War Log of 2nd Lt Alfred Williams.

4th Jan 18.
Flez.
RFC-54.

One incredible day followed by another. Three kills today that the Adj has told me not to even bother claiming. Firstly both other members of my flight became lost on me and secondly all three hun kites were taking fire from the troops they were strafing, so they will claim the kills for themselves and refuse to confirm me. And there may be an element of truth in all that, because who can know who actually delivered a fatal shot?

None the less I did engage all three of them, at close range, poured fire into them and watched them go into the ground. One after the other, all within a mile of each other. I believe they were Pfalz DIIIs, same colour as the first one I shot some weeks ago, dark green on the upper surfaces and pale grey or blue on the lower. They must have been flown by complete novices because they took hardly any evasive action at all. Gentle banks left and right, it was butchery. But they were shooting our chaps on the ground, so it had to be done.

Sgt Stevenson is still missing, as is Rodland. A steady toll.
 
Adj has just popped in to see me, and in his best laconical drawl has informed me "You now have your own flight old boy. Congrats and all that."

Well, hurrah. I think. We'll be doing a better job of avoiding Archie from now on, at least.
 
Urgent Telegram

Victoria Barracks 69 7/7 12:40 AF Section 5 9

Br89 officially reports that 2nd Lt. A. S. Williams 54 Squadron RFC killed in action 4th january 1918. Please inform family and convey deep regret and sympathy of their Majesties the King and Queen and Commonwealth Government in loss that they and Royal Flying Corp have sustained by death. Reply paid.

Col Biggins. 1 5H

At approx 8000ft while escorting bombers A. Williams and flight engaged Fokker DVIIs. Williams was seen to fire upon one DVII and subsequently collided with it and fell to the ground out of control. Died of injuries sustained.
 
My condolences also, two sons they've lost now.

At least Alfred evened the score a little, not that it is any real consolation.
 
15th Jan 18.
Flez.
RFC-54.

It would appear rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.

After clipping a hun scout I went down from 8000ft out of control and barely managed to get the old girl back in hand before ploughing a furrow into a cratered meadow a couple of miles behind the enemy's front line. After climbing out from the wreck and taking a good hard hit on the old flask while I tried to steady my legs I started planning my escape. I knew the hun would have seen me come down and would be along shortly to collar the booty, dead or alive. And if nothing to be found they'd alert the entire sector and be after me in numbers. So, a cunning plan...

The churned up ground around me was alive with corpses, if you'll excuse me the pun, in various states of repair and decomposition. I found one that wasn't too rank and slipped my identity tags around the poor fellow's neck, dragged him into the cockpit of my kite and set the whole bally lot on fire with my Verey pistol. Then made off like a hare into the trees and laid low for a couple of days. Shame my family had to get the telegram before I'd made my way back over the line, but needs must and all that. It clearly worked because there wasn't a soul out looking for me and our chaps must have been notified by theirs otherwise they wouldn't have known to send the blasted telegram. Poor mater, she must have had a proper turn. I've sent a telegram of my own, I'm sure she'll understand. And be too pleased I'm still here to be very much angry with me. Pater will say "jolly good show old chap".

I've been given a week's leave to recover, so I'm off to do just that. Then it'll be back to the wicket for some more swipes at the bally old hun. Pip pip!
 
Signing up, got adicted to this read while my dvd is on its way.
Carry on and thanks for sharing, Siggi. :)
 
25th Jan 18.
Flez.
RFC-54.

I've been given 14 days leave. The last few days have been non-stop flying. My last two claims were rejected but I got another hun yesterday, bits of whom brought me to the ground with a black eye and fractured cheek-bone. Don't know who they were yet, the adj is on the case, but they had all-black bodies with yellow tails and were pretty whizzo.

Those tinkers up at HQ need a rocket up their tails, my two rejected claims were clearly witnessed by numerous bods on the ground and fell within walking distance of our own shop. What do they need, the blasted hun's heads in a bally basket?! So my official tally is two kills, actual kills stand at eight. It's really not cricket, is it. Sack the rotten umpire I say. Still, it all goes towards balancing the slate for Sidders. But I'm going to put in a formal complaint. Desk-bound rotters don't know what we have to go through up here at the sharp end.

Had a letter from Pater, he says I've been written-up in the local press. Small pond, small fish, any good news is big news there. Sent a bottle of good brandy too, bless his heart. Mater is a nervous wreck unfortunately, but I'll be going home for my leave which should put her in good sorts. Hope the black eye doesn't send her off on one again.
 
13th Feb 18.
Flez.
RFC-54.

Sometimes the experiences one has are beyond one's capabilities to fully describe. Especially when they follow one another in such short order as they do in this war in the air.

Yesterday we were given the task of patrolling behind our lines, up between Albert and Cambrai. Most of the snow has gone and it was a clear and sunny day. We got up to around 4000ft and about 30 minutes into the flight we spotted a bunch of kites cavorting around on the hun's side of the lines. Had a look and it was a bunch of Brisfits beating up a balloon. As we turned back on course I spotted four kites way up above us at about 8000ft, coming over from the hun side into ours. I let them get past, then went up behind them in a gradual climb. It took us about ten minutes to get close to their altitude, but before we could then start to close the gap they went into a shallow dive. We followed them down and got to around 140mph before they levelled off at around 1000ft and carried on their way. They hadn't spotted us at that point and we were closing on them fast. I signalled the other three chaps to attack the ones on the left and singled out the one on the far right. All four of them had the standard losenge camouflage but with pale yellow tails.

At around 500ft range they spotted us and split left and right, mine going up right, the other three going down left. I kept with mine and gave him a deflection-shot at around 300ft range. Saw hits and he went over right and pulled under me. I chased him around but he was good and he lost me momentarily. I picked him up again, going flat-out in the opposite direction and I went after him. Caught him up and there ensued a veritable ballet. I kept getting short bursts into him and eventually they told and he went into the ground under full throttle and exploded into a thousand pieces.

I levelled out and had a look around to see how the other chaps were doing. Saw another DVII go tearing past with Waldgrave chasing him and spraying wild bursts all around him and I took off after him. Waldgrave was all over the place and I had to contend with his jinks as well as the hun's. Finally got a good long burst into him and he went down.

At some point during all this I'd taken a burst from somewhere, but nothing critical seemed to have been hit.

I now found a third DVII, coming over me about 300ft higher up and going like the blazes. Turned and climbed hard and got a short burst at his nose. We got into a tangle and I swear the chap was trying to ram me. Every time I tried to make a pass at him he turned hard into me and I was barely able to avoid him. Until the final time he did it and his top wing smashed into my wheels with an almighty bang. The controls went all mushy for a few long seconds and that was enough for me. He went scarpering in one direction and I headed immediately for the nearest aerodrome, which fortunately wasn't more than about half a mile away.

I flew over the once, hoping the chaps would be out in force to watch our ding-dong and would signal me as to the state of my wheels. I got enough gesticulations to know all was not well. Came in very slow and easy, cut the engine just before touch-down and let the kite settle, hoping for the best. For a moment I thought all was well but then the old bird settled down onto the left wing and we described a big curve across the lawn. If they've been playing golf on it they're buggered.

I sat in the silence for a few moments as the hordes came galloping towards me, then they helped pull me out. Thank god they did, I could barely stand. Somebody shoved a bottle into my hand and I took a fearsome chug on it.

And that was that. The bedlam of congratulations, noise, questions, the haven of the officers mess.

Got back to the shop today, to be told Edith, my best friend here at 54, is missing. The highs and the lows. Two new claims submitted, last one confirmed, best pal gone god only knows where. We are so often between heaven and hell.
 
14th Feb 18.
Flez.
RFC-54.

Bounced by two Albatross on the way to attack ground positions on the line. Captain Sellick had to break off after having his engine hit. I took a few rounds through a wing but managed to get on the blighter's tail and pour it into him. He went down in a long shallow dive, hit the ground and bounced once, then hit again and disintegrated in a ball of flames.

I turned back and saw the new boy, Captain Norris, mixing it up with the remaining hun. No way I was going to put myself into that particular scrum so I settled down to watch. My how they twisted and turned. Norris was getting the occasional hits on him but it went on and on. Then the hun managed to reverse the positions, so I swooped in and drove him off, then got above them again. After a couple more minutes the hun was looking to be pretty much finished and went level at about 100ft for the lines. I dived in and gave him one long burst for good measure and shortly after that he ploughed into a copse and broke up. I'm leaving the claim for that one to Norris, he earned it.

At this point, low on ammo, I decided to make for home. We weren't much more than about ten miles out. Then I spotted three hun 2-seaters scudding along on the deck and thought I'd have a sniff. Three MGs opened up in short order and I thought better of it from that angle, the bally bullets were whazzing all around my ears. So I pulled well ahead of them, almost over the lines at that point, and tried a head-on attack. Got a couple of hits on one of them, then got a good plastering as I went past. Something broke because the left wings started wanting to drop. Made it to the nearest aerodrome, about a mile away, and managed to get the kite in with plenty of rudder opposite to the aileron. A bit hairy.

So, another hun in the pot and a free lunch in another foreign mess.
 
Was alarmed when I thought Alfred had bought it, now I'm worried about Edith! This is such good stuff! :jump:
 
14th Feb 18. PM.
Flez.
RFC-54.

I'm not sure how much more I can take. Every time I walk out to the kite I feel physically sick. Am I a coward?

Today we were engaged by at least seven Albatross scouts, yellow tails and not new to the wicket. Three of us. We got into it and I brought one down, saw him shatter on the ground. But I took some serious hits myself and the kite felt badly wrong. I dived and jinked and more bullets came flying past me. More hits, the sound like death in my ears, waiting for the savage pain in my body or the kite to suddenly lose a wing, come apart.

I flattened out just above the deck, skidding left and right with bootfuls of rudder, feeling the kite mushy on the stick. I looked behind and there the ******* was, setting himself up for another burst. A river appeared ahead and I flew low down over it, so low I was between the trees lining it. Thinking if I got low enough the hun wouldn't be able to get a clear shot, unless he wanted to risk what I was prepared to risk, ploughing into the water at over 100mph. But he knew his stuff. Shallow dives, take a shot, pull up and repeat. Not particularly accurate but a few hits each time and I knew my goose was cooked if I didn't get out of there soon.

I yanked up and hard right over the trees lining the bank as a forest went past, or as hard as I dared with the kite damaged so badly. She responded reasonably well, but I could feel the stall lurking through the shudder of the stick. So I went, tight against the trees, thinking that if I kept close and went around the forest the hun really would be buggered, having no way to turn inside me for a deflection shot. I must have gone around twice, it was more a woods than a forest, coming back over the river that many times, constantly looking back until I could see him no longer. Then it occurred to me that just maybe I was catching him now. The idea was intoxicating, to suddenly go from the mind of the hunted back to that of the hunter.

I pulled the turn up and right to go over the roof of the woods and there he was, still chasing around the perimeter. I came out on his right rear quarter and gave him a high-deflection burst from about 500ft. Completely missed, but now he flattened out and went into a shallow climb. "I've got you, you *******!" I thought, and then there were more bullets hitting my kite from behind. Two of them! I punted the nose down desperately and skidded right, anything to get out of the hail of lead, and tried to pull up against the edge of the woods again, but the old bird wasn't having it. It was all I could do now to keep her level. Some part of my mind was screaming at me, "don't be up here, don't be going at 100mph, be down there on the ground where it's safe...!" Not panic, the voice was locked up tight in a small room in the back of my head, where it couldn't get out and go running amok through the rest of the house, wrecking the furniture and smashing ornaments.

But enough was enough. As more bullets smashed into the kite I cut the engine and slammed her down onto the ground. There were trees not that far away in front but I didn't care, I just wanted it finished. The kite hit hard and buckled, but seemed to be level and straight. Then the view in front of me filled with flames...I was IN the flames...the kite rolled right, the wings on that side snapping and tearing away and the bumping and shaking and slamming and horrific noise, knocking the breath out of me and spinning my head. Then silence, no flames and desperately clawing at my harness, scrabbling out and running, hard, for the woods. No pain, just the cold sweet air pumping into my lungs as I ran from the horror behind me. Alive, still alive!

So, I found a log, put up my feet, pulled out the old flask and lit up a bally coffin-nail. Then "YOU *******S! GO ON...YOU *******S!!!" Screaming at the hun as they circled and then flew leisurely away. One of the cheeky buggers even gave me a wave. Would he have let me be if I'd chosen to land even earlier? The thought had crossed my mind, repeatedly, but the age of chivalry in this war is no longer a guaranteed thing and I hadn't been prepared to bet my life on it.

I sat there for ages, smoking and drinking until I was quite cut. I thought about the chap I'd put into the ground earlier, and wondered if he'd gone through what I'd just gone through before the life was smashed out of him by the ground. Then I staggered all the way to the aerodrome we'd been fighting over initially, a couple of miles away, shouting and singing and kicking up an awful row all the way. Crashed straight into their mess and demanded more liquor until their chaps settled me down.

They drove me back and Edith is still missing, now officially MIA. He's gone, for good, lying in a woods or at the bottom of a water-filled crater somewhere. This foul bloody war.
 
15th Feb 18.
Flez.
RFC-54.

Morning patrol at just gone 10am, our flight of four was bounced by a single DVII, all-losenge pattern. I got onto his tail and started to give him the old ding-dong, but then so did the rest of the chaps so I got well out of it. Lucky I did, because right at that moment a group of all-silver Pfalzs with yellow tails tore through the lot of us and the whole shebang turned into one big dance.

I got one separated and put him down in rather short order, picked up a second and put paid to him too. I was about to finish a third when one of his pals gave me a rude shock and chased me off. Got into a scrap with him, then the damaged fellow thought he'd try his luck again. Fortunately the whole shower of them were pretty poor pilots and even with my kite shot up and a bit slow on the stick I was able to stay clear and get the occasional burst into one or the other of them. I ran out of ammunition eventually and left them both smoking. Got back to the shop without further incident. Cpt Norris got one of the buggers too, no losses to us though Wibert from the other flight hasn't returned and Jefferson picked up a round. Doc says he'll be right as rain in a couple of weeks.
 
15th Feb 18. PM.
Flez.
RFC-54.

Hun 2-seater for late lunch. Set the poor bugger on fire, but it took a few passes and he beat me up rather well too. The plucky chap in the back was firing all the way down. They hit a tree and pieces went all over the place, not sure if he could have got out of that alive but I hope he did.

The old crate collapsed on landing and she's a write-off. Sprained my ankle pretty badly so I'm off flying for a couple of weeks. The doc says it takes that long due to the amount of strain the rudder puts on the ankles, and if they're not allowed to heal properly they can be damaged for good. Suits me, there'll be lots of time to enjoy in Vermand.

Footnote: I've just got through giving Sgt Richard a good fizzing. We tangled with the chaps in the silver Pfalzs again after the 2-seater had gone down, the ones with the yellow tails, and I was well on my way to bagging one of them when Richard came galloping in and completely queered my pitch. Absolutely not on and I won't stand for it.
 
5th Mar. 18.
Flez.
RFC-54.

Big push on.
First flight after my time off with the gammy ankle, had an Albatross get behind me and rip my tail up pretty good. There were kites everywhere, at least twenty of them, and I didn't get so much as a single round off. Luckily I was able to get clear of the scrum without anyone noticing, then an all-blue Albatross with black markings went tearing over my head with a Camel in hot pursuit. I managed to get one burst off at him but I don't know if I hit anything. I was in no state to give chase so I left them to it and carried on back to the shop.

After I'd landed the adj called me in to his office, with a very pleased look on his face, and informed me five of my eight pending claims have been confirmed (three rejected). That puts me on eight and makes me officially an ace. And the cherry on the cake, I've also been awarded the DSO! Pater will be so pleased, and I know Sidders would be too.

So, big party in the mess tonight. I'm going to get absolutely smashed! Pip pip!
 
Well, 'grats to Alfred, Siggi, but unless I'm mistaken that's a bally DFC not a DSO. Llewellyn Rhys just got his, too.

Great write-up, as always. :applause:

[I hope other people are reading our stuff or it'll risk turning into some kind of Mutual Appreciation Society. :icon_lol: ]
 
Good stuff lads. One of but many reasons why this forum is so unique among WW1 aviation nutters and why it's always good to drop in to laugh and learn. Keep 'em coming.
 
Great Reading

I love a good story. Pics are great but this is some real talent and much appreciated. Thanks
 
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