Mission 6: "Oh Canada"--the Battle of Mount Sorrel - 8th June 1916
Vzfw. Andre Krähe and his observer Ltn. Albert Möwe looked over the map and observation photos that Ltn. Siegfried Schleiereule had taken the previous day.
“What do you think Möwe, you think that’s the target?” Krähe was 100% sure of it but he liked input from his friend.
“Without a doubt! It looks like a huge cache as well, no way can we destroy it with a single hit unless we get lucky and if it is a munitions dump we need to hit it from altitude or we run the risk of getting taken out by exploding ordinance.”
Consulting the map Andre circled the town of Passchendaele and a cross over Crest Farm.
Andre put his hands on his friend’s shoulders and looked him in the eye.
“Are you sure you’re up to it Möwe? This one is different, they’ll know we are going to push the advantage in all directions and other Jasta have been hitting similar targets all along the front, they will be waiting for us, ya?”.
Ltn. Albert Möwe embraced his friend and officer laughing.
“What choice do we have old man! Do you really want to live forever?”
“Ya!” Andre laughed his big belly laugh “And I want to tell my great grandchildren how my crazy friend Albert won the war for the Fatherland!”
They walked out of the briefing room arm in arm, getting odd looks from the ground crew as they headed to their Albatros C.I
1 hour later 4km North East of Ypres.
Three AMC DH.2’s of what was now fondly referred to as ‘Bull Dog Sqd.’ flew in perfect formation over the fields of Belgium; below them was what could only be described as hellish. What had once been a beautiful forested panorama was now pockmarked and crated blight. Between the Germans and the Entente they had given wanton rape to nature’s beauty and for what?
Ltn. Robert James was flying lead in the formation and he was sickened to the core of what lay below him, the Canadians had taken the brunt of the recent push by the Germans and looking down he couldn’t imagine how anyone could have survive in such conditions, yet day in, day out men lived down there, eating, sleeping and fighting and eventually dying.
He shook his head violently to clear his thoughts, just letting your guard down for a moment could be your death and he needed to stay focused as no doubt the Germans would be back in one form or another.
The three German planes slid through the clouds like prowling cats, getting as close to their prey as possible without sounding the alarm. They needed to slip through the patrol and ground defenses as unmolested as possible so that Ltn. Möwe could hit the target.
2 Ltn. Stanley Sumpter was on edge, he slowly scanned the sky especially the cloud edges for potential threats. He knew they were out there he could feel it, as they circled high over Passchendaele he thought he spotted something out the corner of his eye. Rather than looking directly at it he turned his head to use his more sensitive peripheral vision.
“Yes, there it was again!” he thought to himself, reaching down in to the cockpit he pulled out the flare gun and clenching the yoke between his knees loaded a green flare in to the chamber and fired.
Immediately as the flare went up the German planes broke formation scattering across the sky making harder targets for the incoming RFC pilots.
Ltn. Gerhardt Reiher singled out the lead aircraft as they converged on each other firing off a concentrated burst at short range hoping for an easy kill.
However the enemy wasn’t going down without a fight and his return fire was cut short, much to Reiher relief.
Ltn. Wilhelm Struddelhoff came in on the flank of the enemy formation, instantly furious with his machine as his Spandau LMG jammed without a single round being fired.
Sumpter sped towards the melee and as the planes converged everything came at him in a blur, he couldn’t distinguish the types of aircraft he was up against and just fired hitting the aircraft directly in front of him.
Everywhere you looked the sky was full of the crazed bluish trails of the tracer rounds as they leapt across the sky.
It was a target rich environment for Ltn. Albert Möwe and he fired at the closest aircraft as it soared above him, he deliberately aimed for the tail as it was the weakest part of the plane and he could easily part the tail from its pilot with concentrated fire.
However there would be no easy kill this time.
Ltn. John Crabb’s vision was a mess of wings, struts and wheels as he flew though the cloud of planes that swarmed around him like angry bees. For him he found time slowed in the fight and he spotted the Cross pattée of an enemy plane and fired directly at it.
“Bloody hells bells” he yelled to the wind as his Vickers jammed.
Möwe swung the gun and tracked the plane, breathing out and bracing his feet between the arms of the observers chair he fired at the enemy DH2 as it crossed directly behind him.
Now the initial merge was over pilots jockeyed for position trying to position themselves for a quick kill that was becoming harder and harder.
Ltn. Möwe leaned over the cockpit and shouted directly into Vzfw. Andre Krähe the internal intercom was little use over the noise of the howling wind and engine.
“Go,go, go!” he screamed and Andre pushed his head away and put the Albatros C.I to full throttle bolting from the melee, the enemy scouts oblivious to their departure continued the game of death high over the killing fields.
Ltn. Wilhelm Struddelhoff twisted and turned with his enemy, but just when he thought he had a true shot the DH2 would slide to the side or drop below the line of fire, he begrudgingly respected his foe and twisted in his seat to make sure his 6 was clear.
Reiher saw the plane slide into his sights and he depressed the fire trigger, the Spandau LMG barked in to life slamming rounds in to the delicate mechanics of the DH2’s tail.
Ltn. Robert James knew something was wrong as the yaw pedals jarred his feet so violently it hurt, he tried the pedals but they wouldn’t go all the way to starboard, limiting the maneuverability of his plane twisting in his seat and leaning out as far as his harness would allow it was hard to see past the engine and spinning prop to gauge the amount of damage he had taken, but by the way his pedals felt there wasn’t a lot back there.
Private Philip Henry White peered up from the dugout at the aircraft as it approached, he couldn’t tell if it was one of theirs.
“Shoot it you bloody fool! Shoot it!” screamed Private Alfred Carey who was preparing to feed the ammunition in to the Vickers MG.
The plane was almost over them and he spotted the insignia of the enemy, blocking the screams of his companion he fired almost directly in to the belly of the enemy plane.
Vzfw. Andre Krähe grunted as the rounds punched through the plywood bottom of the Albatros and slammed in to his buttocks. He gritted his teeth and leveled the plane, fighting the waves of pain that surged through him. He felt the spread of warmth through is undergarments and prayed it was blood, he would never live it down in the mess if they found out he’d pissed himself.
Ltn. Albert Möwe inadvertently ducked as he heard the zip of the rounds passing by and checked the plane over. He shouted at Krähe asking if he was ok and he was waved off by his friend.
Not knowing of his friend’s plight he swiveled the gun to its extreme and fired at the ground units through the wings, it was a risky shot and if he wasn’t sure of his aim he could shot himself down.
Pulling the trigger, nothing happened.
Meanwhile Robert James was desperately trying to shake the two Germans from his tail; he was limited to what he could do as his rudder was shot to pieces.
“Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße!!!” Struddelhoff screamed at the enemy, he was sure of a kill yet his guns had jammed again. Dancing across the sky he had to both keep on the enemy’s tail and try and clear the stoppage.
“Scheiße” he screamed again just for good measure.
Reiher laughed as the enemy jinked again, he seemed to have either the luck of the devil or eyes in the back of his head and it seemed the fight had gone out of him as he raced towards a heavy bank of clouds brewing ahead of them.
With this parting shot he pulled back on the yoke till he inverted and rolled out level again.
Private Philip Henry White pulled the gun right over to keep the plane in his sights, exposing himself to anyone on the ground who might take a pot shot at him, he pulled the trigger and the gun jumped to life as Private Alfred Carey fed the ammunition belt in to the hungry Vickers.
Krähe grimaced in pain as the yaw pedals jolted sending another wave of pain though him, the tail was well and truly jammed.
Reiher had abandoned the jammed machine gun and was busy with the timers on the bombs that he would toss over the side of the Albatros C.I he saw how the light from the holes in the fuselage played across his hands as he went about his work.
Ltn. Robert James let out a sigh of relief as the clouds wrapped around him, he wasn’t happy to be leaving his wingmen behind but his aircraft was out of the fight. The rudder was all but useless for turning to starboard and it would take luck and a pray to get him safely down.
Struddelhoff fired off one last volley in vain as the enemy DH2 evaporated like a specter into the clouds, he could consolidate himself with the fact that they had removed one of the players from the game but it didn’t do anything to appease his ego.
Möwe looked down, the small town of Passchendaele lay just in front of them and he quickly scanned for Crest Farm. He pointed it out and Krähe made some slight adjustments, difficult in light of the rudder being damaged.
When he was ready he patted Krähe on the head and prepared to drop to drop his charges.
The bombs fell through the sky sliding as they did and detonated on the perimeter of the compound, however it was enough to detonate some of the ordinance stored there and multiple firesspread out across the munitions cache.
Finally the rudder gave way under Vzfw. Andre Krähe weight and the Albatros C.I banked over and he inspected the inferno below, his observer had been right, the Canadians had taken precautions against such an attack and had dug sand traps and below ground storage to protect the ammunition stores and they would need to come round again for another bombing run.
The explosion and fireball had attracted the attention of the RFC pilots who broke off from the melee and headed directly towards the new threat. 2Lt. Stanley Sumpter was furious with himself, his task had been to stop such a thing from happening and yet they had been so engrossed in the fight they hadn’t seen the twin seater slip through the lines.
The chase was on.
Dropping down on his prey Reiher opened fire, slamming rounds in to the unsuspecting pilot.
His eagerness to finish off his foe overrode his training and his shot went wide, cursing his stupidity he continued to close on the enemy, who was now all too aware of his presence.
He fired again, but this time the pilot responded by suddenly side slipping and the shots went wide of their mark. He reflected how these strange looking birds were harder targets than the other planes they had gone up against previously and they seemed to take a lot more punishment.
He jinked right and pulled the trigger anticipating the pilots reaction, and sure enough he slide in to the line of fire, he saw rents in the fabric a his rounds found their mark and he took immense satisfaction in his work.
Hopping through the cloud cover Vzfw. Andre Krähe got behind the firing arch of another AA post, chopping his hand down towards the target Albert Möwe hammered the position from above.
Just for a second 2 Ltn. Stanley Sumpter was distracted by the sight of the enemy observation plane breaking cloud cover and it was all his pursuer needed. Bullets slammed in to the wing structured and the fuselage, doing very little damage to the sturdy plane.
Albert Möwe fired again in to the fixed position and was reward with a small explosion that produced an oil black smoke drifting lazily into the air.
“One less bastard to worry about” Möwe shouted over the sound of the engine. He was rewarded with a thumbs up and the plane started is slow turn back towards the primary target.
Looking at the smashed rudder he was starting to get worried, the last time they had been shot up so bad he had been forced to unbuckle his harness and shim out along the tail and manually force the rudder until it moved freely, however this time they were missing quite a bit of it.
Private Philip Henry White’s spotter, Private Alfred Carey tapped on his helmet and pointed skyward,
“There’s another one of those bastard Huns! Let him have it!”
The gun spat casings as it hurled bullets up towards the incoming Fokker. Yet they all passed by without a single hit.
Ltn. Gerhardt Reiher oblivious to the threat below continued to hound the enemy plane lining up on the center mass he fired again, there was a flash and then flames started licking from the engine of the AMC DH2.
Private Philip Henry White adjusted his aim, slightly above and leading the enemy Fokker he fired a short burst. The chain fed ammunition blurred in to the chamber, the 16th round was slightly different to the others before it, about 6mm from the tip of the .303 British 7.7 mm round was a chip caused when nail on the packing crate had been driven though the lid at an angle, it was 0.034g lighter than the other rounds and the crew charged with making the linked ammunition had missed the defected bullet.
As the bullet was fed in to the chamber the pin struck the firing cap and ignited the charge driving the bullet up the 28 inches of rifled barrel, the 250mm rifling twist span the bullet and as it left the muzzle it trajectory was slightly different than the other bullets. It rose in to the air at 844 m/s and reached its target in just under 2 seconds, as the other rounds punctured the fuselage and wings the chipped round was already 4 inches off from the main grouping.
The 3,463 J of energy made easy work of punching straight through the aluminum belly of the Eindecker E.III, clipping the rudder bar the bullet ricocheted off it now deformed and striking the underside of the fuel tank beside the air intake. The velocity although decreased did nothing to stop the bullet passing through the thin metal of the fuel tank.
The pressurized fuel squirted out the entry hole left by the clipped bullet and as it pooled in the confined space between the engine and the pilot it began to vaporize. 3 milliseconds later another round punched through just 2 inches away and slammed into the steel casing of the air pump, the friction melted a small fragment of the metal that flew away superheated and as the air caught it, it flared into a spark.
The vaporized fuel instantly combusted, igniting the rest of the fuel blowing the delicate Fokker Eindecker III in to pieces.
A cheer went up from the men in the trench line, the constant shelling by the German artillery, then the total route of the Canadian forces when they had been overwhelmed by infantry had left them feeling helpless as the plane fell from the sky the moral of the men below soared.
More cheers went up as Philip Henry White fired on the second Fokker E.III that appeared out of the clouds, what had been a somber morning and turned in to a celebration as Philip and Alfred went about their duty to bring down the enemy.
Ltn. Wilhelm Struddelhoff felt the rudder bar jolt beneath his feet and waved a fist at the infantry below as he tried in vain to get the rudder to move, he was over the trench in a blur and he focused his attention on the two AMC DH2’s hounding his crippled ward.
Albert Möwe crouched in the cramped space of the observer’s seat in the Abatros C.I and looked down the sights at the DH2, He fired a volley catching the enemy pilot unawares.
No sooner as his own gun went silent the enemy responded with deadly accurate fire of its own, catching the broadside of the C.I making an easy target.
Oblivious to the damage Möwe waited until the enemy filled his sights and fired again ripping in to the fragile surface of the wings and airframe. Again the enemy responded slamming more rounds into the damaged rudder that flapped lazily in the turbulence of the prop wash.
Ltn. John Crabb AMC DH2 was a wreck and he was surprised it was still flying, one of the wing struts had been cut in two by machine gun fire and was only held together by the cables. The wing surface was so badly lacerated that it was no longer providing any real left and made the plane lurch drunkenly to the side. Reluctantly he broke off the attack ad headed for the nearest aerodrome wondering if he was going to walk away from the landing.
Albert Möwe spotted the AA position too late and swinging the gun around he fired off an ill aimed shot completely missing the target, the catch bag that contained the spent casings pressed upwards in to the ejection port on the Spandau MG preventing the spent rounds ejecting properly and jamming the gun.
More rounds lanced up from the ground causing little further damage but the accumulation was starting to take its toll on the Albatros C.I
2Lt. Stanley Sumpter’s DH2 was ablaze and he kept his aircraft in a tight turn trying to desperately keep the flames away from him. Yet they ate quickly away at the doped linen.
Vzfw. Andre Krähe was having a hard time keeping the Albatros C.I in the air, they could hardly turn to starboard and his injuries made fighting the plane even harder.
“One more hit and she’s going down, we need to get out of here!” Andre shouted over the noise to his observer.
“Ya, but look! We’ll go straight over the target on this present course just keep her in the air and I’ll do the rest, as soon as I release the bombs head for the lines!” Albert Möwe shouted back.
With a curt nod, Andre continued to fight the elements and physics to keep them on their present course.
The enemy plane was blazing away and suddenly turned directly into the path of Ltn. Wilhelm Struddelhoff his reactions were fast and he blazed away at the incoming plane.
Sumpter couldn’t believe it as the enemy Eindecker III filled his sights and he pressed the trigger firing the guns into the plane at almost point blank range.
The infantry on the ground fired up at the enemy aircraft as it turned its tail on them presenting them with a perfect shot squeezing the trigger the gun jammed.
Sumpter’s aircraft broke to pieces, the fire had eaten through the wood to the bracing wires and the aircraft folded in on itself, the flames feeding on the highly flammable materials. The last thing he saw was a bright yellow fireball hurtling towards him.
Wilhelm Struddelhoff was lifted high in to the air and he saw the tangled mess of the enemy DH2 and his Eindecker collide and in one flaming heap fall to the ground, as he fell the rush of the wind made it impossible for him to breath and he flapped helplessly in the air to try and turn his body. The world went dark as he slowly asphyxiated.
It was a miracle that they were able to stay on course as Albert Möwe prepared the last of his bombs, he meticulously went about checking the bombs, timers and last he removed the safety pin, stood on the seat and leaned over the side of the plane. Waiting till the very last moment he dropped both bombs at the same time and watched them fall.
The sleek black objects wobbled as they fell, but as they reached terminal velocity they flew true racing towards the huge cache of munitions below.
The bombs smashed through the corrugated roofing off the dugout detonating directly in the centre of a cache of 18-pounder artillery shells the ones closest to the primary detonation exploded an instant later detonating the hundreds of other shells, the chain reaction was instant and the whole site seemed to rise up in to the air.
Unable to take evasive action and turn away from the inferno below them the Albatros flew directly over the target. Shells burst around them buffering them so violently that they were sure the plane would come apart beneath them.
It was no time to relax however and Albert Möwe returned back to his jammed gun and worked on clearing the stoppage as his pilot tried desperately to maneuver the plane away from the exploding ordinance below them.
Clearing the stoppage just in time they Möwe fired down on the on the AA gun emplacement. The bullets rained down taking the trench line by surprise, their eyes being o the explosions coming from the ammunition dump behind them they had momentarily neglected their duty and paid the ultimate price.
Möwe looked down on the burning trench saluted and mouthed the words “Fick dich” silently in to the wind.
Neither of the two men alone in the sky said a word to each other as they flew over the trenches and scared earth between them, they passed over green fields where birds still nested in the trees and deer ran in the woods, yet still neither man spoke, both men lost in his own thoughts as dark clouds gathered above them.
The next day Vzfw. Andre Krähe and his observer Ltn. Albert Möwe bent over the reconnaissance photo that had been taken that morning.
Möwe looked up at Oblt. Von Machin “Are you sure that’s the same targert?” he said with utter disbelief.
“The very same, here there’s the original” Von Machin slid another photo across the desk, both taken at roughly the same heading and altitude.
God Save them was all Andre could say, Crest Farm, Passchendaele no longer existed. It was if God himself had erased it from the face of the earth.
12 hours and 10 minutes earlier
The Canadian stretcher bearers crouched in one of the thousands of craters that scattered what had once been woodland, it was now as barren as the surface of the moon. They were watching the dog fight high above them, they had front row seats as a green Eindecker III and a blazing Dh.2 turned head to head on each other.
“That’s another of our boy’s gone, poor bastard” the taller of the two said.
“God bless him” his partner replied, they went silent as they heard the stutter of machine gun fire as the two planes converged on each other directly over head.
There was a deafening boom as both aircraft seemed to instantly explode showering the area in flaming debris as they twisted and fell to earth like two birds of prey fighting mid air over food. Burning aviation fuel fell like rain making the scene even more hellish and the two men pushed themselves deeper in to the wet mud of the crater wall as it fell around them.
Both men turned their heads as large splash erupted from the water filled crater behind them, slowly sitting, jaws agape like two stone gnomes.
Ltn. Wilhelm Struddelhoff sat dazed and confused, the freezing muddy water came up to his neck and was so thick it was difficult to move, looking around he saw two medics sat against the wall of the crater and at first he thought they were dead until the shorter one blinked.
“Chaps! If you wouldn’t mind helping me out I would be deeply indebted to you as I seem to have broken some bones, oh and I surrender” Struddelhoff called out between chattering teeth in his best schoolboy English.
The two Canadians looked at one another and burst out laughing.
Butchers Tally
Entente
DH.2 (CDL)
Pilot; 2Lt. Stanley Sumpter SD-FLM/1 Kill. 2D6 (5) – 2 = 3 (Severely Injured - Skip 6 Scenarios)
DH.2 (Green)
Pilot; Lt. John Crabb = RTB/0 kills
DH.2 (CDL Tail)
Pilot; Ltn. Robert James = RTB/ 0 kills
Central Powers
Albatros C. I
Pilot; Vzfw. Andre Krähe = RTB/WIA/ 0 kills. 2D6 (9) +3 (RTB) – 1 (WIA) = 11 (All well when you land well!)
Observer; Ltn. Albert Möwe = RTB/ 0 kills. 2D6 (7) + 3(RTB) = 10 (All well when you land well!)
Mission Primary: Target destroyed, Secondary: 2 ground targets destroyed.
Fokker Eindecker A.III
Pilot; Ltn. Wilhelm Struddelhoff = EXP/ET/1 Kill = 2D6 (8) -3 (EXP) =5 (Injured - Skip 2 Scenarios)
Escaping Enemy Territory; Rolled 6 -1BEL, -1WIA (from crash) = 4 Captured and escaped! - Skip 1D3 Scenarios. Skips 1 = Total 3
Fokker Eindecker E.III
Pilot; Ltn. Gerhardt Reiher = EXP/ET = 2D6 (2) -3 (EXP) = KIA
Note:
As always this After Action Report is dedicated to the brave men who fought for their ideals on both sides of the conflict. I was going to post this up yesterday but out of respect for the fallen and for those that survived to rebuild their countries I waited till after Armistice Day, the guns were silent.
Yesterday David posted this: and it really gave me food for thought as I finished the story up, I would say yes it does truly honour them, many of the side characters names in my stories are from the WWI memorial in my home town, their names forgotten, families died out or moved on never to be known again as in some cases I know that the whole male side of the families were wiped out by the great war, often in the same day dying side by side. So by writing these stories and learning about the regiments they fought in and how and where they died (if possible) means for yet another generation someone remembers the greatest sacrifice they made.
To me they are no longer just a name, but an individual with a life and a story to tell and even if for one brief moment in time these men such as Private Philip Henry White who came to England and enlisted in Sussex to the Canadian Infantry (Quebec Regiment, 24th Bn.) and died July 20, 1916 (30 years old) and left behind a wife in Canada or Private Alfred Carey who was born in Belgium yet ended up in the same Regiment and company as Private White and who died June 03, 1916 (34 years old), come back to life through inclusion in my stories, by you reading of them gives new meaning to the ultimate sacrifice they gave.
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