G
Geier
Guest
Unlucky 13
Day Five – February 25th 1917 - Marne Front
Offizierstellvertreter Geier cursed his luck. His first four days at the squadron had been spent grounded due to weather. Indoors, eating, drinking and doing the silly gymnastics the CO insisted all pilots must do every other day. Made wonders for the lungs apparently. Or was it the heart? It didn't matter. What did matter, however, was getting out of the trenches. He was not going back there, ever again. Even if right now, at this particular moment in time, being back at the front getting shelled or flying through this heavy sleet and wind seemed about equally suicidal. What had he expected with a Jagdstaffel designated as No 13. “Unlucky Thirteeen.”
He wiped his goggles for the thousandth time and looked behind him. They were still there, all four of them. To the right – the Halberstadt bomber lumbered along. Geier wasn't really sure if it was the one he was supposed to be escorting or not. It was going in the right direction and seemed to be heading for the designated target, he knew that and that was good enough for him. There had been two two-seaters when he first spotted them but where the other had gone he had no idea – nor did he care. He had been busy getting his Albatros and his flight up to a higher altitude and then just focused on the two-seater he could see. Close formation escort was what had been ordered and that was what they were going to get from Jasta 13. He checked the map again. He was good at maps. Being good at maps was what had kept him alive in the trenches and it served him well in the air as well. From up here it was easy. Well, normally. Nothing concerning flying in this weather could be considered easy. The wind threw the aircraft off course all the time and the heavy sleet made it impossible to read the instruments half the time.
He was over the target. His knees hurt. His face and his arms were numb. He was too bloody tall to be a pilot, all the instructors and other assorted desk-officers had kept saying at flight school, but he had shut them up with solid, safe flying and doing close to perfect landings. His one-armed instructor had been big on landings and had recommended him for scouts. Geier hunched over even more and put the Albatros in a two wide lazy turns that put his flight pointing back towards home base. The two-seater was ahead and Geier wondered whether he had hit anything on the ground or if the wind had thrown the bombs off the mark. He quickly decided that he didn't care about that either, one way or the other.
He was going to get himself and his flight back to base, others could worry about the rest.
Two specks were crossing the path of the Halberstadt ahead. Geier opened up the throttle and crept closer. They were over No Mans Land, the specks were now at his ten o'clock and blinked on and off through the steely clouds. Whether they were friendly or French he couldn't say, but as long as they didn't come back he decided that he didn't care about that either. His flight was still intact, reasonably in formation and he wanted to shut his eyes and sleep. But he didn't. Not yet.
He set his boat down at home base, was helped out of the cockpit by the ground crew and found that his legs didn't work. Klein and another mechanic dragged him inside. All flights canceled for the day. They had a few shots of cognac – vile stuff, but it did the trick. Oberleutnant Wuhlich was reported missing. No one had seen him go down. Geier fell asleep on his bunk under three blankets with most of his clothes on. He had lived to fly another day.
Day Five – February 25th 1917 - Marne Front
Offizierstellvertreter Geier cursed his luck. His first four days at the squadron had been spent grounded due to weather. Indoors, eating, drinking and doing the silly gymnastics the CO insisted all pilots must do every other day. Made wonders for the lungs apparently. Or was it the heart? It didn't matter. What did matter, however, was getting out of the trenches. He was not going back there, ever again. Even if right now, at this particular moment in time, being back at the front getting shelled or flying through this heavy sleet and wind seemed about equally suicidal. What had he expected with a Jagdstaffel designated as No 13. “Unlucky Thirteeen.”
He wiped his goggles for the thousandth time and looked behind him. They were still there, all four of them. To the right – the Halberstadt bomber lumbered along. Geier wasn't really sure if it was the one he was supposed to be escorting or not. It was going in the right direction and seemed to be heading for the designated target, he knew that and that was good enough for him. There had been two two-seaters when he first spotted them but where the other had gone he had no idea – nor did he care. He had been busy getting his Albatros and his flight up to a higher altitude and then just focused on the two-seater he could see. Close formation escort was what had been ordered and that was what they were going to get from Jasta 13. He checked the map again. He was good at maps. Being good at maps was what had kept him alive in the trenches and it served him well in the air as well. From up here it was easy. Well, normally. Nothing concerning flying in this weather could be considered easy. The wind threw the aircraft off course all the time and the heavy sleet made it impossible to read the instruments half the time.
He was over the target. His knees hurt. His face and his arms were numb. He was too bloody tall to be a pilot, all the instructors and other assorted desk-officers had kept saying at flight school, but he had shut them up with solid, safe flying and doing close to perfect landings. His one-armed instructor had been big on landings and had recommended him for scouts. Geier hunched over even more and put the Albatros in a two wide lazy turns that put his flight pointing back towards home base. The two-seater was ahead and Geier wondered whether he had hit anything on the ground or if the wind had thrown the bombs off the mark. He quickly decided that he didn't care about that either, one way or the other.
He was going to get himself and his flight back to base, others could worry about the rest.
Two specks were crossing the path of the Halberstadt ahead. Geier opened up the throttle and crept closer. They were over No Mans Land, the specks were now at his ten o'clock and blinked on and off through the steely clouds. Whether they were friendly or French he couldn't say, but as long as they didn't come back he decided that he didn't care about that either. His flight was still intact, reasonably in formation and he wanted to shut his eyes and sleep. But he didn't. Not yet.
He set his boat down at home base, was helped out of the cockpit by the ground crew and found that his legs didn't work. Klein and another mechanic dragged him inside. All flights canceled for the day. They had a few shots of cognac – vile stuff, but it did the trick. Oberleutnant Wuhlich was reported missing. No one had seen him go down. Geier fell asleep on his bunk under three blankets with most of his clothes on. He had lived to fly another day.
