August 13: Salvation

The newly promoted Major Trotter rose unsteadily to his feet, the pilots sat round the long dining table banging the it with the palms of the hand as he put the pint to his lips. The rhythmic pounding built to a deafening crescendo as he drained the glass, some of the beer spilling from the

August 13: The Death Ride of Erich Lorenz

Oberleutnant Erich Lorenz pressed the fire button again, and again the Tommies scattered under his bullets. Abandoned crates, left by the roadside by the English diving for cover, exploded as the ammunition inside was touched off, a carrying mule caught in the flank was spun round by the force of the impact. Erich stared through his

The Big Show

Lt. James Raleigh, still in his flying gear, stood in the officers’ mess, staring at a sepia photograph on the wall. It had been taken just a couple of weeks before – ‘B’ Flight, 76 Squadron, on their arrival at St. Crispen Eglise aerodrome. He was there, smiling, with Hayes, Trevelyan, Forbes-White and Osborne, then

August 12: Der Tag

“Come on, Fritz – shake the fellow’s hand!”, cried Farrell. Lieutenant Edward’s hand was outstretched, but Ernst Anders did not look down. He stared at the young Welshman; at his easy-going, smiling boyish face. He felt foolish, he knew he was being petulant, but he could not help himself. He wasn’t used to loosing. But

August 11: Bon chance!

Ernst Anders pressed himself into the side of the drainage ditch, muddy from the days of heavy rain, and cautiously looked through the hedge, his hand gripping his automatic pistol. The Tommies were still milling around the wreck of his Albatross D.V, laughing, smoking. They’d searched the barn and made a show of searching the

August 10: Special mission

Lt. Harry Mullaly sat on a crate in the hanger, staring morosely at the RE8 that had been brought in that evening by a jolly pilot from wing. “Try not to get hit in the fuel tank”, he’d said cheerfully, “The buggers tend to explode”. Great. He thought back to the funny little Frenchman he’d

August 8: The Twenty-minuters

“It’s all right, Sir, I gotya” George felt strong arms pulling him up. He looked round wildly, trying to focus on something, anything. He had the sensation of being dragged along the ground, a confused array of images and sounds broke through the blackouts and tinnitus; he saw an SE-5 spinning into the ground, the

Cross of Iron: August 8

Wilhelm Roth knew he was in trouble; he didn’t know his killer, but it was Hibbert after his second kill of the day. He was behind him and was closing fast. “Scheisse”, he whispered to himself. He looked ahead to where there was a bank of low cloud, willing himself closer so that he would

Hat trick: 7 August 1917

Major von Eching wasn’t happy; he’d miscalculated and he knew it; the flight of SE-5As was above him and was getting into a perfect position. He looked around, trying to think of how he was going to get out of this position. A sudden burst of gunfire from Muller made him look over; he was

Day 6: This tumult in the clouds

Osborne’s breathing was rapid, he forced himself to get a grip. All around him the clammy pall of the clouds closed in, obscuring his view. “Where in God’s name am I?”, he murmured to himself. He looked at his compass; it was still turning, trying to settle after the spin which had taken him into