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Thread: OTTTEY Mission 15 interlude – Roland Escapes

  1. #1

    Default OTTTEY Mission 15 interlude – Roland Escapes

    As you might recall, Roland’s Spad went down behind enemy lines while completing Mission 14. This is the story of his escape and return to the flight.




    Roland braced himself for the impact. He flung his glass lensed goggles off his head with one hand and with the other shut off the fuel. Taking his feet off the rudder bar he braced them against the firewall. Hands on the top of the cockpit ring to the front of him he clipped the first tree. The left wing snapped clean off as more branches greedily reached for the speeding plane. The other wing was stripped off, the fuselage tumbled as each tree tore into the canvas. Finally, the burning, shredded remains of the proud Spad skidded to a stop. Thoughts raced through Roland’s mind. “Get out. Burn the plane. Where’s my pistol?” Something held him back and he realized he still had his seatbelt on. Tearing off his gloves he freed his fingers and unbuckled the seatbelt. He slid out of the cockpit falling to the ground in a heap. The tail was gone, and ribbons of canvas fluttered from trees in a line that marked his crash. He could see that setting the craft alight wasn’t going to be a problem as it was already burning. Shedding his flight suit, he retrieved his pistol. As soon as he grabbed it however, he heard the guttural voices of the Germans. Spinning around he saw twenty German uniforms rushing towards him. Spinning around he saw more coming the other way. Roland slowly raised his hands, letting the pistol hang from his index finger. He was captured.

    Roland’s wrists were chained and he was marched in front of the infantrymen. Roland had no idea what they were saying, but often their talk was punctuated with a gun butt to his ribs. When he fell into the cold mud laughter ensued, as well as kicks to his ribs. He was taken to a dugout concrete bunker where he was thrown in and the door slammed shut.

    Roland sat for several hours. Voiced outside the door told him he was guarded, and there was no other way out. There seemed nothing to do but sit. Then the tone of the voices outside changed abruptly. Roland didn’t know what was being said, but he recognized the abrupt change of tone as easygoing conversations gave was to soldiers at attention. It was the sound of junior ranks snapping to attention when a senior officer entered. Harsh orders were barked in a reprimanding tone and the door opened.

    “Allo allo! You are pilot, ya?” A voice said. The light bursting in through the door blinded Roland, and he put up his hand to block the light. “You are Bulldog, ya? Pilot?” The voice probed. Roland saw no benefit to hiding his identity.

    In a guarded voice he replied. “Yes, I’m a pilot. What is to be done with me?”

    “Oh…no no…no ‘to be done with you.’ You are my guest tonight. I come meet such a worthy adversary.” It hit Roland. This was the German in the gold albatros. This was the man who shot him down. "I too had…accidental land. Was shot down by your… kamerad. What is name?” Pointing to himself the German said “Erich.”

    “I’m Roland.” Roland said, getting to his feet. “You shot me down.”

    “Ya, but glad you are not injured. Better off than me I think, ya?” Erich pointed to his arm that was in a sling. “Broken in crash.” Erich shrugged his shoulders as if brushing the matter aside. “I find you…we talk, eat, drink?”

    As Roland followed Erich out the door, he saw his captors clearly. None of them would meet his eye, and they shuffled about uncomfortably. Erich was however animated, bombarding him with questions. The questions continued throughout the dinner. Roland was astonished at how Erich seemed to know the roster of the whole flight. Erich asked what Joe Davis was like, and did Charlie really have red hair? He brought up past flights where he had flown against the Bulldogs, probably against Roland himself. Roland felt like a leaf blown around by the wind. Here was his enemy talking with the familiarity of a friend. Roland would have quite enjoyed himself if it hadn’t all been so surreal.
    At the end of the evening, Roland was lead back to the bunker.

    “I am sorry,” said Erich. But I can no longer be your host. Our planes are…” Erich seemed to be searching for a word. Or perhaps he was trying not to give important information? “Our planes are moving. That is all I can say. You are with these soldiers.” Erich leaned close to Roland. “But I tell them to no hit you ya?”

    “Thank you Erich.” Roland said and bowed towards him. “Thank you for your kindness. I hope we meet again after this is over.” Roland said, gesturing around them.

    “I would like that. Now I say goodbye.” Erich bowed in return and left.

    Days passed and Roland turned the events of the past several months over in his head. From Joe taking him under his wing and getting Roland his first aerial victory, to the traitor Gordon, to the kindness shown him from an enemy. Roland couldn’t resolve it all. If he didn’t kill in the sky, his countrymen on the ground would die. If he killed in the sky, he was killing pilots like Erich. Perhaps it was better that he was here, a captive to sit out the rest of the war.

    Roland awoke to the sound of boots running on packed earth. Voices barked commands and the air was tense with excited action. What was going on? Was an attack coming? Roland had become oblivious to the explosions of the artillery in the distance. Did they seem closer?? Roland didn’t think so. This intense action continued for a half an hour or so and then faded. It was silent. Faint rumbling artillery blasts came from the distance, but he heard no crunching of boots, no voices, nothing. Cautiously he moved to the door and put his ear to it. Still he heard nothing. Slowly, he pushed on the door with his hand and it moved. Gently he let the door close again and listened. Working up a bit more courage, he pushed the door open again enough to peek out. His whole body was tensed in expectation of a boot slamming the door shut against him. It didn’t come.

    The trench was in disarray. Trenching tools lay thrown aside. A triangle stand with a pot attached was knocked over, the fire beneath it was still smoldering. Not a German was in sight. Roland opened to door wider and peeked his head around the side of it. Wooden paths extended down the trench line, razor wire topped the high planked walls. Discarded mess kits, helmets, even a bayonet lay on the floor of the trench. Not a German was in sight that way either.

    Moving quickly Roland left the bunker, making sure to let the door close gently. Grabbing the bayonet he grasped the cold metal and held it in front of him. Roland slowly, cautiously worked his way down the trench to the next intersecting communications trench. Here he paused. Should he go west? Or should he go east, further into German territory? He had to be in the Alsace-Lorraine area, would he be able to find sympathetic inhabitants? His soul cried out to run west, but he had to be in a third or fourth line trench. That meant three of four more lines potentially filled with Germans before he got to the desolate expanse of no-man’s land. Had the German’s called a retreat? Or had they gone forward for a big push? Fighting his urge, he turned east, cautiously following the narrow communications trench.

    Eventually the trench system ended at the edge of a wooded area. Cautiously Roland climbed the ladder and surveyed the area. He didn’t see anyone at all. However he had heard stories of snipers setting up at the edge of the woods. He glanced at his flight jacket and judged himself to be a blatantly visible target if he were to run across the open area to the woods. “I’m just a much a target if a German patrol comes down the trench.” He thought to himself. Roland made up his mind and climbed the ladder. Running to the forest, he expected to hear gunfire at any moment. He braced against the bullets he thought sure to be seeking him. Reaching the edge of the woods he leaped behind a fallen tree and panted. He had made it.
    Roland moved through the woods the next several days. Moving with the utmost stealth, he never saw another person, though every forest sound sent him diving for cover for fear that a German patrol had found him. Maybe the German’s had retreated? Coming to the edge of the woods, he was again confronted with a choice. A low stone house surrounded by tilled fields meant people were here. Would they help or return him to the Germans? Roland sat watching the house for the better part of the afternoon. He saw some activity, and heard what sounded like German being spoken. It didn’t seem safe, but Roland desperately needed food. Perhaps he could sneak in at night as steal some food? Suddenly his choice was made for him. The sharp metallic click of a bolt closing on a rifle froze him. He slowly turned to see a hunting rifle pointed at him. The man behind the gun spoke demandingly to Roland in a foreign language.

    “No sprakenzie?” Roland said the only German he knew. The gun remained trained on him. Roland held his hands up. “Do you speak English? The German shook his head. Slowly and deliberately Roland lowered one hand to open his jacket. The man tensed.

    “Its ok, its ok. I have something.” The German didn’t seem to stop him, so Roland lowered the other hand and used it to tear the corner of his jacked lining free. The silk lining tore easily, and Roland held out the silk square to the man. The man took it, and turned it over. Reading it, he eyed Roland.

    “Englander?” He asked suspiciously.

    “Yes.” Said Roland. The rifle muzzle wavered then lowered. “Ya.” The man tucked the sink in his pocket, then motioned for Roland to stand.




    The British officer sat turning the silk square over in his hands. Brilliant he thought. On the back of the silk was a bit of German writing followed by French, followed by English. I AM A BRITISH PILOT. I DID NOT COME HERE TO DO ANY HARM TO YOU WHO ARE MY FRIENDS. IF YOU ASSIST ME MY GOVERNMENT WILL SUFFICIENTLY REWARD YOU. He presumed it said that in every language. “I’m going to have to tell my brother in India about this idea,” he thought. He had personally paid the farmer a week’s worth of his wages in silver sterling as a reward. A week’s worth of wages paid to recover a trained pilot. “Worth every tupence and farthing if you ask me.” He mused. The pilot, Roland had offered to compensate him, but he had refused. “Just doing my bit.” The officer had said. “Now go and win this war for us!”

  2. #2

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    What a superb tale Shawn.
    I enjoyed every sentence of it.
    Rob.
    "Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're scared to death."

  3. #3

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    Very nice. Can't wait to see what happens when he returns to the squadron.

  4. #4

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    Man you guys are really upping the ante lately with your narratives!
    Feels like I am watching a mini-series (and a good one, at that)

  5. #5

    Thumbs up

    Excellent tale Shawn!
    Seems everyone is upping the Anti with our AAR's & Aftermaths.

  6. #6

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    Nicely done Shawn

    "He is wise who watches"

  7. #7

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    Great little interlude Shawn - can't wait for the dénouement when he gets back to the squadron

  8. #8

    Setarius's Avatar May you forever fly in blue skies
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    Dale
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    Excellent and well written. Keep up the good work.

  9. #9

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    Enjoyed that! Many thanks.



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