PROLOGUE
Boistrancourt, Northern France
3 Dezember 1917
Flugmeister Benno Schlüter stretched his back, stiff from hours in the cockpit of his Halberstadt CL.II. The tempo of operations over the past weeks was taking its toll on the Westphalian non-commissioned officer. He and his observer Leutnant Heinrich Maas drank ersatz coffee to take the chill out of their bones. They had only just returned from a sortie and now watched as the ground crew quickly rearmed their aircraft with bombs and ammunition.
“This coffee tastes like dishwater” complained Maas, “or at least what I imagine dishwater would taste like.”
“At least it is hot Herr Leutnant,” responded Schlüter, stamping his feet. Despite his fur lined flying jacket, fur boots and gloves the freezing temperatures at 3000 metres took its toll on the human body. Schlüter had been flying since before the war but he had experienced nothing like the tempo of operations of the past weeks first over Passchendaele and now Cambrai. The Staffel had moved south just a week ago and they had been flying five to six sorties a day.
“Did you save some for us?” called Leutnant Lothar Nagel. He and his observer Flugmeister Kurt Krüger walked over to the table and grabbed a mug each. “The Tommies are still being stubborn Heinrich” commented Nagel, “they are hanging on to Bourlon Wood by their finger-nails.”
Krüger poured two measures of the brown liquid from the pot into his and Leutnant Nagel’s tin mugs. “We will throw the English back to their start lines” said the observer confidently.
“Gott mit Uns” murmured Flugmeister Schlüter. Even he was not sure if it was a statement or a question.
Moments later two Marinefliegerkorps Albatros D.Va’s appeared and circled over the landing ground, their yellow fuselages clearly visible against the grey late afternoon winter sky.
“Looks like our escort is here” observed Leutnant Maas, who grimaced as he studied the dregs of his coffee before tipping it out on the grassy field.
“Time to get back to work.”
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