OTT-CYM Mission 11: Attack Plane Surprise – 19th September 1916 – by ShadowDragon
Original scenario by camelbeagle
https://www.wingsofwar.org/forums/sh...by-camelbeagle
It was evening and, as it was every evening, social time for the extended families of the Wilde and Dundee Wine Estate – or was it the Dundee and Wilde Wine Estate. It depended on whether you asked Jack Wilde or Bruce Dundee, the rest of the families didn’t seem to care one way or another. They knew they just needed to get on with the jobs that needed doing; whereas Jack and Bruce preferred telling their war stories from Double-U-Double-U-One. Not that the rest of the families minded. It kept the old codgers out of the way when they needed getting out of the way, but it was a way to punctuate the day with a story of when they were cocky young men.
Tonight was just such a night….let’s eavesdrop on the conversation….
“Say, you’ve all been hearing from Bruce here how I made a habit of getting’ shot down, but he’s not so keen on telling you all about the first time he was shot down,” Jack said – by way of his offer for the evening’s war story.
‘Ah, that old story,” replied Bruce. “I was wondering when you’d bring that up. It’s a wonder of wonders that you haven’t told a hundred times by now – ah, wait, I think you have.”
Jack glared at Bruce. “It’s not my fault that you’d lost your touch wining and dining with high society back in Blighty – on your, what as it, good will tour to help sell war bonds. More like a good excuse for an extended bender. Since there’s no real objection, here’s the story of how the mighty Bruce Dundee was laid low by a rookie Hun.”
Now it was Bruce’s turn to glare.
“We had both just returned to the naval station. Bruce had returned from his bond-selling tour – likely because the had figured him out for being a phoney,” Jack said, with a twinkle in his eye. “While I had spent three weeks in hospital recovering from a near death wound..”
“Ha, more like one day of recuperating and twenty days of chasing nurses around the ward. What was the name of that one nurse, Bunty?”
Jack glanced at his wife, Angelique, to see if there was reaction. There wasn’t. There never was. Angelique could be the coolest cucumber when she wanted to be…or, a hot pepper when needs be.
“Then there were the wheelchair races. I hear you kept side-swiping one poor, RFC chap with a wounded wing into the wall. Then there was the wheelchair steeple race. Trust an Alberta cowboy to come up with that horror story. From the stories I heard, it set the recovery of a few chaps back a few weeks. Could have lost us the war!”
Jack smirked, reminiscing good times and then continued, “Things were not good at the squadron. By our reckoning they were a great success – putting fear into the Huns, but the brass didn’t see it that way. Shooting down three Fokkers while allowing most of the fuel convoy to be shot up by the Hun was not what they called a ‘mission success’. In their minds there had been too many ‘mission failures’ by our squadron – we lacked discipline – not focussing on the mission and chasing the Hun all over the sky. We lacked leadership, so there was an official inquiry to see if our flight commander, Flashman, was lacking in the proper leadership attributes. More like an inquisition. Poor Flashman just made ace – he should have been celebrating. Maybe he was – in his own way – every night he was ‘out on the town’ and coming back to the station, drunk as a skunk.”
“A few days after the inquiry, out daily order came – Hun two-seaters were routinely staffing our chaps in the trenches and would we go do something about it. It was not a welcome proposition – those two-seaters could be more trouble than the Hun scouts…”
“That’s just because you’ve had no luck with two-seaters. One gave you swimming lessons and the other put you in the hospital,” offered Bruce.
“As I was saying before so rudely interrupted…Hun two-seaters could be more trouble than a scout, unless you’ve lost your touch with too much wining an dining. Flying low over the trenches wasn’t good either – a quick way to a short flying career. But orders are orders. Flashman was ordering three of us – Fergis, Bruce and me to go up with him, but Flashman looked positively ill and unstable. He wasn’t fit to fly. Jock was the our 2IC, he was just a flight sub-lieutenant like the rest of us, but that was just because he was demoted from flight commander for expressing his opinion – with his fists. He was ready to take Flashman’s place but it wasn’t on. It was an ORDER. We all looked at each other wondering what to do, but before we could decide on whether mutiny made any sense or not, Flashman was in his Nieuport and taxiing across the field. There wasn’t much for it but to follow him. Fergis and I would join up with Flashman to go after the two-seaters while Bruce would watch out for Hun scouts.”
“Sure enough, there they were. Two Albatros two-seaters flying down the trench lines shooting up our lads. The enemy scouts were there too. Two Halberstadts – real competition for our Nieuports. They could climb as well and were a lot tougher than the nimble, little Nieuports.”
“Bruce flew right over the top of the Albatri. Lord knows why he didn’t drop something or other on one of them. But he was headed straight for the Halberstadts, so I figured he needed help – having lost his edge and all. Wheelchair races, on the other hand, are great at keeping your flying skills honed.”
“You’re just a lucky git, Jack.”
Jack glanced at Angelique, “I am at that.”
He continued with his story, “As I said, Flashman and Fergis headed for the Albatri. Flashman could normally handle himself but it didn’t look good. He was flying his Nieuport like a rookie. And we weren’t too sure about Fergis either – there was this vague, dark cloud over him.”
“Soon enough we were in the thick of it. I was shootin’ at a brown and green Halberstadt that was going after Flashman. I was climbing as best as I could but the Hun was still above me. Fortunately he missed Flashman – his guns seemed to go silent. Jammed I expect. A good thing no one told them our secret for unjamming guns – the mallet.”
“Wasn’t it that RFC chap in the hospital who was the same one we met at a ‘café’ when we first got transferred inland who had passed on the mallet secret.”
“Sure was the same chap. He had a passion for scotch whiskey but I think cognac runs in the family.”
“Speaking of cognac, if you’re going to go on with this story I think it only fair that you pour me a glass of the ’98 cognac. You still have some?”
“Some….,” Jack paused to think of his diminishing ’98 cognac supply (1898 cognac that is – rumours are that the RFC chap had a French family connection and might even have had some wee bit of 1798 lying about). “For an old friend, I do…,” replied a pensive Jack with a wee bit of regret in his voice.
“Well, here comes the part that’s pride comes before the fall. While I’m saving that drunken sot, Flashman, Bruce flies straight at the other Halberstady – all confident in himself from too much wining and dining and exaggerating of his exploits and all. When….bam…. a lucky bullet hits something and the Halberstadt explodes. Awful way to treat another pilot if you ask me. There was likely pieces of the poor man all over No Man’s Land”. {Note – the cards show the use of Bruce’s sniper ace skill.]
“Finally Fergis comes in, the last one in our circus of clowns, firing at the sky. I suppose it was the brown Albatros, but at the sky was close enough.”
“Fergis flies past the brown Albatros and fires at the blue Albatros…or more likely the sky. About as much effect as firing at the sky. Naturally, his guns jam….as usual.”
“Finally Flashman ploughs into this great tangle of aeroplanes, firing like mad and doing a fair bit of damage to the blue Albatros. The Albatri observes are still shooting at Fergis – or pretending to as Fergis isn’t taking much damage.”
“Then lo and behold….Fergis is banging at his machineguns with the mallet everyone in the squadron carries with them as essential gear when his guns suddenly let out a great blast that sets the brown Albatros on fire.”
“To top off that bizarre incident – as apparently Fergis is still banging at this jammed machineguns – when Flashman flies right into the blue Albatros. You don’t need to much thought to figure out that a fragile Nieuport 11 isn’t going to get the best of a sturdy Albatros CIII in a battle of dodge-planes. That was it for Flashman. It was No Man’s Land but he wasn’t badly hurt and made his way back scampering from shell hole to shell hole.”
“So I do my best to take over this shambles of an attack….”
“Of course, it would help if you knew how to shoot,” added Bruce.
“….as best I can.”
“While Bruce is off in his own world in a one-on-one duel with the rookie Hun in the brown and green Halberstadt. Cocky like anything, Bruce flies straight at the Hun but all the wining and dining has dulled his senses and he’s gets no lucky shot this time, but the Hun does a lot better and takes apart Bruce’s Nieuport like it was a serving of Weiner Schnitzel. Down goes Bruce – straight into the trenches. Lucky for him some of our infantry rescued him before the Hun artillery got the range on his Nieuport. How long did you spend at that army logistics base – telling them stories of being a great ace while they plied you with champagne and cognac and scotch and Lord knows what?”
“Never you mind…you had your hospital ‘vacation’ while I was just educating the lads on aerial combat.”
“The Huns are down just one aeroplane and we’re down two leaving myself and Fergis, who’s trying to figure out how to work a mallet.”
“It’s three to two but the brown and green Halberstadt is out of it for a bit while the Albatri are making a run for safety. I’m trying to get down behind the blue Albatros – into its blind spot, while Fergis is…not firing. Surely, he’s got his machineguns unjammed.”
“I’m finally on the tail of my Albatros and got my range…”
“You mean you hit by accident,” added Bruce.
“….I look over and Fergis is in the sweet spot for attacking a two-seater but still not firing.”
“Finally Fergis starts to shoot. I figure it was self preservation as the Hun’s were keen on shooting him down. I’m still firing at the blue Albatros – seems like I hit the pilot – but those Albatri can take a lot more than a Nieuport 11.”
“At last the blue Albatros had enough. Its nose went straight down. Likely the pilot was injured and couldn’t control the aeroplane. It plowed into the ground nose first. Poor chaps. I can’t see that they survived a crash like that. Fergis is still firing and amazingly doing some damage – more fire spurts up on his Albatros but we’re too close to where the Huns have far too much AA stuff so we break off and the brown Albatros gets away.
“Hard to believe the way that Albatros was blazing that it made it back to its aerodrome, but there were no confirmation it was downed. Pity it would have lifted the cloud around Fergis.”
[Photo to show the fire damage to the Albatros after it left the mat.]
“Now it’s two on one and we’re not – at least I’m not - about to let that rookie Hun get away with shooting down Bruce.”
“Aw, Jack, I didn’t think you cared.”
“Cared, nothing – we just needed experienced chaps.”
“I lined up the Halberstadt for a perfect shot – and unlike Bruce – in a position so as the Hun can’t fire back.”
“And unlike me, you missed.”
“We pass each other and I did an Immelmann turn to end up on the Hun’s tail.”
“Don’t forget you missed again, Jack.”
“I got in close to the Hun and did some good damage – looked like my bullets hit his engine.”
“I guess sometimes random bullets will hit something”, suggested Bruce.
“Fergis finally decides to add his symbolic contribution to the fight, but I’m so close there’s not missing the Hun – my second victory of the outing and a total of five – an ace, which is only fair seeing as Bruce snatched that first victory from me back in July.”
“So that’s the reason for the story – it was nothing to do with me being shot down. It was all about whe you becoming an ace. A great victory for the Huns – taking down two of our squadron’s genuine aces.”
“A bit of both to be honest. Becoming an ace was so I could keep your ego in check. You being shot down was just icing on the cake, so to speak – meaning you didn’t die and nor did anything serious happen to you other than putting up with being feted by some loggies while you told tall tales. Now have some more ’98.”
Victory Points
Seadogs:
3 planes downed X 3 = 9
Adlers:
2 planes downed X 3 = 6
1 two-seater across the line (barely) X 3 = 3 points
A DRAW!
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