Lt Mick Evan Taker of 52 Sqn RFC, “The British Bulldogs”, looked over the side of his aircraft and stared at the view. The site that greeted him was more than welcome, as down there, a few thousand feet below, was Dover, the white cliffs and Swingate aerodrome, home to 49 Squadron RFC since March 1916. Blighty! His first time back in many months. What a relief.
He’d been given a fortnights leave, along with 2nd Lts Jerry McKenzie and Patrick Moor, and was going to to visit a friend in Dover, so long as she was still there of course! If not, it would be a short train journey to the delights of London. But first he would meet up with McKenzie and Moor, both of whom were arriving by ship from France.
He landed at Swingate, just east of the famous Dover Castle, made himself known to the officials there and within an hour had collected his “Dover Garrison” pass from Dover’s Chief Police Constable, David Fox and was now strolling along the busy promenade towards the western end of the harbour. So many folk there, going about their daily lives despite the war just 20 miles across the channel in France. If the wind was in the right direction, you could even hear the occassional rumble of the guns practicing their destructive art.
His colleagues should already be here too, with any luck. He could see the admiralty pier with a troop ship berthed alongside, loading up fresh men for the front. Perhaps the other “Bulldogs” had arrived on it earlier.
A high pitched whistle and a cloud of steam, signalled the departure of a train, just leaving the pier’s continental Marine Station, probably loaded with the war’s wounded. And looking seaward, that view was all about the war too. The outer harbour was very busy, with small boats plying to and fro between the many warships of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. It brought to mind a picture he had seen, of this same place, before he had even left Australia on this peculiar adventure. How strange it was to find himself, once again, part of that picture.
He had agreed to meet his fellow airmen in the Ordnance Inn, a pub not far away. So when he reached the end of the promenade, by the entrance to the Prince of Wales pier, he turned right, crossed the tram and railway lines and the swing bridge over part of the Wellington Dock and then right again, into Snargate Street, to walk a short distance to the pub. But he stopped in his tracks when he saw the pub was partially destroyed!
He was shocked, because this is where his friend had worked. Stopping a passing policeman he asked what had happened. By coincidence this very same constable had written the report on the incident. His tale was brief, but the full story, as reported in the newspapers ran something like this:
“At 02.15hours on 20 May there was another moonlight raid by seaplanes on Dover. They dropped fifteen bombs in rapid succession with the first landing on Dover College, where the college boys were still in residence. Bombs were dropped on Western Heights, damaging part of the Grand Shaft Barracks while the next fell on the roof of the Ordnance Inn, 120 Snargate Street. ………..
Locals said that throughout this assault, the defence guns were silent and that no aircraft went up to fight off the attackers. ”
“I used to enjoy the occassional beer here myself!” added the constable, “That this place got hit is a crying shame. Hopefully they’ll sort her out soon enough.”
“Do you know if anyone was hurt?” Mick enquired.
“Nah, don’t think so, sir. Blooming miracle if you ask me” replied the officer and walked off on his rounds.
Mick had to admit he was pretty cheesed off with that news. He only hoped that his friend really had escaped unscathed. It was then he heard a cry hailing him. Turning around he saw Jerry McKenzie and Patrick Moor approaching.
“Lordy” said Jerry, “I hope your girl wasn’t in there when it all came down!”
“No, thankfully not, or so I’ve been told, but I have no idea how I’m going to locate her now. That was over two months ago. So I guess its off to London for us, lads.”
“Two months ago!” remarked Patrick. “A bit slow to clear the mess, wouldn’t you say?”
“Too many other priorities I guess, said Jerry. “The locals must be pretty brassed off by now, what with all these raids and nobody doing much about it!”
And with that thought in mind, off they headed for Priory Railway station on the other side of town.
Two weeks later, having had a really good time in London, they were back again in Dover. Deciding to pay their respects to the boys of 49 Squadron, they made their way to Swingate aerodrome . But here they found the place almost deserted.
“All the pilots are out looking for U boats, sir” Said the sergeant on the gate. “And the CO ‘as given orders for any newcomers to report directly they arrive. Seems we need ‘elp with yet another possible raid, sir”.
Sure enough, not an hour later, they found themselves in the air once more. The CO had had little choice but to give them some aircraft that were intended for elsewhere. Three brand new Nieuports. Mick and the others had never seen them before let alone flown them. But that was the war for you!
They had split up to cover the area so that shortly after, when three enemy aircraft were spotted, as expected from reports from France, approaching Dover from the south, Jerry McKenzie was off to their left, heading east, whilst Patrick Moor was to their front right, heading west. Mick Taker was nowhere to be seen.
The Germans new this area well by now. Their first, moonlight, raid had been way back in January, when a Friedrichshafen FF 33b had dropped eight high explosive and one incendiary bomb, which had spread far and wide. One had hit yet another pub, The Red Lion in St James’ Street, killing Harry Sladden and injuring James Browning, George Gambrill and Richard Willis (locals). Another had hit Leney’s Phoenix Brewery. That really had upset the locals.
So these three raiders knew exactly where they were heading. Intent on destroying the railway stations which served the troops and wounded men using the Admiralty pier, plus any dock facilities that surrounded it, they were on track towards the western end of the harbour.
The moment they saw the RFC aircraft approaching they closed ranks and lined up for their bombing runs.
What happened next was all over in a matter of a few minutes! Jerry McKenzie banked heavily to his port side and approached the enemy with the intention of getting on the tail of the lead aircraft.
Patrick Moor, headed for the same enemy, aiming to cut off their approach and to try and get them to sheer off their present course.
Sadly, though, owing largely to their inexperience, both were heading for more trouble than they had bargained for.
McKenzie succeeded in his objective, but found himself the filling in a lead sandwich. One quick burst of fire, which hit a lumbering great FF33 and next second he was hit by return fire from his quarry, plus the rear machine gun on a blue Albatros and also, most crucially, the forward gun on the other Albatros! This last piloted by Fwbl Robert Janzen, who could now claim his first kill. Why? Because something went bang, rather loudly, and down went the Nieuport for a bathe in the English Channel, the pilot praying all the while that the fight had created enough interest, amongst the local fishermen, for them to spot where he crashed into the water, a couple of miles off shore.
As for Patrick Moor, he mis-timed his attack, banked too hard to port and almost collided with one of the hun. In a bit of a panic, he never-the-less managed to squeeze past, just; only to be hit from behind by the observer on the Albatros who had remained calmly oblivious to the danger posed by two aircraft trying to cuddle in mid air. This was not going well for the Bulldogs.
So with little in the way of opposition, the three German bombers happily continued on their intended bombing runs, with only a brief interlude whilst the observer in the hindmost two seater also had a pop at Moor’s Nieuport. He was pretty sure the shot was a good one, but much to his annoyance, the MG coughed and abruptly ceased to function.
This all happened just as Mick Taker came into view. He’d gone off to the east looking for early signs of the raiders, but had missed their approach completely. Finding nothing, he now returned to see the moment one of his flight’s Nieuports created a bit of a splash in the sea, whilst simultaneously the raiders were about to bomb Dover unopposed. He was not amused.
Not much he could do about it though, as he was a long way off as yet.
Meanwhile, the FF33e seaplane, flown by Fwbl Franz Theiller, dropped the bombs that had been released by the observer, Ltn Wilhelm Kummetz. The eggs sailed down towards the town, exploded unpleasantly on some houses in the unfortunate Snargate Street and took out some of the railway line, which ran northwards from the harbour towards Canterbury and London.
Following that, as the remaining two Nieuports, flown by our very own Bulldogs, hurried on their way to attempt retribution,the first of the Albatros two seaters started its bombing run, leaving it a bit late to hit the intended target!
The deadly load screamed earthwards, missing the docks by a very wide margin and the town hall by a rather small margin, ending up by
hitting some waste ground, to the side of a road which lead to the Western Heights, doing little more than minor damage to some nearby houses, but also wrecking a couple of shops on Biggin Street!
However, the third and final bombing run, by the hindmost Albatros, was far more successful, from the point of view of the German crews that is. Its’ bombs stradled the dock side and inner part of the Wellington dock, damaging cranes, goods and spare parts, as well as injuring some of the dock workers who had been too slow to run for cover. To add insult to injury, a rowing boat belonging to the harbour master was also smashed to pieces and sank rather unceremoniously. It had been known as “Happy Days II”. Number III would be required I suspect!
It was time for the three enemy aircraft to head home.
Turning, first to the east and then circling to the south,
all three crews were able to get a good view of the damage they had done.
No doubt they would exaggerate wildly, especially as a photo reconnaisance was highly unlikely.
Never-the-less, they were satisfied with the apparent success of their mission and were content, now, to get out whilst the going was good. No casualties either.
But that was about to change, even if they didn’t yet know it.
Focusing on the lead aircraft, (an Albatros two seater, flown by Vzfwbl Hans Achterberg) which had now overtaken the slower FF33e, Mick Taker attacked almost head on. He blasted it at close range and the German pilot returned the compliment before swerving to starboard, partly to avoid a collision but also because he reacted to having his shoulder pierced by a .303 round. He was heading home whether or not he wanted too. No further action required from him, thank you very much. He had hit Mick’s Nieuport as well though and a thin black stream of oily smoke began trailing behind the Nieuport like a chinese dragon. That plus Mick was struggling with the rudder controls for a few seconds afterwards.
The Albatros’s observer, Ltn Franz Hennig, also had a pot at Mick once they had passed one another but he missed completely plus his gun jammed. He was not amused.
Now, passing high above the ancient walls of Dover Castle, Patrick Moor finally got into the action too, with a long range burst of fire on the other Albatros. It did quite a bit of obvious damage, but nothing like enough to effectively harm the raider.
Then Mick Taker spun his aircraft around and fired a last, long range, shot at the rapidly departing leading Albatros, jamming his own gun and receiving a shot in return from its observer. Neither side did any damage to the other in this exchange and Mick, realizing he hadn’t the speed to catch the raider now, turned about again, to take on the lumbering seaplane.
It was obvious, now, that the two faster Albatros two seaters were going to make their getaway quite safely. There was nothing the two remaining Bulldogs could do about it. So partly in frustration; partly to exact retribution for the damage done to Dover; and also, not least of all in Mick Taker’s mind, partly because an earlier raid had prevented an amourous liaison with an attractive maid of Kent, they both turned their attention on the Friedrichshafen FF33e, the slowest of the raiders.
Having cleared his gun jam, Mick came into range of his enemy, before Patrick Moor ever got close enough, and a series of bursts of machine gun fire was exchanged with the observer on the seaplane. Mick’s aim was pretty well attuned by that time and a regretable part of his nature wanted revenge for the fate of his fellow Bulldog and friend, Jerry McKenzie.
He kept firing short bursts, starting from long range, until very close to the grey bird, on its starboard side, at which point the return fire came rapidly. But he hardly noticed the black oily smoke, once more, emitting from his engine as he flipped the agile Nieuport around to have another go. All the while the German observer kept up a rapid and accurate fire on him, but luckily for Mick, no further serious damage was done. The bullets ripped through the fabric of his birds’ wings and fuselage, chipping a few spars and loosening a few wires on their way. But nothing sufficient to stop his onslaught.
Until finally, the German machine gun went silent. Defenceless and horrified by their obvious impending demise, the crew of the FF33e tried desperately to evade further attacks. But that was not to be! One last devastating blow from point blank range and Mick was relieved to see the big grey lumbering bird lurch sideways and almost gracefully glide uncontrollably to the sea, where the pilot made an heroic attempt to land her on her floats. But the strain was too much for her, the undercarriage crumpled and she slewed sideways, creating a huge plume of sea spray, before settling on the surface of the water on what remained of her damaged fuselage. Her crew, both injured, still managed to disembark, before she sank beneath the waves.
A few days later, they both turned up back at their barn! Quite how they managed that should be a tale for another time. But for your benefit, dear reader, a very brief account of what transpired.
A second fishing boat had come to the rescue area, wanting to save the British pilot they had seen crash into the murky waters. Which is why they were on hand to fish the two Germans from the sea. One was obviously quite badly hurt, but the other, whilst injured, was still able to pull a pistol from its holster and threaten them with it.
“Oy, that aint fair” grumbled the unarmed fishermen.
“Fair or not” replied the German in passable English. “You will now turn this boat around and head for the Belgian coast.”
“That’s bloody miles away – can’t be done in this old tub. She aint up to it!”
“Then I shall have to ask you both to swim back to England, because I aim to do just that, my friends!”
“You aint no friend of ours mate” was the response, but despite their objections, their predicament decided the day. Neither of them could swim anyway – typical sailors.
And that was that. Lt Mick Taker and 2nd Lt Patrick Moor, made their way back to Swingate aerodrome, all the while wondering what might have happened to 2nd Lt Jerry Mckenzie. As it turned out, it wasn’t quite as bad as they had imagined. Jerry had been quite badly injured when his aircraft hit the hard grey sea of the English Channel. But, as he had hoped, he had been rescued, very swiftly, by the crew of a fishing vessel. The news had already been relayed to Swingate and Jerry was on his way back to shore and from thence to hospital. Hopefully he would make a speedy recovery and will have learned a salutary lesson from the experience. The sad news was that another fishing boat, with two crew members had gone missing whilst attempting a rescue and was now presumed lost at sea. It would be a while before those two fishermen were released from their status as guests of the Kaiser.
And as Fwbl Robert Janzen piloted his Albatros into the safety of a bank of low lying clouds and headed for home, he reflected proudly on the success of their mission and on the kill he had made. A Nieuport, of that he was certain.
His observer, Ltn Kurt Jentsch was also thinking hard, but about the FF33e he had seen going down behind them and he thought to himself “I’ll be back! I’ll terminate the career of that damned Britisher.”
Ok, Ok, how was he to know Mick was an Aussie?
The End
The Butcher’s Bill
Entente
Lt Mick E Taker / RTB/ 1 kill
Result – All good
2nd Lt Patrick Moor / RTB/ No kills
Result – All good
2nd Lt Jerry McKenzie / EXP SEA/0 kills
Roll 2D6 = 7 – 3 EXP – 1 SEA = 3 Injured skip 1D6 = 6
Skip 6 scenarios.
E&E
Roll 2D6 = 7 – 1 EXP – 1 WIC – 1 SEA = 4 skip 1D3 = 1 Skip 1 scenario.
Result: Skip 6 scenarios
Central Powers
Fwbl Franz Theiler / SD SEA / 0 kills
Roll 2D6 = 6 – 1 SD – 1 SEA = 4 Injured skip 1D6 = 5 skip 5 scenarios
E&E
Roll 2D6 = 10 -1 WIC – 1 SEA -1BEL = 7 skip 1 scenario
Result – Skip 5 scenarios
Ltn Wilhelm Kummetz / SD SEA / 0 kills
Roll 2D6 = 8 – 1 SD – 1 SEA = 6 Injured skip 1D3 = 2 Skip 1 scenario.
E&E
Roll 2D6 = 10 – 1 WIC – 1 SEA -1BEL = 7 – Skip 1 scenario
Result – Skip 1 scenario
Vzfwbl Hans Achterberg /FRTB / WIA / 0 kills
Roll 2D6 = 6 – 1 WIA + 1 RTB = 6 Injured skip 1D3 = 5 Skip 3 scenarios
Result – Skip 3 scenarios
Ltn Franz Hennig / RTB / 0 kills
Result – All good
Fwbl Robert Janzen / RTB / 1 kills
Result – All good
Ltn Kurt Jentsch / RTB / 0 kills
Result – All good
Victory – A resounding victory for the Eagles
Entente: One downed enemy tandem + one tandem forced home = 6 points
Central Powers: One downed enemy scout, two bombers making it home, two bombs hitting Dover and one bomb straddling the dock waterfront = 15 points
Notes:
I used Dave’s (Flash) D8 solo charts, as always. I did not use altitude and the initial two Entente aircraft were played AI – I played the third RFC aircraft to join the affray.
The CP were unfortunate in drawing several “jam” cards but otherwise things went well for them, with both the dice and the cards. The Entente scouts started well apart and the third entered well away from the action. Once the boom card was drawn by them they were never in with a chance of preventing the bombing of Dover. However, the raiders never came close to bombing the hospital in which I was born nor anywhere near my childhood home. Just as well for me huh!
Once again my regrets at posting so late. It happens ok
Finally: The facts surrounding the “playing area” and “prologue” for the AAR are all based upon either my personal experiences of Dover as a youth or the researches of Mrs Lorraine Sencicle, a talented lady and former lecturer in economics at Kent University, who has not only done much to prevent the over development of local open spaces and historical sites, but is also largely responsible for producing the Dover Historian. This is a web site without which I could not have discovered so much about Swingate aerodrome or Dover generally as it experienced WW1.
The site is well worth a visit by those of you who may be interested in what was, for many pilots of the era, a last jump off point before reaching the Western front. My heartfelt thanks to her and the rest of the team involved.
https://doverhistorian.com/2019/10/0...ine-aerodrome/
Cheers
Mike
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