Wolfbiter
10-29-2010, 21:20
France, Early Winter, 1917
(continued from earlier page)
Forgive me, Mother and Father...exhaustion overcame me briefly as I wrote this letter, and I found myself dozing at my desk as I write this. I'm sure you wish to hear what happened after the Allied attack destroyed one of our barrage balloons, leaving our lines vulnerable to an air assault.
I knew the escaping Allied planes would have little fuel left to intercept and combat a second sortie, and looking at the worsening skies, I gambled that they would not expect a lone plane to follow them and attempt a counter-attack on their own balloons! It was desperate, perhaps even a bit crazed. My moods have been grimmer since being shot down, but in this case I saw no other course of action that would keep the English and French hounds from baying at our door.
Quickly landing, I ordered Wetzel, my new chief mechanic and a skilled engineer, to mount a load of his experimental rockets--which I had used to great success in an earlier mission, you remember. I shouted at the ground crew to work faster as they fixed the ordinance in place. No sooner had Wetzel worked his mechanical wizardry than I roared into the air once again, scattering the crew like autumn leaves.
Drops of icy rain began to splash across my face as I raced toward the Allied balloon line, buffeted by ferociously chilling winds. It took all my skill to keep my plane steady, but my mad gambit had paid off--the worsening weather made it difficult to spot Lotti and her dark color scheme. A few sporadic shells exploded in the air around me, but none came close enough to threaten. Grimly hanging on to the control stick, I swept down toward the nearest balloon, looming threateningly out of the cold mist.
But one defender appeared as reckless as I. At eleven o'clock, a lone Camel shot upwards, turned sideways and dove at me, guns chattering. I sought to ignore him, aligning myself and reducing speed as I prepared to launch my rockets--and suddenly a line of bullets criss-crossed my cockpit, shattering several of my instrument panels into shards of glass! How it missed me, I simply do not know!
My rocket attack had been thwarted, but I refused to change course. Readying my guns, I opened fire on the first balloon, only to find my Spandaus jammed after a few brief shots. I shot past the first balloon's tail and swept left. The wind was turning even more vicious, and both I and my opponent fought to control our planes as we maneuvered around the deadly net of wires. Pursuing me across the front of the barrage line, the Camel tilted sharply, attempting to engage me head-to-head. With my guns jammed, I instead accelerated to maximum speed as I activated the rocket firing mechanism once more--and as the Camel flashed past me, too late to draw a bead, I found the looming bulk of the second balloon immediately in front of me. I doggedly held my course in the face of near-collision...and released every rocket I had. With a sound of fwash! fwash! fwash! they flew forward in a spinning, roaring cacophony of smoke and fury--and the balloon suddenly lit the night sky as multiple fires erupted across the canvas. As the ferocious gusts of wind lashed the flames, I saw the flickering tongues of crimson and yellow growing wider and wider, and knew this was my chance. I cleared my guns and pulled back as hard as I could on my stick. Looping upwards, I reversed direction and put a volley into the barrage balloon that slew the burning drachen and sent it plummeting to earth, a hellish counterpart to its cousin on our side of the lines that had fallen but an hour before.
A fierce exultation filled me as I saw the burning wreck. The defending Camel, seeing the balloon fall and myself gaining on him from behind, sought to turn the tables, but I refused to give quarter and turned my fire from the balloon to him. Desperately trying to shake me off, he raced into the clouds above us...and here is the strangest part of the battle...he disappeared. To this day, I do not know if the weather sent him crashing to earth out of my view or if he simply was unable to reacquire me in the tumult of smoke, fire and rain.
But in the moment he turned and vanished, I saw a second balloon ahead of me, and chose to take the target of opportunity. Abandoning pursuit of the Camel, I dove once more...and my weapons were true, as the second balloon exploded in flames as I shot past. My mission complete, I struggled across the lines, nursing my dwinding petrol supply and making a jaw-aching, jolting landing at our field on fumes alone.
Though the commander spent much of the remaining evening castigating me for my foolishness (and, truth be told, I believe he was right to do so), my mad stratagem had one redeeming merit: It threw the Allied forces into disarray. Unable to believe we could successfully strike them so soon after their own audacious raid, the Allies huddle on their side of No Man's Land, and we ours. There will be no further pushes for a massed offensive this month, I think. We shall wait like hawks within our mews for the weather to clear once more so we can strike each other again, while the great drachens sit above us, uncaring of their burning brethren.
Yesterday the commander took me aside privately. He says my actions have earned me promotion and the Order of St. Henry, and Headquarters has pushed him hard to offer me command of one of JG 1's Jastas, as they feel it would bolster morale in the face of our setbacks against the Cigognes and RNAS 3. However, he told me candidly that unlike Klepperman--who I am the first to agree has a cool head that matches his piloting skills, and was recently awarded command of Jasta 10 for his outstanding victories--he is concerned about my recent reckless encounters with these enemy pilots, and whether I am putting myself at needless risk.
I myself am uncertain. I must consider carefully whether I am ready to accept the responsibility of the lives of brave pilots under my command. In truth, what makes me hesitate is a feeling--I hope it is not a premonition--that a dark time lies just ahead for us. We are flying at our utmost--but at best we have only been able to fight the enemy to a standstill. What happens when the balance tips? I do not know. But despite my dark mood, please know that I will continue to fight with all the courage I can muster and bring honor to our family.
Your son,
Wolfram Von Thun-Hohenstein
Oberleutnant, Jasta 11
(Game notes: I decided to link a battle from last week in with this week's because they were both spectacular barrage missions and I thought they'd follow each other nicely in my narrative. Game 1 was a solid victory for the Allies, with Lord escaping unscathed despite being shot down. Game 2 saw Dave Zee facing off with me with lone Camel as I attempted to take on the Allied side's balloons solo, and his first volley of shots nearly finished me off, leaving me with only a handful of damage points left! It was only by flying in an utterly crazy fashion I was able to get away ("Let's see, what's the logical next maneuver? OK, I WON'T do that!"), but thanks to a spectacular 'D' deck draw--and a late-game miscalculation by the Camel that carried it off the map--I was able successfully carry out the mission--barely!)
(continued from earlier page)
Forgive me, Mother and Father...exhaustion overcame me briefly as I wrote this letter, and I found myself dozing at my desk as I write this. I'm sure you wish to hear what happened after the Allied attack destroyed one of our barrage balloons, leaving our lines vulnerable to an air assault.
I knew the escaping Allied planes would have little fuel left to intercept and combat a second sortie, and looking at the worsening skies, I gambled that they would not expect a lone plane to follow them and attempt a counter-attack on their own balloons! It was desperate, perhaps even a bit crazed. My moods have been grimmer since being shot down, but in this case I saw no other course of action that would keep the English and French hounds from baying at our door.
Quickly landing, I ordered Wetzel, my new chief mechanic and a skilled engineer, to mount a load of his experimental rockets--which I had used to great success in an earlier mission, you remember. I shouted at the ground crew to work faster as they fixed the ordinance in place. No sooner had Wetzel worked his mechanical wizardry than I roared into the air once again, scattering the crew like autumn leaves.
Drops of icy rain began to splash across my face as I raced toward the Allied balloon line, buffeted by ferociously chilling winds. It took all my skill to keep my plane steady, but my mad gambit had paid off--the worsening weather made it difficult to spot Lotti and her dark color scheme. A few sporadic shells exploded in the air around me, but none came close enough to threaten. Grimly hanging on to the control stick, I swept down toward the nearest balloon, looming threateningly out of the cold mist.
But one defender appeared as reckless as I. At eleven o'clock, a lone Camel shot upwards, turned sideways and dove at me, guns chattering. I sought to ignore him, aligning myself and reducing speed as I prepared to launch my rockets--and suddenly a line of bullets criss-crossed my cockpit, shattering several of my instrument panels into shards of glass! How it missed me, I simply do not know!
My rocket attack had been thwarted, but I refused to change course. Readying my guns, I opened fire on the first balloon, only to find my Spandaus jammed after a few brief shots. I shot past the first balloon's tail and swept left. The wind was turning even more vicious, and both I and my opponent fought to control our planes as we maneuvered around the deadly net of wires. Pursuing me across the front of the barrage line, the Camel tilted sharply, attempting to engage me head-to-head. With my guns jammed, I instead accelerated to maximum speed as I activated the rocket firing mechanism once more--and as the Camel flashed past me, too late to draw a bead, I found the looming bulk of the second balloon immediately in front of me. I doggedly held my course in the face of near-collision...and released every rocket I had. With a sound of fwash! fwash! fwash! they flew forward in a spinning, roaring cacophony of smoke and fury--and the balloon suddenly lit the night sky as multiple fires erupted across the canvas. As the ferocious gusts of wind lashed the flames, I saw the flickering tongues of crimson and yellow growing wider and wider, and knew this was my chance. I cleared my guns and pulled back as hard as I could on my stick. Looping upwards, I reversed direction and put a volley into the barrage balloon that slew the burning drachen and sent it plummeting to earth, a hellish counterpart to its cousin on our side of the lines that had fallen but an hour before.
A fierce exultation filled me as I saw the burning wreck. The defending Camel, seeing the balloon fall and myself gaining on him from behind, sought to turn the tables, but I refused to give quarter and turned my fire from the balloon to him. Desperately trying to shake me off, he raced into the clouds above us...and here is the strangest part of the battle...he disappeared. To this day, I do not know if the weather sent him crashing to earth out of my view or if he simply was unable to reacquire me in the tumult of smoke, fire and rain.
But in the moment he turned and vanished, I saw a second balloon ahead of me, and chose to take the target of opportunity. Abandoning pursuit of the Camel, I dove once more...and my weapons were true, as the second balloon exploded in flames as I shot past. My mission complete, I struggled across the lines, nursing my dwinding petrol supply and making a jaw-aching, jolting landing at our field on fumes alone.
Though the commander spent much of the remaining evening castigating me for my foolishness (and, truth be told, I believe he was right to do so), my mad stratagem had one redeeming merit: It threw the Allied forces into disarray. Unable to believe we could successfully strike them so soon after their own audacious raid, the Allies huddle on their side of No Man's Land, and we ours. There will be no further pushes for a massed offensive this month, I think. We shall wait like hawks within our mews for the weather to clear once more so we can strike each other again, while the great drachens sit above us, uncaring of their burning brethren.
Yesterday the commander took me aside privately. He says my actions have earned me promotion and the Order of St. Henry, and Headquarters has pushed him hard to offer me command of one of JG 1's Jastas, as they feel it would bolster morale in the face of our setbacks against the Cigognes and RNAS 3. However, he told me candidly that unlike Klepperman--who I am the first to agree has a cool head that matches his piloting skills, and was recently awarded command of Jasta 10 for his outstanding victories--he is concerned about my recent reckless encounters with these enemy pilots, and whether I am putting myself at needless risk.
I myself am uncertain. I must consider carefully whether I am ready to accept the responsibility of the lives of brave pilots under my command. In truth, what makes me hesitate is a feeling--I hope it is not a premonition--that a dark time lies just ahead for us. We are flying at our utmost--but at best we have only been able to fight the enemy to a standstill. What happens when the balance tips? I do not know. But despite my dark mood, please know that I will continue to fight with all the courage I can muster and bring honor to our family.
Your son,
Wolfram Von Thun-Hohenstein
Oberleutnant, Jasta 11
(Game notes: I decided to link a battle from last week in with this week's because they were both spectacular barrage missions and I thought they'd follow each other nicely in my narrative. Game 1 was a solid victory for the Allies, with Lord escaping unscathed despite being shot down. Game 2 saw Dave Zee facing off with me with lone Camel as I attempted to take on the Allied side's balloons solo, and his first volley of shots nearly finished me off, leaving me with only a handful of damage points left! It was only by flying in an utterly crazy fashion I was able to get away ("Let's see, what's the logical next maneuver? OK, I WON'T do that!"), but thanks to a spectacular 'D' deck draw--and a late-game miscalculation by the Camel that carried it off the map--I was able successfully carry out the mission--barely!)