Pips

The Bristol F2B would have to take the cake. How the pilot managed to see anything directly ahead is beyond me. Viz over the top of the wing is fine, but but directly ahead is hopeless! Must have made chasing an enemy aircraft a real test.

There is often a wide discrepancy between the 'official' recorded performance figures of any one particular aircraft, and those reports by pilots on an aircraft's handling in combat. Often the rwo vies cannot be reconciled. Stated performance figures are very useful, especially for those who use them to model aircraft for sims such as ours. But so too are pilots accounts, which should never be discounted simply because they don't agree with the supposedly 'hard facts' of officialdom. A really good example of this variance of views is the Sopwith Snipe. On paper the Snipe offered little in the way of improvement over the Camel. Yet pilot accounts sing of it's virtues. The following link is rather old, but well argued between the follows of 'official' paper performance as opposes by those who prefer real pilots views. Well worth a read. :) http://www.theaerodrome.com/forum/2002/12547-sopwith-snipe.html

Ouch!

That's a very good question!

Is it available by snail mail, or only by download? I had a look on the site, but couldn't see an answer.

I've been meaning to ask about this folder for ages. Kept forgetting though. Anyways, when I look at the folder setups in Explorer, under C:/Program Files> Microsoft Games> there are three sub-folders; namely CFS3, CFSWWI Over Flanders Field and WWIScenery. My question is .... why is the WWIScenery folder separate from the OFF folder?

RBII was my first sim, which I picked up in 1998 when I happened to be passing a toy store in downtown George Street and noticed it in the window. It opened up a whole new world to me. Up until then I had read just about everything on The Great War aviation I could get my hands on. But to be able to fly the actual aeroplanes, see the aircraft in glorious colour waltzing around the sky in deadly ernest was fantastic. It really did create another level of appreaction of that era. Over time RBII morphed into RB3D, then WFP (my favourite). Online flying with the boys from RAC opened up sharing with like-minded folk. Since that day in 1998 my sim collection has grown to include EAW, MiG Alley, BOB and BOBII, B-17 The Mighty Eighth, all the Il-2 sims, CFS1,2 and 3 and FSX. There have been many attempts to replace RB3D, the only one that has done so though is Over Flanders Field. And that's probably because most of the guys associated with it cut their teeth on Red Baron. They have incorporated into the features of OFF (along with their own many other outstanding features) those that made RB (and it's UOP's) outstanding: range of aircraft, immersive campaign, historical accuracy, aces and fabulous skins. And yes, most of my WWI stick time is spent in OFF. But I'll never forget where WWI aviation came to magical life for me. And that's why, at least once a month, I fire up the old girl and take to the skies.

Absolutely fascinating thread. Very informative and educational. I luv this form of 'detective' work, congratulations to all for contributing. Really adds to the interest of OFF, and greatly enhances flying in the game. Another reason why I like this thread is that it includes details of the field where my favourite aeroplane colourscheme operates ie Schobinger's beautiful Albatross D.V. It's odd how that, out of all the many varied scheme's used, this is the one that captures my imagination the most.

Ahh Mike, you are getting better with age, if that is at all possible! The Spad XIII's were amongst the most colourful of all aircraft, especially in the hands of the USAS. So much more so than the boring British.

"Height and Caution" - couldn't agree more with that sentiment! Sound advice. The E.III wasn't a particulary good aeroplane. It's major advantage (in fact it's only real saving grace) was that it had a forward firing MG which gave it a decided advantage over aeroplanes of the same era. However once the British and French responded with aircraft the likes of the Sopwith 1 1/2 Strutter, DH.2 and Bebe the Fokker lost it's mystique and was seen for what it was ..... an aeroplane of mediocre performance. Nevertheless, if handled properly, it is possible to survive through to gaining the Albatross. Although to be honest I've only managed it twice from five attempts! The skilled Fokker pilots like Immelmann, Boelcke, Wintgens, Frankl et al were patient men. They stalked their quarry, held the height advantage, attacked from the sun (if possible), and moved on if the conditions were not in their favour. And they avoided fights with single-seater fighters if at all possible. Of the 11 men who made 'ace' flying the Fokker Eindecker only five scored victories over single-seat fighters. Boelcke claimed 3 Nieuport 11, Parschau one DH2, and Hohndorf, Berthold and von Althaus each claimed one Nieuport 11. Take a leaf from their book.

Leaves us with more time to fly!

That would be so cool!

A field I would dearly like to see correctly rendered would be La Gorgue, so named because of the nearby village. 46 Squadron was based there in May 1917 when Arthur Gould Lee (of "No Parachute" fame) joined them. It was his first operational Squadron and his comments are most illuminating. The following (abridged) quote is taken from his book. "I arrived about teatime, and haven't had a chance to fly yet. We're pleasantly situated directly alongside the River Lys, near the village of la Gorgue, with two towns within easy reach, Merville and Estaires. But - there is no aerodrome! At least, nothing resembling the kind I'm used to, vast stretches of grassland like Neatheravon and Portmeadow. After a quick journey in a Crossly from St. Omer to Merville we came along a cobbled, poplar-lined road until suddenly we slowed down and turned off left, past a sentry, into a cindered area surrounded by numerous huts and tents, a line of Leyland lorries, and a large wooden shed, the end one of a row backing on to the road. These were the hangers. In front of them, on a long cindered stretch which was the tarmac, stood a few Pups, attended by a sprinkling of mechanics. But no aerodrome. Only a wide field of potatoes. The driver pulled up by a modest hut with oiled silk windows, a sort of overgrown packing case, with the RFC ensign flying above and a gas alarm flanking the door. As I got down from the Crossley I asked 'But where's the aerodrome?' The driver grinned, pointed to the potato field and said 'There's a criss-cross of cinder tracks in the middle of that.' The following day Lee had his first flight. "The aerodrome is a shocker, a sort of Union Jack of cinder tracks five or six yards wide, running among the potatoes and other crops. You taxi out for about 150 yards, with an ack-emma holding on to each rear interplane strut, to a cindered space in the centre some thirty yards square. The mechanics are there to stop you dropping into the drainage ditches that flank the tracks, a necessary precaution, especially in a side wind, when the Pup can be darned difficult to taxi. If you run off the track when landing, over you go on your nose with a broken prop at the least. Both Courtney and Williams, who've only been here twelve days or so, have had landing crashes, and they warned me to be careful; as the CO gets in a frightful tizz when that happens. When you get in the air you can't believe it's an aerodrome. The tricky cinder track criss-cross makes it stand out clearly from the surrounding fields, so it's bad for camouflage reasons. Apart from that, you've got a big acerage of mixed crops flanked on one side by a river lined with poplars, and on the other by a row of hangers, backed by more poplars, also telegraph poles, on the main road. Whoever picked this place as an aerodrome must have been completely off his rocker. As if that was not enough the farmer and his family worked the fields at all hours on the day. It was a common sight to see one of the family members patiently standing by the cinder track waiting for a pilot to land so they could then continue with their work." I know it would be hard to model (if not impossible) the taxiing to the take-off area. But it would be fun to still have the layout correctly textured. It would indeed make the aerodrome stand out on returning from patrol, and you could always test your skill by langing in the right area. :)

It's flying in it's most basic form. The same aeronautical rules apply, but you have to do it more by feel and sensation. There are no instruments to speak of (certainly not what you are used to), no autopilot, no ground control, no radar, nada. The aeroplanes of the period possess reasonable power (although some are really no more than powered gliders), but energy constraints greatly affect what you can and can't do. And that's just flying around. It becomes even more noticeable in combat. Some aeroplanes can't manage a loop, others break-up in dives, some are so slow you can't run away (or even catch the enemy without a decided altitude advantage). And if you choose to fly certain two-seaters you had better have your will up to date. Because your career is most likely to be extremely short! There are various cheats you can use in the game eg tactical display, maps, warp, pop-up instruments (F5) to see where you are, who's close by, covering distance etc, but if you resort to those then you may as well fly a more modern sim. To me they defeat the purpose of flying such primitive aeroplanes. Mind you there are many who would disagree with that sentiment - it's very much what pushes your buttons. I get the most joy from trying to make it as close to historical as possible. So when I fly it's in real time by compass bearings only, and I try hard to learn to identify the key features in my local area of operations so I can fly as much by looking at the ground layout and features as anything else (which, thanks to the beautifully rendered terrain, is quite feasible). But it can be pretty damn hard if you've been involved in a swirling dogfight and then trying to get back home. I've often had to land at a friendly aerodrome to find out where I am and get my bearings, then take-off and make my way home. That was quite a common occurrance during the War. I've even (in the early days) landed at an enemy aerodrome - that happened twice! Much to my embrassment! But it's all part of the fun I get from this wonderful sim. I guess what I'm saying is that I get as much fun from simply flying the aeroplanes in this sim as I do actually fighting them. At the end of some missions (my longest one to date was around two hours) I'm totally exhausted, hands cramped, back sore etc. And it's great! It gives me the connection I'm seeking with the period - I've studied it all my life and now I can gain a bearest glimpse of what it was like to fly during the Great War. And I find that extremely satisfying. If you just want to get up there and shoot planes down then this sim will let you do that. In spades. Easily on a parr with Il-2 and others for combat intensity. But perhaps, given that you enjoy flying for it's own sake (which is probably why you fly FSX), you may just find more in this sim than other combat sims you've flown in the past.

Simply mind-boggling guys!! Outstanding.

You have certainly cemented your places in the Combat Gamers "Hall Of Fame"! No other game developer provides the support that you guys do!

All I can say is that I thank you for the continued support and superb efforts to improve the sim. It's already far superior to any other around at present. It's very disappointing to hear that you guys are receiving disrespectful emails. I'm all for constructive suggestions, but it looks like some simply have no idea how to behave. Please don't be disheartened by a sad few. 99% of us are most appreciative of all your teams efforts.

Poetry in motion.

We're talking about my favourite lady here, so no rude comments please! You've pretty well got the Pfalz D.III performance down pat Bullethead. The only comment I would add is that, although the Pfalz is reasonable in a turn, it loses so much energy that even if you get around onto your opponents tail all he has to do is go vertical or roll the opposite way and your left far behind. And slow. Which as the Pfalz is slow to accelerate means big trouble. I find that the rudder and elevators are the best controls to focus on when flying the Pfalz. The elevators are powerful and haul the Pfalz up and down as quickly as anything in OFF. And that big rudder will flip you round quite quickly, but only at low(ish) speeds. So I fight the Pfalz in the vertical, avoid fights where I have no altitude advantage (or stalk until I gain one), and run if surprised (which does happen occassionally in the game thank heavens). My most used manoeuvres are the zoom, cuban eight and wingover. When turning I always initiate the turn with rudder first, and as the aeroplane angles into the turn kick in aileron as hard as possible ie really slam the stick to one side. The wingover after as zoom is the fastest way to turn and reposition - but only if there is no one on your tail. Otherwise you'll be kaput! And I find that the Cuban eight is great for repositioning if there is no urgency and maintaining energy levels. I avoid turns, Immelmann's and the Split -S like the plague. If fact anything that requires the ailerons to initiate a manoeuvre. If I'm forced to dive away from a fight I class that as a defeat and do not return. Rather I'll wander off looking for someone who isn't paying attention. As Hugo Vass (my alter ego) I've managed to survive for 33 hours so far in my beloved Pfalz D.III. In that time I've managed 17 kills, have been shot up several times, forced landed thrice but only wounded once. So it works for me.

Rickity, you won't be disappointed. Nightshade. Yes absolutely agree with your recommendation of Douglas Reeman (who also writes as Alexander Kent). His books are wonderful reads. I too consider 'A Prayer For The Ship' as my favourite. Brilliant descriptions of fast close battles between MTB's, S-Bootes and F Lighters. Another book (novel) I meant to mention is "Thunder At Dawn" by Alan Evans. Describes a Commander fallen from grace in WWI who is sent out to the South American station where he joins HMS Thunder, a slow, poorly armed, old four-funnelled armoured cruiser and sole representative of the Royal Navy on the Coast. Excellent characters, crisp word play and an almightly final sea battle that is easily the best described that I have ever read. Some of the lines are classic dry British humour eg "Had to call 'er Thunder, didn't they? 'Cause it's a bleeding certainty you couldn't call 'er Lightning!" Or "Called 'er Thunder 'cause she's one long roll!" in reference to her bad sea-going qualities.

If you would like a book that is deep, fascinating and a marvellous read (900 odd pages) grab a copy of "Musashi" by Eiji Yoshikawa. More than anything it is an adventure, starting with Musashi lying wounded on the famous battlefield at Sekigahara (October 20, 1600). The book follows the development of a man - Miyamoto Musashi - who began life as an over-eager and rather brutish young lout but who, through the discipline of Japan's 'way of the sword', turned himself into a master of his chosen weapon. Musashi himself claimed that he fought in over 60 combats, so he was certainly no slouch with the blade. It was Musashi too who developed the art of fighting with two swords. Indeed he became arguably the greatest swordsman in Japanese history, certainly the most famous. The book is written more in the vein as an historical novel, rather than a dry biographty. So there's plenty of action, reflection, Zen, and all things Japanese. In many ways the book is, as much as anything, a very insightful look into life in Japan, how attitudes over time were shaped and the potency of the belief in the Way of the Warrior. In his latter years Musashi wrote a very famous book on strategy titled 'The Book Of Five Rings', which in Japan is regarded as the equal of The Art Of War by Sun Zu. If you read Musashi, you'll want to also read the Book Of Five Rings. By the by the Hornblower series (IMHO) by C.S. Forester is superior to that of O'Brian or Kent (both of which are fun reads. Forester succeeds in creating a more realistic image of life in the late 1700's than do either of the other two. His language is better, his descriptions more potent, you can smell the salt on the breeze. As for Pope (sheesh) bin it. And if you are looking for something to read on WWI aviation you can't go past "Hostile Skies" by James J. Hudson. It's the most detailed book on the development and combat history of the American Air service in WWI. Full of many first hand accounts it charts the growth of the Service and it's very tempestuous seven months of combat in 1918. Truly a great read.

Flying The Old Planes - Part 8: Pfalz D.XII Extract from the book "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman. This is the last article in this series. The father of the Pfalz was the Pfalz D.III, an elegant-looking airplane that was certainly more graceful than it’s predecessor, the Pfalz E series. The plywood semimonocoque fuselage, with its light spruce longerons and oval formers, was both graceful and strong. The clean streamlined lines of the Pfalz were not uncommon to the German Jastas, and manufacturers such as Pfalz, Albatross and Roland made some of their slab-sided counterpart fighter aircraft on the Allied side look about as graceful as a barn door. The layout of the Pfalz D.III was standard: The wings were of unequal span and cord with the radiator mounted in the upper right wing. The reliable Mercedes was the powerplant, and the D.III entered Jasta service primarily with Bavarian units, side by side with the Albatrosses, where they sometimes suffered an unfavourable comparison. The British reported a captured D.III as having excellent visibility, a slow rate of roll, outstanding dive speed, good manoeuvrability, and better all-round handling than an a captured Albatross D.V. However no model of Pfalz was ever truly embraced by the German Air Force, even the D.XII. The 'E' Series, the D.III and the D.XII were always considered less capable (unfair as that may be) than their equivalents. The successful birth of the Pfalz D.XII was accomplished at the Adlershof fighter trials in June of 1918, and thanks to the aircrafts basic virtues and the company’s ‘favourite son’ status, it was put into quantity production for the Bavarian Jastas. My first introduction to even the name Pfalz was when I purchased the remaining two aircraft from Colonel Jarrett’s World War One collection, a SPAD VII and the Pfalz D.XII. Due to WWII storage problems both aircraft had fallen on hard times, and the plywood of the Pfalz had taken more water punishment than some of the towels in a Turkish bath. Because of the wet and dry rot, the interior of the fuselage had been braced with two-by-fours to make it displayable. The wings were badly deteriorated, though the landing gear, the distinctive M struts, and the dual bay wing struts were fortunately in good condition. Once the aeroplanes were stored in a rented barn in Delaware, a period of ennui settled on yours truly as the enormity of the task of rebuilding the Pfalz finally penetrated my concrete dome. Most fortunately I was able to make contact with a soft-spoken mechanical genius by the name of Robert Rust, who allowed that he would like to take on the task of rebuilding the Pfalz. He arrived with a trailer from Atlanta in the rain (I seem to have made most of my important antique aircraft acquisitions in the rain), and as he quietly walked around the Pfalz in the dimly lit hangar I edges out of his way. Figuring he was going to make a dash for his car. “Well” he said “its bad, but not hopeless”. NB: The description of the rebuild has been left out owing to space – but it is fascinating! The only departure from the original was including brakes as a safety feature. Even the Mercedes was restored to its former glory. Finally one November day I was airborne on my way to Atlanta to try my shaking hands on the only German aircraft of World War 1 that I ever thought I would be lucky enough to fly. Bob picked me up at the airport and drove me to an outlying airfield, where the Pfalz sat gleaming in her camouflage paint. The strange colours of the Pfalz were researched as carefully as was the rest of the reconstruction, and the information came from a scholarly series published by the English magazine ‘Flight” following WWI. Unlike the Fokker DR.1 and D.VII, with their cantilever construction, the Pfalz is a maze of wires and includes double bays on each wing. The maintenance of this maze of wires was about as eagerly looked forward to by the German mechanics as a bath in a tub of live eels. Inspecting the wires and then the fittings; the gear and its ball sockets; the aileron elevators and the rudder attach points; the glass window in the Mercedes crankcase, which tells you whether you have sufficient oil; and the radiator are all part of a somewhat unfamiliar pre-flight to our derring-do aviators of today. Like most German aircraft of the period, to get into the cockpit you have to have been sired by giraffes or have a ladder. Once in the nice battleship grey cockpit, your nose is assailed by the strong fuel smell until you find the tank in the floor directly under you. With incendiary ammunition aboard, what a lovely location for a sausage sizzle. A little-known fact is that the German Air Force of this first global conflict actually flew instrument missions with their giant series of aircraft. They were using reliable artificial horizons as early as 1915 on night operations into Russia. The Pfalz does not suffer from an oversupply of instruments, and there is no panel as we know today. Instruments are stuck around as haphazardly as a modern artists paint strokes. Along with the inverted ram’s horn on the stick, there is a radiator control shutter, a mag switch, and a fuel valve. There is no firewall in these machines, and it was a distinctly unpleasant feeling to see the rear of the Mercedes engine block. With six cylinders, each with the bore of a butter plate, a compression release is provided. The cockpit is not deep, and seated on my ever-present parachute, I felt like a penthouse dweller. With my feet in the stirrup-equipped control bar, gas on, radiator shutters closed, motorcycle throttle on stick cracked, and an athlete standing on the wheel with his hand on the compression release, the Mercedes fired on the first pull and ran unevenly until the compression release was locked. The Mercedes idles a bit unevenly, with the valve springs rattling like castanets. Taxiing to the takeoff point with runners on the wingtips, I got no real rudder response. I checked to clear myself and was on my way, with the intention of getting the feel of the aircraft on a straight high-speed taxi run. While the acceleration of the Mercedes seemed slow, the tail was up in just fifty feet, and the rudder response was positive and good. The only problem was a wide-open throttle I couldn’t close, the throttle being a motorcycle-type design fitted to the top of the joystick. In the space of the telling, I was up and flying. General balance and feel seemed good, so I climbed out around the field with the stuck throttle. The flight was fast, and I ran away from am accompanying PT-19 as if it were moored. Windblast was severe, for the only protection was the German tachometer mounted between the twin Spandaus. Control response in the air was very precise, and fast on the elevators and rudders, but as in some of the spade-grip British aircraft, the aileron movement was restricted, and the inverted ram’s horn kept hitting my thigh. Visibility was excellent, and wide-open the aircraft seemed to be doing in the vicinity of 120 mph, if other aircraft were a guide. The climb, as with many other WWI aircraft, seemed flat but was actually better than a thousand feet a minute, and I easily climbed away from most civilian aircraft. Then landing approach was flat and fast, about 65 mph, and I moved with the alacrity of a mongoose to get the tail down as it settled. Fortunately the first landing was in a good headwind and mild, for the tailskid bit before I realised how little control the Pfalz has because of the blanking out of the tail surfaces by the lower wing in landing configuration. Not all flights with the Pfalz were to be even half as easy as this first one. The D.XII was shipped out to the West Coast by truck, and with the aid of Bob’s excellent plans, the aircraft was rigged and ready to go in no time for a second flight. All went well until the throttle again stuck open, the twist grip on the joystick proving to be a less than reliable design. In fact on the first seven flights I had sticking problems with this arrangement, and finally got fed up enough to replace it was a standard arm throttle set on the left side of the cockpit. It may not have been historically accurate, but it did wonders for my blood pressure. Once that was solved the Pfalz did behave itself better. Although I should say that among the many aircraft I have been lucky enough to fly, this D.XII has no peer in pure cussedness, and each landing presents enough emergencies and handling problems to make an instant trip to the local pub not only desirable but an absolute necessity. The problem lies in the last 50 feet of altitude of landing, when the speed drops and the nose rises slightly, thereby the lower wing blanks out the elevators and rudder controls. At that point the Pfalz pretty well drops to the ground. The only alternative is to come in hot and land on the front wheels, cutting throttle on touching ground. Or come in on a steep glide path and flare at the very last moment. Either way its sweaty palms all round. Coming, as it did, late in the war, the Pflaz stacks up reasonably well when measured against other types I have flown, and flown against. Speed is better than most, but aerobatically it is larger and clumsier than opponents such as the SE.5, SPAD and Fokker D.VII. And with a slower roll rate its hard put to match turns or reverses. It’s best features are it elevators and rudder, which are very powerful; its rate of climb and breathtaking dive. This is definitely an aircraft that wants to manoeuvre more in the vertical plane that anywhere else. Immelmann’s and wingovers are its forte. Stepping into the Fokker D.VII after flying the Pflaz really drives home just how good an aircraft, let alone fighting machine, the Fokker is. Where manoeuvres in the Fokker are as effortless and graceful as a butterfly, in the Pflaz they have to be planned and forced. The Fokker is as a gentle breeze when landing, the Pfalz makes you break out in a sweat. Not the sort of aircraft to come home in after a trying day at the office. Still, the Pfalz is not a bad aeroplane, indeed it is a good as most for the period. It’s just that the Fokker is so much better. =========================================================================== STATS: From “Fighter Aircraft Of The 1914-1918 War” by W.M. Lamberton; and "German Aircraft Of The First World War" by Peter Gray and Owen Thetford. Engine: 180-hp Mercedes DIIIa Empty Weight: 716kg (1,566 lb) Loaded Weight: 897kg (1,952 lb) Max Speed: 193 km/h (120 mph) @ 1,000m (3,280 feet) 185 km/h (115 mph) @ 3,000m (9,843 feet) 148 km/h (92 mph) @ 5,000m (16,405 feet) Climb: 3 minutes 25 seconds to 1,000m (3,280 feet) 7 minutes 0 seconds to 2,000m (6,560 feet) 17 minutes 30 seconds to 3,000m (9,843 feet) 29 minutes 50 seconds to 5,000m (16,405 feet) Ceiling: 5,181 m (17,000 feet) Endurance: 2 hour 30 minutes Armament: two 7.92mm Spandaus No’s Built: Approximately 800

Immelmann is generally considered to be the man who introduced tactical manoeuvers to combat. He wasn't the great organiser that Boelecke was, but he was more original in his thinking in tactics and techniques. The original Immelmann turn was first demonstrated by the great French flyer Pergoud in 1913 at an air show. The French named it the "Renversement". Basically the manoeuvre involves zooming up and, before stalling, using full rudder to bring your aircraft around to fly back down the same path in a swoop. To Pegoud it was simply a graceful stunt, one of many in his repertoire. Another was the "Retournment", a similar manoeuvre to the Renversement. It involves zooming and, again just before stalling out, applying full rudder but rolling the aircraft to invert (and so twist at the apex) to again dive out, but this time travelling in the same direction. Immelmann realised that just flying around your enemy didn't really get you anywhere. Height and surprise were seen as key elements to gaining success over opponents. But often it took more than just one pass to gain a victory. It was he who combined the diving attack with the the 'renversement' to create the 'Immelmann' turn. This allowed him to make a diving pass (preferably out of the sun), convert that speed to height again by zooming, then turning to once more dive down on his opponent. Or if he needed to (if for instance the enemy changed direction) he would perform the 'retournment' on the zoom. By using either he could literally dive, zoom and follow any turn made by the enemy. The Immelmann turn was very useful in 1915 and until late 1916 as an offensive tactic as most Allied aircraft were slow two-seaters, which would (at most) level turn to avoid attacks. The drawback to Immelmann turn is that it bleeds energy fast and, at the top of the manoeuvre, your aircraft is almost stationary. Once the enemy had more powerful fighter aircraft eg Nieuport 11 and D.H.2, the Immelmann fell into disuse. Against usescorted two-seaters though it' still a reasonable manoeuvre to have up your sleeve. These days the original Immelmann turn is known as the wingover or hammerhead. The modern-day version of the Immelmann turn is actually a half loop with a roll off the top. This combination had also been demonstrated by Pegoud, Garros, White and several other famous pre-war pilots. It hasn't been recorded who first used it in combat in WWI. Throughout the war though it was never referred to as the Immelmann turn, but simply as the loop and roll off the top, or just roll off the top. With more powerful aircraft such as Pup's, Triplanes, Nieuports 17's and SPAD VII's it became a commonplace manoeuvre. Again it's drawback is that at the top of the loop, after rolling out, your aircraft is devoid of energy (speed) and that leaves you as a sitting duck for any enemy near you. (A more practical evasive manoeuvre is the Split-S, or split-arse as the British referred to it. It gets you our of the way of an enemy fast, usually takes you out of his sight, and you gain extra speed. Many pilots considerd it the only useful manoeuvre to make). No one knows who labelled the loop and roll off the top as an Immelmann turn, that's been lost in the mists of time. It made it's appearance during the late 20's, when many ex-WWI pilots used to make a living flying in air shows - Udet being a prime example. But the label stuck, and that manoeuvre is now commonly accepted as the modern Immelmann turn.

Broadside, at what point are you stalling? On the climb up? At the point of initiating the roll? As you are actually rolling? And what aircraft are you trying the manoeuvre in?

Extract from the book "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman. This is the last article in this series. The father of the Pfalz was the Pfalz D.III, an elegant-looking airplane that was certainly more graceful than it’s predecessor, the Pfalz E series. The plywood semimonocoque fuselage, with its light spruce longerons and oval formers, was both graceful and strong. The clean streamlined lines of the Pfalz were not uncommon to the German Jastas, and manufacturers such as Pfalz, Albatross and Roland made some of their slab-sided counterpart fighter aircraft on the Allied side look about as graceful as a barn door. The layout of the Pfalz D.III was standard: The wings were of unequal span and cord with the radiator mounted in the upper right wing. The reliable Mercedes was the powerplant, and the D.III entered Jasta service primarily with Bavarian units, side by side with the Albatrosses, where they sometimes suffered an unfavourable comparison. The British reported a captured D.III as having excellent visibility, a slow rate of roll, outstanding dive speed, good manoeuvrability, and better all-round handling than an a captured Albatross D.V. However no model of Pfalz was ever truly embraced by the German Air Force, even the D.XII. The 'E' Series, the D.III and the D.XII were always considered less capable (unfair as that may be) than their equivalents. The successful birth of the Pfalz D.XII was accomplished at the Adlershof fighter trials in June of 1918, and thanks to the aircrafts basic virtues and the company’s ‘favourite son’ status, it was put into quantity production for the Bavarian Jastas. My first introduction to even the name Pfalz was when I purchased the remaining two aircraft from Colonel Jarrett’s World War One collection, a SPAD VII and the Pfalz D.XII. Due to WWII storage problems both aircraft had fallen on hard times, and the plywood of the Pfalz had taken more water punishment than some of the towels in a Turkish bath. Because of the wet and dry rot, the interior of the fuselage had been braced with two-by-fours to make it displayable. The wings were badly deteriorated, though the landing gear, the distinctive M struts, and the dual bay wing struts were fortunately in good condition. Once the aeroplanes were stored in a rented barn in Delaware, a period of ennui settled on yours truly as the enormity of the task of rebuilding the Pfalz finally penetrated my concrete dome. Most fortunately I was able to make contact with a soft-spoken mechanical genius by the name of Robert Rust, who allowed that he would like to take on the task of rebuilding the Pfalz. He arrived with a trailer from Atlanta in the rain (I seem to have made most of my important antique aircraft acquisitions in the rain), and as he quietly walked around the Pfalz in the dimly lit hangar I edges out of his way. Figuring he was going to make a dash for his car. “Well” he said “its bad, but not hopeless”. NB: The description of the rebuild has been left out owing to space – but it is fascinating! The only departure from the original was including brakes as a safety feature. Even the Mercedes was restored to its former glory. Finally one November day I was airborne on my way to Atlanta to try my shaking hands on the only German aircraft of World War 1 that I ever thought I would be lucky enough to fly. Bob picked me up at the airport and drove me to an outlying airfield, where the Pfalz sat gleaming in her camouflage paint. The strange colours of the Pfalz were researched as carefully as was the rest of the reconstruction, and the information came from a scholarly series published by the English magazine ‘Flight” following WWI. Unlike the Fokker DR.1 and D.VII, with their cantilever construction, the Pfalz is a maze of wires and includes double bays on each wing. The maintenance of this maze of wires was about as eagerly looked forward to by the German mechanics as a bath in a tub of live eels. Inspecting the wires and then the fittings; the gear and its ball sockets; the aileron elevators and the rudder attach points; the glass window in the Mercedes crankcase, which tells you whether you have sufficient oil; and the radiator are all part of a somewhat unfamiliar pre-flight to our derring-do aviators of today. Like most German aircraft of the period, to get into the cockpit you have to have been sired by giraffes or have a ladder. Once in the nice battleship grey cockpit, your nose is assailed by the strong fuel smell until you find the tank in the floor directly under you. With incendiary ammunition aboard, what a lovely location for a sausage sizzle. A little-known fact is that the German Air Force of this first global conflict actually flew instrument missions with their giant series of aircraft. They were using reliable artificial horizons as early as 1915 on night operations into Russia. The Pfalz does not suffer from an oversupply of instruments, and there is no panel as we know today. Instruments are stuck around as haphazardly as a modern artists paint strokes. Along with the inverted ram’s horn on the stick, there is a radiator control shutter, a mag switch, and a fuel valve. There is no firewall in these machines, and it was a distinctly unpleasant feeling to see the rear of the Mercedes engine block. With six cylinders, each with the bore of a butter plate, a compression release is provided. The cockpit is not deep, and seated on my ever-present parachute, I felt like a penthouse dweller. With my feet in the stirrup-equipped control bar, gas on, radiator shutters closed, motorcycle throttle on stick cracked, and an athlete standing on the wheel with his hand on the compression release, the Mercedes fired on the first pull and ran unevenly until the compression release was locked. The Mercedes idles a bit unevenly, with the valve springs rattling like castanets. Taxiing to the takeoff point with runners on the wingtips, I got no real rudder response. I checked to clear myself and was on my way, with the intention of getting the feel of the aircraft on a straight high-speed taxi run. While the acceleration of the Mercedes seemed slow, the tail was up in just fifty feet, and the rudder response was positive and good. The only problem was a wide-open throttle I couldn’t close, the throttle being a motorcycle-type design fitted to the top of the joystick. In the space of the telling, I was up and flying. General balance and feel seemed good, so I climbed out around the field with the stuck throttle. The flight was fast, and I ran away from am accompanying PT-19 as if it were moored. Windblast was severe, for the only protection was the German tachometer mounted between the twin Spandaus. Control response in the air was very precise, and fast on the elevators and rudders, but as in some of the spade-grip British aircraft, the aileron movement was restricted, and the inverted ram’s horn kept hitting my thigh. Visibility was excellent, and wide-open the aircraft seemed to be doing in the vicinity of 120 mph, if other aircraft were a guide. The climb, as with many other WWI aircraft, seemed flat but was actually better than a thousand feet a minute, and I easily climbed away from most civilian aircraft. Then landing approach was flat and fast, about 65 mph, and I moved with the alacrity of a mongoose to get the tail down as it settled. Fortunately the first landing was in a good headwind and mild, for the tailskid bit before I realised how little control the Pfalz has because of the blanking out of the tail surfaces by the lower wing in landing configuration. Not all flights with the Pfalz were to be even half as easy as this first one. The D.XII was shipped out to the West Coast by truck, and with the aid of Bob’s excellent plans, the aircraft was rigged and ready to go in no time for a second flight. All went well until the throttle again stuck open, the twist grip on the joystick proving to be a less than reliable design. In fact on the first seven flights I had sticking problems with this arrangement, and finally got fed up enough to replace it was a standard arm throttle set on the left side of the cockpit. It may not have been historically accurate, but it did wonders for my blood pressure. Once that was solved the Pfalz did behave itself better. Although I should say that among the many aircraft I have been lucky enough to fly, this D.XII has no peer in pure cussedness, and each landing presents enough emergencies and handling problems to make an instant trip to the local pub not only desirable but an absolute necessity. The problem lies in the last 50 feet of altitude of landing, when the speed drops and the nose rises slightly, thereby the lower wing blanks out the elevators and rudder controls. At that point the Pfalz pretty well drops to the ground. The only alternative is to come in hot and land on the front wheels, cutting throttle on touching ground. Or come in on a steep glide path and flare at the very last moment. Either way its sweaty palms all round. Coming, as it did, late in the war, the Pflaz stacks up reasonably well when measured against other types I have flown, and flown against. Speed is better than most, but aerobatically it is larger and clumsier than opponents such as the SE.5, SPAD and Fokker D.VII. And with a slower roll rate its hard put to match turns or reverses. It’s best features are it elevators and rudder, which are very powerful; its rate of climb and breathtaking dive. This is definitely an aircraft that wants to manoeuvre more in the vertical plane that anywhere else. Immelmann’s and wingovers are its forte. Stepping into the Fokker D.VII after flying the Pflaz really drives home just how good an aircraft, let alone fighting machine, the Fokker is. Where manoeuvres in the Fokker are as effortless and graceful as a butterfly, in the Pflaz they have to be planned and forced. The Fokker is as a gentle breeze when landing, the Pfalz makes you break out in a sweat. Not the sort of aircraft to come home in after a trying day at the office. Still, the Pfalz is not a bad aeroplane, indeed it is a good as most for the period. It’s just that the Fokker is so much better. =========================================================================== STATS: From “Fighter Aircraft Of The 1914-1918 War” by W.M. Lamberton; and "German Aircraft Of The First World War" by Peter Gray and Owen Thetford. Engine: 180-hp Mercedes DIIIa Empty Weight: 716kg (1,566 lb) Loaded Weight: 897kg (1,952 lb) Max Speed: 193 km/h (120 mph) @ 1,000m (3,280 feet) 185 km/h (115 mph) @ 3,000m (9,843 feet) 148 km/h (92 mph) @ 5,000m (16,405 feet) Climb: 3 minutes 25 seconds to 1,000m (3,280 feet) 7 minutes 0 seconds to 2,000m (6,560 feet) 17 minutes 30 seconds to 3,000m (9,843 feet) 29 minutes 50 seconds to 5,000m (16,405 feet) Ceiling: 5,181 m (17,000 feet) Endurance: 2 hour 30 minutes Armament: two 7.92mm Spandaus No’s Built: Approximately 800