Wild Days and Nights Above the Trenches of the Great War (A Novel Inspired by High Quality Simulation and an Old Brown Dog)

3rd installment (1st here, and 2nd here)

by Slobodon Sucur

Mission No. 8 for Cap.’n Dobson & Company

Later that morning our now useless Parasol was being inspected by the fitters at our ’drome, but we had been given a new one, recently arrived, to go up on one of our (by now) standard, long reconnoitering flights around the Hun batteries south of Lens. We were accompanied by another Parasol, piloted by Sergeant Aldridge, a good fellow who was fond of practical jokes and was also a skilled fortepiano player.

We ascended, with the LeRhone on this Parasol ticking over much more nicely than on the other one we had to bring back, and, pleased with how the ’crate was behaving, we plotted a course to the left, veering towards the German side of the lines already near Neuve Chapelle. I was carrying four 45 lb bombs but did not release them over the Hun positions there; instead, I restrained myself, hoping to attack the Pfalz factory south of Lens. It was nonetheless already challenging to keep the Parasol aloft, with the extra weight, and also with some horribly strong winds that, for some reason, are rather frequent around the Neuve Chapelle sector. We were slowly being pushed by the wind directly over Lens when I spotted two gray specks to the back of the Parasol, and heading towards our lines.

I dropped all four of my bombs over some of the Hun’s sheds that I noticed in the vicinity, and I signalled to Aldridge that we begin a wide turn towards the two specks that were spotted. We cautiously made our way towards these machines, not to be noticed, with the over-hanging clouds aiding us in our maneuvers. Eventually we had identified them—as two Aviatiks, cream-coloured, possibly unarmed, although Henderson would tell me later that one German observer was waving a revolver of some kind, while the one in the other Aviatik had taken a few shots at us with a rifle. I was too busy maneuvering the Parasol to notice such details, but I positioned the ’crate in such a way, often diagonally approaching the two Aviatiks, that Henderson was in a location, however briefly, to discharge his Lewis M.G. at them. Many rounds were seen to enter the Aviatik with the rifle-armed observer, but the Lewis then jammed, and I had to make several circles before Henderson could fire again, this time from a greater distance at which we were not able to notice if any further damage was inflicted on the Aviatik. Aldridge flew above us, on my signal, to spot for any other Hun aircraft. With our ammunition eventually exhausted, we had no choice but to proceed with some arty and trench spotting directly above the front lines that were nearby, and making for a rather grotesque scene—since the Aviatiks were directly below us, spotting as we were spotting, and turning as we were turning!

Truth be told, we were probably as irritating to the Hun flyers as they were to us, but neither party could do anything about it. I briefly contemplated how perhaps to bring one of the Aviatiks down by slowly pressing on its top wing with the Parasol’s undercarriage, but the experiment seemed impractical and was quickly abandoned. Eventually the duo of Aviatiks turned back towards Lens and disappeared into the drizzly mist that had crept up in the meantime, while we proceeded back over our lines through increasing winds and heavier weather, and with my fuel dropping awfully close to the 50% mark again. I signalled to Aldridge, as we passed the Lys, that he fly back to our ’drome, while I and Henderson alighted at the base just north of the river, to refuel, to wile away a few hours until the clouds dissipate, and, above all—to see if Lady Harbury was still there, with her burlesque accoutrements.

Mission No. 9 for Cap.’n Dobson

This day our C.O. Sir Geoffrey Salmond was again visiting and we were chosen to go up on a bombing run, on his orders; the elder Salmond had a penchant for such missions. We were to be a tandem of Parasols, I and Henderson my observer in one, and the senior Salmond with his observer in the other. Both of us were carrying four 45 lb bombs, which made our ascent somewhat sluggish. The weather was mixed, with heavy clouds occasionally, mist, and then windy spells too that cast a strangely appropriate atmosphere over the dreary, shell-marked landscape of the front lines.

We took our standard route, proceeding towards our goal south of the River Lys: the Hun batteries near Neuve Chapelle. We entered the German area at an altitude of about 3900 feet, because to go any higher risked losing what little visibility we had. Also making things difficult was the turbulence over and above the front near the batteries. I signalled to the other Parasol and it went in, flying several strafing runs until all of its bombs were dropped. We did not loiter but proceeded further south, and towards Lens, beyond our original flightpath for today. Salmond would later comment that he was most pleased with our consistent tendency towards “forward action.”

Spotted below the clouds eventually, and to our left, was the city of Lens—and I knew then that the Pfalz factory was getting nearer. We skirted around Lens and towards the meadows immediately south, with the facilities we had chosen as our second target slowly coming into view. I made a gesture towards the other Parasol that it circle above us, should some lumbering Hun chance by and get the drop on us. In the meantime, I tinkered with fuel and air flow to the LeRhone, to lean power to about four-fifths, and we began a gradual descent towards the buildings. I at first made a couple of higher passes, dropping one, then the other bomb, and then the last two in quick succession. Explosions were heard and seen immediately below, in the vicinity of the main facilities. Most likely the wind had pushed the bombs slightly off course. Nonetheless, some damage was noted, with sheds and other smaller structures receiving the brunt of the destruction.

Being now more maneuverable without the extra weight of the bombs, I made several tighter turns, followed by a few dangerously low passes around the factory, whereupon Henderson opened up with his Lewis M.G. that consistently rattled away at the windows of the building, and also at several aircraft components, such as tails, rudders, and other pieces, seen in the courtyard of the factory. All of our drums of ammo. were exhausted before I did a wider turn and began an ascent towards the lines south of Bethune, a path that took us over the Hun positions in the vicinity.

To make ourselves useful on the return flight, we made some photographs of Hun trench lines and dugouts in this sector of the front, since no enemy aircraft were spotted that would cause us trouble. Also observed was a convoy of four lorries near the lines south of Bethune, but we were in no position to descend lower to investigate, which would mean losing valuable alt. that we had managed to gain, of about 3600 feet, as we passed back onto our side of the lines. The winds here picked up considerably, with worsening visibility and darker clouds encroaching, and my fuel dropping rather low again—so I gestured to the other Parasol that we make for the French aerodrome immediately south of Bethune. We alighted well enough, although exhausted after the rather prickly mission.

‘Well done chaps!,’ was Sir Geoffrey’s reply once we had all unbuckled and clambered out of our cockpits. ‘Fine, adventurous flight today,’ he commented further. We were soon greeted by Captain Lefebve who was most pleased that the English had dropped in for a while. ‘And wat may wee do for you mine frends?,’ he asked, ‘un peu…how you say in your language, refuelling, and then, voilà…upsy-daisy?’ ‘Indeed, petrol for us mon capitaine!,’ roared Henderson with his burly laughter, ‘and then upsy-daisy.’

‘We will of course stay for lunch if the captain requests,’ I interjected into the dialogue already underway. ‘Mais oui, Capitaine Dobson, witz pleasure,’ he responded—‘you are already known at the front, and Lady Harbury has zed good tings about you.’ ‘What’s this?,’ asked Henderson. ‘You just have to know how to wink knowingly at the ladies, Henderson,’ was my reply, ‘and further, it doesn’t hurt to wear a proper belt and make sure that you’ve got a nice pair of polished, red buckskin shoes on you at all times—I shall tell you about it in more discreet circumstances, but first it’s more marksmanship practice for you when we get back to our aerodrome.’ ‘Well, bother blow,’ was Henderson’s response, which in turn received a robust guffaw from us all.

By evening we would be at our ’drome north of Armentières and were greeted with wonderful news, that several Hun positions were hit by us at Neuve Chapelle, and that the Pfalz factory south of Lens had received noticeable damage—hopefully to be out of commission for some time. Also possible, I speculated more ominously, was that the Huns would now plan their revenge, but in what form precisely we could not know.

to be continued…

Slobodan Sucur’s publications include analytical works on 19^th century authors, as summarized on his profile page at The Literary Encyclopedia. He also writes the occasional (odd) poem, some of which have been published in The Melic Review and in Ygdrasil, A Journal of the Poetic Arts. His hobbies include topics in WWI aviation, flight modeling, and the early years of aeronautical engineering, areas that he has attempted to transform into an experimental text that fits well the serialized novel format and that is inspired by OBD Software’s detailed WWI flight simulator Wings Over Flanders Fields.