felt he had complete control of the machine.

The rolling hills of Picardy have their beauty, and if they are dusty in Summer, they grow lush in Spring but nothing like the country we drove through. There is something about the verdant pastures of England that sparks my imagination. So intensely green! The hills of my native northern California run dry and golden for all but a few weeks in February and March. Even in the wet of Springtime they show nothing of this color. Each little town we passed, Lympne, Aldington, Stone Cross, Bromley Green, with their Tudor plaster and beam exteriors, looked something out of a storybook.


Approaching Biddenden from the South we drove past an ancient Windmill. In the distance I could see the top of a church as we came nearer the town.


Continuing through Biddenden High Street we turned south onto a smaller country road.

Freddy shot up a small lane, then into a drive ultimately bringing the AC 10 to a crisp halt before a sprawling brick manor from which many tall chimneys rose.

No sooner had we stepped from the car when the door of the expansive home swung open and a stately-looking butler strode out to greet us both.

“Mr. Pearson, my good man, how are you on this spiffing day!”, Freddy called over.

“Quite well, Captain Abbott, thank you for asking. And it is, as you say, a ‘spiffing’ day. And this must be the American gentleman you informed us about.”

“He is indeed. This is Captain Oliver Winningstad, VC; but we all call him ‘Ripper’,” Freddy beamed. “And Ripper, this is our Mr. Pearson. A finer butler, or fellow, you’ll never find.”

“Captain Abbott, you flatter me, Sir”, Mr. Pearson replied in a tone that seemed to hover somewhere between proud and embarrassed. But he quickly regained his proper bearing as he turned to me. “Welcome to Birchley House Captain Winningstad, it is an honour to have you as our guest, even if it’s only for luncheon.”

“A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Pearson. I thank you very much for your welcome.”

“I assume my parents are still away”, Freddy inquired, his voice showing a slight trace of annoyance.

“I’m afraid they are, Captain Abbott. A pity too, as I am certain they would have liked to meet Captain Winningstad.”

“Haw!”, Freddy laughed. “I am quite certain they couldn’t care less about missing one of my friends, but kind of you to say Mr. Pearson, as always. Now then, back to the topic of luncheon, what are we having? I’m famished!”

Before answering, the butler gave Freddy a brief yet telling look. The older man’s expression seemed more befitting of a caring father who felt bad for his child than that of a servant looking after a charge. I suddenly had a picture of Freddy’s family life being something less than ideal for him growing up, despite such seemingly idyllic surroundings. I found farm life oppressively small as I grew older, so I fled to sea, but I always carried with me the love of Mother and Father. Had Freddy found family among the caring house staff, nannies and governesses instead of with his parents?

“Chef Nibley has been busy most of the morning, preparing a cold pea and basil soup, a goose confit salad, an English pork pie as well as an onion and bacon tart, along with a variety of cheeses. And for dessert, a selection of sweet tarts and scones, with clotted cream and marmalades, in addition to a gingerbread cake. I apologize for it being a bit excessive for a luncheon, but he’s had little opportunity these days to exercise his culinary talents and I’m afraid he took advantage of the situation.”

“Outstanding! And no need to apologize for such an excess!” Freddy announced joyously.

Lunch was exactly the sort of extravagant meal that one hopes for after a long morning of travel. Like Freddy, I was starving, having eaten my last meal at 5.00 this morning. Chef Nibley seized his opportunity and led us on a tantalizing odyssey, each dish acting as a delicious compliment to the previous course. Between the pork pie and the onion bacon tart, the race was too close to call. The crust of each was perfect. As for dessert, there could be no finer accompaniment to scones and such than English clotted cream.

After the meal Freddy led us to a large paneled sitting room overlooking the manicured gardens. The ever-attentive Mr. Pearson soon appeared with a tray holding two small glasses of a lovely, and potent, pear calvados

“So Ripper, a bit of hard cheese missing you as I did at hospital. Sorry old man, did my best you know”, Freddy stated in a most apologetic tone, then immediately brighten up as he continued. “But it’s grand that it worked out for us to visit this way - much more relaxing, and fun, eh what?”

“Most definitely. Still, it was awfully good of you to make the attempt, Freddy. Alas, the RAMC had other plans. The Ambulance train ended up in Rouen, after all was said and done.”

“How is the wound doing by the way?”

“Better. My jab will need some time to recover but I’m past the worst of it. Good thing I’m not a left-hand bowler, eh?”

“Indeed. But what happened, old sport? I heard you had a run in with those Circus rotters - gawd but I hate them!” Freddy practically hissed the statement though his large teeth.
“I must admit I respect them a fair bit as well for their collective talent, but I hate them far more.”
He took a sip of the calvados, then added, “If they all dove into hell tomorrow it wouldn’t be soon enough for me.”

“They dove all right. Did they ever. We chased a flight of Hannovers running east of Amiens and sent 4 of the 5 down. I was after the last one when they appeared above. Seven of them. They know me, Freddy. Maybe not by name, but the Baron’s men know the SE5 with the ‘X’ on the top plane. We’ve fought before. I’ve sent many of them to the Death god, so have my men. The entire Circus came down. I think that’s the only reason I’m still alive. They got in each other’s way in their eagerness to murder me.”

Did grey-eyed Athene shield me with the Aegis? Did Eliza’s prayers send the bullets wide? Was it just dumb luck?

"I’d say it was my flying skill that saved my life, but that would be a lie. They should have killed me, Freddy. Seven on one, and the height advantage. I don’t know the reason, but I still live.”

Freddy sat quietly, listening with full attention. I felt embarrassed by the excessively personal nature of this last revelation and hastily changed the subject.

“Your motor, she’s a sweet little machine.”

“Oh she is that," Freddy agreed. “Father received her as a gift after investing substantially in the company some years back. He had no use for her though, nor did anyone else in the family, so she came to me. You should give her a whirl, old top! Much friendlier than most planes I’ve handled - or women for that matter. Haw!”

“You’re a good sport, Freddy, but I don’t actually know how to drive an automobile.”

‘What! You’re having me on, Ripper. All those Huns and you can’t drive?! You Americans and your sense of humour - can’t drive - very good.”

“No, it’s true, my friend. I was at sea for three years before I took up the King’s Commission. Never had the chance to learn. Your green flash looks like fun, I must say. Have you ever seen the green flash, Freddy?”

“The Green Flash? Is that another one of your American things?”

“No, nothing like that. In the right conditions, especially at sea, at the moment of sunrise the atmosphere splits the sunlight like a prism and the sky bursts clear in green.”

“You sailors are privileged to some rare sights the rest of us will never experience. An adventurous lot as well, given the dangerous waters you must sail. It’s no wonder you took to the perils of flying so quickly.”

“On that subject, my friend I must admit to ignoring your advice. I went sailing those waters near the edge of the map and what I found there was beyond all my imaginings. You were right, Freddy. There be dragons… creatures of air and fire. Creatures of myth. We had some adventure, Clarissa and I.”

Even as I spoke the words, my heart leapt. I conjured the memory of Clarissa, the golden dragon eyes, the smell of jasmine in her hair, the way she made me feel a god as we danced, and the glory of her naked body as we made love in the firelight.

Artemis, delighting in arrows,
...of lovely shape like none of the heavenly gods

Then too, unbidden, came the image of Mr. Right hanging suspended on an iron fence, gurgling out his life.

“This sounds serious,” said Freddy in a concerned voice.

“It is, Freddy, it is. I’m smitten, I can’t deny it.

Freddy’s bushy brows bolted upward as his eyes widened in horror.

“Oh, don’t worry Old Man. I know we have no future. In my lucid moments I know it will never work between us. But when I’m with her… When I’m with her, there’s magic…”

Because you’re in love with her, Oliver. Gods help you.

My voice trailed off as I recognized the truth of it.

Freddy studied me for a moment before he responded in a most solemn tenor. “I sincerely hope for your sake Ripper that this magic you’re so clearly enamored of isn’t in reality some evil sorcery. And knowing Clarissa as I do, I fear it’s the latter.”

“Oh, there’s sorcery,” I replied. "You’ve got that right. As to its nature, I’m still uncertain. In any event, she’s gone away traveling somewhere. I’ve not had a word since we parted on New Year’s Day. She even told me not to bother writing because she wouldn’t get the letters. All very mysterious.

“May I ask something of you, Freddy?”

“Fire away, old top.”

“If I get the chop and go West, will you give something to Clarissa for me? I can leave instructions that it be sent here if the time comes. She should get the news and my valedictory from a friend.”

“Of course I will, provided I don’t catch it first. Leave it to me, old man. Whatever it is, I’ll get it to Clarissa," Freddy assured with a stoic look. Then, in the next moment, his face brightened with a familiar grin as he held up his nearly empty glass and announced, “Enough of this talk. I’ll call for Mr. Pearson and we’ll have another of these, and take it for a walk in the garden. What say you to that, Ripper old sport?”



It was impossible to harbor dark thoughts for long around Freddy. His cheerful spirit and generous nature always lifted my own spirits. We spent the remainder of a glorious afternoon in the garden talking. We strayed occasionally to the subject of the war, but when I asked Freddy about the ancient fossils I'd seen in his hut he revealed his one, and apparently only, scholarly inclination - paleontology. He spun a long and animated tale of how he'd found his first specimen during his start year at Charterhouse School, sparking his intense interest from then on. He talked of early digs along the banks of the River Wey that he would sneak off to while at school, often abandoning his other required studies to do so. He described later trips to the Jurassic coastline of Dorset, and the Cretaceous cliffs of Beachy Head, to name but a few such outings. He expounded on Trilobites and Ammonites and Crenoids and beyond; and spoke of eons and eras and epochs with names which eluded my Latin, names I’d be hard-pressed to remember much less spell. To picture Freddy as a scholarly expert on anything would beggar belief, save for this one field. In this, he was in his element and suddenly the idea of him as a university professor seemed entirely plausible.

Now recovered from Chef Nibley’s splendid repast we made our farewells to Mr. Pearson and personally extended our compliments to Chef Nibley, who the butler had invited up from the kitchen at both Freddy’s and my request. Setting out for London, I was feeling most comfortable after several glasses of the Calvados but Freddy seemed none the worse for it.

The weather held fine and 90 minutes later Freddy dropped me off at the RAC.
Deflecting my repeated thanks for the hospitality, he shook my hand, wished me luck and zoomed off. I must remember to get my voucher for 20 gallons of petrol and send it to him.

Raine - It sounds like MacAlister is being well looked after. Fish, rice pudding and Garibaldi biscuits. Mind you he needs the strength for all that physio with Nurse Callaghan. A response from Bronwyn, good stuff but who is she bringing?

NR - A fun packed escort mission for Cunningham there. He gave as good as he got but he was lucky his engine started again and just in the nick of time when that lone Hun dived on him. Let's hope his 'probable' becomes a confirmation. Another three pilots gone, it certainly takes some losses that squadron. Lehman as well, every cloud eh.

Epower - Winningstad is still not right enough to enjoy the trappings of the RAC club yet but Freddy was on hand to save the day. A lovely jaunt across the south of England followed by a gargantuan lunch. I was famished myself after reading of all those treats. Nothing like a dose of strong stuff to open up a man's thoughts, there was some real soul searching there it seems. Top story and fantastic pictures.

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Introducing 2nd Lieutenant Edward Charles Wilson. Born on 19th March 1880 in Wishaw, near Glasgow, Scotland.

He learned to fly in a boxkite at Brooklands in 1912 and has worked for the Bristol company ever since, predominantly as a test pilot.

Whilst enjoying his work, as the war progressed he requested a transfer to active service again and again but was turned down, the official reason was due to his occupation being key.

He helped work on the Scout, M1 and the Brisfit in which he has many hours flying.

Eventually his badgering works and at the start of 1918 he is accepted into the RFC and sent for evaluation and scout training. Towards the end of May 1918 he is assigned to 48 Squadron, currently at Bertangles and flying the Bristol Fighter.

This is his story..........

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Albert - I was gutted to read of Jacob’s demise. But what a brilliantly written final act. Here’s hoping your new man Wilson lives to tell his grandchildren of his Great War exploits.

Epower - Always a pleasure to collaborate with you on these episodes, wonderfully fun. Superb storytelling on your part as usual. But what awaits our Oliver now that he’s back in London?

NotRelevant - Dean’s crew are catching their share and then some. How many of the old hands are even left at 64 Squadron? Horrible losses. Glad to see that Cunningham has not fallen to the curse and continues on. Scary screenshot of those massed Huns coming in for the kill.

Raine - So Mac has a stern taskmistress in Nurse Callaghan, eh? If she manages to get him up and out of there sooner rather than later he may thank her for it, though not likely right away. But what's this about Bronwyn bringing along a third party? Oh the intrigue.

Fullofit - I am impressed that Pyotr can turn fight as well as he does in that brick of a mount, and against triplanes no less. The Spad is a loathsome thing in my opinion, but Smirnov is managing quite successfully with it so far. Seven confirmed, well done.

MFair - A near ender for Kemp from the sounds of it. He was lucky indeed that he didn’t bleed out in the cockpit of his plane. Opening up that main artery in the leg doesn’t leave you with much time before it’s lights out for good. Here’s wishing Ludwig a speedy recovery.

Carrick - Nice to see Henri is on the tally board, and more importantly surviving the madness.

Trustworthykebab - For a while there I thought the curse of the Gong Fairy had claimed yet another, but your man managed to cheat him and escaped back to his own. As for those horrors he witnessed doing so, war is indeed hell.


So many enjoyable reports and stories, along with the marvelous videos and screenshots and photos, (on my third cuppa’ now because of them all). Thanks everyone!

As to Captain Abbott, he had quite the leave, kicking around southern England and London, catching up with his friend Ripper, and trying to learn the whereabouts of Nurse Ellison. He eventually found out via the Red Cross that she was in fact fine and currently serving at a hospital in Doullens, having narrowly avoided being captured while working at a CCS near Bapaume when the recent German advance swept across. She, along with many other nurses, doctors, medical staff, and wounded, had been hastily evacuated, and keeping track of everyone in the chaos that followed had been tricky. Freddy was provided her current post address and was assured that word would be sent to her as to his situation as well.
And what is his situation? After his leave ended Captain Abbott was sent up to North Yorkshire and is currently at Catterick, serving a stint as an instructor at 49 Training Depot. He’s not quite sure what he thinks of it all yet, but as per his usual approach he’ll make the best of the situation he’s given.

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