War Log of 2nd Lt Alfred Williams.

Thanks chaps! :) Oops! Yes, a DFC indeed. Bloody adj, I'm sure he was sozzled again.

21st Mar. 18.
Champien.
RFC-54.

It's all been happening these last couple of weeks. My ankle gave out again a couple of weeks ago and I was ordered back onto light duties (no flying) after ground-looping my kite. Then the weather closed in and all flying was called off. Next thing we know the bally hun has got within spitting distance of the shop and we're ordered to skedaddle to a new one. We could see the smoke from the front it had come that close!

I made sure my ankle was good and strapped and off we went, into freezing cold driving rain. Didn't think there'd be much else up but the situation on the front is critical and we saw lots of our kites heading in. Operation Michael they're calling it. We weren't far from the new shop when we came across a large flight of silver Pfalzs, all silver again but this bunch had diagonal stripes on their top wings. We got into it and it turned into a right old scrap. I took hits from at least four of them but managed to put three down. Would have been four but I was chased off one of them by his pal after giving him a seriously sound thrashing. I'm not sure he would have made it home, but no claim for him. The kite didn't seem to be affected but she's full of holes. Starting to look a bit like a patchwork quilt in fact.

Haven't had a chance to look the new place over yet, but seems to be more of the same. Plenty of wood around though, so we're nice and warm in the billets. Had a letter from Pater, they've written me up big style in the local press and he's stopped repeatedly in the street by well wishers. He's told me to expect fan letters too. Won't that be a wheeze!

I hope our boys can hold the line. Things are looking serious, which means more ground-work for us. I absolutely loathe attacking ground targets, the chances of copping it from ground-fire are very high at that level. One run is usually all I'll give it, then scarper before the buggers wake up and start giving it back. Nicer weather would be jolly welcome too, flying in this muck is a dreadful strain.
 
22nd Mar. 18.
Champien.
RFC-54.

We were flying a long patrol this morning, quite far behind our own lines, four of us, driving rain, dark grey sky and clouds. Who's that up there, about 4000ft higher? Began climbing to take a look...oh, triplanes! First time I've come across them. I was more curious than anything. We're coming up on their left rear quarter, they're flying in a straight line, so possible bounce on the buggers. Hang on...that's a lot of colour...oh my god...the one up front is red...it can't be...it is!

The Red Baron, with five of his pals, dressed up like a bally circus act. And he spotted us, came screaming straight down on his own, his flight turning and diving to follow. I waved the chaps in, said a prayer, and waited for the right moment to try and pull around on the Baron as he went past. I thought he'd pull up as I turned and dived down after him, but he didn't, he carried on down, rolling as he went, and left me standing. I went after him and he pulled up with about a 1000ft to spare. It was all the kite could do to keep him in sight as I pulled after him at about 140mph. I got a burst off at him as I overshot, saw a couple of hits, then I was pulling up and clear again. Then I took hits, one of his bloody wingmen on my tail, bright yellow tail, lots of green and red. Already! I went into a tight turn and threw him off, then spotted the Baron again. My lord, what a magnificent looking machine though!

I checked behind, had a good angle on the chap behind me, so I went for the Baron again. He pulled a very tight turn but I managed to get inside him, heart absolutely pounding with god only knows what...excitement? Fear? Both probably. I let loose with a long burst, lots of deflection, saw hits all over him. Then I was hit again from behind, badly this time. The kite lurched and fell awkwardly, got her level and under some sort of control, more hits from behind. And right underneath me one of our own fields. Providence calling loudly. I punted the nose down hard and dived straight at it, levelled out at about 50ft, cut the engine and pushed the old girl down. I pulled up in front of a hangar with about 20ft to spare.

Writing this in their mess on paper they've given me, while it's all still fresh in my mind. God only knows what's happened to the other chaps. I could have had the bugger, if only I'd had a few more seconds clear!

I have to organize transport back to the shop, my kite is grounded. I fancy a car I think.
 
17th May 1918.
Stalag Luft 14

Collided with a bally triplane, a humbug-striped fellow with yellow wings, came down amongst the trenches, broken leg, couldn't move, blighters collared me!

Oh well, at least I've survived the war. Wonder if my fan letters will catch up to me here.
 
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