OTT - EYM Mission 1 - When the Blood Runs Cold - 5th January 1917 by Mike
The 5th January had dawned much as the previous day, with bad weather, this time depositing a thin dusting of snow everywhere.
Not ideal conditions for flying. Uncle was shivering, despite the small stove that was doing its best to yield up its life giving warmth. He was working in his “Office”, little more than a large, dilapidated, garden shed really, when the telephone rang. It was Flight Commander Roy Mackenzie of 8 Naval, based at Vert Galant, a few miles north.
Uncle listened for a brief while, then put down the receiver, slowly. One of the chaps he had been friends with during his early training days, Sub Lt John Croft, was reported missing. He’d been part of a patrol of four Sopwith Pups which had become dispersed yesterday afternoon. A second pilot, Flt Lt Allan Todd was known to have been attacked by three enemy aircraft and shot down and killed. It was believed, at this stage, that a certain Ltn Manfred von Richthofen was responsible. At least, the report included the sighting of a red Albatros type enemy aircraft involved. Mackenzie had requested that any pilots flying today keep an eye open for signs of the missing John Croft.
Uncle sent for Lt Mick E Taker.
“Mick, I have a job for you! The navy has lost one of its own and asked us to help in the search for him. Its an old friend of mine too as it happens, so I’m asking you to go take a look in the area around Metz en Couture. That’s where the Hun bounced another of their boys, yesterday, and brought him down. A red Albatros was involved, so I’m assuming you know what you might be letting yourself in for!”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mick and tried to hide the fact that his blood had run a little cold. Not because of the snow outside either. “I’ll take Simon Hawker with me then. He’s got a sharp pair of eyes and can watch my back while I’m doing the searching”.
“Agreed” added Uncle. “Don’t go up there alone, whatever you do. That Richthofen chap is rapidly getting a bit of a reputation, so all the rumours and gossip seem to say! It only takes someone to see a red aircraft and everyone starts muttering about a red Baron or some such. You watch that six of yours, Mick. Don’t just rely on Simon, as good as he is”.
“Right, Uncle” said Lt Taker ruefully. “I’ll be off then”.
“Wow, is it bl**dy cold up here today?” Mick muttered to himself. It was now ten minutes into the patrol and as Mick wriggled his toes, to try to get some life into his feet, he looked around to make sure 2nd Lt Simon Hawker was still with him. But the latter was waggling his wings and waving frantically. It took a few minutes to make things clear but it became apparent that Simon’s Pup was having engine problems and he’d have to turn back.
Lt Mick E Taker should have turned back with him, but he was loath to give up the patrol so soon and if he turned back now and arranged for another wingman, it would likely be too late in the day to start out again. A day lost could mean the difference between life and death for Uncle’s friend.
Little did he know, however, that Sub Lt John Croft, although not particularly comfortable with his situation, was, never-the-less, safely in the hands of the enemy, who were, right then, studying his new Sopwith scout very closely! Indeed, it had also been Ltn Manfred von Richthofen who had shot down the other one yesterday, his sixteenth kill, but his first ever Pup. He’d never seen one before and was extremely interested to find out more about this “new type plane, never seen before….”. Not only that, but he was hungry to shoot down another one!
But then, how was Lt Taker to know that, at this moment in time? So on he flew, unwisely or not. He had some months experience under his belt by now and he’d learned a trick or two himself. No red Baron was going to get under his skin, no sir! Besides, he, too, had a Sopwith Scout into the bargain and was more than happy with it's performance.
So it was that he arrived, without incident, in the skies above his designated search area. By now he was so cold his hands were almost numb. He dropped down, from the four thousand metres he’d flown at during his approach, to a level, not so high above the wintry landscape that he couldn’t make out small details that might indicate a crash site or some such.
Glancing around too, all the while, looking for signs of possible trouble, he suddenly noticed another aircraft behind him. He couldn’t make out what it was as the light conditions merely rendered it as a black outline. Momentarily he thought it might have been Simon Hawker, who perhaps had somehow found his engine working well again. But some sixth sense prevailed and just in case he veered off to his left, intending to circle round and identify this other aircraft properly.
The other aircraft came on fast and flew on, in a straight line, past Mick before it also started circling, trying to keep on the tail of the tasty looking English scout. Not before time, Mick saw that it was indeed an enemy aircraft. It had the outline of an Albatros, a red Albatros, with which, by now, he was all too familiar and the thought crossed his mind, “Is this him”?
The Albatros, having circled in his direction, then appeared to be moving away, so Mick decided that this was no experienced pilot he was up against after all and made to follow, hoping to turn the tables on this opponent.
Too late he realised he’d made an error of judgement, for the Albatros did a very smart about turn and before he realised quite what he was up against, the enemy was heading straight at him. My was he fast too! Guns from twin Schwarzlose machine guns created tiny star bursts which Mick could clearly see twinkling a split second before bullets thrashed his Sopwith cruelly. Mick’s reactions were slow by comparison, despite his experience, and it was only as a kind of automatic reflex that he depressed the trigger on his single mounted Vickers machine gun. Where his own bullets went was anyone’s guess, although as the enemy aircraft flashed close bye, travelling in the opposite direction, Mick could have sworn he spotted flames and a trail of smoke following his opposite number. It was all happening so very fast, far quicker than in any other fight he’d been involved with. Whoever was flying that Albatros was good.
Not being fully aware of where he was and certainly having little idea of where the enemy was, Mick swung his head from side to side, desperate for visual information. He wasn’t quite in a panic, but the blood in his veins was definitely running extremely cold now. Fear works in strange ways for some. For Mick it was like time slowing down and thoughts, which shouldn’t have been in his head right now, interfered with his decision making. He pushed the joy stick over and the Pup swung to starboard
and kept going around to the right before, suddenly, again without warning, there was that awful red aircraft, guns blazing away already. “How does he do that?” came the ridiculous thought of the moment into Mick’s head. More bullets splashed with horrible whining noises all around him and over his Pup and “Ouch, bloody hell” into him. The shock made him tense, his cold, almost frozen hands jerked into a tight grip and his own gun fired. Black oily smoke billowed from somewhere in his engine. His aircraft was a tattered mess of ripped fabric, torn wood and dangerously loosened wires, all singing different tunes at once.
But it was all over, bar going home for tea time. Where was the other aircraft? That awful red thing, flown by that awesome opponent with lightning fast reactions and such a cool head. He searched the sky and there wasn’t a ****ie bird in sight. He looked down and, to his utter bewilderment, there, in a clump of trees, was something burning. He looked again, disbelieving his own senses, but sure enough, he could make out the remains of a red Albatros under the flames.
“How in God’s name did I do that?” he asked himself. Then the shock of what had just happened kicked in and he almost cried with joy. He had survived. It was a miracle. Better still, his opponent was down there. But had he survived to fight another day. Heaven help anyone else who had the misfortune to face him. “They had better be good”. He said to himself, then, grateful to be alive, he headed for the barn and that ever welcome cup of char. “No sign of Sub Lt John Croft” he thought. But he had given it his best shot, hadn’t he?
The End
Butcher’s Tally
Entente:
Lt Mick E Taker: Pup/ FRTB-D / WIA / 1 kill (Albatros DIII)
Landing: Rolled 2 + 3 Landed safely.
Wounded: Rolled 4 -1WIA +1ACE(lucky Pilot) +1RTB = 5 - Injured skip 1D3 scenarios. Rolled 4 = Skip 2
Central Powers:
Ltn Manfred von Richthofen: Albatros DIII/ FLM – FT / WIA 1 probable FRTB-D-W
SD Rolled 6 – 2FLM +1 ace -1WIA=4 Injured skip 1D6=3 Skip 3 scenarios
Assume no E&E rolls required as a) DIII came down in friendly territory and b) The pilot was, after all, a celebrity
Result: Well, I think you all know that and if not, ask Snoopy
Notes:
Many thanks to Paul (Shadow Dragon) for this starter mission in the new campaign. It was the shortest and perhaps one of the most violent (regards the damage cards drawn) I have ever been in.
Baron M von Richthofen used all of his ace skills, most of them twice. Survived a boom card from the opening shots, by using Lucky Pilot, but suffered the most horrendous “A” damage cards ever on just the first two of the three flame damage cards drawn. Four rounds from two close range fights added more high damage and he only went down because he was one point of damage away from shooting down the Sopwith pup. He had, of course, played both his Sniper and Itchy trigger finger ace skills, so a) Would not have been hit in the second close range fight if he’d had enough to down the Pup (Itchy trigger finger) and although he did huge damage to the Pup, using his Sniper ace ability (removing the only low scoring “A” damge cards that ever came up), it just wasn’t enough. Ultimately it was the fire that did for him. The Pup pilot also had the ace skill “Lucky pilot” and was able to discard an “A” damage of 5 with it in the first round, otherwise he would have been FRTB-D there and then and the mission would have been even shorter. And I swear, I shuffled both decks really well, including after putting back the discarded “Lucky Pilot” damage cards. This really was the closest run thing ever and the only mission I have played where both pilots got a “kill” albeit one them being an FRTB-D probable.
Sharp eyed amongst you will notice that I made two errors, neither of which I corrected as it was far too late by the time I realised. 1. MvR drew four cards, not three, and discarded two low scorers when he hit the Pup first time around. Ouch that hurt. 2. I drew two damage cards against MvR, again in the first fight, and mistakenly one of them came from the “A” deck (Not sure how that happened). Oops that hurt too. I owned up to the boss who didn’t then ask me to do the whole mission again. So I haven’t
NB The Victory by M v R on the 4th January actually happened and it was indeed his first sighting of the Sopwith Scout (Pup). Both references to the Sopwith Pup pilots shot down on the 4th January 1917 are factual. Fl Lt Allan Todd is recorded as MvR’s 16th Victory, whilst Flt Sub-Lt J C Croft was taken prisoner.
Ref: Under The Guns Of The Red Baron by Franks, Giblin and McCrery – pub.Barnes & Noble Books ISBN 0-7607-1209-3[/FONT][/SIZE]
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Enjoyed that fight.
Really enjoyed the scenario though, far more than I expected to. Thank heavens I flew the Pup on the AI charts as well as the DIII 
Originally Posted by mikeemagnus
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