33LIMA

'Superiority with the Snipe' The title of this mission report is from the chapter on the featured aircraft in 'Sopwith - the Man and his Aircraft' by Bruce Robertson, one of a famous series of comprehensive aviation histories by British publishers Harleyford, this one dating from 1970. Quoting from that chapter: 'It is said that when No.4 (A.F.C.) Squadron after the Armistice took its Snipes to Cologne and showed their manoeuvring powers to some German airmen, they expressed first their astonishment and then their gratification that they personally had not met them in action...from performance figures and test reports the Martinsyde F.4 Buzzard it is often quoted as the best fighter of the 1914-1918 War period...however, the Martinsyde Buzzard did not enter squadron service and thereby few can dispute the statement that the Snipe was the finest fighter, from any country, to operate in the 1914-18 War.' Whether or not the Sopwith Snipe truly merited that accolade can be debated, of course. However, with a significantly more powerful engine conferring higher speed and better altitude performance, a better view for the pilot, greater fuel and ammo capacity and less tricky flying characteristics, the Snipe was certainly an improvement over the aircraft from which it was developed, the redoubtable Camel. So it is a worthy machine on which to finish this set of mission reports. That said, I can't help but feel that the Sopwith Dolphin would have been a better choice for inclusion in Wings over Flanders Fields. The Snipe saw combat only during the last six weeks of World War One. By war's end, just three squadrons had them - 4 (Australian), 43, and 208, compared to the Dolphin's four (19, 23, 79 and 87). Despite its engine troubles, the Dolphin was a fine fighter, said to have the agility of a Camel and the performance of an S.E.5. And it saw action for a much longer period, from February to November 1918. It also has the distinction of being the RFC and RAF's first multi-gun single seat fighter. Happily, I can fly the Dolphin in First Eagles 2 (thanks to moders at the A Team Skunkworks...who also provide a Snipe)... ...and of course in Rise of Flight - having just purchased the Strutter in the Halloween 2016 sale, I now have all the RoF Sopwiths, including the Dolphin, again seen here without the two extra Lewis guns it could carry... The Snipe was an effort to improve the Camel, while the Dolphin could be said to have been an effort to improve on the Camel. The Dolphin was a very different design, notably adopting an in-line engine, a 200 hp geared Hispano Suiza. The Snipe stuck with a rotary engine, the Bentley B.R.2, at 230 hp, significantly more powerful than the B.R.1s and Clergets of the Camel. The Snipe prototypes were almost identical to the Camel, except they replaced the latters's straight top wing with one whose dihedral matched the lower wing. Combined with a large open panel in the centre, this lowered wing significantly improved upward visibility from the cockpit. Later, longer-span wings were fitted, with four rather than two bays of interplane struts. And a round-section fuselage was adopted, producing an aircraft which seemed to owe little to its famous predecessor. Having put in a reasonable amount of stick time into WoFF's Camel, I'm keen to see how I get on in its Snipe. The campaign With such a short combat career, this was going to be a short campaign one way or another. And having chosen to fly with the Australians, it was going to be shorter still. For WoFF's No. 4 (Austrialian Flying Corps) Squadron gets its Snipes just in time for the Armistice - my new pilot, Robert Digger from Brisbane, kicks off his operational career on 1st November 1918. So I'll have to survive less than two weeks, to see the end of the War to End All Wars. A bigger worry is whether my modest PC will be able to handle a campaign in WoFF's CPU-intensive later war skies. There is, of couse, one way to find out... I find myself stationed at the airfield of Auchel, quite a way from the front. However, I won't have to worry about tedious trips to the lines, because my first 'mission' is actually a transit flight - the squadron is relocating to Avelin, to the east and much closer to the scene of the action. Historically, this reflects the fact that the German armies were at that point in hostilities finally near collapse, being driven back all along the front, with revolution in the air back home and the abdication of the Kaiser just days away. For the flight, I'm given just one companion, and after a while following on the heels of the others, I strike out direct for Avelin, noting that my machine is faster than any Camel I've flown, but like most of WoFF's aircraft, needs generous amounts of rudder in the turn. Despite the briefing warning us to be on the lookout for the enemy, the flight is uneventful, and I have plenty of time to admire the cockpit and the scenery, the weather being cloudy, but fine. About half-way there, we pass the town of Loos, the eastern side of which is much damaged by shellfire. Just beyond, we cross the former front lines, now abandoned but still churned up by the pounding it has taken from the guns of both sides over the many months of static trench warfare, now at last come to an end. Soon, we are back over unravaged countryside, and the shelled ground falls behind... ...and not long after that, I'm coming into land at out new home, presumably a former German airfield but now very much in our hands. Thiis is signified by a pair of S.E.5s sitting on the airfield and some Snipes parked in front of the sheds, whose undamaged state indicates that their erstwhile occupants have left in a hurry. Signs of enemy collapse and rumours of an Armistice notwithstanding, I have no reason to believe that the pace of operations will slacken off - the reverse if anything, given the need to keep the retreating enemy on the hop. I expect that this will be the last little cross country flight I'll be doing for a while, and that I'm about to find out just how good my new Snipe really is, where it matters most - in combat. ...to be continued!

Twists, turns and an unexpected ending... One of the usual counters to being dived upon is to turn in underneath the enemy, which forces him to steepen his dive to the point he’s going too fast and/or too steeply to get and keep a decent bead on you. So that’s what I do, and it works. There follows a longish combat. The Fokker pulls out and turns, but goes below me in the process, and from then on, he stays below me and it’s only a matter of time. My Snipe is powerful enough for me to stay above him and manoeuvre to keep him in view, biding my time. More than once, the Fokker turns in underneath me, too, but I keep my height and wait for the right moment to swoop down and make my firing passes, from different aspects. I’m also watching out for other Huns, as it seems unlikely that even a enemy ace, on his own, would willingly seek combat with the six of us…although it seems that’s what Werner Voss did, over a year ago…and got killed doing it. But the skies are clear…apart from some Archie bursts, and the rest of ‘B’ Flight, who take turns to make passes at the twisting and turning Fokker, sometimes two at a time. I’m quite happy for one of them to knock him down, for as Boelcke said, it’s the staffel that fights and must win the battle, not the individuals. As one of my flight breaks off his attack, leaving the way clear... ...I swoop down and make another pass of my own, noticing that the Fokker – like Voss’s triplane in the closing stages of his epic battle with 56 Squadron - has stopped manoeuvring and is going down, wings level, in a shallow dive. At the last moment, I see that his prop has stopped turning. But I’m loath to have come all this way for nothing, so I let him have a burst, feeling just a little guilty. Especially after the Fokker rolls over and then spins into the ground, by now much closer than it was at the start of the fight. I pull up and begin a full-power spiral climb, to clear my tail and assess the situation. My last attack has taken me below a thousand feet, not a particularly healthy place to be over enemy territory – even though I’m only just over. The others seem to have disappeared; then I see one Snipe behind, slowly closing up. I continue to spiral upwards, hoping more will follow, but none do so. Looking around for them rather fearfully in the fast-fading light, I see only that I am very close to an airfield which is just inside enemy territory; I’m surprised not to have come under MG fire from it, already. I toy with the thought of making a strafing run on the sheds and any parked aircraft, but decide not to risk it, on this, my first combat outing. Instead, I bank away and turn on the Tactical Display, to orient myself. This reveals several scattered enemy aircraft which I hadn’t noticed (I have somehow switched off ‘dot mode’ aircraft visibility), as well as my flight mate, still struggling to catch up, behind. Are the Huns in the circuit for the nearby airfield? This seems likely, and so I decide to see if I can pop off one or more of these Huns, as they appear oblivious to my presence. I turn after the nearest, ordering an attack for the benefit of my sole companion. We’re not done here yet! The second Fokker – for that’s what he is – seems indeed to be intent on landing. He seems to be something of an ace, for his tail and fuselage are prominently marked in black and white geometric patterns, and he has an unusual green upper wing, instead of the usual lozenge fabric. A lot of good it does him! for he doesn’t alter course till my tracers are whipping around his ears. By then it’s too late. Bits fly off him, and though he turns first this way and that, he seems more sluggish than the first Fokker and soon, down he goes, too. Nobody comes to his aid. I’ve lost track of my companion but pick up on another Fokker, who like the last one seems not to be paying too much attention to what’s going on around him. Like the last fellow, he wakes up only when I start shooting. I'm now down low again and decide it's time to find out how a Snipe turns with a Fokker. 'Rather well, is the answer. for although he is fast and nimble, I'm faster and, seemingly, just as nimble. After a last burst, he noses down suddenly, drops a wing, and then dives to the ground. He catches himself and seems to be heading for a decent forced landing... ...but somehow messes it up and disappeares in a cloud of dust. Three down, one to go! The skies are still clear, apart from the last Fokker. Again, he’s flying straight and level, making no effort to defend himself until I’ve started shooting. This one has an unusual pain green top wing with some small dark markings I can’t make out, not the usual lozenge printed fabric, so possibly he’s another one who fancies himself. He twists and turns like the others but I don’t feel threatened at any stage. I’m more worried about Archie, who is now shooting at me, and I get a bigger fright when the MG gunners on the airfield send some rounds whacking into my kite, my having strayed over the airfield. The Hun, almost certainly damaged in the early stages, takes this opportunity to try to escape, but he doesn’t make it. I overhaul him rapidly and though he starts turning again, this time the wind seems to have left his sails and I’m all over him. Fokker number four is soon the proverbial smokin’ hole in the ground. I re-orient myself and then turn west towards the sunset, where lies friendly territory, being careful to avoid that Hun airfield. His Archie is still firing furiously at me and I jink slightly to throw off his aim. The fire soon dies away and I throttle back, settling onto a steady course. I’m at under a thousand feet, maybe a mile into our lines – it’s hard to be sure from the landscape, as the old, static, shell-pocked front lines lie some way further west – and I’m on my own. Where my companions are, I have no idea, but I’m not going back to find out. Yes, I want them all to get home, but I’m not their nursemaid, and I’m not going swanning about back in Hunland to look for them. If they can’t be bothered to make a better effort to stick to their leader, they needn’t expect him to go chasing after them, at considerable additional risk to his own skin. Thus resolved, I decide to land at the nearest airfield, because of the unknown damage to my machine inflicted by the MGs at the Hun airfield. A look at the map shows me there’s one a few miles almost due west, so that’s where I go. All the while, the light has been fading and by now, the detail of the landscape is becoming lost in the grey gloom of the advancing darkness. If I don’t get down soon, I’ll be landing in rather less than ideal visibility! My hand is forced when my engine starts to stutter. A glance at the tachometer shows the revs falling off rapidly. My airspeed falls off too, and I begin to settle earthwards. Within a few seconds, the engine has seized completely and the prop has spun to a stop. I peer ahead anxiously, into the gloom, heading for a suitable field more or less directly ahead. I manage to squeeze above and between a small wood on the right and a row of trees on the left. Just when I think I’ve made it, a sizeable fence looms up in front. It’s too late for any avoiding action but I’m just high enough to flash over it. Then my wheels bump on the grass, bounce, and bump again. I’m down! After my tailskid touches, my Snipe comes to a rather sudden halt, almost like I’ve caught a wire in a carrier landing. At any rate, I’m down… …and out! For the debriefing tells me I’m dead, killed by ‘direct enemy action’! Must have been wounds from the ground MG fire, though I didn’t see any of the usual ‘blood spatter’ – I must check if that has somehow got disabled. I’m quite miffed that such a successful mission has ended thus, even though I know I was taking a chance. ‘Fortune favours the bold’, they say, but in this case, only up to a point. Dead though I am, I’m credited with the four victories, and my flight all got back safely, although without any further kills between them. I was somehow able to fill in a combat report to claim the victories, which were confirmed. The page below from ly log book shows the text of my post mortem claim for victim number one, which I have rather generously decided to note should be treated as shared with the flight. And I got a posthumous ‘gong’. Well, that’s certainly one way to end Sopwiths over Flanders Fields, marking as it does my 101st Mission Report for CombatAce. Interestingly, my very modest PC wasn’t troubled by any FPS hit from higher late-war air activity – perhaps the bad weather helped! Brief though it has been, this campaign was certainly a good advertisement for the powerful Snipe, and indeed for the sim which features it, which, in my book, continues to justify the praise heaped upon it (by me and many others!) since WoFF burst, star-like, onto the combat flightsim scene over two years ago. As many will already know, now available (October 2016) is Wings over Flanders Fields Ultimate Edition, which combines with the original release the subsequent WoFF expansions with further enhancements and French 2-seaters - the Caudron G.V and Breguet XIV - which nicely fill the major planeset gap. No doubt about it – Wings over Flanders Fields remains at the forefront of air combat simulation and is highly recommended.

Meet the Fokkers! Sure enough, though I don't yet know it, my first real mission with my fellow virtual 'diggers' of 4 (AFC) Squadron is to be an eventful one, with a surprise ending, to boot. The preliminaries are auspicious enough. Having managed not to get lost on my transit flight from Auchel to Avelin, the C.O. has decided to trust me with the full strength of 'B' Flight - seven pilots, leaving just four in 'A' Flight. I'm quite glad of this, because this is late 1918, a busier period of the air war than I'm used to, and a time when the majority of front-line Hun fighter units are equipped with the rather dangerous Fokker D.VII. On this show, six of us will be flying a patrol down to the front, to the south-east. It looks like 'A' flight is being rested today! I decide that a 75% fuel load will be enough, and make the necessary adjustments. If we do run into Fokkers, we don't want to be weighed down by petrol we don't need, on ths relatively short hop. We should have more than enough. We're soon under way, and I bank around onto a course for the front, leaving Avelin behind. Motor transport rumbles along the road next to the aerodrome as we settle onto our new course. Unfortunately, the weather has taken a turn for the worse, with low could and rain, about what one would expect for November in north-west Europe. I level out and, throttled back, wait for the others to catch up and get into formation, two on either flank and the fifth, behind. It's early evening and the sun - what we can see of it - is already settling down towards the dull horizon, to the west. Throttle wide open again, we climb through several layers of cloud, on the way to our assigned patrol height of just under nine thousand feet. When we get there, I level off and ease back on the revs. Looking behind, I can see that the chaps are keeping up nicely. Above the clouds, our Snipes catch the warm amber glow of the evening sunlight, although the air temperature will be anything but cosy. I'm happy to note that the coulds are broken, giving intermittent and hazy but nevertheless welcome views of the countryside below us. This is convenient navigationally as well as reassuring, for I am able to confirm that we are close to the patrol area when I see a river cutting across our track, just ahead. Reaching the assigned location, I begin to come around in wide circles. Open warfare having replaced the entrenched variety, there's little sign of fighting down below; gone is the muddy scar of No-Man's Land, there's just the open countryside of northern France... ...though what might be going on the air is of more immediate interest on this trip. So I keep my eyes well peeled, and make regular changes in our course to avoid being snuck up on. I want all my boys to get back to Oz alive, when this war's finally over...hopefully in the not-too-distant future. The first sign that we're not done with the fighting just yet is when my number five, bringing up the rear, suddenly wheels up and away. Luckily, I've been keeping an eye on the boys, expecting this sort of thing because I know they are liable to chase any Hun they spot witout asking first. Evidently, they are firm believers in the dictum that it is better to ask forgiveness than permission. I waste no time and turn the rest of the flight around to the right, after him. I can see that he is already a good distance back and in danger of disappearing into those bloody clouds! My errant flight-mate pulls up into a steep climb. Try as I might, I can't see what he evidently can. He's not doing this for the joy of flying, I'm fairly sure, so I pull my nose up towards whatever it is, not too steeply, so as to avoid bleeding off too much airspeed. Finally, looking up and back, I see what it is that has occupied my number five's attention. It's a yellow-tailed Fokker, and he has obviously spotted me first, for he's diving straight at me! Strewth! ...to be continued!

There's a sale on for Halloween, and so far I've bought the Stutter, so that I can now fly another fine WW1 machine in all 'big three' WW1 sims... In RoF, she's a good match in a dogfight for the opposition... Yes I'd like a few more planes but 1917 is my main period of interest and for that - apart from a B.E.2c or 2e, and a similarly-representative 1916-17 French 2-seater - the current RoF planeset is now rather good, at least for RFC-vs-Luftstreitkrafte. So I can wait, the RoF glass is still pretty full, further development or not.

Nothing to hide, so - deliberately if perhaps perversely interpreting the question as who SHOULD be President from the selection available, not who WILL be, which is becoming obvious - I voted Gary Johnson, on the basis he's a 'libertatian' (I have learnt to despise the so-called 'progressives', in the UK and elsewhere). Anyone whose principles and voting record includes anti-crime and low tax can't be all bad - could be mostly good, in fact. Too many politicians, typically ex-lawyers, seem to regard tax revenues as something to be used to buy the votes of interest groups...after lining the pockets of they and their buddies, naturlich. If he'd been Gary Johnston, with a 't', that would have been even better. PS concur with Trotski re his suspicions that the Brexit deal could well be diluted by the usual suspects to the point it's so soft as to be invisible, but that's another story, worthy to be set alongside the adult refugees from Calais getting away with posing successfully as the children the 'progressives' told us we'd be taking into the UK, to placate the bleating of the hearts. Yes, but perhaps better an idiot, than a knave...though a knave who is also an idiot would be worse still, I suppose...

Yeah, I remember firing the M1 Carbine and the spent cases had a habit of hitting you on the forehead (and leaving little black streaks from the burnt cordite so deposited, like Indian warpaint) - but this is ridiculous. The brass should fall into a box usually, certainly not fly back into the pilot's face. At least they have cockpits, tho in a sim if you spent that long looking straight ahead, even the AI would have you for breakfast! Otherwise, it reminds me a bit of Wings of War, except the latter's AI flying looks a bit more fluid.

The Camels are coming! Such was the title of one of the WW1 Biggles books by Captain W.E Johns - the others being 'Biggles of 266' and 'Biggles of the Camel Squadron'. And while adapted for a younger readership - a case of beer became one of lemonade, for example - they were for me a useful, informative and entertaining introduction to the lore of World War One in the air, written by one who served in it. As the titles indicate, our hero Biggles flew a Camel. And why not, for the Camel is one of the few WW1 aircraft whose name is still widely-known to the English-speaking general public, credited with the destruction of more enemy aircraft than any other British or French type. The Camel also seems to have destroyed rather a lot of its own pilots, due to some tricky flying characteristics. But it was one of the planes that helped the Royal Flying Corps put 'Bloody April' of 1917 behind them and was still in widespread and effective front-line service at the end of the war, in both fighter and fighter-bomber roles. Named it seems from the hump wherein were mounted its twin Vickers .303' machine-guns, the doughty Camel is surely a worthy subject for this, the fourth installment of Sopwiths over Flanders Fields. For this campaign, I elected to fly with 46 Squadron, after she had fully converted from Pups to Camels in November 1917, about the time of the Battle of Cambrai. Unfortunately, due to not having FRAPS running, I neglected to get pics of the mission briefings and the like! We're based at Filescamp farm, a bit north-west of Arras and much further north from Cambrai, where a massed tank attack was to achieve a breakthrough of the German lines that the British found themselves unable to exploit. Our first mission was nearly my last! Leading 'B' Flight's seven (!) Camels, I was tasked to catch enemy aircraft reported to be in the area of the front lines just south of Arras, as described in the map view in the pic below. By the time this was taken, we were about half-way to the target area. There was nothing much to be seen when we got there, so I took the flight a little further south of Arras, keeping a careful eye all around. The weather was quite good but there was a fair bit of cloud about which, combined with a ground haze, somewhat restricted visibility. We were at just over ten thousand feet, high enough for Huns to be able to slip in underneath us, where they would be hard to spot against the shelled ground far below. In fact, had it not been for turning on the Tactical Display briefly for a navigation check, I would not have spotted the Huns who were, it seems, stalking us from below. You can just about see one of them, an Albatros D.V which I have just padlocked, in the centre of the screenshot below. I ordered an attack and spiralled down to the right, after my chosen target. The Hun, not to be outdone, spiralled up to get at me. As you can see, the Albatros had distinctive black and white fuselage and tail markings, as well as the common mauve and green on the upper surfaces of his wings. Using my height advantage and superior turning ability, I was soon on his tail, but he kept his speed up and didn't make it easy for me. In the picture below, you can see some of the rest of my flight arriving. I had seen a second Hun on the way down, so I trusted to the others to deal with him, while I knocked down this one. I got some hits, causing the V-strutter to reverse his turn and break left. I had to fight some adverse yaw bringing the nose around, and this enabled him to gain some ground on me. But not for long. He levelled out. I knew that I'd definitely done him some harm, and wondered if he was going to make a run for home. He wouldn't make it, if I had anything to do with it! Suddenly, a burst of fire whacked into my machine from somewhere astern. 'B' Flight didn't seem to be doing a very good job of keeping the other Hun or Huns occupied! I broke hard to get out of the line of fire of my attacker, even as my own intended victim rolled right and came down after me. A second ago, I'd been the hunter. Now, I was the prey. This wasn't working out at all as I had intended! My virtual blod had spattered my virtual goggles and I twisted and turned to escape my pursuers. One of them was an historical ace, Werner Dahm of Jasta 26, evidently intent that I should be his next victory. But if there's one thing Camels can do, it's turn. I was losing a lot of height in the process but I'd nothing to lose, and I even got one of the Huns in my sights, for a time But the roll-rate seemed to have dropped off, like my wounds were sapping my strength. Just when I thought I was done for, other Camels hove into view and I rolled over and nosed down, in an effort to get clear. It didn't work. A pair of beady Hun eyes were watching my every move. And then, down he came. At this point, I was being shot at from the ground, too, and my one thought was to get away, back to the west and over our own side of the lines, just a few hundred yards away. The Hun made a single pass, coming in so close he all but chewed my tail off with his prop. But by then, I was over our trenches and, pursued by rounds from our ground MGs, the Albatros pulled up and around, and that was that. I'll bet that the drivers in the motor transport convoy that was trundling along the road just behind our trenches were as glad to see him go, as I was. There was a friendly aerodrome close to the lines and I made straight for it. Happily, I remembered to avoid flying into the the cable of the observation balloon which was tethered nearby... ...and I was soon safely back on terra firma. That little show cost me a damaged kite and thirteen days in hospital. It was some consolation that I had damaged at least one of the Huns, and that the others were claiming three victories between them, all later confirmed. It wasn't a very auspicious start from a purely personal standpoint, but I had survived, and 'B'' Flight had won its first battle with me at the helm. A start had been made, of sorts. ...to be continued!

Him or me! I break hard right, suddenly forgetting whether it’s to the right or the left that the Camel is supposed to be able to turn more tightly. I'm in luck, as it's to the right! I've narrowly missed being caught napping, just as I've reached the safety of my own lines. Now, with the rest of 'B' Flight no-where to be seen, whether I get home or not will depend entirely on who comes out on top, in the next few minutes - me or this Hun. I’m not especially keen on a dogfight at low level. I’ll be relying on hard turns, and although I expect to be able to make them tighter than the Albatros, I know that this will risk a spin. At this altitude, a recovery is going to be unlikely. So if the Hun doesn’t kill me, it’s very possible I’ll do the job for him. I wonder if some Camel pilots were, at times, as afraid of their own machines, as they were of the enemy’s; and I'm conscious of the keen-ness lent to this question by the fact that I'm now facing it myself, something only a combat flight sim, or the real thing, can deliver. I'm soon gaining on the Albatros; he's turning hard too, but he can't out-turn a Camel. So long as I don't over-do it and spin out, I'll soon be warming his hide with my Vickers. And so it quickly comes to pass. I come in behind him and give him a burst. Bits fly off the Hun and he runs for the lines in a shallow dive. He's fast, opening the range, but I line up another shot before the range is too great and force him to turn again. This time, he gets cute and pulls up and around, converting his speed into height and threatening to roll in onto my tail... ...but I quickly turn in under him and he gives up on that idea. Instead, he makes another dive for the lines. By the time I have cleared my tail and worked out that he's no longer there, the Hun has opened out the range again. However, I'm able to cut across his course and soon, I'm slipping into his blind spot, below and behind. He breaks hard left as my first burst whacks into him... ...but it it doesn't do him much good. There's no obvious sign of damage, but his speed is falling off and I get in another burst at close range, then have to break to avoid flying into him. I come around for another pass, but it's not going to be necessary. The Hun noses down into a spiral to the left... ...and I pull up and watch as he goes down for a forced landing in no-Man's Land, pursued by tracer fire from our trenches. The boys down there evidently do not share my conviction that the business at hand has now been settled in my favour. The Hun puts his kite down without wrecking it so I leave him to his fate and resume my return flight. The shellfire drumming up clouds of dirt behind me makes me doubly glad that it's him, and not me, down on the ground back there. Soon, the muddy earth of the shelled area is giving way to green fields again, and I begin to relax. On my way back to the airfield, I pass one of our own observation balloons. If he has any sympathy for the crew of the Hun balloon he may have seen me shoot down a few minutes back, he doesn't show it. At least these fellows have the luxury of parachutes to escape from a blazing mount, unlike we fighting pilots! The sun is sinking in the skies to the west as I fly home, highlighting the folds in the ground which, from high up, can look rather flatter than it really is. In WoFF, such fine vistas are worth savouring; they add considerably to the sense that you are in a dynamic world with lighting and weather that's as variable as the air and ground activity all around. Amongst which activity is a train passing by the airfield, as I make my approach... Unfortunately, I didn't get a screenshot of the full debriefing. But 'B' Flight must have eventually hit the railyard, for they were credited with doing some damage, for no losses. For myself, I received no such credit despite the wrecked sheds, but I was awarded the balloon and the Albatros shot down. Which will do nicely. Especially as, from his fancy markings, the Hun was probably an ace of some description. 'Forty-sixes' Camels have come and they are making their mark, in the air and on the ground - let the Huns beware!

Trains, planes and gasbags... There are some wagons and a locomotive in sidings but I have already decided that I’m going to attack the large sheds with my bombs. They’re a much bigger target and it’s unlikely they are empty of something worth wrecking. However, I mess up my first attack because I forget the bomb release key! I bank up and away, leaving the target undamaged and lucky not to have been hit by ground fire for no return. Repeating my first effort, in a shallow dive, I run diagonally across the length of the sheds and this time, I manage to let fly with all four of my 20-pound bombs in quick succession. Blasts of dark smoke mark their impact as I race over the yard and away, pursued by more MG fire. Looking back, I can see that I’ve got some hits – the sheds are still there but pock-marked and crooked. I push my luck by making a couple of runs across the yard , firing my Vickers at anything that comes into my line of sight. This includes the locomotive, but my .303 rounds seem to make little impression on it. It’s a far cry from the climax of the old WW1 movie ‘The Dawn Patrol’, where Errol Flynn alone attacks a huge target, with results that any Strike Eagle jockey would have been proud of. My Sopwith Camel is no F-15 but air-to-air is its business, and I decide, according to plan, that it’s time to conserve my ammunition for the scrap with the Hun airmen that I expect may lie ahead. The railyard is soon slipping away behind and beneath my tail. However, what I hadn’t expected at this point was to be on my own, in addition to being low, coming off the target. Suddenly, I’m not so keen on a scrap with enemy scouts. ‘B’ Flight remains obstinately out of sight somewhere, and I haven’t seen ‘A’ Flight since that last waypoint. What I have seen, however, is an enemy observation balloon, more or less along my route back towards the lines. You can just about see it in the pic below, above the horizon well to the right of my Camel's nose. I gain height and fly in its general direction, quickly leaving the ground fire behind. Neither ‘A’ Flight nor Huns appear, which makes up my mind. I’m going to have that ‘sausage’ for breakfast! As I get close to him, still climbing and steering offset rather than on a direct course, Archie opens up again... ...but by this time, I’m high enough and close enough to roll over and dive on the balloon, coming in along his long axis. I start shooting as he comes into range, easing off the trigger at short intervals to avoid a jam – I don’t want to have to make a second attack, if I can possibly avoid it. The balloon seems unimpressed by my shooting (they are not winched down in WoFF and there’s no ‘Flaming Onions’, strings of big tracers from a large bore automatic cannon the Germans commonly deployed to defend such targets). Just when I think he’s going to escape, there’s a smudge of dark smoke on top of him... ...and the next split second, up he goes, in a massive and rather impressive billow of orange-red fire, as the hydrogen filling the gas-bag is violently consumed. No doubt about that one – one observation balloon shot down! As I come off the target I find myself over the German reserve tranches and come under more ground MG fire. I twist and turn like a snipe to get away to the west, very much not wanting to be brought down on the very last lap after what’s been a moderately successful show, marred only by the apparent reluctance of my flight to make a contribution. Happily, I escape with nothing more than a few non-fatal bullet hits which leave pilot and machine performing normally. The lines are so close together that no sooner am I clear of the enemy trenches, than I’m approaching our own. I take another look behind, on the off chance that one of more of ‘B’ Flight has decided to show themselves. Coming up behind is another aircraft. Head on, he’s hard to identify – a single-bay biplane with a straight top wing and a slight dihedral to the lower one, which fits a Camel…but also an Albatros. The lesser lower-wing dihedral and slimmer nose tells me he’s a Hun. And he’s coming right at me. If I’d delayed looking back a second longer he’d have got me, too! Clearly, this mission's not over yet! ...to be continued!

Target below! So, it’s off towards Hunland we go, to hit a railway yard in open countryside a few miles east of the lines. This is not my cup of tea. I'm a virtual scout pilot who wants to be jousting with other 'knights of the air' and all that other jolly, 'Boy’s Own' stuff. But it’ll have to do - after two rather tiresomely uneventful shows on my own side of the lines, this foray into enemy territory is an opportunity that I’m going to make the most of. I won’t be too unhappy if we meet the enemy in the air en route and have to dump our little bombs. And if we do make the target unmolested, I’ll dump my eggs there promptly, and maybe fire off a few rounds, but I'll save the rest for the Huns in the air I hope we’ll meet on the way home - if not sooner. On our way to the front, I have a bit of time to admire my 'office'. Truly, the cockpits are one of Win gs over Flanders Fields' very many big improvements over its precesessor. Now, not only are the textures a whole lot better, but it no longer looks like cockpit lights are a-blazin' - now, interiors have a more suutably gloomy appearance. I have five Camels in ‘B’ Flight, with as many again in ‘A’ Flight flying ‘in support’ – whether as an escort, or attacking the same target, is not entirely clear. As they’re in full strength too, this time I make the effort to stay close, getting into a position slightly below and ahead of them, where they can cover our tails and we can generally support one another. If and when the Huns run into this lot they are liable to regret it, I tell myself smugly as I look around at our impressive little force. There’s quite a bit of cloud around and as we make a sharp turn at a waypoint beyond the lines, I lose sight of ‘A’ Flight and don’t see them again. Hoping neverthess that they will still be heading in the general direction of the railyard and therefore not too far away, I press on at the head of ‘B Flight. Our turn has brought us onto the last leg up to the target, but for a while, I can’t make it out between the clouds lower down. We can’t see the target, but maybe the target can see us, for we are soon bracketed by Archie. It’s a fairly light barrage and I ignore it – by now, the railyard must be almost directly below us and we’ll soon be diving down onto it and leaving Archie's unfriendly black puffs well astern. As I bank around to get a better view below, I see the target through a gap in the clouds – a stretch of railway with sidings and some large sheds. We’re here! I turn on the Tactical Display, switch to display ground objects and order a flight attack on one of them, amongst the cluster which represents the railyard. Then I begin to spiral down, ready to make my own attack. As I lose height, I study the yard to pick out a specific target. I’m in no hurry – I want to attack at about the same time as the others have begun to make their runs, so that I won’t be the sole recipient of the ground MG fire that I know we must expect. Round and round I go, edging lower, but my flight-mates seem reluctant to begin their attacks. I look around and now, I can’t see them anywhere, even after I come out of the low, broken cloudbase. The first pencil-line smoke trails from the tracers of ground fire pierce the skies around my Camel. This isn’t going well! I’m either going to have to get out of here and start all over, or give up on a co-ordinated attack and make my own run without further ado. I quickly choose the latter option. I’m already under fire and so half-committed; and there’s no certainty that I’d be able to regain touch with the flight, if I back out now. So, mind made up, I grit my virtual teeth, bank around, and come in for the attack. ...to be continued!

As for my own favourite flight sims, and 'keeping it cryptic' (or rather, visual)... ...for World War 1, it was originally this one... ...but has been this one, for a long time... ...tho of late, I'm more inclined to this one... As for World War 2, it was initially this one... ...then, this one... ...but is now this one... As for the jet age, I don't play that era over much, but it would have to be this one... ...in its different incarnations...

As 'THE Battle' is your favourite period (one of mine too, along with the other one, over the Reich), you must have tried this one...what did you make of it?

Behind the lines...our lines... My next two missions were...well, to be perfectly frank, a bit of a let-down. Both were patrols, in squadron strength, to areas behind our own lines. The RFC commander in France, 'Boom' Trenchard, would I think have been appalled to see a full squadron of valuable Camels so deployed, when they should have been operating offensively. Typically, RFC scouts are described as flying three kinds of patrol - Line Patrols, roughly over the trenchlines; Offensive Patrols (known as 'O Pips' in the phonetic terminology of the time) up to about 4 miles over; and Distant Offensive Patrols, up to about 10-12 miles into enemy territory. Which is not to say they didn't do other work, most commonly ground strafing as 1917 drew on, and sometimes escorts or what would in a later war be called 'scrambles' to intercept enemy aircraft. But patrols were the 'default' RFC fighter mission and Trenchard's tactical doctrine required - nay, demanded - that the patrols be flown offensively, that the enemy be confronted in 'his' skies, not 'ours'. There being no particular indication that enemy incursions were being experienced or were expected, I had my own doubts about this sort of tasking. So on the first such show, down towards the area west of Arras, I pushed my course on the last leg well out to the east. 'A' Flight could look after the designated patrol area, for all the trade I expected them to find. Hun scouts rarely ventured over our side I knew, and the odd 2-seater should be no particular problem for the other flight to knock down or drive off. All very disobedient, but if challenged later I'd put it down to checking out something suspicious over in that direction, strong winds, haze, or any combination thereof. Soon, we were over the lines and I turned south to patrol them for a bit. Despite the fact that our main point of attack at this time was towards Cambrai well to the south, there was a fair bit of ground fire below, as our gunners pounded the Germans. It wasn't long before other, German gunners were shooting at us. Dark puffs of Archie began to burst in the skies nearby. The fire was about right for height and not too bad for line, but rather desultory, so that I hardly bothered with evasive action. I threw in the odd turn, as much to clear our tails and guard against surprise attack from 'the Hun in the sun', in the mostly clear blue skies. Soon, even Archie disappeared, and I was left tootling up and down the lines, wondering if I might have had more luck sticking with the original patrol area. All there was to see, was the continuing shellfire. Somebody at least was having an eventful day, but it wasn't us. To stave off incipient boredom, I started fiddling with the label settings, and managed to turn on aircraft labels, which showed that there was air activity all around us, even if I couldn't see it. In the haze lower down towards Hunland, a flight of Pfalz scouts was 'going home'. I have no idea why my own flight, ahead and left, were labelled as 'fighting'. Over on our side of the lines, to my right, about five miles away, the labels revealed that some RE8s were arriving back at their base. All this activity was well outside the short, c.1 mile radius I had set for the Tactical Display, beyond also the 4000 meter radius I had set for 'dot mode' display of more distant aircraft. So I didn't succumb to temptation and go after the Pfalzes, but, as is my way, treated them as 'Not seen' and carried on, regardless. Soon after, I gave up and went home. Had my squadron commander been Robert Smith-Barry, later famed as the father of the modern flight training syllabus, but who tore strips off a patrol which returned early after a stiff fight, I'd have been given a rocket for 'deserting my post' while we still had fuel in tanks and rounds in ammo belts. But for me, enough was enough, and home we went. The next mission was worse again. This time - perhaps in punishment - 'B' flight was just me and one other Camel, again relegated to a patrol behind our lines - further behind, this time. And again, with 'A' Flight similarly assigned. This time, more bored experimentation with keystrokes ended up in my ordering my solitary flight-mate home, and I soon followed him, in disgust. My fourth show would more than make up for all that preceeded it. We were assigned a railyard attack, and my 'B' Flight was back up to strength. I wasn't massively keen on getting shot down by ground MG fire so early in my career but consoled myself with the thought that this time, 'contact with the enemy' would certainly be forthcoming. I equipped our Camels with four twenty-pound Cooper bombs apiece, and this time gave my machine a skin to replace the stock 46 Squadron one - that of the unit's most famous pilot, Victor Yeates, whose semi-autobiographical Winged Victory is one of the classic works on the air war of WW1. Would this mission be even a minor classic? I would soon find out. ...to be continued!

Has Stachel's luck deserted him, on his fifth mission? I'm not superstitious, but when I saw in PWCG that the date for my next mission had advanced to April 13th, I hesitated briefly. Should I ask for a spot of leave? But no, I decided to press on. I might have thought again, if I had realised that this day in 1917 was Friday the Thirteenth! Happily ignorant of this, I drew a patrol up to the lines to the north-west of our base at Pronville, and swapped out the appointed flight leader so that this would be my show. I accepted Karlstadt and Veidt, who had flown with me before, and selected replacement pilot Fischbein to make up the foursome. These would be the men I'd try to bring through the war with me. The northern end of our patrol down the lines was marked by a village who's name I've forgotten. It was a good landmark, though, lying astride our reserve trenches, close to the shelled area. It was probably abandoned, if its occupants had any sense! Swinging around to the south as we passed over the village, I noticed a formation of aircraft, higher up and on a reciprocal course which took them over our heads. Enemies would likely be diving on us by now, but I watched them closely, until I could see that they were Albatrosses, like our own. I watched them too closely in fact, for I nearly missed two other aircraft that were coming up on our right, at the same level. From their stubby noses, I realised they were almost certainly enemies, Sopwiths perhaps. I turned around after them, while they did the same, apaprently intending to come in behind my flight, which - as bad luck or carelessness would have it - I had allowed to straggle a little, at that very time. Our flak opened up, the bursts falling so far below the two enemy aircraft that I took a little while to confirm there weren't additional enemies down there. I gave the 'Attack!' order, but it was probably redundant. My flight broke up as the two RFC Nieuports - for that is what they turned out to be - tore into them. Then it happened! As I came around to join the fight, two Albatrosses came together, then seemed to stagger appart. A collision! The victims fell away below, both seemingly in one piece but out of control. The best I could hope for was that one or both managed to force land and save their lives. But clearly, they were out of the fight and it was now two against two. I wasted no time in latching onto one of the Nieuports, before they could gang up on my surviving comrade. As usual, the more agile enemy machine could turn in under me, but by staying above him, I was able to bide my time until the opportunity presented itself to make diving attacks onto his tail. In one of these attacks, I think I managed to hit the pilot - I now have Gavagai's reduced damage mod enabled, which lessens the frequency of wings being shot off - for he seemed to be slumped forward in his cockpit. However, the Nieuport continued to turn, so I throttled back and stayed behind him, firing again. He fell into a sideslip... ...and sensing victory, I kept after him, firing again. Suddenly his rudder came off and his nose rose up. If I hadn't been so sure I'd got him, I would have worried that he was still under control and trying to force me out in front. But no, his nose dropped and now I could clearly see that the Englishman was slumped forward, lifeless, in his cockpit. He spiralled down, and as I watched, I saw that his propeller had spun to a stop. My comrade all the while had been engaged with the other Nieuport and I climbed in the direction of the fight, ready to join in if needed. The opportunity to do so came when the two machines turned in diffrernt directions. In a flash, I dropped onto the Nieuport's tail and let him have it. His left aileron came off under my fire and I was lucky it didn't hit me. I didn't notice at the time, but in the picture below, you can see that there seems to be a fight going on up ahead, perhaps involving that other flight of Albatrosses. My target stopped turning, levelled off and flew to the south west, as if to escape. Checking that my flight-mate wasn't about to drop in us - one collision was more than enough! - I raced up behind him, cursing the friendly flak which had chosen this very moment to find the range. I slotted in close behind the enemy aircraft and basically shot him full of holes. It took more rounds than I expected but he suddenly nosed down and spiralled earthwards, crashing in open country just behind our lines. The score had been evened, in the face of some pretty foul luck! My wingman was behind me as I made a climbing turn to the south, back onto our patrol route. I contemplated going home - reduced to two aircraft with a fair bit of ammo expended, I believed I could defend the decision to the CO - but I felt duty bound to complete the patrol. I would, however, be more cautious about accepting combat...if I had a choice. And more combat seemed to be a distinct possibility. Looking up, I saw a flight of four aircraft, a good deal higher up, also flying south. Out flak wasn't engaging them, but from their square-cut appearance, they didn't look like German machines. Evidently, we weren't quite done here. ...to be continued!

Thanks for the tip, vonOben, I hadn't seen that, and will try disabling the AI mods. Stachel is due another mission soon, and it will be good to see if things are better - especially the awful crack-ups on landing, which seem to be a common problem.