Sebtoombs

Thank you Sir! Albrecht: Congrats too to Jean-Fidele Hierrot

Great stories Gents! A.T. - Rest In peace Kenneth Hardie! We drink to your memory and your success in combat. He was such an interesting character and I enjoyed your pictures of the bombs! Mfair - Elijah is quite the poet sir! Hassel - Auguste's time in the Nieuport 10 should be interesting! Such a bleak photo of the front too, chilling, PBI. Raine - I continue to love your writing, poor Mr Osbourne - just as he was beginning to open up to Hawkwood! Albrecht - I love your art style thanks for sharing how they are done! I'm looking forward to what October has brought for the rest of our intrepid DiD pilots! ------ Flight Lieutenant Theodore Aloysius Andrews aka 'Runt' HQ Sqn 1 Wing RNAS in Flanders St. Pol-sur-Mer Missions:53 Flying Hours: 82 Confirmed Victories 6 Part 12 I didn’t wait... I left the little coffee shop at once. To see Monique with Simon Ackart, my boyhood bully and current odious nemesis was a most devastating vision, my heart felt like it was going to explode and the blood in my veins had turned to ice. I felt kicked in the stomach and twisted in knots. There is a small bar in Dunkirk, in a side street, near the docks and it was there my feet dragged me. The open door emitted a whiff of tobacco, sea-water, sweat, the subtler indescribable odour of masculine loneliness and one too many bare-knuckle fights, but I pulled up a chair and drank heat into my veins and heart. Just a few weeks into being twenty and I felt like an old man. One drink turned to more drink, then, even more, drink, then oblivion. I woke on my camp bed, in my basher, cold with a mouth feeling like a fur coat. Davies stood over me. “How’s the head Theo?” He enquired with a practised delicateness that only the Welsh can manage without sounding effeminate. “Thumping like a barn door in a gale”. I slurred. “Not surprised, old man.” He smiled “ I went looking for you and Monique last night, I saw her and Ackart together and guessed where’d you be.” Davies looked upon me with sympathy and care in his eyes. “You need to learn to hold your drink.” The older man added. After a moment of silence while he assessed my sorry state he continued, “Apparently he made his move when we were in captivity, by all accounts she was devastated and he moved in with a strong arm and shoulder to cry on. I’m sure when she hears we’re safe and sound things will work out.” Whether it was pride or a sense of scorn I resolved in my heart never to step foot inside the Le P'tit Dupont again and devote my time to flying and to helping the chaps with one exception. The Partnership continued. I was cleared to fly again very quickly and Davies’ and my partnership continued. The first half of October was the continued mix of reconnaissance and patrols, both over our lines and the enemy’s. We went two weeks without seeing anything in the sky and then mid-way through the month things began to heat up dramatically. We were attacked by Fokker monoplanes on two separate occasions. In the first instance, Davies and I were near the back of our formation and the first I knew of it was Davies firing like the blazes. We downed at least one but our claim was denied. On the second occasion, we were jumped from below by 4 Fokkers. Our Morane was leading the flight I ordered the flight into a climbing left-hand turn, allowing us all to make shots on the EAs. Between us, we bagged a couple. Ackart is still flying a BE2c and I saw him break away from the pack and was being chased by two very determined Fokkers. I am proud to say I didn’t even hesitate and pointed the nose of the Morane to aid him. Ackart saw what we were attempting and flew towards us, the BE2 coming under intensive fire, it flew over us and Davies let the first Fokker EI have it. The Fokkers incensed, left Ackart alone and stuck to us. Davies fired and fired taking a couple of hits himself. Whether it was Archie or the Fokker our Morane had had a bellyful and started to lose fuel and responsiveness. I started to make for our side of the lines with the Fokker in pursuit. Davies, despite his injures kept firing at the Fokker who wouldn’t let go. I knew his bravery was rewarded when all of a sudden, Davies shouted "Got the bugger!" Ackart's BE2 is attacked by Fokker EI Fokker Scourge Getting Close ... ... But Not Too Close Putting the Morane down in a field, I dragged Davies out of the cockpit bleeding. Ripping strips from my coat I wrapped his wounds. He had nasty wounds in both his shoulder and left arm as well as a gash above his forehead. I couldn't see any sign of the second Fokker and perhaps Davies hit that chap too - I'll never know. Davies was taken to hospital and I returned to St.Pol-sur-Mer. Ackart’s observer had also been injured in the fray but apart from that, the flight escaped unharmed. I still do my best to avoid Ackart, there is no love lost there between either of us. After the Fokker attack, he did try some attempt at an apology, which I detested as it put further demands on my patience. We were a claim on the flaming EI too. I think everyone too busy was fighting for their lives to notice! Unbeknownst to me, that was to be my last flight with Davies, who I’ve been to visit in hospital a couple of times. The next day I flew with a new chap and on the third day, we took delivery of some beautiful single-seat scouts. Nieuport 10s. This is a relief as the Morane’s were little match for the German one seaters. I ended the month enjoying the beauty of this new machine. The chaps have started scoring regular victories in them, I even two bagged two armed Aviatiks of which one has been confirmed. Confirmed and unconfirmed victories The squadron is in frightfully good heart some great chaps have joined us. The most promising is an Australian chap called Rod Dallas. He arrived in a Caldron G4 which he prefers at the moment to the Nieuports - for my money it’s a ridiculous looking thing, but it keeps up with the rest of us so we let it pass. We’ll hopefully coax him into a Neiuport before too long. He is a particularly good sport, on his second day with us one of the other chaps, a practical joker, imitating Chris Cleaver (our CO) telephoned Dallas, (who was the duty officer) and ordered him in brusquely imperious tones to take off in a 'propeller-less Breguet' that we had knocking about in a hanger. Upon learning that he had been tricked, Dallas joined in the laughter with the rest of us and has accepted the resulting nickname of "Breguet". To be continued …