Mission Tales & Advice

Thought I’d share an outstanding mission based on a flyable 2-seater campaign. As background, this is on my home brew patch, which is the source of the Moving Front Patch addition. In my patch I have added flyable 2-seater squadrons using Pat’s neat trick. I have a career running in one of my three R.F.C squadrons that has flyable 2-seaters, 5 R.F.C (Gunbus, then B.E. 2). My pilot has managed to stay alive but has had a rough time of it. He joined 5 R.F.C. in April 1916, has met German scouts about four times, each time with nasty results. Late April: Observer killed and machine crash landed after attack by Fokkers, lead by Max

Immelmann. Mid-May: pilot and new observer wounded, but managed to land safely in friendly territory; pilot on sick leave for two weeks. Early August: observer killed, BE shot up but landed safely in British front lines after attack by Halberstadts (CO shot down and killed in a second BE). Late August; pilot wounded, observer killed in attack by Halberstadts but again made it to safety; sick leave for a week.

With new observer, took off from Marieux with CO (Maj. Paige and his observer) and a third BE (2/Lt McCartney

and his observer) to bomb German troop positions SE of Arras. It was a hazy early morning and the view ahead was very glary, so visibility was poor in that direction. We reached the German position and I saw the CO start releasing his bombs. I slid into position behind him and five seconds later released mine. The bombs seemed to fall right on target. As we began out turn back we were jumped by three Halberstadt scouts diving from the southeast out of the glare. After the first attack we were forced to maneuver

individually in order to get the best vantage for our observers to return fire, and each BE found itself in a fight with one of the Halberstadts.

My new observer, 2Lt Mullen was 18 and very green and I feared we were in a terrible situation. After ‘our’ Halberstadt had made its first pass and was coming in again, I banked the machine hard over and turned

to let Mullen fire, and the boy did well. I saw his

tracers go right at the Hun who rolled out of the way, leaving some puffs of smoke. I immediately turned the BE west and went into a shallow dive on full throttle, trying to get some way towards home before the Halberstadt caught up again. He did, very quickly, and his fire hit the BE, but mercifully without hitting anything vital. Again, I turned sharply towards the Hun and Mullen made some good shooting again, forcing the Hun to sheer off. Unfortunately we were now pretty low over no man's land, and I

could no longer dive to get away. I tried to use the BE’s slowness to keep turning away from the Hun, but the BE is so unwieldy that he nearly always hit us with some shots. I suppose I withstood three or four of these episodes, the Hun diving in after an Immelman turn, opening fire, and me trying to slip the BE out of the way. Each time, Mullen fired a burst or two, and I’m sure he was also scoring some hits. He was very cool in the crisis. After perhaps the fourth turn as the Hun rushed by I was surprised to see a second machine rush past me following the Hun, and, glory be! he was shooting at him! Another BE – what a brave fool! But then I saw the dumb-bell marking on the fuselage and realized it was one of 19 squadron’s BE 12 scouts. Bigger engine than my BE

2 and with a forward-firing Vickers.

Now that the Hun had someone to distract him I shot away west as fast as I could. The Hun was determined, however, and simply flew away from the BE 12 and came at me again. His shots hit the engine this time and a stream of oil began to leak back over the cowling. I had turned of course and the Hun in following the turn allowed my guardian angel in the BE 12 to catch up and fire at the Halberstadt. I again fled west, and this time as we looked back we could see that the Hun had decided he had to deal with the BE 12, the two of them circling low over our lines. Then we saw the Halbersatdt suddenly straighten up and start to glide down! Sure enough he was out of the fight and the last thing we saw as we crossed our rear trenches was the German machine making a landing in our lines. Meanwhile I had found a fairly flat field. I

switched off the labouring engine and glided down, and made a rough and ready landing. The BE was shot about, and the engine presumably a write-off, but she looked like she’d fly again. We climbed out and I clapped young Mullen on the shoulder. He looked pretty white-faced, but he was thrilled at having given a good account of himself. I’m sure we would have gone west had he not been able to blunt so many of the German’s attacks.

Later in the day we were back at the mess having given our reports. Maj. Paige had given his Hun the slip. McCartney had been shot down into our lines but he was only slightly wounded and his observer unscathed. Word came through that our Halberstadt pilot had been captured. He’d been severely wounded but there was much excitement when it was learned that he was none

other than Captain Boelcke, the leading Hun ace and commander of their new crack chaser squadron. There was a fight over who should get the credit, because some of our ground gunners were firing as well as the BE 12 pilot. We weren’t included of course, but I’ll bet that Mullen’s shooting must have knocked a bit of the fight out of that Halberstadt. Boelcke! Mullen and I realized just how lucky we had been! The CO’s given us permission to borrow the Crossley and we’ll head into Doullens tonight. Phoned up 19 squadron at Fienvillers and found out who our guardian angel was. We’re standing him a steak dinner tonight at Chez Bibron on the Rue des Colombiers; seems the least we can do.

Historical note: Subsequent investigation and Boelcke’s own testimony revealed that the bullet wound that had put him out of the fight had been fired from the ground.

I was blown away by the twists and turns of this mission. First, I hit the target with my bombs, very hard to do (knocked out a truck). Second, I managed to survive a series of attacks by a scout. Most of the time in flying B.E.s I’ve been disabled after only a few attacks. Third, my ‘otto’ observer shot straight, and really helped keep the Hun at bay. Fourth the surprise rescue; a BE 12 isn’t much of a fighter, but the distraction was vital and at the time I was regretting that my campaign pilot, who had been through so much, was about to meet his end. Fifth, the Hun ended up losing the fight. And sixth--he was an ace!

My message is try the WFP 6.5 (with or without the Moving Front Patch) and try a 2-seater campaign. It really can bring some white-knuckle experiences.

This was a career mission, based on a trial I did, inserting the Morane-Saulnier AI into the game (my home brew) using Blackjack’s old model. FM based on the Nieuport 28 (GB), with a modified Zinteck DM to allow for the missing lower wing. MissGen used. Haven’t kept this career going, but here’s the first Morane mission.

From the diary of Lt Rafinesque. Sgt Charles Rafinesque transferred from the infantry to the Aeronautique Militaire in early 1917 and was sent to escadrille N 48, with which he flew until the end of the year. He was promoted to Lieutenant in early December and posted to form a new unit, N 158. Shortly after forming, this escadrille was selected as one of three to receive the new Morane Saulnier AI. Lt Rafinesque kept a journal, a remarkable document that has only recently come to light, thanks to the generosity of his grand daughter, Mme Amelie Sammut. As well as the written accounts of his experiences, it is accompanied by scores of pastel artworks, many depicting scenes of air combat, including many of his own aerial fights. The pastels were meticulously cared for, each separated by a layer of tissue paper, and most with a neat, hand-written label in the top left corner. The following excerpt has been chosen because of its historic value in recording possibly the first aerial victories scored by the briefly-used Morane-Saulnier fighter, but also because it appears to have been the source of at least four of Rafinesque’s artworks. These are presented as they were no doubt intended, as an accompaniment to the text.

We have now spent 10 days or so familiarising ourselves on our lively new mounts and are ready to see what the Boche thinks of them. So this afternoon, in gloomy but flyable conditions,

I lead five of my comrades from our aerodrome at Bonneuil to patrol the Saint-Quentin area.

After 20 minutes we are flying south from Saint-Quentin at about 3000 metres when I see two specks in front of us, a little higher and still some kilometres away. I lead the patrol towards them, climbing steadily. The specks acquire shape and I identify them as Albatrosses, apparently on a protective patrol above the Somme bridge now approaching below. They start to climb away as we approach but they have left their departure too late – perhaps they didn’t expect an enemy approaching from the ‘friendly’ north.

We close and it’s every man for himself. I see one of the two slipping away to get above us. I

follow him and he turns back and down, flashing past in a dive. He has made a mistake that will cost him. My time with N48 and the dashing Turenne taught me that an advantage must be seized or the enemy soon has you in his sights! I cut across his turn and am on his tail. My opponent is flying a smart looking machine with multicoloured fabric on his wings and a neat black and white stripe along the fuselage. I see tracers from his guns as the enemy fires at a Morane that swerves aside. Then I am in range and send a burst after him. The Albatross half rolls and dives away with me in pursuit, along with two or three other Moranes trailing in my wake. He pulls up and makes a renversement, shaking me briefly, and then I see him again below me, coming out of a steep turn.

I dive down and turn inside him (these Moranes handle beautifully!) and fire a long burst. The bullets rake along the engine and fuselage – and then a streamer of flame erupts. The Albatros goes into a vertical dive, leaving a black smoky trail to mark its fall.

I pull up and look around. There is no sign of the other Albatross, but to my relief I count five Moranes scattered around. Caporal Valdron tucks in beside me and raises his fist with the thumb up, a huge grin on his face. Now I know where the other Albatross has gone. We have lost altitude and have shot off a lot of ammunition. I decide our work is done for this patrol and we climb back to 2500 metres and turn southwest for home. Apart from a few barks from the antiaircraft guns we reach Bonneuil unmolested. I drop into the circuit and touch down, trundle up to the hangars and switch off. My rigger Cpl Bibron drags the chocks over and I toss him down my helmet and goggles, and then stand beside the warm engine, stamping my feet and rubbing my face to get the circulation. I watch the others touch down. With their single wing, the Moranes have a distinctly bird-like appearance, but they are muscular-looking, fierce creatures – true birds of prey rather than graceful storks.

Young Valdron is on top of the world, describing his success to one or two of the others as they cross the slush-covered grass towards me.

“…I got behind him like I was on a training flight…he just floated into my gunsight …went down completely out of control….”

He is fresh from training and has been luckier he realises. All the advantages were ours, and he was in the right place at the right time. I hope this won’t give him a misplaced confidence. Still, to his credit, his enemy gave him an opportunity, and he was cool enough to remember his training, aim carefully and fire accurately. Plenty of pilots blaze away with nothing to show for it.

Shortly afterward I report to the intelligence officer, with the news that the 160 hp Morane is a fine combat machine, and can outfly an Albatross DV. The IO tells me that the black and white stripe is a marking used by Jasta 14, a good unit. Since both Albatrosses went down well inside German territory there can be no homologation from the ground to confirm the kills. Still, two ‘probables’ go into the escadrille’s still-new victory log; I’m confident there will be more soon.

On July 3, 1917 Hauptmann Artur Adler led a flight of five Albatross DIIIs from Jasta 22s on a balloon-busting mission southwest of Laon. Among his flight were Feldwebels Holck and Grude, Oberleutnant Heinzen, and Leutnant Johann von Wettin, the famed Saxon nobleman and ace. To the flight's surprise, they spotted a pair of French balloons foolishly placed in close proximity.

Graf von Wettin, as was his wont, immediately headed for one of the balloons, disregarding the extremely heavy flak—two balloons meant twice as much anti-aircraft artillery—and the trio of covering SPAD VIIs. As soon as von Wettin had one balloon burning, he turned to attack the other. Soon both gasbags were infernos. But as the second balloon burst into flames, von Wettin saw the tell-tale tears caused by bullets ripping through the fabric of his upper wing. He didn’t bother to look back to see who was on his tail. He blipped the engine, threw the Albatross into a sideslip to confuse the aim of his pursuer, and then brought the stick back hard to starboard to match his rudder as he allowed the engine rpms to rise.

As he looked back he saw the SPAD fly past. The frustrated French pilot made a move to turn back on von Wettin, but in doing so he opened himself to an attack from Oberleutnant Heinzen, who soon brought the SPAD to ground. The Prince searched for another target. As he did, he saw Hauptmann Adler down a second SPAD. A third sought to escape: the odds were poor, three-to-one. Von Wettin anticipated the Frenchman’s move, cut him off, and brought him down.

The flight headed for home. The Mercedes engine of Hauptmann Adler’s Albatross gave out, but he managed to land the plane in a field north of Laon. Prince von Wettin led the rest of the flight back to Vivaise.


Two Balloons	SPAD VIIS covering	The Graf gets the 1st balloon	Heinzen's SPAD

Adler's SPAD	3-v-1	The third SPAD	At Vivaise

On 9 July 1916, Lieutenant Michel de Palmieri, accompanied by Sous Lieutenant Hector Tourand, took off from their Alsace base at Fontaine for a patrol near St. Die. As the two Escadrille N.47 Nieuport 11s neared the town, de Palmieri spied activity ahead. The distance was too great to tell friend from foe, but he knew from the movement of the dots on the horizon that French and German aircraft were engaged. The planes he saw were a flight of Farman F40s under attack from two Pfalz EIIs from KEK Ensisheim.

De Palmieri immediately chose to attack and led Tourand into the encounter. De Palmieri closed on one of the Pfalzes and soon had it in his sights. The Boche machine began to smoke. De Palmieri clung to the German's tail, pouring the contents of several drums of Lewis ammunition into the hapless Pfalz. Finally, badly damaged, it crashed.

De Palmieri soon located the second Pfalz, dueling with Tourand. Hector seemed to be in no immediate trouble, so Michel regained some of his lost altitude and settled his nerves. When he had closed, he dove on the unsuspecting German. The Boche turned and ran for his lines, but de Palmieri's Bebe was too fast. Tourand's engine, sputtering and smoking, was giving out so he headed for safety as de Palmieri took over the fight.

Michel opened on the German at close range. He could see the Lewis rounds tearing into the Pfalz. But then the firing stopped. Merde! The drum was empty, and it was de Palmieri's last! He waved to the German, who waved back. Both aviators headed for home. Lieutenant Michel de Palmieri had his sixth kill. Maybe this time he would be awarded a dammed medal!

I have a question about Marxist socialism and patriarchialist socialism. If one examines nihilism, one is faced with a choice: either accept patriarchialist socialism or conclude that sexual identity has objective value, but only if art is distinct from consciousness; otherwise, the resultant model of subcapitalist construction is one of "conceptual posttextual theory", and hence impossible. It could be said that the primary theme of the such an approach would be a mythopoetical totality. One could thus use patriarchialist socialism to attack hierarchy.

But a fellow Jasta-mate believes: “Reality is fundamentally used in the service of capitalism;" however, according to another friend it is not so much reality that is fundamentally used in the service of capitalism, but rather the economy of reality. However, one could argue for the use of the term '”ultural subpatriarchialist theory” to denote not desituationism, but postdesituationism. A number of constructions concerning nihilism may be found. In a sense that my comrade uses the term “the textual paradigm of consensus” to denote the role of the writer as reader. The characteristic theme of his analysis of patriarchialist socialism is not materialism, as some would have it, but postmaterialism.

Thus, the subject is contextualised into a textual paradigm of context that includes culture as a whole. Marx suggests the use of patriarchialist socialism to read and deconstruct sexual identity.

Therefore, I would state that we have to choose between nihilism and neotextual structural theory. If postdialectic dedeconstructivism holds, the works of my fellow Jasta-mate are not postmodern.

After flying Fokker EIIIs and DIIs and IIIs for months, I have just received a new Albatross DII. It looks to be quite a machine. It's sleek and has twin Spandaus. So far I have not taken it aloft. The problem is that no matter how hard I yank the stick about, the wings will not warp! What gives?

I have two pieces of advice. 1) Fat's all right as long as it's not from the neck up. 2) RTFM!

I've been very ill of late and our doctor is unsure of the diagnosis. First he thought I had measles; then he thought I had the German measles. I’ve had a mild fever and swollen glands on the back of my neck and behind my ears for a day now. I also have a rash that started on my face and is now spreading downwards. The rash is light red and itchy. What do you think? Measles or German measles?

Wait till dark and then you'll know. If the measles march at night they're German measles.

After finishing my studies at Eton and Cambridge, I decided to become an aviator and joined the RFC. I recently completed my flight training and will soon join a squadron at the front. I can’t tell you which one for reasons of security, but I can tell you I’ll be flying SE5as. I hope you don’t mind letters from your British readers, but as one chivalrous aviator to another, I thought I’d ask you for a few tips.

I am always happy to respond to letters from the Lords. You chaps are so sporting and we have to fight this war with chivalry, do we not?

There are two major points that you need to keep in mind. The first involves the SE5a. We have tested several captured models and discovered that if the engine is pushed to full throttle for more than a few seconds, the rear section will blow out and emasculate you, or worse. So avoid throttling up beyond about 70 percent. Second, as a new British aviator you will probably find yourself with a German flieger on your tail in your first dogfight. You have no doubt been trained to react to such situations by maneuvering violently to throw off the German’s aim and to shake your pursuer. Don’t do it! We train our aviators to expect just that. The best way to bewilder a pursing German aviator is to fly straight and level. Do the unexpected!

I am an aviator with the Luftstreitkrafte flying on the Western Front. I used to spend a lot of my free time in the local town with young French women who, well let’s say they’re about as loose as one of the landing wheels of a well greased Halberstadt D2. One morning I awoke with suck marks on my neck that really chaffed and grew painful during that day’s dawn patrol as I kept twisting my neck, which rubbed incessantly against the collar of my flight suit. After a few days of this I developed raised scabs on my neck, which are painful themselves, but also make me look like I have a case of “social disease.”

Now the Mademoiselles won’t have anything to do with me. I suppose you could say that my Spandau has jammed and I’m not scoring.

I feel your pain. Try wrapping a silk scarf around your neck to prevent the chaffing. Eventually the bruises will disappear. And keep in mind that as painful as your “suckers” are, it could be a lot worse. I have a good friend who . . . well, let’s just say that he has nothing to “clap” about.

I recently finished my training and joined a Jasta at the front. I was sky high at the prospect. But things have not gone well. First, the day I arrived one of my comrades-to-be buzzed me and I had to dive into the mud, ruining my new greatcoat. Then, despite promises at flight school, my CO assigned me an out-of-date Pfalz. As if that wasn’t bad enough my comrades, most of whom are of the nobility, made fun of my humble origins. Then I get my first kill and the Adjutant won’t confirm it.

After two years in the trenches I, quite frankly, don’t need this kind of crap. I’m considering getting a stick grenade and tossing it into the mess. That would show them not to mess (excuse the pun) with me. What do you think?

Fragging your Jasta-mates will not gain you the self-respect you obviously crave. You need to channel your frustrations in the direction of a more positive goal. Why not shoot for the twenty kills that would earn you the Blue Max?

Do you know why one of Kaiser Willi’s arms is longer than the other? It’s because when he reached puberty. . . .

I see nothing to be gained by ridiculing our Kaiser about his physical infirmities and shall not allow it. I mean, let’s be frank, the least of his shortcomings are his uneven arms.

Here’s a good one. Why are there so many tree lined streets and leafy lanes in France? Give up, mein Kamerad? Because we Germans like to march in the shade.