Dej

Cheers UncleAl, I'd hoped that that wouldn't be the case but too bad. Don't suppose you know whether adding the VE makes any difference? I'll use it in the other sims to get the hang of it then move up to TIR 4, I guess. I don't want to tell my son quite yet that his thoughtful present doesn't work.

I've created the attached .PDF which walks through creating a document like the facsimile pages in my 'Letters home' thread.

The (admittedly few) original combat reports I've seen didn't use much in the way of colloquailisms. For example, the Albert Ball original I posted an image of a while back. Altogether pretty 'dry' to be honest. Maybe you had this in mind : name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src=" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>"> name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src=" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350">

Excellent! Thanks for putting this up Louvert. Would be nice to see this format (and as you say it's German, French and American counterparts) in Phase 4.

I vote for a 'Call my Groundcrew' button and the implementation of a piece of code which turns the plane 180 degrees, but only if it's on the deck. Edit: AND stationary!

Thanks All, I'm enjoying writing them so they'll carry on as long as Llewellyn Rhys does. For those interested in creating 'antique' documents, I'll put some instructions together tomorrow and post it in a separate topic

[OOC] Facsimlies of the above:

France, July 1917 Dear Sioned, How wonderful it was to receive your letter. I really enjoyed our weekend too, though it seems ages ago now rather than barely a fortnight. Of course I will come and see you when I'm next on leave. I will look forward to it very much (and so will Megan, sigh). Mind you, if your 'cunning plan' succeeds with the VAD you may realise your wish to be nursing in France, in which case I will fly over to see you whenever I can. Civilisation in France is not so entirely destroyed by this blasted war that a chap and a pretty girl can't find somewhere to go dancing. I must say I think you have bags of pluck to even want to come out here. You asked me what a 'typical' day is like. That's hard to say, because I don't recall the details of the uneventful days or flights - which probably make up the greater part of one's time out here. They all blend into a blur. This summer's weather has been such o damned dud that we've been grounded or forced to abort quite a lot and I'm sure you'd soon be bored by a hand-by-hand narrative of a six NT bid played out in a soggy tent! In truth, I only remember the jobs on which I've seen action or had some adventure. I think most of we ''old sweats' - of which illustrious and shrinking body I am, apparently, now a member! – are like that. Those airmen that survive this war will remember three things: the sheer excitement and terror of combat; the soul-searing beauty of sunrise and sunset seen from 10000ft and the friends we've made… and lost. Not much use to future historians, I'm afraid. That sounds a little maudlin, for which apologies, but it's already so much easier to talk to you honestly about it than it is Ma and Da. However, I shall try to grant your request by telling you about this afternoon, whilst I remember all the details. Three o'clock in the PM. "Aggression is the best form of defence" says Trenchard so we're ordered to 'trail our coats' over the lines. Two flights of four aircraft apiece. 'The C.O.'s A' Flight is to fly the south leg of the patrol area, 'B' Flight the north. I'm in 'B' Flight as usual. With me are Ray Richardson, Luke Walsh, Marc Hoskins – all new chaps – and my best friend Ollie Tepes. Richardson is leading, being the highest rank. The weather is what we've come to expect, several huge dark cumulus clouds and a sky like molten lead above. Intermittent rain forecast. Joy! We take off, circling the aerodrome to gain height before crossing over. The Hun, being 'at home' so to speak always has the luxury of time to gain altitude so we try to put as much sky beneath us as we can get. Today, patrol height is set at 11000ft but the cross winds in the clouds are a nightmare so we're soon forced to drop to 6000. There's no sun to speak of, which is a relief – no glare for HA to hide in. As long as we keep our eyes peeled we shouldn't be caught napping. You have to watch the sky constantly, you see, up, down, left, right, in front and of course behind. Our heads are on the move all the time, looking for tiny black specks against the grey; or on a clear day the flash of sun on a doped wing; or the telltale dirty smudges of archie shells exploding - white (ours) means the Hun, black (theirs) is probably directed at a bunch of our chaps on a bombing or balloon job. So, we stooge along. Archie bursts all around, but it rarely hits anything and anyway we take evasive action if some Boche gunner seems keener than most. We're approaching the lines. Dull, leaden sky as far as the eye can see matching the churned, grey-brown mud of No Man's Land below and in front. On a clear day, from high up, one can see most of the Front, stretching north to the coast and south to Verdun and beyond. Yet, it's a surprisingly narrow strip for millions of men to be crammed into. Most of the countryside is still green fields, woods and forests - achingly lovely on the rare sunny days. One thinks there ought to be a better way to do things, you know, maybe settle our differences on the rugger field, or at cricket, or football or whatever Jerry plays. But there isn't and we're here to do our bit. Musing will get one killed. A couple of miles ESE of BA, I scan the sky over to the south where 'A' Flight should be... I let my eyes unfocus… look, up, look level, look down. Aha! Is that a trail of smoke? I drop my wing a little and peer more intensely. Yes! Looks like a machine going down, maybe in flames. I fire a few shots to attract Richardson's attention and point. We bank and turn, slipping into a shallow dive because for once we've height on 'em. Closer and closer we come. Now we can make out individual machines. I hazard it's 'A' Flight embroiled with a pack of Huns. Down we drop, steeper now. Luke Walsh and I pair up and pick out a red-tailed Albatross. The Hun must be looking elsewhere. We get in close, 100 feet, less. Walsh fires too early - he's new to this game. It's a lucky shot though, his tracer picks its way across the Hun's wing, then Walsh pulls up and away. It's my turn. The Hun knows we're there now and turns sharply. I follow him around, throttling back to stay inside until my sights are just ahead of his nose. I fire. Hits on the wing, maybe the engine. I pull up and over to the left then turn back in. Walsh drops back in and gives the Hun another squirt. No hits this time but the Hun's slowing anyway. I did hit his engine! I position myself for the coup-de-grace. Walsh banks away and I slot in just below the Hun's tail as he foolishly tries to climb in front of me. Maybe his controls are damaged; maybe he just doesn't see me – I don't care. I pull the SE's nose up gently and fire a long burst, raking him from nose to tail. There's a cloud of smoke and splinters, the Hun flips suddenly over on one wing and goes down into the trees a couple of hundred feet below. That one's for Jem. Trees? Cripes! We've lost a lot of height in the scrap and I quickly circle, climbing, looking for any more HA. There are none. 'A' Flight has collected itself together and is beetling off west – at least, I think it's 'A' flight. Three machines… whom did they lose? I can see the wreck of my Hun on the ground and smoke is rising into the sky a quarter mile off, probably from another downed machine. There's no sign of Richardson or Ollie, hope they're alright. I wave at Walsh and point west. Home we go. Walsh will witness my claim, but I'm not really bothered whether it's confirmed or not. I used to be, but it doesn't seem important any longer. That was seven hours ago. All of 'B' Flight made it back safely. 'A' Flight lost one of their new chaps - can't remember his name. It's now eleven o'clock and my hand is cold and cramped. Gosh! I haven't written this much in one go since school! 'I'm an 'early bird' on the morning job tomorrow, so I'd best turn in. Please keep writing and don't worry that your news is ordinary. Ordinary is important out here. I shall look forward to every letter and I will certainly write to you often, even if the only news here is that Ollie's dog has had her pups at last! Yours Truly, Llew P.S. The C.O. and Wat, our Recording Officer, are damned good eggs and pretty relaxed about censorship really. But if there's too much 'blue pencil' then rwyt ti'n ysgrifennu yn yr hen iaith. I'm pretty certain no Hun spies around here mae'n gallu darllen Gymraeg!

I daresay that's understating both the fear and the deed. The bravery needed to get on with the job, scared or not. They all had it, every man and woman in fact always fought two enemies but most, like you father WM, were too modest to make much of it. My own father died before I became interested in WWII, alas. I regret missing the opportunity to ask him about it. He was in the Royal Artillery and the only thing I always remember him saying, when I asked the "what did you do in the war Dad?" question, was "Oh, I shot down a Spitfire by mistake once... pilot wasn't very happy about it"!

All the right words :yes: What did our friend Manny say about the DR1... ah yes, "climbed like a monkey and manoeuvered like the devil."

To the best of my knowledge - whatever that's worth - the Germans only ever called it 'Flak', if not the full name. I've found no reference to any other name and Germany was the only force that was 'into' anti-aircraft artillery before the war - on account of experience gained in the Franco-Prussion war of 1870, so had time for the phrase to be in common usage. Englanders also called it 'ack-ack', for AA, more so in the latter part of the war I believe. There was also the 'flaming onions' which was the name British pilots gave to fire from the 37mm revolving barrel anti-aircraft gun, which the Germans referred to as 'lichtspucker' (light spitter)

I always thought the best thing to have on one's aircraft both to unnerve opponents and as a constant warning to oneself would be "Look behind you!" And, Olham, your English is so good that you probably know this, but idiomatically 'Cry Wolf' is more often associated with a false alarm, not sure if that's what you had in mind pr whether it matters.

It was McCudden that No. 85 Squadron rejected. According to the programme... because he hadn't attended public school. Mannock was of equally if not more humble origins but he became CO of 85 Squadron on 3rd July 1918, six days before McCudden's death, hence the irony. [Assuming the details at The Aerodrome et al. are correct.]

Albatross, Camel, DR1 or DVII, SE5. Sorted. That's one grandchild each and one of 'em will have twins. Time to put my foot down!

I've just told my daughter and my sons, 21, 19 and 18 respectively, that I'd like my grandchildren sooner rather than later because I'm planning on staging pedal plane dogfights on the lawn. Really good spot WF2, I enjoyed that.

The irony of that is, of course, that Mannock became CO of 85 Squadron in July '18. I wonder if 'someone had a word'.

ALT+TAB works for me but only if I have another 'foreground' app. to switch to, i.e. if I have Photoshop open and then start OFF it'll ALT+TAB fine. If I try to ALT+TAB out of OFF then start Photoshop it'll sometimes work but not always and is prone to crashing OFF. On-screen alerts, e.g. updates to AV, keyboeard/mouse battey warnings are the very devils and Polovski advises to turn off whatever you can in that regard.

Ahem! I waited the best part of four weeks for mine but that was anomalous I think, coinciding as it did with the UK grinding to a halt under four inches of snow!

France, July 1917 Dearest Megs, I promised you a letter, just for you, so here it is. I don’t think you deserve it though, after the way you behaved with Sioned and I. Yes, she is a very nice girl, but if I am going to walk out with her (let alone marry, Diw! How embarrassing!) I will do so in my own good time. I don’t need a twelve year old matchmaker, silly! You will find enclosed, as requested, a shiny new RFC badge, which cost me a shilling’s bribe to the Quartermaster and another to the RO to put it in with the letter. I hope it gets to you safely. I had a think and I doubt it’s appropriate for you to wear it with your school uniform, unless you have it under the lapel of your coat or something. You should ask your headmistress. Likely there are many girls with brothers in France and a gesture of support is always welcome. Nothing much else to report I’m afraid, Cariad. The weather here has been atrocious. Ollie managed to bag another two Huns though. His DFC came through and he became rather upset about ‘absent friends’. I do wish you could have met them all, you’d have liked them so much. Ollie went over the lines on his own and shot up everything in sight, apparently, including a brace of unlucky two-seaters. Frightful fuss when he came back, the CO was livid. Quite funny really, I almost felt back at school, Ollie’s the same age as me and the CO’s not much older and there he was tearing Ollie off a strip for ‘running across the quad’, every inch the prize prefect! Look after Ma and Da. Don’t let them worry too much for us and I promise to nag Geraint into writing to you too. For which brotherly duty... no more letters about what I should say to Sioned, understood? Your loving brother, Lulinn. XXX

Cheers for the heads up, I'll set that to record. Had to chuckle at the title of this thread though. Am I the only one that did a quick double take?

France, July 1917 Dearest Ma and Da, It was good to see everyone at the weekend, Shame I had to put up such an embarrassing black to be there but ‘all’s well as ends better’, as they say. I agree, it was mean of the C.O. to send me back to Walmer just because I’d taken the wrong machine over to France by mistake, but kind of him to let me make a weekend of it. It would have been nice to have saved my blushes in front of Sioned though, but I think I managed to charm her all the same. She really is a delightful girl, very relaxing company. Who’d have thought I had such a pretty cousin? Well, as I told you, we’re back in France, back where we were before the move to Walmer. It’s a little quiet in these parts but we do get the odd mission to more active territory. We attacked a rail yard on my first day back here and I confess I was a little reckless - Jem and Drew on my mind I think - but no harm done, except to Jerry! I expect we may soon have a return visit, when the Hun finds out who messed up his nice green field! All the better, I can score one for each of the fallen. Then we had a balloon-busting trip down South yesterday. Diw! I’ve never felt sorrier for the lads in the Trenches, it’s simply a sea of mud down there due to the wettest summer for years apparently - which I can well believe, the muck we have to fly in. As you’ll see in the newspapers, Jerry’s clustered around the Ypres salient again and it looks as if that poor town might be facing its third battle. We’ll push them back for good this time, mud or no mud. Say ‘Bore Da’ to Megan for me and tell her to look out for my letter. Your loving son, Llew.

It's particularly good that you've selected photos (or retouched them that way) that leaves a believable age gap between the pilots, almost as of they could be four brothers with the youngest, Wolfram, not being able to follow his siblings into the IAS until 1918. Nice job.

In the absence of an answer Siggi, why not have Jetlag code the killboard to award medals according to RB rules? That'd be nostalgic for some and new for me, because (sacrilege, tar and feathers etc.) I never played Red Baron. [Assuming RB had a working medals system]

Ah, undeserved but thank you. I have to say though that had I started on 1.28 with that pilot he'd not be here today. These days I run away more than I fight.

Whoops! My bad. I mean TAC at 2 miles. At 1 the bastards're red anyway.