P
Polovski
Guest
Great stories all!
Some need to stop playing and write some too
Some need to stop playing and write some too
Ok Pol, since you asked for it...
My fourth flight with Jasta 2 in mid September, 1916
Decided to take off with my lead, although I was third in a flight of four. I wanted to make sure I could keep track of him as there was another flight of five taking off with us. Looking over to my right, I could see my lead. He was just a bit ahead of me but I was sliding towards him as we lifted off. Crosswind was pretty heavy, I quickly looked to my left to make sure it was clear. I needed to get away from number one before we collided. Veering sharp left, I overflew Richtofen and Boelcke as they lifted off. Finally in the clear, I relaxed a bit and got sight of my lead again. He was starting a slow right turn and commencing to circle the field as the rest of our wing got up. When he saw all of us at about a thousand feet winding around trying to get on his tail, he headed for the first waypoint. Boelcke and his flight headed in the opposite direction following their own plan. Ours was a simple patrol over the front... shouldn't offer to much worry. The rain began to pelt us and the sky was black as we climbed away from the field. Although it was only just late afternoon, the sun's complete absence made it seem like twilight. As we tried to form up tighter, the wind kept buffeting us about so I maintained a decent distance above and to the right of the lead and his wingmate. My mate was below and to my right. We climbed toward the east then swung around to the west once we gathered a few thousand feet below us. As we approached the front, the rain seemed to slacken some and visibility improved slightly. We were just below a thick layer of angry looking clouds about five thousand feet up and the rain below us gave a certain fogginess to an already dreary landscape. Leagues of mottled brown mud sprinkled with small green patches where people were still trying to eek out an existence in their wartorn little villages. I passed over an apparently working farm whose farmhouse was in ruin. I assumed the farmer and his family must have been living in the nearby barn as the roof was still intact and I thought I saw light emanating from it. I felt a twinge of guilt for living in relative luxury while the squalor below was left for the people not actually fighting. While taking all this in, I had failed to notice that my flight was following the lead in a near suicidal dive. They were screaming down and towards the northwest. Looking that way, I saw several other planes. Too far to tell who they were, I raced down after my flight to investigate. As we got closer, I saw that the planes were swarming. It looked like a fight was raging, but I didn't see any tracer fire. Deciding to stay above it all until I could determine who was friendly and who was foe, I pulled out of my dive at about three thousand feet. Closer and closer we came. I could now see that the closest machines were definitely allied. Neiuports. Three of them. All brown in color. They seemed to be chasing another plane. That's when I first saw the tracers. They were shooting at one of my countrymen! I was not too concerned as two of my flight gave chase and scared off two of the attackers. This gave our faceless friend the room he needed to manouver and he started to tangle in earnest with the one who was closest on his tail. Still below and ahead of me there were six or seven more craft. Moving up further, continuing in level flight, I saw below one more Neiuport and three Spads tearing into two more of my comrades. The fourth Neuiport was dressed as the previous ones but the Spads were different. They were all tan in color but each had a distinct insignia on their fuselages. I stayed above the fray long enough to get to the other side of the fight as I wanted to begin my attack from the outside of the swirling mess of planes. Surely the Spads had seen me by now, but they ignored me and kept on their prey. Timing myself carefully, I twisted to the left and dove on one of the Spads as he passed under me. I underjudged my speed and only had time to give him a quick raking of my twin guns before I roared past, only a few feet above him. Continuing my turn, I tried to get above and behind him again. I had all the energy I needed from the dive, but it was escaping me as I climbed and banked. This was the moment when I realized that my thought of coming into the fight from outside of it was probably a bad idea. As I was halfway through my turn and facing the direction from where I'd commenced my attack, my nether regions were completely exposed to the other two Spads, who had downed one of their previous victims and were now opening up their guns on me! Hits to my right wings and tail echoed in my ears. I am sure my fear must have amplified the sound of the ripping fabric for I could clearly hear my wings being shredded even above the din of my engine and the clatter of the guns behind me. Luckily, the energy of my dive was enough to get me quickly away from my assailants, but I had taken a hit to the engine and it was coughing and spitting now fitfully. With thick black smoke trailing behind me, I managed to get a few hundred feet above the fight, but realized I was in no condition to continue it. Looking back, I could see my flight tangling mightily with the Neiuports, even saw one of the allied birds go down. My flight was holding their own... for now. There was nothing I could do. I had to abandon them and hope for the best. I spotted an airfield off in the distance on our side and thought I could make it at least that far. Couldn't have been more than two or three miles. That was my new target. I leveled out and found the first Spad I'd latched onto was coming round and lining up on my tail. Jinking and weaving as best I could, I manged to make him miss most of his shots. He would have missed them all, but my bird was in pretty bad shape. Pulling to far to the right forced those wings to stall, so I spent time slipping and sliding one way, until I was near stalled then bank as sharply as I could to the left which wasn't very sharp at all. Luckily, my attacker wasn't a good shot, or perhaps the wind was knocking him about too much for him to get a good line of fire. In any event, I managed to drag him over to the field I intended to attempt a landing on. The gunners there opened up and soon made swiss cheese of my predator. As I babied my injured crate onto the field and my wheels made contact, I looked up and to the right just in time to see a AAA shell explode just in front of the Spad. It seemed to blow his engine clean off as he plummetted to the ground just behind the tent hangars. Fascinated by this display, I paid too little attention to what I was doing and my own crate sagged to the right and my wings hit the grass and spun me around. I managed to walk away, but my bird was destroyed. I wanted to find the gunner that got the Spad and thank him heartily but I knew we would never be able to tell who it was. As the adrenaline settled in me, I couldn't help but wonder how Boelcke's flight made out.
My fourth flight with Jasta 2 in mid September, 1916
Decided to take off with my lead, although I was third in a flight of four. I wanted to make sure I could keep track of him as there was another flight of five taking off with us. Looking over to my right, I could see my lead. He was just a bit ahead of me but I was sliding towards him as we lifted off. Crosswind was pretty heavy, I quickly looked to my left to make sure it was clear. I needed to get away from number one before we collided. Veering sharp left, I overflew Richtofen and Boelcke as they lifted off. Finally in the clear, I relaxed a bit and got sight of my lead again. He was starting a slow right turn and commencing to circle the field as the rest of our wing got up. When he saw all of us at about a thousand feet winding around trying to get on his tail, he headed for the first waypoint. Boelcke and his flight headed in the opposite direction following their own plan. Ours was a simple patrol over the front... shouldn't offer to much worry. The rain began to pelt us and the sky was black as we climbed away from the field. Although it was only just late afternoon, the sun's complete absence made it seem like twilight. As we tried to form up tighter, the wind kept buffeting us about so I maintained a decent distance above and to the right of the lead and his wingmate. My mate was below and to my right. We climbed toward the east then swung around to the west once we gathered a few thousand feet below us. As we approached the front, the rain seemed to slacken some and visibility improved slightly. We were just below a thick layer of angry looking clouds about five thousand feet up and the rain below us gave a certain fogginess to an already dreary landscape. Leagues of mottled brown mud sprinkled with small green patches where people were still trying to eek out an existence in their wartorn little villages. I passed over an apparently working farm whose farmhouse was in ruin. I assumed the farmer and his family must have been living in the nearby barn as the roof was still intact and I thought I saw light emanating from it. I felt a twinge of guilt for living in relative luxury while the squalor below was left for the people not actually fighting. While taking all this in, I had failed to notice that my flight was following the lead in a near suicidal dive. They were screaming down and towards the northwest. Looking that way, I saw several other planes. Too far to tell who they were, I raced down after my flight to investigate. As we got closer, I saw that the planes were swarming. It looked like a fight was raging, but I didn't see any tracer fire. Deciding to stay above it all until I could determine who was friendly and who was foe, I pulled out of my dive at about three thousand feet. Closer and closer we came. I could now see that the closest machines were definitely allied. Neiuports. Three of them. All brown in color. They seemed to be chasing another plane. That's when I first saw the tracers. They were shooting at one of my countrymen! I was not too concerned as two of my flight gave chase and scared off two of the attackers. This gave our faceless friend the room he needed to manouver and he started to tangle in earnest with the one who was closest on his tail. Still below and ahead of me there were six or seven more craft. Moving up further, continuing in level flight, I saw below one more Neiuport and three Spads tearing into two more of my comrades. The fourth Neuiport was dressed as the previous ones but the Spads were different. They were all tan in color but each had a distinct insignia on their fuselages. I stayed above the fray long enough to get to the other side of the fight as I wanted to begin my attack from the outside of the swirling mess of planes. Surely the Spads had seen me by now, but they ignored me and kept on their prey. Timing myself carefully, I twisted to the left and dove on one of the Spads as he passed under me. I underjudged my speed and only had time to give him a quick raking of my twin guns before I roared past, only a few feet above him. Continuing my turn, I tried to get above and behind him again. I had all the energy I needed from the dive, but it was escaping me as I climbed and banked. This was the moment when I realized that my thought of coming into the fight from outside of it was probably a bad idea. As I was halfway through my turn and facing the direction from where I'd commenced my attack, my nether regions were completely exposed to the other two Spads, who had downed one of their previous victims and were now opening up their guns on me! Hits to my right wings and tail echoed in my ears. I am sure my fear must have amplified the sound of the ripping fabric for I could clearly hear my wings being shredded even above the din of my engine and the clatter of the guns behind me. Luckily, the energy of my dive was enough to get me quickly away from my assailants, but I had taken a hit to the engine and it was coughing and spitting now fitfully. With thick black smoke trailing behind me, I managed to get a few hundred feet above the fight, but realized I was in no condition to continue it. Looking back, I could see my flight tangling mightily with the Neiuports, even saw one of the allied birds go down. My flight was holding their own... for now. There was nothing I could do. I had to abandon them and hope for the best. I spotted an airfield off in the distance on our side and thought I could make it at least that far. Couldn't have been more than two or three miles. That was my new target. I leveled out and found the first Spad I'd latched onto was coming round and lining up on my tail. Jinking and weaving as best I could, I manged to make him miss most of his shots. He would have missed them all, but my bird was in pretty bad shape. Pulling to far to the right forced those wings to stall, so I spent time slipping and sliding one way, until I was near stalled then bank as sharply as I could to the left which wasn't very sharp at all. Luckily, my attacker wasn't a good shot, or perhaps the wind was knocking him about too much for him to get a good line of fire. In any event, I managed to drag him over to the field I intended to attempt a landing on. The gunners there opened up and soon made swiss cheese of my predator. As I babied my injured crate onto the field and my wheels made contact, I looked up and to the right just in time to see a AAA shell explode just in front of the Spad. It seemed to blow his engine clean off as he plummetted to the ground just behind the tent hangars. Fascinated by this display, I paid too little attention to what I was doing and my own crate sagged to the right and my wings hit the grass and spun me around. I managed to walk away, but my bird was destroyed. I wanted to find the gunner that got the Spad and thank him heartily but I knew we would never be able to tell who it was. As the adrenaline settled in me, I couldn't help but wonder how Boelcke's flight made out.
SirMike1983
Nieuporter and OFF Donor
Sept. 4, 1916:
A patrol over enemy lines mission saw 6 Esc. 65 Nieuport 17s sweep over enemy spotter balloons and airfields. A flight of about 6 Fokker E.IIIs approached from the northeast and dove on us. I damaged one in a head-to-head attack and he dove away to the east toward a large lake. I followed him down towards the lake and eventually knocked him out.
The chase (the speck in the background sky is a German spotter):
A patrol over enemy lines mission saw 6 Esc. 65 Nieuport 17s sweep over enemy spotter balloons and airfields. A flight of about 6 Fokker E.IIIs approached from the northeast and dove on us. I damaged one in a head-to-head attack and he dove away to the east toward a large lake. I followed him down towards the lake and eventually knocked him out.
The chase (the speck in the background sky is a German spotter):
B
Bullethead
Guest
The Short, Brutal Life of Flieger Amadeus Geschosskopf
Flieger Geschosskopf found himself in the elite Jasta 11. He hoped being surrounded by such good companions would keep him safe, but was sadly mistaken.
31 March 1917, 0825
Some idiot, and no doubt noble, officer, decided the entirety of Jasta 11 should attempt to take off while a very large group of Nieuports was attacking the airdrome of Brayelles. Flieger Geschosskopf might have been a novice, but he'd studied air combat extensively before enlisting, and knew that being caught low and slow by more maneuverable planes was a bad idea. Why not sit in a trench until the enemy was withdrawing, then chase them home? But no, the young officers running Jasta 11 all seemed to want to grow up to be Falkenheyns.
Bullets impacted all around Geschosskopf as he waited to begin his takeoff roll. As soon as his wheels cleared the ground, he went into as hard a turn as his airspeed would allow, cutting across those behind him but he'd worry about the repurcussions of that later. He barely cleared a tree, then had to turn the other way to avoid another swooping Nieuport. The air was now full of twisting, zooming Nieuports and floundering Albatri. Geschosskopf tried to sneak off to the side and perhaps gain a little altitude, but he was attacked by one enemy after another, forcing him to turn as hard as he could and keeping him more or less in place at the end of the runway.
Geschosskopf occasionally got a quick burst off at a passing Nieuport and thought he winged one, but never had the time, airpseed, or altitude to press an advantage. He completely lost track of the situation, having to divide his time between staying in the air, avoiding trees, and dodging attacks. Periodically, bullets smacked his plane 2 or 3 at a time, but for a while the Albatross held together.
Eventually, inevitably, however, a burst struck home from an unknown direction, and his engine immediately quit. At the time, Geschosskopf was hanging on the edge of a stall trying to get his nose up at a Nieuport's belly just above him, so the loss of power put him right down. He went into a spin and pancaked from about 10m altitude. Amazingingly, Geschosskopf walked away without a scratch. Even more amazingly, the rest of Jasta 11 was also still alive, although only the Red Baron had scored.
Combat time: 5 minutes.
1 April 1917
Once again Jasta 11 sortied at full strength, this time to attack a balloon just across the lines. The weather was appalling and Geschosskopf was never sure which Albatross he was supposed to be following. Apparently he picked the wrong one because it seemed to go off on its own away from the others.
After about 20 minutes, with the lines coming up ahead, Geschosskopf spotted a large, unescorted formation of BE2s slightly below heading in the opposite direction. Knowing he was far behind the rest of the squadron so had no hope of getting the balloon, he decided he'd attack the Quirks. However, his leader paid them no attention and kept on after the rest of the Jasta, which had disappeared far ahead.
Geschosskopf overflew the enemy formation and then swooped on the trailing machine. He gave it a good burst and was rewarded with seeing the observer slump over, apparently dead. Also, the BE2's engine began to belch large clouds of black smoke and large pieces blew back in its slipstream. Geschosskopf quickly zoomed up and came back for another pass, again pouring lead into the BE's forward fuselage. However, despite being totally defenseless and dropping further and further behind the others, the BE continued straight and level, pressing on regardless. Geschosskopf had to admire, and pity, the Englishmans' determination.
Try as he might, however, Geschosskopf couldn't bring the Tommy down. He shot it completely to pieces, and its engine was turning so slowly he could easily watch the propellor blades. By now, it was trailing a steady stream of black smoke. However, without losing altitude, the BE continued on and bombed a forward German field, before turning back towards its lines, completely ignoring Geschosskopf.
Geschosskopf made about 10 passes on the BE, scoring devastating hits each time. Yet the pilot miraculously survived (Geschosskopf could see him clearly due to the large missing pieces of fuselage), the engine continued to run after a fashion, and it absolutely refused to burn. The German lines were now below and there appeared to be some English scouts in the offing. Geschosskopf decided to make 1 more pass and then, if the BE survived, call it quits. He was determined to make this shot count, so closed in as close as possible. Too close, actually. There was a horrible crunch as the planes collided, then Geschosskopf quickly blacked out as the remains of his aircraft spun into the mud of the German trenches.
Combat time: 37 minutes
Flieger Geschosskopf found himself in the elite Jasta 11. He hoped being surrounded by such good companions would keep him safe, but was sadly mistaken.
31 March 1917, 0825
Some idiot, and no doubt noble, officer, decided the entirety of Jasta 11 should attempt to take off while a very large group of Nieuports was attacking the airdrome of Brayelles. Flieger Geschosskopf might have been a novice, but he'd studied air combat extensively before enlisting, and knew that being caught low and slow by more maneuverable planes was a bad idea. Why not sit in a trench until the enemy was withdrawing, then chase them home? But no, the young officers running Jasta 11 all seemed to want to grow up to be Falkenheyns.
Bullets impacted all around Geschosskopf as he waited to begin his takeoff roll. As soon as his wheels cleared the ground, he went into as hard a turn as his airspeed would allow, cutting across those behind him but he'd worry about the repurcussions of that later. He barely cleared a tree, then had to turn the other way to avoid another swooping Nieuport. The air was now full of twisting, zooming Nieuports and floundering Albatri. Geschosskopf tried to sneak off to the side and perhaps gain a little altitude, but he was attacked by one enemy after another, forcing him to turn as hard as he could and keeping him more or less in place at the end of the runway.
Geschosskopf occasionally got a quick burst off at a passing Nieuport and thought he winged one, but never had the time, airpseed, or altitude to press an advantage. He completely lost track of the situation, having to divide his time between staying in the air, avoiding trees, and dodging attacks. Periodically, bullets smacked his plane 2 or 3 at a time, but for a while the Albatross held together.
Eventually, inevitably, however, a burst struck home from an unknown direction, and his engine immediately quit. At the time, Geschosskopf was hanging on the edge of a stall trying to get his nose up at a Nieuport's belly just above him, so the loss of power put him right down. He went into a spin and pancaked from about 10m altitude. Amazingingly, Geschosskopf walked away without a scratch. Even more amazingly, the rest of Jasta 11 was also still alive, although only the Red Baron had scored.
Combat time: 5 minutes.
1 April 1917
Once again Jasta 11 sortied at full strength, this time to attack a balloon just across the lines. The weather was appalling and Geschosskopf was never sure which Albatross he was supposed to be following. Apparently he picked the wrong one because it seemed to go off on its own away from the others.
After about 20 minutes, with the lines coming up ahead, Geschosskopf spotted a large, unescorted formation of BE2s slightly below heading in the opposite direction. Knowing he was far behind the rest of the squadron so had no hope of getting the balloon, he decided he'd attack the Quirks. However, his leader paid them no attention and kept on after the rest of the Jasta, which had disappeared far ahead.
Geschosskopf overflew the enemy formation and then swooped on the trailing machine. He gave it a good burst and was rewarded with seeing the observer slump over, apparently dead. Also, the BE2's engine began to belch large clouds of black smoke and large pieces blew back in its slipstream. Geschosskopf quickly zoomed up and came back for another pass, again pouring lead into the BE's forward fuselage. However, despite being totally defenseless and dropping further and further behind the others, the BE continued straight and level, pressing on regardless. Geschosskopf had to admire, and pity, the Englishmans' determination.
Try as he might, however, Geschosskopf couldn't bring the Tommy down. He shot it completely to pieces, and its engine was turning so slowly he could easily watch the propellor blades. By now, it was trailing a steady stream of black smoke. However, without losing altitude, the BE continued on and bombed a forward German field, before turning back towards its lines, completely ignoring Geschosskopf.
Geschosskopf made about 10 passes on the BE, scoring devastating hits each time. Yet the pilot miraculously survived (Geschosskopf could see him clearly due to the large missing pieces of fuselage), the engine continued to run after a fashion, and it absolutely refused to burn. The German lines were now below and there appeared to be some English scouts in the offing. Geschosskopf decided to make 1 more pass and then, if the BE survived, call it quits. He was determined to make this shot count, so closed in as close as possible. Too close, actually. There was a horrible crunch as the planes collided, then Geschosskopf quickly blacked out as the remains of his aircraft spun into the mud of the German trenches.
Combat time: 37 minutes
M
Mike Dixon
Guest
Day 1
RFC-56, November the 10th, 1917
Day 1
Having just transfered into a new squadron one would've hoped for an easy first combat mission, but then in this great war all the logic seems to have gone out of the window.
It turns out my first flight in 56 Squadron would be a Balloon Busting mission in, as the chap from the met office put it - "Gale force winds."
Took off at 08:00 and joined up with the rest of the lads on the way to the front, turns out there was only a little rain and the wind wasn't too bad, seems the weather man isn't always right, thankfully.
The flight towards the lines was rather dull as you can imagine, it only started to get interesting near the front when I spotted a flight of four to five unknown craft heading across the lines, signaling my flight lead I, along with my Wingman Ren "Hoagie" Hogan, was ordered to check them out.
After closing with the craft we discovered that they were infact a Flight of German Albatros DIIIs that, it would seem, were just as interested in our Flight as we were with theirs, which resulted in something of a Dogfight.
I ended up in fisticuffs with a chap flying a Blue tailed crate with some sort of arrow painted on the side, needless to say he ended up on the ground in flames as one would expect.
For some reason this seemed to annoy one of his wingmen, flying with a shooting start painted on his Albie, Hoagie and I made short work of this Hun as well, with both of us getting several shots into him before he hit the dirt.
Having leveled out after giving those Germans a good lesson in flying, I noticed that the rest of my flight was nowhere to be seen and I was all alone over the front.
Remembering my original duty to destroy the Observation Balloon - and also wishing to get payed this month, I headed across the German lines alone in search of the target.
The Balloon itself was a rather easy target and only took one short burst to take down, leading me to think it was my lucky day - for all of one second until every machinegun and artillery cannon in the german army fired at my bird all at once...
Turns out one of the German bullets hit something important and made my engine make some god awful noise that you'd hope your engine never would make and so, having done my duty and having an irrational fear of crashing sausage side nose first, I decided it was time to run away back to the British side of the line.
Even with several new holes in the engine, the old girl managed to get me across the lines and even lasted long enough to get back to base, she'll probably not fly again however...
Thankfully I will!
Total Flight Time: 62 minutes
Kill Claims: 2 Albatros DIIIs
View attachment 73199 View attachment 73200 View attachment 73201
RFC-56, November the 10th, 1917
Day 1
Having just transfered into a new squadron one would've hoped for an easy first combat mission, but then in this great war all the logic seems to have gone out of the window.
It turns out my first flight in 56 Squadron would be a Balloon Busting mission in, as the chap from the met office put it - "Gale force winds."
Took off at 08:00 and joined up with the rest of the lads on the way to the front, turns out there was only a little rain and the wind wasn't too bad, seems the weather man isn't always right, thankfully.
The flight towards the lines was rather dull as you can imagine, it only started to get interesting near the front when I spotted a flight of four to five unknown craft heading across the lines, signaling my flight lead I, along with my Wingman Ren "Hoagie" Hogan, was ordered to check them out.
After closing with the craft we discovered that they were infact a Flight of German Albatros DIIIs that, it would seem, were just as interested in our Flight as we were with theirs, which resulted in something of a Dogfight.
I ended up in fisticuffs with a chap flying a Blue tailed crate with some sort of arrow painted on the side, needless to say he ended up on the ground in flames as one would expect.
For some reason this seemed to annoy one of his wingmen, flying with a shooting start painted on his Albie, Hoagie and I made short work of this Hun as well, with both of us getting several shots into him before he hit the dirt.
Having leveled out after giving those Germans a good lesson in flying, I noticed that the rest of my flight was nowhere to be seen and I was all alone over the front.
Remembering my original duty to destroy the Observation Balloon - and also wishing to get payed this month, I headed across the German lines alone in search of the target.
The Balloon itself was a rather easy target and only took one short burst to take down, leading me to think it was my lucky day - for all of one second until every machinegun and artillery cannon in the german army fired at my bird all at once...
Turns out one of the German bullets hit something important and made my engine make some god awful noise that you'd hope your engine never would make and so, having done my duty and having an irrational fear of crashing sausage side nose first, I decided it was time to run away back to the British side of the line.
Even with several new holes in the engine, the old girl managed to get me across the lines and even lasted long enough to get back to base, she'll probably not fly again however...
Thankfully I will!
Total Flight Time: 62 minutes
Kill Claims: 2 Albatros DIIIs
View attachment 73199 View attachment 73200 View attachment 73201
B
Bullethead
Guest
FE2b ROC Record
It was shortly after 0800 on 16 May 1916 and still hadn't flown a hop with my new mates of 20 Squadron. Every since I'd arrived at Clairmarais 3 days before, inclement weather had scrubbed all flying. But on this morning, it appeared to be a fine day with just a few scattered cumulus clouds. Still, the Met Officer didn't trust the weather to last, so I was ordered to fly due north some distance out over the Channel and report on what was blowing in from the sea, so the Squadron could plan missions for later in the day. Or not, as it turned out.
So off I went, with scattered cumulus here and there and cloud base about 4000'. But as I proceeded north, the clouds got bigger, more common, and lower, and there was the occasional bump from turbulence. It really wasn't so bad over land, but out over the water ahead I could see the clouds were bigger, darker, much more frequent, and somewhat lower. By the time I got to the beach, I could see I needed to descend into the fog/rain to go under the solid overcast at 3000', above which angry-looking incipient cumulonimbi stuck up at intervals.
So down I went. The cloudbank had some outlying fringes of thin cloud or rain some distance out from and lower than the main mass, but they looked harmless enough so I flew into one right over the beach. As soon as I did, however, I was snatched by the most violent updraft I've ever experienced. Needless to say, this surprised me; I was expected a strong downdraft near the edge of the cloudbank.
But there was no mistaking that I was going up. My plane tumbled wildly, too fast tell which way it was going. The camera, spare ammo drums, my map and my cigarettes, and quite a few other things went over the side, and I and my observer would have followed if we hadn't been strapped in. I only had fleeting glimpses of all this, however, because the tremendous forces of the tumbling caused me to black and red out several times.
Finally, I came to to discover my crate in a spin. Fortunately, the old Fee is a stable bird and I was able to recover easily. As I gathered my senses, I discovered that I was now at 5500', up from 3000' at the start of the updraft. The Met Officer's instruments later showed I'd achieve a rate of climb of nearly 6000 feet per minute!
Once back under control and breathing normally again, I flew east along the beach seeking away around these dangerous clouds to continue with my mission. However, there was no break in the wall of clouds, and in fact the whole mass seemed to be growing and getting closer to land. This made me look back south, and I got another shock. The way home was now mostly obstructed by scattered thunderstorms. If I was going to get home at all, I'd better start now.
The trip back to Clarmarais was something of an adventure, too. I had to weave my way between the storms and got bounced around quite a bit, but fortunately avoided a repeat of the updraft. Cloudbase was now down to about 1500' and Clairmarais had a storm directly overhead when I arrived, so I had to run around the neighborhood nervously until it passed over. I managed to get down safely in a brief interval between storms, and it took 6 men lying on the wings to get my crate safely into the hangar and secured. Needless to say, all further flights were cancelled that day.
It was shortly after 0800 on 16 May 1916 and still hadn't flown a hop with my new mates of 20 Squadron. Every since I'd arrived at Clairmarais 3 days before, inclement weather had scrubbed all flying. But on this morning, it appeared to be a fine day with just a few scattered cumulus clouds. Still, the Met Officer didn't trust the weather to last, so I was ordered to fly due north some distance out over the Channel and report on what was blowing in from the sea, so the Squadron could plan missions for later in the day. Or not, as it turned out.
So off I went, with scattered cumulus here and there and cloud base about 4000'. But as I proceeded north, the clouds got bigger, more common, and lower, and there was the occasional bump from turbulence. It really wasn't so bad over land, but out over the water ahead I could see the clouds were bigger, darker, much more frequent, and somewhat lower. By the time I got to the beach, I could see I needed to descend into the fog/rain to go under the solid overcast at 3000', above which angry-looking incipient cumulonimbi stuck up at intervals.
So down I went. The cloudbank had some outlying fringes of thin cloud or rain some distance out from and lower than the main mass, but they looked harmless enough so I flew into one right over the beach. As soon as I did, however, I was snatched by the most violent updraft I've ever experienced. Needless to say, this surprised me; I was expected a strong downdraft near the edge of the cloudbank.
But there was no mistaking that I was going up. My plane tumbled wildly, too fast tell which way it was going. The camera, spare ammo drums, my map and my cigarettes, and quite a few other things went over the side, and I and my observer would have followed if we hadn't been strapped in. I only had fleeting glimpses of all this, however, because the tremendous forces of the tumbling caused me to black and red out several times.
Finally, I came to to discover my crate in a spin. Fortunately, the old Fee is a stable bird and I was able to recover easily. As I gathered my senses, I discovered that I was now at 5500', up from 3000' at the start of the updraft. The Met Officer's instruments later showed I'd achieve a rate of climb of nearly 6000 feet per minute!
Once back under control and breathing normally again, I flew east along the beach seeking away around these dangerous clouds to continue with my mission. However, there was no break in the wall of clouds, and in fact the whole mass seemed to be growing and getting closer to land. This made me look back south, and I got another shock. The way home was now mostly obstructed by scattered thunderstorms. If I was going to get home at all, I'd better start now.
The trip back to Clarmarais was something of an adventure, too. I had to weave my way between the storms and got bounced around quite a bit, but fortunately avoided a repeat of the updraft. Cloudbase was now down to about 1500' and Clairmarais had a storm directly overhead when I arrived, so I had to run around the neighborhood nervously until it passed over. I managed to get down safely in a brief interval between storms, and it took 6 men lying on the wings to get my crate safely into the hangar and secured. Needless to say, all further flights were cancelled that day.
P
paarma
Guest
Hi Mike,
Hey those are great pictures and wonderful to read. One correction: Those are albatros dv´s and the aces are Josef Veltjens and Ernst Turck from jasta 18.
Hey those are great pictures and wonderful to read. One correction: Those are albatros dv´s and the aces are Josef Veltjens and Ernst Turck from jasta 18.
G
GPSpector
Guest
Wow, after reading these reports and seeing the pics, I am really interested in getting this Sim, even more than before 
G
Grind
Guest
Wow, after reading these reports and seeing the pics, I am really interested in getting this Sim, even more than before
I must agree! I canceled my AH2 account today. My copy of CFS3 is on its way and I'm going to order the DVD when I finsh with this post.
Grind
O
Outcastt
Guest
Debriefing report of Flieger Dieter Klaus
After a weekend of tragic deaths and poor flying my skills in these WWI crates are final coming back. I fly with Realism at 100 percent. Now to the story....
Debrief of Dieter Klaus, flying with Jasta 2
On an uneventful patrol of our front lines my flight of 4 Albatros D.II's ran across a formation of British bombers and fighter on their way home. The flight leader turned hard to engage the formation and we followed closely behind. At about 2 miles out the screening British DH2 fighters wheeled hard right and dove straight for us.
I hung back waiting for the merge. The air was filled the crackling chattering din of machinegun fire as tracer rounds flashed out from both flights. The British had height and energy on us and they climbed for height as they pass through our formation. I had good speed and whipped my D.II hard left standing her on her wing in a screaming turn. Applying some rudder to bring the nose up I got one of the DH2's in my sights and poured three 4 second burst into the cockpit and engine. Black smoke erupted from my victim and down he went into the ground. Nosing down I dove shallow to pickup some speed and cleared my tail.
Scanning the sky I saw one D.II at 5 o’clock being hounded by a DH2 and being very roughly treated. Banking hard right I was determined to save my mate. Clearing my 6 I opened up at about 100 yards with a short burst to draw the Tommie’s attention and make him break off the attack. A few rounds found the mark and the Brit broke high and left turning into my attack. We flashed by barely 30 feet between us. My squadron mate had reversed his turn and was now on the tail of his tormentor. The Brit snap rolled into a Split S which my mate couldn’t follow. By this time I had reversed and was coming back at the fight about 500 feet above where the FE8 came out of it dive. Chopping throttle and light touch on the rudder pedals lined up this fellow for the kill shot. Three 2 sec burst into the cockpit and he side slipped into ground.
Turning hard left to clear my tail I was greeted by the rattle of bullets impacting my right wing. Another burst slammed into my kite behind the cockpit. I continued my roll going inverted and pulled through into dive. Picking up speed fast more tracers sailed by to the left missing me this time. Quick scanning the area I saw My squadron mate in the distance in no position to help out. I saw the DH2 about 300 hundred feet above me come on hard out of a turn. I jinxed like a mad man more hits in the left wing this time, my bird was responding less sharply now. With 120 knots of speed built up I break left hard pulling the yoke for all I was worth my plane protest the rough treatment groaning loudly from the stress. The Tommie had piled on to much speed to follow me and he rolled level and climbed away. Nosing down I fought the G forces an reversed my turn scrubbing off speed and coming out behind the bugger who over shot. Risking a stall I pulled the nose up and snapped off a long burst at the DH2. I was surprise to see the Tommie tail slide into the ground. Kill number 3 no time to celebrate I was low and slow and knew enough to know I had to move.
Scanning the sky as I banked left and right to clear my tail I saw nothing. The bombers where long gone and I didn’t see my mates or the last Brit. Turning for home I at last caught a glimpse of the last DH2. He was low on the deck head for the lines. Slamming the throttle to full, banking hard right I gave chase. As I drew closer I could see he trailing smoke. He made no moves to avoid me as drew slowly closer. I could see he was busy in the cockpit. I almost felt sorry for the fellow as I lined up a very careful shot. Pulling the trigger I was greeted by the rattling fire from only one of my guns but it was enough. A huge black cloud of smoke exploded from the Brits engine and flames followed. The FE8 crashed into the trees below and was torn apart.
…… 2 Weeks later all 4 kills where confirmed
After a weekend of tragic deaths and poor flying my skills in these WWI crates are final coming back. I fly with Realism at 100 percent. Now to the story....
Debrief of Dieter Klaus, flying with Jasta 2
On an uneventful patrol of our front lines my flight of 4 Albatros D.II's ran across a formation of British bombers and fighter on their way home. The flight leader turned hard to engage the formation and we followed closely behind. At about 2 miles out the screening British DH2 fighters wheeled hard right and dove straight for us.
I hung back waiting for the merge. The air was filled the crackling chattering din of machinegun fire as tracer rounds flashed out from both flights. The British had height and energy on us and they climbed for height as they pass through our formation. I had good speed and whipped my D.II hard left standing her on her wing in a screaming turn. Applying some rudder to bring the nose up I got one of the DH2's in my sights and poured three 4 second burst into the cockpit and engine. Black smoke erupted from my victim and down he went into the ground. Nosing down I dove shallow to pickup some speed and cleared my tail.
Scanning the sky I saw one D.II at 5 o’clock being hounded by a DH2 and being very roughly treated. Banking hard right I was determined to save my mate. Clearing my 6 I opened up at about 100 yards with a short burst to draw the Tommie’s attention and make him break off the attack. A few rounds found the mark and the Brit broke high and left turning into my attack. We flashed by barely 30 feet between us. My squadron mate had reversed his turn and was now on the tail of his tormentor. The Brit snap rolled into a Split S which my mate couldn’t follow. By this time I had reversed and was coming back at the fight about 500 feet above where the FE8 came out of it dive. Chopping throttle and light touch on the rudder pedals lined up this fellow for the kill shot. Three 2 sec burst into the cockpit and he side slipped into ground.
Turning hard left to clear my tail I was greeted by the rattle of bullets impacting my right wing. Another burst slammed into my kite behind the cockpit. I continued my roll going inverted and pulled through into dive. Picking up speed fast more tracers sailed by to the left missing me this time. Quick scanning the area I saw My squadron mate in the distance in no position to help out. I saw the DH2 about 300 hundred feet above me come on hard out of a turn. I jinxed like a mad man more hits in the left wing this time, my bird was responding less sharply now. With 120 knots of speed built up I break left hard pulling the yoke for all I was worth my plane protest the rough treatment groaning loudly from the stress. The Tommie had piled on to much speed to follow me and he rolled level and climbed away. Nosing down I fought the G forces an reversed my turn scrubbing off speed and coming out behind the bugger who over shot. Risking a stall I pulled the nose up and snapped off a long burst at the DH2. I was surprise to see the Tommie tail slide into the ground. Kill number 3 no time to celebrate I was low and slow and knew enough to know I had to move.
Scanning the sky as I banked left and right to clear my tail I saw nothing. The bombers where long gone and I didn’t see my mates or the last Brit. Turning for home I at last caught a glimpse of the last DH2. He was low on the deck head for the lines. Slamming the throttle to full, banking hard right I gave chase. As I drew closer I could see he trailing smoke. He made no moves to avoid me as drew slowly closer. I could see he was busy in the cockpit. I almost felt sorry for the fellow as I lined up a very careful shot. Pulling the trigger I was greeted by the rattling fire from only one of my guns but it was enough. A huge black cloud of smoke exploded from the Brits engine and flames followed. The FE8 crashed into the trees below and was torn apart.
…… 2 Weeks later all 4 kills where confirmed
B
Bullethead
Guest
Voices from the Grave #1
25 April 1917
No. 15 RFC Field Hospital, Somewhere in Flanders
The Jerry PW in charge of the burial detail here was singing that yesterday as he made his rounds. His English and my German are good enough for me to understand that he'd been all through Verdun last year, where he learned the song. He did some instruction back in Hunland, was posted to Flanders, and was captured on the 1st day of our current "push". I envy him. Not a mark on him, although he's nearly deaf, coughs a lot from gas, and talks to invisible entities all the time. I've got the same afflictions, but am also missing the ends of my last 3 left fingers. Plus, unlike him, I don't yet know if I'll make it through this war...
At least I'm still somewhere IN Flanders instead of somewhere under it. The MO's say I'll be fit for duty in a few more days and I hear 20 Squadron's moved while I've been under repair. I'm none too anxious to return--chaps are calling this month "Bloody April", and it's been bloody enough for me already, with still some days left in it. But the clean upper air, with all its terrors, is preferrable to the stench of gangrene and excrement here. I still feel the guns rumbling in the air, and the occasional wisp of gas drifts by, bringing the charnal reek of the trenches. Besides, that Welsh tart of a nurse is starting to take our relationship too seriously. Best I was up and doing. I've no doubt left her some crabs to remember me by...
My last entries being all about said Welsh tart, I suppose I'd best record why it is I'm laid up now. It was the 15th inst. that we set out to raid the Hun aerodrome at Coolkerke with 8 Fees. We never came close to it, however, because we were bounced from high above by at least an equal number of Albatri about 5 miles this side of the front. A tremendous dogfight ensued that quickly spiraled down to near the ground.
A Hun was on our tail and put a few holes in the old crate but I twisted hard and he overshot me. I got on his tail and my observer, Sgt. Stackrock, got him with a couple of good bursts. He was obviously hurt and tried half-heartedly to weave around to throw me off, but the old Fee wins that game and Stackrock got him a couple more times. The Albatros burst into flames and crashed immediately, we being only about 200 feet up at the time.
Immediately another Hun got on my tail and more holes appeared, but Stackrock jumped to the rear gun and made him break away. Then I saw another Hun on the tail of Major Dillingham, so closed in on him. As Stackrock was beginning to hit him, suddenly my hand got knocked off the throttle by the bullet that took off the ends of my left fingers. Other bullets apparently took off something important from our old Fee, too, because she started tumbling and there was nothing I could do about it.
So down we went, and it looked like our number was up, but we landed in the top of a tree. And there we remained, upside down and soaked in leaking petrol, twenty feet off the ground, until the PBIs scrounged up a ladder about an hour later. I've been here ever since, with some broken ribs to go with my maimed hand. Good thing I don't play the guitar. Stackrock came through without a scratch, though, and was back on ops the next day.
Stackrock managed to smuggle me some gin, which as I've related elsewhere improved various relationships hereabouts. He also told me the honors were even in our scrap: 3 planes down on each side. Captain Chapman and his observer were killed, as were all the Huns, but our other plane force-landed without casualties. Apparently the Huns were from Jasta 2, one of their crack outfits. I suppose they'll give us old Fees a bit more respect now.
25 April 1917
No. 15 RFC Field Hospital, Somewhere in Flanders
"Aufwiedersehen ins Massengrab
Wir sehen uns wieder ins Massengrab"
Wir sehen uns wieder ins Massengrab"
The Jerry PW in charge of the burial detail here was singing that yesterday as he made his rounds. His English and my German are good enough for me to understand that he'd been all through Verdun last year, where he learned the song. He did some instruction back in Hunland, was posted to Flanders, and was captured on the 1st day of our current "push". I envy him. Not a mark on him, although he's nearly deaf, coughs a lot from gas, and talks to invisible entities all the time. I've got the same afflictions, but am also missing the ends of my last 3 left fingers. Plus, unlike him, I don't yet know if I'll make it through this war...
At least I'm still somewhere IN Flanders instead of somewhere under it. The MO's say I'll be fit for duty in a few more days and I hear 20 Squadron's moved while I've been under repair. I'm none too anxious to return--chaps are calling this month "Bloody April", and it's been bloody enough for me already, with still some days left in it. But the clean upper air, with all its terrors, is preferrable to the stench of gangrene and excrement here. I still feel the guns rumbling in the air, and the occasional wisp of gas drifts by, bringing the charnal reek of the trenches. Besides, that Welsh tart of a nurse is starting to take our relationship too seriously. Best I was up and doing. I've no doubt left her some crabs to remember me by...
My last entries being all about said Welsh tart, I suppose I'd best record why it is I'm laid up now. It was the 15th inst. that we set out to raid the Hun aerodrome at Coolkerke with 8 Fees. We never came close to it, however, because we were bounced from high above by at least an equal number of Albatri about 5 miles this side of the front. A tremendous dogfight ensued that quickly spiraled down to near the ground.
A Hun was on our tail and put a few holes in the old crate but I twisted hard and he overshot me. I got on his tail and my observer, Sgt. Stackrock, got him with a couple of good bursts. He was obviously hurt and tried half-heartedly to weave around to throw me off, but the old Fee wins that game and Stackrock got him a couple more times. The Albatros burst into flames and crashed immediately, we being only about 200 feet up at the time.
Immediately another Hun got on my tail and more holes appeared, but Stackrock jumped to the rear gun and made him break away. Then I saw another Hun on the tail of Major Dillingham, so closed in on him. As Stackrock was beginning to hit him, suddenly my hand got knocked off the throttle by the bullet that took off the ends of my left fingers. Other bullets apparently took off something important from our old Fee, too, because she started tumbling and there was nothing I could do about it.
So down we went, and it looked like our number was up, but we landed in the top of a tree. And there we remained, upside down and soaked in leaking petrol, twenty feet off the ground, until the PBIs scrounged up a ladder about an hour later. I've been here ever since, with some broken ribs to go with my maimed hand. Good thing I don't play the guitar. Stackrock came through without a scratch, though, and was back on ops the next day.
Stackrock managed to smuggle me some gin, which as I've related elsewhere improved various relationships hereabouts. He also told me the honors were even in our scrap: 3 planes down on each side. Captain Chapman and his observer were killed, as were all the Huns, but our other plane force-landed without casualties. Apparently the Huns were from Jasta 2, one of their crack outfits. I suppose they'll give us old Fees a bit more respect now.
R
Red-dog
Guest
Only just made it back....
Having only just arrived in france the day before i was itching to get up and give fritz a good seeing to, the date was 1/1/1915 and i was posted to a fighter sqd'n what luck, i do feel sorry for those chap's in the bombers.
I was allocated a new bristol scout one with a lewis gun . We had our briefing at 0600 and i was told to stick to the leaders tail ( Major Dick Bath ) and not to try and be a hero.
We got to our mounts at 0700 and did the routing checks then the moment came, The engine kicked into life and the aircraft started rolling, i gave it full power and up she went.
Follow the major about 300 yards astren we climed to 2000ft heading for the front over Lens " what a life this is" i looked inside the cockpit to check my map,
alls well there, then NO .
When i looked up the major had gone!
I looked up ,down left and right he was no where to be seen then out of no where
ratter tat tat and my aircraft shook and i started to lose power. Panicing i threw
her into a steep dive and caught site of a German mono plane wizz by.
Down down down i went getting peppered all the way to the ground. Some how i managed to put her down, somewhere how side of the lines.
This might not be as easy as i thought!
After getting a ride back to my base i could'nt stop thinking about what the Major was going to do to me. I needn't of worried he never made it back.
This is going to be a long war............
Having only just arrived in france the day before i was itching to get up and give fritz a good seeing to, the date was 1/1/1915 and i was posted to a fighter sqd'n what luck, i do feel sorry for those chap's in the bombers.
I was allocated a new bristol scout one with a lewis gun . We had our briefing at 0600 and i was told to stick to the leaders tail ( Major Dick Bath ) and not to try and be a hero.
We got to our mounts at 0700 and did the routing checks then the moment came, The engine kicked into life and the aircraft started rolling, i gave it full power and up she went.
Follow the major about 300 yards astren we climed to 2000ft heading for the front over Lens " what a life this is" i looked inside the cockpit to check my map,
alls well there, then NO .
When i looked up the major had gone!
I looked up ,down left and right he was no where to be seen then out of no where
ratter tat tat and my aircraft shook and i started to lose power. Panicing i threw
her into a steep dive and caught site of a German mono plane wizz by.
Down down down i went getting peppered all the way to the ground. Some how i managed to put her down, somewhere how side of the lines.
This might not be as easy as i thought!
After getting a ride back to my base i could'nt stop thinking about what the Major was going to do to me. I needn't of worried he never made it back.
This is going to be a long war............
B
Bullethead
Guest
Voices from the Grave #2
19 May 1917
20 Squadron, Somewhere in Flanders
I've been at the Front now for 34 days, 32 of which have been in hospital. I've made 3 sorties, all of which have ended in tears. I'm missing 3 fingertips, have broken several ribs twice each, my jaw's wired shut, and my eyebrows are only just beginning to grow back after being burned off last month. On top of this, I think I'm becoming addicted to morphine. I'm beginning to think I'm the luckiest man in the world, because I should by rights have been killed at least twice already. Damn, now I've done it, mentioning my amazing luck. It's sure to go away now...
I returned to the squadron on 28 April, was re-united with Stackrock, and off we went that afternoon on a routine little patrol out to the coast. My ribs hadn't quite healed up from my first crash but were only mildly excruciating, and it was good to get above the ground-level stench of Flanders again. We hadn't gone far, however, before the Red Baron himself and all his Circus bounced us. It was over for us in a matter of seconds. One instant I was turning to dodge an attack and trying to give Stackrock a shot at a Hun ahead, and the next our old Fee just exploded. I have no idea what happened, but we again tumbled down end over end, this time envoloped in flames.
Many lads say they'll jump or shoot themselves to avoid burning alive, and I'd always thought the same way. However, the forces of the spin kept me so pinned down that I couldn't do either. On the plus side, though, they were also making me start to black out, so I didn't feel much of the pain this was causing my ribs, or the way the fire was eating my face off. But once again we cheated the Reaper thanks to handily placed trees, which broke our fall more or less. Stackrock and I were thrown clear, he again unharmed but I caught a large branch or two on the way to the ground. This broke my jaw and probably rebroke the ribs, but at least the impact also beat out the flames on my face.
I spent the next 20 days in hospital, fortunately not No. 17 this time, but I was too bunged up to take any notice of the fresh set of nurses. I spent most of the time chasing the dragon, and it was only a few days ago that I was able to remember what Stackrock told me during one of his visits. We had 1 other plane knocked down, with Capt. Morrison badly wounded, but Lt. Emerson managed to bring down 1 of the Huns, who was apparently a famous ace. I haven't been out here long enough to know his reputation, though. Apparently all the saved the others was the timely intervention of a flight of Camels, which arrived after we were already down.
Anyway, it wasn't until this morning that I was once again declared fit for duty and hitched a ride back to 20 Squadron, sneaking a good supply of morphine out in my kit, which proved handy during the long bounce in the springless lorry. I had a large stack of paperwork awaiting me, in which I found a confirmation for our kill of 15 April. Some good news at least, to compensate for being on a liquid diet. The food here is bad enough in its intended condition, but reaches new heights of wretchedness when reduced to slurry. I've found that adding a lot of gin to it is the only way to get it down.
Not wasting any time, Stackrock and I were sent out on the afternoon OP to Menen. We were number 4 behind Maj. Dillingham and Lts. Emerson and Byinton. This was my 1st time to actually cross the lines, and I must say that it gave me quite a feeling of dread. The ground battle was raging down below, with huge clouds of smoke, dust, and gas. The awful shelling could be felt even out our altitude.
As we went over the objective as high as our Fees could go, I noticed several Albartri coming up at us. I tried to draw the others' attention to them, because it seemed a good chance to bounce them for a change, but the others either didn't notice or considered such a course unwise, so just flew on serenely. I kept an eye on the Albatri, however, and sure enough, they followed us back towards the lines, gradually climbing up to our level and slipping in behind us. I could see now that they were the newer V-strutter type, which could manage such a chase.
I was quite concerned by this point, so I made a wide circle and came in behind the Huns, some of which had almost reached firing range on the others. They were still climbing hard and very slow, so I caught them up easily and Stackrock put some bursts into them. This made them dive away and I dursn't follow them, but made haste after the rest of the flight, who were now some miles ahead.
My maneuvers had cost me some altitude, however, and the Huns were now all nosing about behind me. They had trouble closing the range, though, and finally the lines reappeared ahead. I could see the rest of the flight was now diving towards the friendly side so I went down after them, pushing the old Fee to the very limits of her strength. As we came back over the trenches at about 3000' feet and I closed in on those ahead, I could see that they also had a Hun chasing them.
Looking back, I saw 3 behind me, who were now closing much faster than before. In fact, just before Stackrock could draw a bead on the Hun ahead, I had to break away to dodge one of those behind. I wasn't quite fast enough, though, and he put several holes through us. By the time I completed my circle, I could see that the Fees ahead weren't my lot, but actually A Flight, and one of them was going down steeply trailing black smoke. The others dove off to the west leaving me and Stackrock to face the Huns alone.
This was beginning to look ugly so I spotted an airfield and depot nearby and dove for them, hoping our archie gunners would discourage the Huns. But it was a 3-on-1 fight for a while, and our Fee absorbed quite a few bullets before the archie did its job, scaring 2 of the Huns away. Our engine was running rough and the controls were sluggish when the last Hun came at us head-on and gave us another peppering. He shot the rear gun right off the plane, which no doubt saved me from a face full of lead, but it apparently hit the prop on its way back because the Fee began to vibrate badly and I had to reduce power considerably.
Still, Stackrock had given as well as we'd taken, and the Hun wobbled away to the side before we passed. I immediately swung after him, but stalled due to our low speed and did a snap roll that nearly threw Stackrock out of the plane. Somehow, despite the shredded controls, I managed to recover just above the treetops, and there was the Hun right in front of us, a sitting duck. Stackrock lined up his sights and pulled the trigger, but only fired 3 rounds before the gun jammed. His shots were right on target, however, and again the Hun wobbled and began to trail a little steam from his radiator. He immeditately headed toward his lines with us in pursuit, but we were hurt worse than he was so he gradually pulled away. All this time, Stackrock was struggling with his gun but was unable to clear the stoppage before the Hun got out of range. We last saw him heading east low and slow, still trailing a bit of steam.
By that time, though, we had other things to worry about. I could see an airfield a couple miles ahead, but our poor old Fee was just barely hanging in the air and losing height gradually. I knew we'd never make it so I put us down in a field that was just ahead. It was one of the best landings I've ever made (according to Stackrock), especially considering I hadn't attempted one since early April.
The old Fee was in such sorry state that she was condemned and left to rot where she sat. The whole airframe was riddled and stressed, the motor shot up and overheated, one Lewis gun missing and the other with a burst gas tube and burnt-out barrel. The only thing salvaged from the plane was the pin-up photo of Mata Hari that I keep wedged under one of the instruments. But at least I had escaped unscathed for once, apart from a few tiny bits of Lewis gun stuck in my nose.
I'd best close here. It's now late in the evening; debriefing takes forever when your jaw's wired shut, and of course I then had to write all this down. It's time I slipped off into the embrace of Morpheus. But with my left hand still bandaged, I'll have to get somebody to shoot me up.
19 May 1917
20 Squadron, Somewhere in Flanders
I've been at the Front now for 34 days, 32 of which have been in hospital. I've made 3 sorties, all of which have ended in tears. I'm missing 3 fingertips, have broken several ribs twice each, my jaw's wired shut, and my eyebrows are only just beginning to grow back after being burned off last month. On top of this, I think I'm becoming addicted to morphine. I'm beginning to think I'm the luckiest man in the world, because I should by rights have been killed at least twice already. Damn, now I've done it, mentioning my amazing luck. It's sure to go away now...
I returned to the squadron on 28 April, was re-united with Stackrock, and off we went that afternoon on a routine little patrol out to the coast. My ribs hadn't quite healed up from my first crash but were only mildly excruciating, and it was good to get above the ground-level stench of Flanders again. We hadn't gone far, however, before the Red Baron himself and all his Circus bounced us. It was over for us in a matter of seconds. One instant I was turning to dodge an attack and trying to give Stackrock a shot at a Hun ahead, and the next our old Fee just exploded. I have no idea what happened, but we again tumbled down end over end, this time envoloped in flames.
Many lads say they'll jump or shoot themselves to avoid burning alive, and I'd always thought the same way. However, the forces of the spin kept me so pinned down that I couldn't do either. On the plus side, though, they were also making me start to black out, so I didn't feel much of the pain this was causing my ribs, or the way the fire was eating my face off. But once again we cheated the Reaper thanks to handily placed trees, which broke our fall more or less. Stackrock and I were thrown clear, he again unharmed but I caught a large branch or two on the way to the ground. This broke my jaw and probably rebroke the ribs, but at least the impact also beat out the flames on my face.
I spent the next 20 days in hospital, fortunately not No. 17 this time, but I was too bunged up to take any notice of the fresh set of nurses. I spent most of the time chasing the dragon, and it was only a few days ago that I was able to remember what Stackrock told me during one of his visits. We had 1 other plane knocked down, with Capt. Morrison badly wounded, but Lt. Emerson managed to bring down 1 of the Huns, who was apparently a famous ace. I haven't been out here long enough to know his reputation, though. Apparently all the saved the others was the timely intervention of a flight of Camels, which arrived after we were already down.
Anyway, it wasn't until this morning that I was once again declared fit for duty and hitched a ride back to 20 Squadron, sneaking a good supply of morphine out in my kit, which proved handy during the long bounce in the springless lorry. I had a large stack of paperwork awaiting me, in which I found a confirmation for our kill of 15 April. Some good news at least, to compensate for being on a liquid diet. The food here is bad enough in its intended condition, but reaches new heights of wretchedness when reduced to slurry. I've found that adding a lot of gin to it is the only way to get it down.
Not wasting any time, Stackrock and I were sent out on the afternoon OP to Menen. We were number 4 behind Maj. Dillingham and Lts. Emerson and Byinton. This was my 1st time to actually cross the lines, and I must say that it gave me quite a feeling of dread. The ground battle was raging down below, with huge clouds of smoke, dust, and gas. The awful shelling could be felt even out our altitude.
As we went over the objective as high as our Fees could go, I noticed several Albartri coming up at us. I tried to draw the others' attention to them, because it seemed a good chance to bounce them for a change, but the others either didn't notice or considered such a course unwise, so just flew on serenely. I kept an eye on the Albatri, however, and sure enough, they followed us back towards the lines, gradually climbing up to our level and slipping in behind us. I could see now that they were the newer V-strutter type, which could manage such a chase.
I was quite concerned by this point, so I made a wide circle and came in behind the Huns, some of which had almost reached firing range on the others. They were still climbing hard and very slow, so I caught them up easily and Stackrock put some bursts into them. This made them dive away and I dursn't follow them, but made haste after the rest of the flight, who were now some miles ahead.
My maneuvers had cost me some altitude, however, and the Huns were now all nosing about behind me. They had trouble closing the range, though, and finally the lines reappeared ahead. I could see the rest of the flight was now diving towards the friendly side so I went down after them, pushing the old Fee to the very limits of her strength. As we came back over the trenches at about 3000' feet and I closed in on those ahead, I could see that they also had a Hun chasing them.
Looking back, I saw 3 behind me, who were now closing much faster than before. In fact, just before Stackrock could draw a bead on the Hun ahead, I had to break away to dodge one of those behind. I wasn't quite fast enough, though, and he put several holes through us. By the time I completed my circle, I could see that the Fees ahead weren't my lot, but actually A Flight, and one of them was going down steeply trailing black smoke. The others dove off to the west leaving me and Stackrock to face the Huns alone.
This was beginning to look ugly so I spotted an airfield and depot nearby and dove for them, hoping our archie gunners would discourage the Huns. But it was a 3-on-1 fight for a while, and our Fee absorbed quite a few bullets before the archie did its job, scaring 2 of the Huns away. Our engine was running rough and the controls were sluggish when the last Hun came at us head-on and gave us another peppering. He shot the rear gun right off the plane, which no doubt saved me from a face full of lead, but it apparently hit the prop on its way back because the Fee began to vibrate badly and I had to reduce power considerably.
Still, Stackrock had given as well as we'd taken, and the Hun wobbled away to the side before we passed. I immediately swung after him, but stalled due to our low speed and did a snap roll that nearly threw Stackrock out of the plane. Somehow, despite the shredded controls, I managed to recover just above the treetops, and there was the Hun right in front of us, a sitting duck. Stackrock lined up his sights and pulled the trigger, but only fired 3 rounds before the gun jammed. His shots were right on target, however, and again the Hun wobbled and began to trail a little steam from his radiator. He immeditately headed toward his lines with us in pursuit, but we were hurt worse than he was so he gradually pulled away. All this time, Stackrock was struggling with his gun but was unable to clear the stoppage before the Hun got out of range. We last saw him heading east low and slow, still trailing a bit of steam.
By that time, though, we had other things to worry about. I could see an airfield a couple miles ahead, but our poor old Fee was just barely hanging in the air and losing height gradually. I knew we'd never make it so I put us down in a field that was just ahead. It was one of the best landings I've ever made (according to Stackrock), especially considering I hadn't attempted one since early April.
The old Fee was in such sorry state that she was condemned and left to rot where she sat. The whole airframe was riddled and stressed, the motor shot up and overheated, one Lewis gun missing and the other with a burst gas tube and burnt-out barrel. The only thing salvaged from the plane was the pin-up photo of Mata Hari that I keep wedged under one of the instruments. But at least I had escaped unscathed for once, apart from a few tiny bits of Lewis gun stuck in my nose.
I'd best close here. It's now late in the evening; debriefing takes forever when your jaw's wired shut, and of course I then had to write all this down. It's time I slipped off into the embrace of Morpheus. But with my left hand still bandaged, I'll have to get somebody to shoot me up.
J
James "Taffy" Jones
Guest
Excellent stories, guys! Bullethead, yours deserve special mention. Makes me feel I was right at the front! Your poor pilot has sure had a rough go so far. :tgun2:
B
Bullethead
Guest
Yeah, that poor slob. I use "death on die roll" but it really amazes me that he lived through either time being shot down. I hope he's like a cat and still has 6 or 7 lives left. He sure needs them. OTOH, he DID survive Bloody April in a Fee, even if he only managed 2 hops in the month
.
S
Siggi
Guest
Brilliant writing Bullethead!
R
Red-dog
Guest
Combat report
3 SQD RFC 4.1.15
Type: Bristoll Fighter
Arm : Lewis Gun
Pilot: 2nd Lt Wright
Base: Chocques
Flight: C 2nd Lt Wright / Lt Henderson / Cpt Hoskins /
0815 :Take off at heading for Arras on a artillery spotting mission
0848 : Arrived over the target, Hoskins trailing behind 1000 ft
0856 : heavy ground fire just S.E of Arras
0857 : Attacked by monoplane took multiple hits.
0858 : Managed to get on the tail of a EIII gave him a right old burst from the lewis put 30+ rounds into fritz.
0860 : Took more hits from unseen aircraft my controls are getting heavy
and started to lose height.
0862 : Taking fire from the ground will have to put down.
0863 : Landed just west of the lines awaiting transport back to base.
2nd Lt Wright 3 Sqd rfc
3 SQD RFC 4.1.15
Type: Bristoll Fighter
Arm : Lewis Gun
Pilot: 2nd Lt Wright
Base: Chocques
Flight: C 2nd Lt Wright / Lt Henderson / Cpt Hoskins /
0815 :Take off at heading for Arras on a artillery spotting mission
0848 : Arrived over the target, Hoskins trailing behind 1000 ft
0856 : heavy ground fire just S.E of Arras
0857 : Attacked by monoplane took multiple hits.
0858 : Managed to get on the tail of a EIII gave him a right old burst from the lewis put 30+ rounds into fritz.
0860 : Took more hits from unseen aircraft my controls are getting heavy
and started to lose height.
0862 : Taking fire from the ground will have to put down.
0863 : Landed just west of the lines awaiting transport back to base.
2nd Lt Wright 3 Sqd rfc
G
Geier
Guest
The best mission inna world!
It certainly wasn't the most succesful for my part and it certainly didn't have the most spectacular dogfight either. That last award goes (so far) to the fight between nine Jasta 5 Albatroses and twelve Pups and Camels. Instead, I felt it became an accurate portrayal of why Bloody April became known as Bloody April. Even if it was in March.
I was leading my flight of five DIII's on a photo recon op, we were on our way to target, slowly clawing our way to 10.000 feet. When we were slightly above 7.000 I spotted an enemy formation crossing our path at around 10-11.000. Four Strutter two-seaters from RNAS, probably on their way to bomb something near Douai. I started climbing even more aggressively and put our flight between them and their line of retreat. Then we slowly, gently swung around and followed them, climbing all the time. When we were slightly above the Strutters, yet well behind, I ordered Grabenhoff and Moller to attack the rear machine farthest to the right while me and Richter went for the other rear machine. We started pouring lead into our target from over 100 meters out, hoping to quickly knock out the rear gunner. I came in slightly too fast and a little too high, my craft was hit and I spun away. The engine wasn't running as smoothly as before and my guns had jammed. I ordered Richter and Huber to continue attacking ”my” machine as I waited and prayed for the gunjam to clear.
Moller had by now worked on his Strutter for some time, it started smoking and losing altitude even faster than the now diving remaining Strutters. He kept at it though and it went into a doomed dive, never to recover.
I had just managed to clear my gun when I noticed another flight coming toward us. If it were fighters, we would be in trouble as we by now were scattered around the Strutter formation.
As luck would have it, it was another flight of Strutters with two BE.2's lagging slightly behind. I decided to ignore them and dove below ”my” Strutter, raised the nose, throttled down and started firing in one second-bursts. The wingleader shot my wings full of holes and just as I broke off my targets engine started burning. I swung away, my craft now limping badly, and watched my Kette hacking away at the other two remaining bombers. Soon they were falling toward the ground, one was in flames. I looked for a place to land and set down in a field. My Albatros was a write-off and I didn't get to claim my Strutter but I didn't care. This was what the Jastas were all about, shooting down the two-seaters!
It certainly wasn't the most succesful for my part and it certainly didn't have the most spectacular dogfight either. That last award goes (so far) to the fight between nine Jasta 5 Albatroses and twelve Pups and Camels. Instead, I felt it became an accurate portrayal of why Bloody April became known as Bloody April. Even if it was in March.
I was leading my flight of five DIII's on a photo recon op, we were on our way to target, slowly clawing our way to 10.000 feet. When we were slightly above 7.000 I spotted an enemy formation crossing our path at around 10-11.000. Four Strutter two-seaters from RNAS, probably on their way to bomb something near Douai. I started climbing even more aggressively and put our flight between them and their line of retreat. Then we slowly, gently swung around and followed them, climbing all the time. When we were slightly above the Strutters, yet well behind, I ordered Grabenhoff and Moller to attack the rear machine farthest to the right while me and Richter went for the other rear machine. We started pouring lead into our target from over 100 meters out, hoping to quickly knock out the rear gunner. I came in slightly too fast and a little too high, my craft was hit and I spun away. The engine wasn't running as smoothly as before and my guns had jammed. I ordered Richter and Huber to continue attacking ”my” machine as I waited and prayed for the gunjam to clear.
Moller had by now worked on his Strutter for some time, it started smoking and losing altitude even faster than the now diving remaining Strutters. He kept at it though and it went into a doomed dive, never to recover.
I had just managed to clear my gun when I noticed another flight coming toward us. If it were fighters, we would be in trouble as we by now were scattered around the Strutter formation.
As luck would have it, it was another flight of Strutters with two BE.2's lagging slightly behind. I decided to ignore them and dove below ”my” Strutter, raised the nose, throttled down and started firing in one second-bursts. The wingleader shot my wings full of holes and just as I broke off my targets engine started burning. I swung away, my craft now limping badly, and watched my Kette hacking away at the other two remaining bombers. Soon they were falling toward the ground, one was in flames. I looked for a place to land and set down in a field. My Albatros was a write-off and I didn't get to claim my Strutter but I didn't care. This was what the Jastas were all about, shooting down the two-seaters!
Feast or Famine
I posted this separately, but thought I'd stick it in here as well. Hope nobody minds.
Stan Goble, a historical pilot and one of the first aces in a Pup, is flying out of Vert-Galant for 8 RNAS.
Late Winter, 1916
The past few days have been truly nasty weather. Rain, mist, low clouds, and did I mention rain? Buckets of it. What a mess. My fingers are constantly wet, stiff, and numb, and I almost never can see clearly out of my goggles. There have been two a day missions patrolling the front. It's a messy ride, tossing us about a fair bit, and so far, nothing to show for it. I've taken to taking pot shots at balloons and enemy aircraft parked on the sod, I'm so bored. This afternoon it looked to be more of the same. Seems like HQ realized these missions were mostly for show as they only sent two wingman in this flight with me, Luke and Frank. We headed for the front as high as we could, about 5000 feet. We were over the line, loitering, and I was about to turn for home when I spotted, far off, what looked like aircraft. We headed for them. As we neared, it looked to be two aircraft. Finally, some action. Boy, was that an understatement.
The two turned, heading back behind their lines. We followed, and almost immediately, from the right, another flight of 6 EA jumped us. Must have been behind some clouds. I recognized the markings on all the planes. They were all aces. Discretion and valor and all that....I started climbing and turned for home, gesturing for my wingmen to follow. They were scrappy lads, though, and instead turned to close with the flight of six who were only a few thousand feet away now, and about 1000 feet lower down.
So I started turning up high, trying to conserve my advantage against so many, probably superior enemy. My wingmen found themselves with two enemy each on them and headed down to the deck. As the two that singled me out kept climbing to reach me, I took quick dives and bursts and then climbed again. This looked like it might have a chance of working, and I got one of them shot up fairly good when I noticed the first two chaps returning....with some friends. Here came 8 more EA.
These were not survivable odds, so I turned for home and started climbing. I looked around and saw that one of my wingmen, Luke, was down (leaving the odds at 14 to 2). Luke has all the worse, or best, luck, depending on how you look at it. Seems to get shot down almost every flight, but he wanders back into the barracks every time so far. Beat up and the worse for wear, but ready to fly again.
Frank was still tangling it up with two EA. They were a bit off from the large group, and against my better judgment, I turned to help him. He's my fast comrade. I've come to count on him. And it's what I'd expect from him. As I did, he got a good burst into one EA and I watched it spin in and explode. Guess I'll be his witness on that one. I dove on the other and got in a burst and gestured for Frank to form up on me and headed deeper away from the lines.
Unfortunately, by then, four of the aces had caught up with me, and tracers whizzed by my ears. I lost track of Frank in the wild maneuvers following. I saw that I wasn't going to outrun these guys, so the only option was to turn and fight. Four aces against me and my Pup.
We started the dance.
I tried not to ever stick on any one, no matter how tempting the shot. I was constantly swiveling my head to keep situational awareness of all four. Luckily, two of them seemed determined to fly as a pair, lead and wingman, and they were therefore the least of my concern as long as I kept both of them from getting behind me. I turned and took any burst I could on the other two. Mostly high deflection shots, but some hit home. I lucked out and wound up right behind one of them after exiting a tight turn and put a good burst into him at close range. One down, three to go.
But I wasn't getting off scot free either. A few times I took hits and my control authority started to suffer. I couldn't roll well to the right, and had to use rudder to pick up a wing after rolling.
But, I was still fighting. The two who were paired up split up and all three came at me. I got bursts into all three at different times, but I was running out of ammo, even shooting as conservatively as possible.
Where were my buddies? We were at least 2 miles back into friendly territory, and there were airfields nearby.
I had just about crippled another of the planes, but had only a handful of bullets left, about as many as there were in my service revolver at my hip. I leveled out on the tail of the one I'd come to think of as my personal enemy. He was one of the ones that first attacked me over the line right under the thunderclouds and had followed me deep into home territory. I was preparing to spend my last ammo on one last effort to down him when one of the others got a good burst into my plane and engine. Don't know how they missed me. The engine died, but, thankfully, didn't flame. I was only about 100 feet off the deck, so I dove to treetops and broke to shake the one on my tail, and then leveled out, which was very hard to do (I was basically flying by rudder alone at this point), pointed the crate at the nearest open area wider than my wingspan and set her down, hoping that one of the three left weren't lining up on my tail ready to finish me off. When I looked around, fearing the worst, I saw three new Pups entering the area and turning to engage the remaining EA. I got my crate on the ground without a spill. And the mission ended.
I hope my boys got those other EA and taught the enemy that incursion deep behind our lines doesn't come without a very high cost.
I shot down my first ace. None of my kills have been confirmed so far. This one was witnessed. I have high hopes for confirmation. And I live to fly another day.
See you in the skies over Flanders Fields.
I posted this separately, but thought I'd stick it in here as well. Hope nobody minds.
Stan Goble, a historical pilot and one of the first aces in a Pup, is flying out of Vert-Galant for 8 RNAS.
Late Winter, 1916
The past few days have been truly nasty weather. Rain, mist, low clouds, and did I mention rain? Buckets of it. What a mess. My fingers are constantly wet, stiff, and numb, and I almost never can see clearly out of my goggles. There have been two a day missions patrolling the front. It's a messy ride, tossing us about a fair bit, and so far, nothing to show for it. I've taken to taking pot shots at balloons and enemy aircraft parked on the sod, I'm so bored. This afternoon it looked to be more of the same. Seems like HQ realized these missions were mostly for show as they only sent two wingman in this flight with me, Luke and Frank. We headed for the front as high as we could, about 5000 feet. We were over the line, loitering, and I was about to turn for home when I spotted, far off, what looked like aircraft. We headed for them. As we neared, it looked to be two aircraft. Finally, some action. Boy, was that an understatement.
The two turned, heading back behind their lines. We followed, and almost immediately, from the right, another flight of 6 EA jumped us. Must have been behind some clouds. I recognized the markings on all the planes. They were all aces. Discretion and valor and all that....I started climbing and turned for home, gesturing for my wingmen to follow. They were scrappy lads, though, and instead turned to close with the flight of six who were only a few thousand feet away now, and about 1000 feet lower down.
So I started turning up high, trying to conserve my advantage against so many, probably superior enemy. My wingmen found themselves with two enemy each on them and headed down to the deck. As the two that singled me out kept climbing to reach me, I took quick dives and bursts and then climbed again. This looked like it might have a chance of working, and I got one of them shot up fairly good when I noticed the first two chaps returning....with some friends. Here came 8 more EA.
These were not survivable odds, so I turned for home and started climbing. I looked around and saw that one of my wingmen, Luke, was down (leaving the odds at 14 to 2). Luke has all the worse, or best, luck, depending on how you look at it. Seems to get shot down almost every flight, but he wanders back into the barracks every time so far. Beat up and the worse for wear, but ready to fly again.
Frank was still tangling it up with two EA. They were a bit off from the large group, and against my better judgment, I turned to help him. He's my fast comrade. I've come to count on him. And it's what I'd expect from him. As I did, he got a good burst into one EA and I watched it spin in and explode. Guess I'll be his witness on that one. I dove on the other and got in a burst and gestured for Frank to form up on me and headed deeper away from the lines.
Unfortunately, by then, four of the aces had caught up with me, and tracers whizzed by my ears. I lost track of Frank in the wild maneuvers following. I saw that I wasn't going to outrun these guys, so the only option was to turn and fight. Four aces against me and my Pup.
We started the dance.
I tried not to ever stick on any one, no matter how tempting the shot. I was constantly swiveling my head to keep situational awareness of all four. Luckily, two of them seemed determined to fly as a pair, lead and wingman, and they were therefore the least of my concern as long as I kept both of them from getting behind me. I turned and took any burst I could on the other two. Mostly high deflection shots, but some hit home. I lucked out and wound up right behind one of them after exiting a tight turn and put a good burst into him at close range. One down, three to go.
But I wasn't getting off scot free either. A few times I took hits and my control authority started to suffer. I couldn't roll well to the right, and had to use rudder to pick up a wing after rolling.
But, I was still fighting. The two who were paired up split up and all three came at me. I got bursts into all three at different times, but I was running out of ammo, even shooting as conservatively as possible.
Where were my buddies? We were at least 2 miles back into friendly territory, and there were airfields nearby.
I had just about crippled another of the planes, but had only a handful of bullets left, about as many as there were in my service revolver at my hip. I leveled out on the tail of the one I'd come to think of as my personal enemy. He was one of the ones that first attacked me over the line right under the thunderclouds and had followed me deep into home territory. I was preparing to spend my last ammo on one last effort to down him when one of the others got a good burst into my plane and engine. Don't know how they missed me. The engine died, but, thankfully, didn't flame. I was only about 100 feet off the deck, so I dove to treetops and broke to shake the one on my tail, and then leveled out, which was very hard to do (I was basically flying by rudder alone at this point), pointed the crate at the nearest open area wider than my wingspan and set her down, hoping that one of the three left weren't lining up on my tail ready to finish me off. When I looked around, fearing the worst, I saw three new Pups entering the area and turning to engage the remaining EA. I got my crate on the ground without a spill. And the mission ended.
I hope my boys got those other EA and taught the enemy that incursion deep behind our lines doesn't come without a very high cost.
I shot down my first ace. None of my kills have been confirmed so far. This one was witnessed. I have high hopes for confirmation. And I live to fly another day.
See you in the skies over Flanders Fields.
stumpjumper1
Charter Member
game is up
join doves and hawks for some dogfighting in the alps no etra files needed ip is 96.28.75.87 useing the outlaw off team spe ck
join doves and hawks for some dogfighting in the alps no etra files needed ip is 96.28.75.87 useing the outlaw off team spe ck