OTT BE Mission 24: The Cornered Beast Strikes Back
OTT BE Mission 24: The Cornered Beast Strikes Back
With apologies to Andrew Wareham. The plot similarities will be evident to anyone who has read his rather entertaining series called “Innocents At War”. But what the heck, I like the ideas and enjoyed the series!
Prologue:
20th October 1918
Lt Alan Mcleod was sitting on the edge of his bed. On the other side of the hut, lounging on the only other piece of furniture he had, a scruffy old armchair, with its horsehair stuffing trying to escape via the various rips and tears in its fabric, was 2nd Lt Arthur Hammond. Arthur had only just returned from a period of rest and was still non-operational, having not yet fully recovered from a wound he’d picked up.
“Looks like things are finally going our way Alan, don’t you agree?”
“Looks that way Arthur, yes. Reports say that the entire German army is on the run, but I’m not sure I believe it. We’ve heard tales like that before, only to find the Hun present in great strength any time we go over to their side of the lines.”
“Ah yes. I suppose you’re talking about last month.”
“Maybe I am Arthur, but right now I don’t want to think of that. Lets move on and think of more positive things, like winning the war and going home in one piece.”
“OK, but another time perhaps. I’m due to see the quack for a change of dressing in five minutes. Got to go old chap. Chin up, the end looks in sight.”
But Lt Alan McLeod was feeling moody now. The reminder of what had happened in September nagged at him and wouldn’t go away. Memories flooded back as he lay on his bunk and tried to get some sleep. Oh yes, he remembered alright. The story, told to him by Richard Turpin, had started with the arrival of a couple of rookies, fresh from school. He lay there thinking it through:
Early September 1918
Harold Medlicott was in charge at the time!
“Ye Gods Harold, have you met those two little nurds that just turned up in “Daddy’s” automobile. I swear, if that little s*it, “Uppity” or whatever they call him, opens that damned loud mouth of his one more time, I’m going to shove something very nasty down his thoat and watch when it goes bang.”
“Hey, calm down John. What’s the problem?”
“Bloody Ulysses Yors, that’s the problem. Hasn’t been here five minutes and he’s telling everyone how to fly properly; he’s giving orders to the Ack Emmas like he’s some kind of engineering expert and really upsetting them all, and now he’s in the mess mouthing off about how “Daddy” is the Member for Apple bloody something or other in Kent and has just been appointed as some kind of sodding adviser to His Majesty’s Government; on the acquisition of raw materials from the USA. Oh, and he wants us to know that he is very, very rich. I swear I’m going to kick him until he’s black and blue if he goes on like this.”
“Quite finished, John?” Harold had said, very calmly.
“Uh?”
“I said, are you quite finished? The fact of the matter is, John, it is entirely wasted energy, getting all stewed up about a little public school idiot. Because the chances are he won’t last until the end of the week. As you must be fully aware, old son, we have a war on and the Hun are knocking our lads out of the sky, right now, at the rate of ten of ours to one of theirs. All because of this bloody new Fokker bi-plane. Only, our orders are to carry on regardless. The Brass seem to think that a couple of hundred sons of the wealthy, born and bred to die for their country anyway, are a cheap price to pay to keep the reconnaisance boys out of harms way. That way we get to knock out far more of their boys on the ground. That, in turn, means we get to win the war. So you see, young Uppity, being the loud mouthed new boy that he is, will simply justify his father’s expenditure on a very expensive, so called, education, and go forth and die, within the week, perhaps sooner. You on the other hand, with several months of experience already under your belt, may even survive the war, let alone the next few days. So lighten up, old son, and leave him to me. He’s mine ok?”
“But that means he gets to fly one of the new Sopwith Snipes! Hell wreck it.”
“Your point being?”
“Oh hell, ok. So long as you keep them both away from me, I’ll shut the hell up.”
“Good, now off you go and simmer down. On your way out, perhaps you would be so kind as to ask Corporal Thomas to go tell 2nd Lt Ulysses Peter Yors and his friend, 2nd Lt Richard Brain, to report to me forthwith.”
“Right. By the way, did you know that those two were at school together in Kent.”
“No I didn’t. But in that case we’d better make sure they are not in the same flight. Tell Richard Turpin he’s got Brain.”
“Ha, I’m sure Richard will have some idiotic joke to tell about that one.” And with that 2nd Lt John Roberts took his leave, feeling rather better, having offloaded some of his anger onto the shoulders of the ever patient Captain Harold Medlicott.
Back in the here and now, Alan McLeod smiled to himself as the memory returned to him. That way of dealing with things was so like Harold. He’d been a good skipper.
McLeod dozed for a few seconds more, not settling comfortably on the bunk, turning from side to side, the poor circulation in his legs giving him trouble. But the memories continued anyway:
“2nd Lt Ulysses Peter Yors reporting for duty, sir”. He stood to attention, very smart and very young, in his brand spanking new RAF uniform.
“2nd Lt Richard Brain reporting for duty, sir”. He too stood to attention, also very smart and very young, in his brand spanking new RAF uniform.”
“Quite” said Captain Medlicott. Which rather threw the newcomers, who were expecting some kind of formal, jolly, welcome and a chat about how much their arrival was appreciated.
“Sit down the pair of you” and Harold Medlicott lit a cigarette and stared at them for a few moments. Which the new boys found quite disconcerting. Actually, right then, Harold Medlicott was wondering if it was worth his while even aquainting himself with their names. He expected to have to bury them, or report them as “missing” in a few days and had already put in for their replacements. He took a long drag on his cigarette and inhaled the smoke deeply, before exhaling again, slowly.
“You call me Harold, unless there’s Brass around. Which of you said he was Yors?”
“That was me, sir. I mean Harold” said U.P Yors, 2nd Lt, and the son of a Member of Parliament.
“What did they call you at school?”
“Pardon, sir, Harold?”
“Am I going to have to repeat everything I say to you, lad?”
“Ah, no sir, Harold sir, they called me Uppity, Harold”.
Harold Medlicott sighed.
“Right, Uppity, you’re with me. We’re up in twenty minutes. Off you go. Report to Peter Piper and he’ll tell you exactly what I expect of you. You’re flying one of the new Snipes. Look after it. We’ll have another chat, about how we do things here, when we get back, if you you don’t die in the meantime. Right off you go.”
Uppity hesitated.
“Bugger off , now. Go on, get on with it”
Uppity turned and all but ran from the office.
“And what God forsaken nickname did they give you at school?” This next question addressed to the remaining new boy.
“Dic ky, Harold”
“Really, why?”
“On account of my surname, Harold. Its Brain, and the staff at the school wouldn’t allow anyone to refer to me as D*** Brain.”
“Mmm. Right. Well “Dic ky”, you’re with Richard Turpin. So the same applies to you. Go forth and find out, bloody quickly, what he expects of you. You too are up in twenty minutes, only you are flying a Sopwith Camel, not a Snipe. Off you go then, chop chop.”
“Can I ask one question first, please, Harold?”
“What is it?”
“I thought we’d get some time to look around first. I mean familiarize ourselves with the area, before going over the lines, so to speak. Is that what we’re doing today?”
“Are you kidding? What do you think this is, a bloody advanced flying school. In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a war on. The Hun has the upper hand right now and are knocking our lads out of the sky left right and centre. We haven’t got time for you to go swanning around the countryside sightseeing, old son. Oh no. You’re going to have to learn the hard way. You learn quickly, or you die quickly. Simple really, now bugger off and get on with it.”
And that, according to Richard Turpin, was how Harold Medlicott had dealt with his introduction to those particular new boys. But the next part of the story was rather more serious.
McLeod rolled over onto his side, still trying to doze off. After all, he’d been on duty, non-stop, for the past 18 hours! His disturbing memories continued to interfere with sleep though:
Having liaised with “B” flight’s leader for the day, 2nd Lt Richard Turpin, Harold had agreed that their respective offensive patrols would go north and south for a distance, then turn around and cross over in around one hours time. Turpin would take along “Dic ky” Brain, together with another new pilot, 2nd Lt Monty Pitton; Harold would have “Uppity” with him and a rather more experienced pilot 2nd Lt Peter Piper. The rest of the Squadron, including all of the other available experienced pilots, were also out on offensive patrols. Heaven help them if they ran into one of those bloody flying circus groups the Hun were so fond of.
“All very well fighting an “offensive” war,” Harold had argued, “but the Hun, fighting their “defensive” war, have all the advantages – except one. Numbers. For all that their large formations are difficult to deal with, and right now are proving highly successful, never the less, numbers will grind them down. Especially if new boys like “Uppity” and “Dic ky” are prepared to do their bit, even if ever so briefly. Despite what John Roberts said, you have to hand it to these kids. They knew the odds were stacked against them and yet still they came. Takes a special sort of courage that does.”
And with those thoughts in his head, on they had flown.
The Mission
One hour later
Well, I guess the story was already getting too long and Alan McLeod was very tired and rapidly dropping off to sleep. So, to cut a long story short, one of the patrols, led by 2nd Lt Richard Turpin, flying Sopwith Camels, were bounced by four Fokker DVIIs.
( DVIIs flown by following pilots: Red – Obltn Fritz Brünig; White – Ltn Paul Beckmann; Blue – Ltn Max Heller; Yellow – Ltn Mark Muller)
The Fokkers passed through them, firing as they went,
(Sopwith Camels flown by following pilots: Stackards 9 Naval (Blue Circles) - 2nd Lt Richard |Turpin; Ellwoods 3 Naval (Red Hearts) – Rookie 2nd Lt Richard Brain; RNAS 209 (Light blue and white markings) - 2nd Lt Monty Pitton)
and before he knew where he was, Turpin was on his way home with a serious leg wound, that will probably keep him out of things for a while to come, if not for the rest of the war.
Despite that, he had gritted his teeth and had, with the rest of his flight recovered well enough to turn home and at the same time, to face the enemy. They had all returned fire as best they could, doing quite a bit of damage themselves. They even managed to see off one of the DVIIs, a yellow one, that headed back towards its own lines for reasons known only to its pilot (wounded).
As it happened, not long after, the other patrol arrived. With Richard Turpin on his way home and the odds at three to two, with both the survivors relatively inexperienced or green as grass, the arrival of three Snipes, on cue as planned, was a welcome sight.
( Sopwith Snipes flown by the following pilots: Barkers 201 Squadron (Stripes fuselage rear) – Cpt Harold Medlicott (the only ace for the entente); Kazakovs Slavo British (Beige fuselage rear) - 2nd Lt Peter Piper; Ryries 4 Squadron (No 8) – Rookie 2nd Lt Ulysses Peter Yors)
Or it should have been. However, relief turned to despair very quickly. There was a brief fight in which bullets flew in all directions, not all of them very effective. There was also one collision, a portent of things to come, although in this case no serious damage was done.
But in a flash, the lead Snipe, piloted by Captain Medlicott, was seen to be spinning earthwards, flaming brightly as it went.
He was quickly followed by a second Snipe, after it collided mid-air, with the third member of their flight (who luckily survived). The second, doomed, aircraft was flown by a new boy, “Uppity”, who less than an hour ago had arrived from training school to tell everyone what a marvellous pilot he was. Well, he was last seen also spinning to the earth, with most of his wings blown away. Not much chance there I’m afraid.
The afternoon was turning into a particularly disastrous affair, as far as the entente pilots were concerned. But lady luck has a nasty habit of cocking a snoop at all of us. So, just when the remaining British pilots were wondering if they could even survive this encounter, bang!
“What the hell happened there?”
A collision between the Fokkers. Not just two of them, but three! Impossible you say! Well the evidence was there before the eyes. Two Fokkers, narrowly avoiding one another, one red, the other white. But a third Fokker, a blue one, attempted to fly between them, going in the opposite direction. It was not impossible, it happened. The result? Two of them lost bits of wing and heavens knows what else and disappeared, in the direction of the lost Snipes. The third one, the white one, flew on apparently unharmed.
Which left odds of three to one. Except that the remaining Snipe disappeared off to the North somewhere, probably hunting butterflies or something just as silly. Whatever it was, it took no further part in the proceedings. So now the odds were two to one. With one German ace against an inexperienced pilot and a rookie. My money would have been on the DVII to take them both out. But that was not to be.
They circled one another for a while, hesitating to commit to the attack. Then, when finally they managed to face each other, the shooting was so bad that nobody hit a thing. Twice they did that. Kids at a fairground, shooting for plaster duck prizes, would have done a better job!
Until finally, it was the rookie, no less, who scored big time. Luck perhaps, or maybe this particular rookie just happens to be a good one. Whatever the answer, the German pilot was so shaken up, by the accuracy of this chap’s machine gun fire, that he flew just that bit too close to the other Camel.
Bang! And that was the end of the last DVII. Another collision! Extraordinary! And once again the other pilot flew on unscathed. Four Fokker DVIIs knocked out of the fight, but not one Fokker DVII shot down! Unusual to say the least.
The survivors were not complaining though. They flew back to the barn to report the day’s action. And it was then, when they were so tired and at their most vulnerable, that Alan McLeod had given them the sad news . The artillery crews, nearby the spot where two Sopwith Snipes had been utterly wrecked, had already reported that the broken and charred remains of the Captain, and the rookie, “Uppity”, had been found. Both had been killed. As had two of the German pilots, following their collision. Their aircraft also coming down in the same area. A black day for everone that was. A black day in September, when Alan McLeod had lost a friend and a first rate leader.
It was down to him now, to take Harold’s place. A hard act to follow. Then, at last, he went to sleep.
The end
Butcher’s Bill
Entente
Captain Harold Medlicott DFC; MC; CdG / SD FLM ET / WIA x 2 / No kills
Roll 2D6 = 6 -2 FLM -2 WIA +1Ace +1F/Ace = 4 – Injured - Skip 1D6 Scenarios. Rolled 1 !
E&E: Rolled 9 -1FLM -2WIA -1WIC -1BEL = 4 - Captured and escaped! - Skip 1D3 Scenarios. Rolled 3 = Skip 2
Result - Skips 2
2nd Lt Peter Piper RTB / 1 kill (Collision with Fokker DVII White counts)
Result – All Good
2nd Lt Ulysses Peter Yors / COL ET / No Kills
Roll 2D6 = 2 -2COL = KIA
Result KIA RIP
2nd Lt Richard Turpin / RTB / WIA / No Kills
Roll 2D6 = 8 +3 RTB = 11 – 1 WIA = 10 All good when you land well.
Result All good
2nd Lt Monty Pitton / RTB / No kills
Result All good
2nd Lt Richard Brain / RTB / No kills
Result All good
Central Powers
Obltn Fritz Brünig EKI; EKII; PB; Wbs / COL FT / 1 kill
Roll 2D6 = 5 –2COL +1 ACE = 4 Injured skip 1D6 scenarios = 3
Result Skip 3 scenarios
Ltn Mark Muller / RTB / WIA / No kills
Roll 2D6 = 9 + 3 RTB – 1 WIA = 11 – All good when you land well.
Result All good
Ltn Max Heller PB; WBb / COL FT / No kills
Roll 2D6 = 4 – 2 COL = 2 – KIA
Ltn Paul Beckmann WBb / COL FT / No kills
Roll 2D6 = 3 – 2 COL = 1 – KIA
Result KIA RIP
Victory Conditions
Central Powers : Shot down 1; one downed in Collision with own side; One forced to retire.
Entente: Shot down nil; two downed in collision with own side, one in collision with enemy; one forced to retire.
Result: A draw which was very expensive for both sides. I need a new leader for both camps please Uncle. I nominate Alan McLeod for the Bulldogs and Ltn Mark Muller as temporary leader for the Eagles, whilst Brüner recovers. Hope you have no objections. Any rank changes I leave to you to decide.
An interesting mission. Thanks Peter. It was really nip and tuck for a long while. Well balanced until lady luck decided to step in and spoil things. The number of collisions was quite extraordinary I fear. The luck of the cards and the dice were against both sides today – which is unusual. I hate losing a pilot. To lose four dead and one more hors de combat for probably the remainder of the campaign just sucks – but I guess its realistic historically.
I didn’t use altitude rules. I used the D6 charts that Peter wanted for the aces and decided to use the charts from the same series for all aircraft. I did play one aircraft – Medlicott’s Snipe, but as usual the cards wiped me out very quickly. All other aircraft were played as AI for the entire mission.
Sorry not to include all the damage information this time (did you even notice). My daughter is expecting any minute now and I wanted to get this posted before grandchild number four arrives.
Hope you enjoy the read.
Cheers
Mike
Reply With Quote
Mike I think you might have "dudded" Cpt. Medlicott! 
And on occasion I puzzled over the overlap / parallel charts a bit. But as you say, I have other, rather more important things on my mind at present 
Originally Posted by mikeemagnus
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