RAF_Louvert

. "A Story for the Season" 1916: Christmas Eve at the Front. The War has dragged itself along on its steely, mud-caked claws for over two years, and the end seems no closer now than when it all began. At an RFC aerodrome not ten miles from the first line trenches, a group of airmen sit through the morning’s briefing, and prepare themselves for the day’s work. They are nearly all young men, at least in years. But with war comes age beyond a calendar’s mark, and one would find that each man is far older than first appearance would tell if a moment were taken to look into his eyes. As the meeting breaks the jovial banter can be heard amongst the group: the good-natured ribbing and warnings, the verbal jousting, the camaraderie and the closeness that bonds souls together in such tenuous and temporary times. Across the mud at a German aerodrome, a similar scene is being played out. The Jagdstaffel pilots there are also preparing themselves for the task at hand. To look at them, you might imagine they were schoolmates of their British counterparts, rather than enemies soon to be locked in mortal combat. For they too laugh and joke, and share that same bond. And they too are of the "old young". The hour is at hand. On each side the signal is given and the small, fast scout planes skim along the cold, icy ground, and one by one lift into a winter sky as grey as the earth below. They form up, and after climbing to their prescribed altitudes, they head towards No Man’s Land and on to do their best; for King and Country; für Kaiser und Vaterland. They meet, and there is the initial gun pass as each sizes up the other. A few moments later and the aerial battle begins in earnest. To those in the fight it is a mind-numbing blur of action that runs in both accelerated and slow motion simultaneously. A split second given to pull the trigger as a plane zips across the sights: an eternity spent to try and twist out of the path of the bullets. An entire lifetime won or lost in less than an eye blink. To those on the ground it appears as a graceful ballet of the sky, the canvas-feathered birds turning and rolling and climbing and diving. But it is a dance to the death more often than not, and it will end when one or more has fallen. And one has fallen. The long, slow, spiraling pirouette as the finale comes to the dance. The others have now tired and as if by mutual agreement or unseen signal the partners separate and turn away. The audience below does not understand how it can be over so quickly. They cannot see the fatigue and exhaustion of those in the air; cannot see their battered ships, or their bruised and aching bodies; or their tired, aging eyes. No, they can see none of these things, any more than the men in the air can see the pain or the agony endured by those who must fight on the ground. Each sees the other from afar, as through a glass darkly. It is an irony of war that in each case, either in the Sky or on the Earth, a man better understands and is more akin to the enemy he fights in his realm than to his own countrymen above or below. Christmas Eve at the Front. Night has fallen and the pilots sit about the dinner table at their respective aerodromes, and talk of flying and fighting, and of family and friends. Wishes of the Season are shared, letters from home are read. Songs of hope are sung and toasts are made to fellow flyers, and to mothers and sweethearts. At one of the tables an empty chair stands in remembrance of the comrade lost that day, and to whom the final toast is made. He will be missed, and to a loved one back home he will forever be a young man with bright, happy eyes; forever a photograph, a memory of a life that could have been. It matters not which side he fought for. He was a man, a part of human kind, and with his passing we are all the lesser for it. . May you have safe and blessed holidays wherever you are, and may we each remember the true message of this season: Peace on earth, good will toward men.

. (a quick cut-and-paste from my SimHQ post) Thanks for the concern folks and my apologies for not posting in a while. I've been on a WOFF sabbatical as I've been working on the house here, as well as taking care of my mom, (who turned 95 in April). Also been having fun with the grandkids; and have managed to sneak in a weekend getaway or two, or three. I hope all is well with everyone here and the summer is proving enjoyable, albeit hot. When fall rolls around I am planning to get back to the not-so-friendly skies of virtual 1914-1918. And Hellshade, that is some serious D&D right there! Cheers everyone, watch your six! .

. ATTENTION! His Majesty King George V hereby confers the following honour: A grateful people thank you for your service and loyalty. .

. ATTENTION! Le Ministre de la guerre, République Française, wishes to present an award to the following individual: The people of France thank you sincerely for your courageous actions. .

It's the end of the month gentlemen, time to post the statistics for your active pilots so that we at HQ can consider any awards that may be due. Please post your stats in the following format: rank, full name, awards presented by DiD CoC current unit assigned to current location current plane type number of missions flown number of hours number of victories number of claims Thanks and Cheers, and keep fighting the good fight everyone! Lou

No substitute for good advice Rick, and I agree with you. Don't slip kid, in particular if a bobby is about as then it would become a legal matter, and no matter how many friends you have you may not find one to bail you out even at a bargain price. Sunrise in jail is no fun, certainly not a place to relax, it only brings another tricky day and you won't be happy Jack until you're going mobile again, which could take a while. If you're lucky you'll be yelling "I'm Free" by 5:15 the next afternoon. (there's twelve of 'em in there) gawd, it's so sad about us, (now there's thirteen)

Oh I've no doubt that could be another valid explanation Jammer. Those disruptions in the space-time continuum would account for not only the errant German plane slipping in on your six unexpectedly and then just as quickly slipping back out, but also for the sudden appearance of a Romulan D'deridex class warbird. or a Klingon Bird-of-Prey. You start messing around with relativity and quantum mechanics and anything can happen really. 42

It's the only only way, It's the only trick to play; You're a Romulan, he's just a Pup, So it will be easy to blow him up. Now go on and do not quit 'Til you've disrupted every bit. If his canvas kite doesn't turn to flame, Well, that only means that your aim is lame. So keep him tight in your phaser's sight, It's the OOOOOOOOO-nly way!

Such mystery attacks have been going on for years in this sim, as attested to by one of my posts from years ago, the link to which is here: Mysterious Explosions "I tawt I taw a Romulan...I did, I did see a Romulan!" Trooper, it wouldn't surprise me a bit if the Klingons were involved as well. Can't trust either of them.

Bob, you've outdone yourself again, it is B-E-A-U-tiful! As Becker said, an absolute must have mod. Thanks for all the time and effort you've put into this gem Sir, it is very much appreciated.

. "A Story for the Season" 1916: Christmas Eve at the Front. The War has dragged itself along on its steely, mud-caked claws for over two years, and the end seems no closer now than when it all began. At an RFC aerodrome not ten miles from the first line trenches, a group of airmen sit through the morning’s briefing, and prepare themselves for the day’s work. They are nearly all young men, at least in years. But with war comes age beyond a calendar’s mark, and one would find that each man is far older than first appearance would tell if a moment were taken to look into his eyes. As the meeting breaks the jovial banter can be heard amongst the group: the good-natured ribbing and warnings, the verbal jousting, the camaraderie and the closeness that bonds souls together in such tenuous and temporary times. Across the mud at a German aerodrome, a similar scene is being played out. The Jagdstaffel pilots there are also preparing themselves for the task at hand. To look at them, you might imagine they were schoolmates of their British counterparts, rather than enemies soon to be locked in mortal combat. For they too laugh and joke, and share that same bond. And they too are of the "old young". The hour is at hand. On each side the signal is given and the small, fast scout planes skim along the cold, icy ground, and one by one lift into a winter sky as grey as the earth below. They form up, and after climbing to their prescribed altitudes, they head towards No Man’s Land and on to do their best; for King and Country; für Kaiser und Vaterland. They meet, and there is the initial gun pass as each sizes up the other. A few moments later and the aerial battle begins in earnest. To those in the fight it is a mind-numbing blur of action that runs in both accelerated and slow motion simultaneously. A split second given to pull the trigger as a plane zips across the sights: an eternity spent to try and twist out of the path of the bullets. An entire lifetime won or lost in less than an eye blink. To those on the ground it appears as a graceful ballet of the sky, the canvas-feathered birds turning and rolling and climbing and diving. But it is a dance to the death more often than not, and it will end when one or more has fallen. And one has fallen. The long, slow, spiraling pirouette as the finale comes to the dance. The others have now tired and as if by mutual agreement or unseen signal the partners separate and turn away. The audience below does not understand how it can be over so quickly. They cannot see the fatigue and exhaustion of those in the air; cannot see their battered ships, or their bruised and aching bodies; or their tired, aging eyes. No, they can see none of these things, any more than the men in the air can see the pain or the agony endured by those who must fight on the ground. Each sees the other from afar, as through a glass darkly. It is an irony of war that in each case, either in the Sky or on the Earth, a man better understands and is more akin to the enemy he fights in his realm than to his own countrymen above or below. Christmas Eve at the Front. Night has fallen and the pilots sit about the dinner table at their respective aerodromes, and talk of flying and fighting, and of family and friends. Wishes of the Season are shared, letters from home are read. Songs of hope are sung and toasts are made to fellow flyers, and to mothers and sweethearts. At one of the tables an empty chair stands in remembrance of the comrade lost that day, and to whom the final toast is made. He will be missed, and to a loved one back home he will forever be a young man with bright, happy eyes; forever a photograph, a memory of a life that could have been. It matters not which side he fought for. He was a man, a part of human kind, and with his passing we are all the lesser for it. . May you have safe and blessed holidays wherever you are, and may we each remember the true message of this season: Peace on earth, good will toward men.

Well done Baldric, congratulations on winning this killer event! PM me with the plane type you wish to have done up along with your ideas of what you would like to see on it. Thanks Rick for another super challenge, even if it was nearly impossible to survive it. And kudos to Harry as well for being the only other one to live to tell the tale.

I had time the last two days to actually do some flying and was getting in an assortment of fine sorties with my pilot here when it all came to a grinding halt this morning. So ends the life and times of the once devastatingly handsome and totally corrupt "Chuffs" Wellingham, his final curtain lowered in a snowy farmyard in France after a go-round with a gaggle of Pfalz scouts. He had a good, albeit short run as an RFC pilot. BHaH II is awesome - deadly - but awesome.

There is a third who could really put the hex on you, catch. Apologies again all for my absence in this wonderful comp. RL continues to deprive me the time for all things WOFF. Still, I live in hope of actually getting in a few sorties here.

Unfortunately RL has kept me away from the opening of the challenge and will continue to do so until this coming weekend from the looks of it. I will try to get caught up then on everyone's adventures as well as my own. Watch your six, folks!