Lonesome Fokker

Who: Weatherby, Dangerfield, Hicks, Robby, Higgins, Clemens
Where: In the air somewhere in the Marne.
When: May 4, 2006
What: Another reconaissance mission.


A hardpacked road winds its way off in the distance. It's large enough to allow two vehicles to pass each other on it as long as there's nobody turning a corner sharply. Mostly used by horses and wagons, it has lately seen much other traffic in the form of trucks and the road is beginning to show signs of wear and tear.
It is currently daytime.

Dangerfield is fully prepared to leave on short notice, lingering on at the airfield, chatting with some other pilots that have grouped around a table set outside the makeshift pilot's mess tent. They're drinking tea.

Weatherby has gotten himself out of hospital and is strutting around again, though some of the arrogance has been knocked out of his step. He eyes the other pilots, particularly Dangerfield, but he makes not move to join them. He stumps over to get himself a cup of tea, frowning to himself.

Robby walks forward into the airfield, writing in that notebook again. It looks like he didn't get enough information the last time he was down here, what with the flying, shooting, the burns, and all. He pays particualar attention to the pilots, and their pre-flight ritual. Tea, out here!

"And then," Dangerfield explains, apparently retelling some story to the fellow pilots, "I flipped her over on her stomach, gave her shapely behind a slap and told her I was not available for marriage!" He grins broadly, the others guffaw a bit around their sips of tea and cigarette smoke. Dangerfield brushes off some dust off his uniform, then notices Weatherby and gives the man a smile and a nod. "Weatherby, old chum! Lovely day for a little tour of the country-side, isn't it?"

The RAF squadron leader is off to one side, and is looking a little disgruntled. He's looking a little disgruntled because theres a rather pissed off USMC major having a go at him for the lack of decent recon the RAF has managed to scrounge up for their US allies. The major isn't really holding back either. There is much talk of "So this is how the alleged experts fight, is it?", while the squadron leader stands to rigid attention throughout. But obviously is thinking something along the lines of 'who does this colonial thing he is!!!?'. Inter-Ally tension appears to be here.

Weatherby starts up from stirring his tea when Dangerfield calls to him. He frowns at being called 'chum' but doesn't really object. The little man is more subdued than usual. "They're planning another reconnaissance flight, then?" he asks, his mustache twitching. Robby is noted, and frowned at. He mutters, "Bloody Yanks" under his breath. The Marine major is also frowned at. Weatherby watches them, his body language giving off the message, 'Give the wanker hell, sir.'

Hicks is hiding underneath a wrecked airplane, as far away as possible from anyone with rank, although his attention is more at the RAF guy getting yelled at than the aircraft, poorly disguised amusement in his face.

Higgins strides across the field. His right hand still has a bandage on it, but it doesn't seem to be bothering him much. He approaches the other two pilots, just catching the tail end of Dangerfield's remark. He grins, "Least it isn't raining." Not even the Yank Major can completely rid him of his smile. "Doesn't look too happy, does he?" he remarks on the obvious.

Inter-ally tension? What a story that'd make! That, of course, has Robby in the note book for a minute or two. He walks absently toward the pilots, approching just in time to here Higgins last remark. "He's a Marine Officer. They lack the ability." Weatherby gets a quick nod. "I don't suppose you'll be needing another cameraman this time?"

Clemens comes from his battalion camp with a fresh, clean uniform on and a rather sour look on his face. He didn't like being assigned to duty that didn't involve a rifle. Instead he carries a notebook and pencil along with a pistol. He makes his way to where the Marines are and glances over at the major ripping the officer a new one. He says nothing. Instead, he opens the notebook and begins writing.

The major eventually gets bored of chewing out the man in charge of his air support, and stalks off. In turn, the squadron leader heads over to you lot, and gives Weatherby a withering look in particular. Shit slides downhill after all. "Alright chaps. I think the entire ruddy airfield heard that. The front line is moving towards the Aisne, and it seems likely that Fritz won't be pushed across it easily. Our noble Allies respectfully request that we give them some excellent photographs this time."

Weatherby gives Robby a dark look, nodding shortly. "That seems to be the idea of this show," he replies, not sounding at all happy about that. He stands at sharp attention to listen to the squadron leader, as if being extra-respectful will make up for the Marine major.

Dangerfield turns his eye on the scene with the USMC major and his squad leader. He shares Weatherby's sentiments, that much is obvious, his expression one of some distaste at the display over there. "I imagine there is one coming up, what with the show over there. Colorful language they have, the Marines." He smiles a bit, sipping more tea. "Fierce bastards though, I'm glad I'm on the same side!" He perks up when Higgins show up. "Higgins, what a lovely sight. Out of the hospital too, eh? We're a hardy few, we are." Robby is given a quick lookover, but he has no time to say anything before the Squadron leader interrupts, him coming to attention. "Of course, Sir."

Robby gives a nod to Weatherby. Hope I cna be of some assitance, then." Clemens and his notebook get a curious look, but that stops when the Squardon Leader comes over. Robby comes to a respectful position of attention. Officers are officers, after all.

The squadron leader then gives a rather sour, if vaguely respectful, look towards the various marines lined up here. "I see the Yank observers are here as promised. Well, anyway. To make it clear, your orders are to perform a low level reconnaissance of the Aisne area assigned to our sector of front. We're not expecting much opposition, but you'll probably run into one of Fritz's scouts before you get out of there. The photographs are the priority, I've been told we're running out of tanks in this sector already, with all the artillery Fritz has."
"Indeed," Higgins agrees with Dangerfield, pleased to see the other fellow recovered. He also comes to attention and listens to the leader's briefing.

Clemens listens and hopes he remembers the crash-course in camera operation he just endured. He flips the page of his notebook to his scribbled notes and then puts the end of the pencil into his mouth. He was quite nervous about flying and it probably showed in his pale-face and sweaty brow.

Dangerfield would twiddle his moustache if he had one, but he settles for adjusting his scarf, instead. "Right on top of it, Sir," he says cheerfully. "Who's with me?" he asks, looking at the marines. "Bring a bag to barf in!"

Weatherby's mustache isn't long enough to twiddle, but it does do some impressive twitching as he eyes the Yanks. He stomps over to one of the Bristols, waiting to have someone thrust upon him rather than actively picking a Marine.

Higgins glances around, surveying the pilots. "Looks like you with Mr. Weatherby…" he indicates Robby, "And perhaps you with Mr. Dangerfield?" That to Clemens. To Dangerfield he suggests, "I can take up the Camel, give you lot some cover."

The squadron leader seems happy that all is in order as everybody gets to it. Eager pilots, thats what he likes. "Alright men, get to it. I'll see you again with the photographs."
Robby gives a nod over to Higgins. "Sounds like the best way to go. At least I know Mr. Weatherby can put out a fire." He grins a bit to himself, and heads over to the Bristol Weatherby has moved to. "Hope you don't mind a rifleman sharing your back seat again."
"Won't let you down, sir," Higgins offers to the squadron leader, speaking with a subdued confidence.

Clemens looks around for a Dangerfield. He moves up behind the man and says, "Only barf bag I have is my lap sir." He unzips the bag he carries over his shoulder and checks on the camera. It looked ready.

Hicks climbs out from underneath the plane, raising his voice "I'm not repairing anything ever again, so bring them back in one piece." He eyes the marines a bit, "And if you shoot off your own tail, I'll squash you like bugs …if the ground doesn't take care of that."

"Haven't much choice, have I?" Weatherby grouses at Robby. But he smooths his frown after another look at the man. "At least you won't vomit all over my plane like most of the damn groundling. And you can work a gun well enough." The praise is grudging but genuine.

Higgins offers Hicks a sympathetic smile. "Just think how dull your life would be if you didn't have us wrecking your planes, mate," he says as he climbs into one of the Camels.

"Nobody else I'd rather have up there covering my behind," Dangerfield tells Higgins, grinning at him. He throws off a salute to the squadron leader, then waves to Clemens. "Hello, hello. James William Dangerfield, nice to meet you. Just grab the tailgun if a Hun comes flying and shoot at him at your leisure," he adds, as if explaining where the pic-nic basket should go in the horse carriage. He stalks off towards one of the Bristols, flipping his goggles on a finger, around and around. "Hawk, don't be such an old grump!" he tells the mechanic. "What would you do back in England, anyway? Isn't this much more exciting? Repairing our planes, doing a splendid job. Splendid, I say." He climbs up into the plane, humming some showtune.

Robby gives a quick nod. "I don't think that other marine has had any experiance in the air. He'll probably screw up the photographs." He says with a bit of a grin. He stands next to the aircraft itself, not boarding until her pilot does so. Proper courtesy, and all of that.

Weatherby gives Dangerfield a dark look at all that humming. His own face is stone serious. "And at least you aren't a damn dandy," he mutters to Robby under his breath. "Well, that's his trouble, isn't it. Come on, then." With that, he climbs into the Bristol.

Hicks grunts a bit, "Then I could sit on my behind and watch the grass grow like you pilots do most of the time." he replies to most of the comments in one big sweep before climbing back under the airplane.

"Indeed, splendid!" Higgins echoes Dangerfield's praise of the mechanic as he pulls on his gloves and hat. Always butter up the mechanics.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins revs the engine and takes off from the field, immediately pulling his plane into a shallow climb.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby gets his Bristol up into the air, with much sputtering and rumbling and jostling about.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield lets out a 'Yihaaaw!' as he gets up, in a kind of salute to any marines down there. That yihaaw manages to sound British. He too climbs, slowly but steadily.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins levels off around 4000 feet and scans the ground for markers that will indicate the proper course.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby goes full-throttle, speeding and climbing to meet the other planes. He frowns in the direction of Dangerfield's aircraft when he glances at it in the clouds around him. He can't have possible heard that 'yihaw' of course. But he frowns powerfully on general principle.

Clemens holds on and turns pale as Dangerfield puts the plane through its paces. The wind is almost too much for him to take and he is glad to put his goggles down. "Gah…" he says.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Clemens holds on and turns pale as Dangerfield puts the plane through its paces. The wind is almost too much for him to take and he is glad to put his goggles down. "Gah…" he says.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield goes a bit higher than that, levelling out at 5000. "So, what do you think back there?" he shouts to Clemens, as always eager to chat, even in the air when talking hardly is an easy feat. "Don't barf over the edge if you have to, might hit some of your marine chums down there!" At that, he laughs loudly.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Clemens says glumly, "I gotta go, I'll go over the side sir. No sense in us dealing with the smell all day…" Clemens holds on tight to the machine gun ring as the plane zooms along.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins sees Dangerfield go a bit higher, and climbs to meet him. No sense needing to make up the extra altitude if they get into trouble.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby shouts back at Robby, "He's a damned dandy! Son of a ruddy lord! Prances 'round as if he were cock of the walk." And he's tall. But Weatherby doesn't add that part. "He's not better a flying man than me." And he seems intent on proving it.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield grins, turning to look at Clemens. He's not wearing his goggles, they've been put away somewhere as soon as he got up in the air. "I suppose that is for the best. Hawk would kill you if you barfed in the plane, anyway. He can probably deal with a totally shot up plane, but if someone barfed in it too… No telling what insanities would happen then!"

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins falls into an easy formation between the two Bristols, scanning the skies alertly.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby has done away with his goggles as well, tossing them aside the moment his hands were free and he was at a level altitude to cruise. Robby's words cause his lips to twitch into a smile. Maybe Yanks aren't so bad. "Indeed they do. Indeed they do." It suddenly occurs to him to ask, "Say, fellow, what's your name?"

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield realizes he's getting ahead a bit and slows down, the steady plane puttering onwards towards the observation point.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby gives a small smile of his own. "Robert Schaffer! Friends call me Robby! I've heard your last was Weatherby, but I don't think I have your first!" Strange thing, to having men fight together but not know their names.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins is content to fly along, adjusting the stick now and again to keep in position with the other planes. It's quiet with no tail gunner, but he doesn't seem to mind.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby notes Dangerfield up ahead of them, snorting back at Robby. In a 'see what I have to put up with' sort of way. "Clive!" he yells to the Yank. "Clive Weatherby the second. I was named for my father. Fine man. Fought the Boers for mother England, years ago." His South African accent rings with pride.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins notices Dangerfield's plane getting closer, and nudges his throttle back a bit.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby gives a nod at the look, and the words. "Wish I had your heritage! Grandpa fought with the Union, back in the sixties, but my father only fought for social justice in 'Frisco!" That last remark is accompanined with something of a sad look.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield tips his wings a few times to show he's aware of the others and where they are in relation to him. Getting closer to the River, his head is now turning this and that way, on an attentive lookout for enemy aircraft.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby nods sharply to Robby. "A great man, my father! Well! You're doing your bit now. That should be worth something to your family." He slows the plane a bit, careful not to get ahead of the Camel.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins keeps pretty good pace with Weatherby's plane, but Dangerfield is still edging out in front of the both of them. He frowns slightly at his plane's inferior speed.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby gives a snort. "Yes! I'm sure my mother is damn happy to wait for letters and telegrams everyday! If I ever have a son, I can guarantee you he'll know to write often!" He makes work of scanning the sky around him. No telling when the Fokker's would come out to play.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield slows down a bit more to not get too far ahead of the others. His scarf flutters!

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby has tucked his own scarf down his collar, to keep it from fluttering. Simply because he's seen Dangerfield's flapping about. He wants no part of that. He lets out a soft snort, as to writing, fussing with the controls. "Haven't had much of a chance for letters, myself…"

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins smirks to himself at Dangerfield's scarf. "Bloody ridiculous, that is," he murmurs, though no one can hear him. He continues to keep his eyes on the sky.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield gets a little bored flying straight ahead and shouts back to Clemens to hold on tight. Then he does a roll around and back up straight again. "Wasn't that fun?" he shouts.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins shakes his head at Dangerfield's stunt, wondering how his poor observer took to that. Tormenting the ground pounders.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby eyes Dangerfield's rolling about, snorting. "Bloody dandy," he mutters to himself. Then, just to show he can, he also breaks off his straight flying pattern and does a roll of his own. It's a bit jerkier than Dangerfield's.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield suddenly points ahead, somewhat to the right. He sits up straight in his seat and stops acting like it's just a nice day out in the park; he's spotted enemy aircraft.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins snaps up as he also spots the Fokker. He pulls back on the throttle a bit and climbs to meet it.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby isn't expecting anything like that, and grips on to the cockpit siding so hard some of the wood compresses. "Clive! Please, for the love of God, don't do that again!" He isn't distracted enough not to notice the Fokker however, and look over the tail gun again.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby is watching Dangerfield to make sure he isn't doing anything impressive, so he catches the British pilot's pointing straight off. His lips tense. He sees him, too. "Keep your hand by that gun, Schaffer!" he yells back at Robby. "Jerry up ahead."

(From (#29) Fokker DR1) Manfred is up high, and approaching at some speed. He lets the Camel come to him.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins waggles his wings a bit and points to make sure the other planes noticed the German. Then he braces himself, heading for the Fokker.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby increases his speed and angle sharply. To meet the Fokker.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 0)

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield turns the nose down slightly, however. He's got the objective in mind and intent on getting those pictures that are so needed for the upcoming battle.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Weatherby) fires its 1x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 17)

Aircraft Fokker DR1 (#29-Manfred) fires its 2x7.92mm at (#1747) Bristol Type 22 and hits!

Weatherby suffers 6 wound damage to his left arm.

Aircraft Fokker DR1 (#29-Manfred) fires its 2x7.92mm at (#242) Sopwith Camel but misses! (Accuracy 30)

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 18)

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 19)

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Weatherby) fires its 1x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 24)

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 and hits!

Manfred suffers 1 wound damage to his left leg.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 21)

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby got what he wanted. A tussel with the Fokker. Unfortunately, it doesn't go well for him to start. He cries out a mixture of a scream and a curse as the German plane's bullet rips into his arm.

(From (#29) Fokker DR1) Manfred goes up high after a bit of a head to head, with both sides being a bit bruised from the encounter.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins deliberately comes in a bit under the Fokker, not wanting to hit it head on with it having an advantage Then he spins and climbs.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield isn't far from the target now and has gone down low enough for some good pictures. Hearing the shooting, his head swivels to try to make out what's going on behind him. "Damn," he curses silently.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Weatherby) fires its 1x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 21)

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 20)

(From (#29) Fokker DR1) Manfred turns hard on the stick after levelling out, and the Fokker about faces.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 and hits!


Manfred suffers 1 wound damage to his head.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Weatherby) fires its 1x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 22)

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 and hits!

Manfred suffers 2 wound damage to his left chest.

Manfred suffers 2 wound damage to his right arm.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 and hits!

Aircraft Fokker DR1 (#29-Manfred) fires its 2x7.92mm at (#1747) Bristol Type 22 but misses! (Accuracy 20)

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby catches the Fokker coming around again, and rakes it but /good/ with machine gun fire. "Hah! Ya don't mess with the Marines /or/ the British, not anywhere!"

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield flies right over the target, slowing down to allow for good pictures. Then he turns about and flies right over it again, heading back.

(From (#29) Fokker DR1) Manfred dives for the earth when the plane catches fire, hoping for some peace and time to hopefully put it out.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby dives back down when he sees the German plane in flames, a grin coming to his face at Robby's yelling. Despite the pain in his arm. "Bloody good show, Yank!" he shouts. A pained shout. His arm was damaged but good.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins pursues the Fokker for a few moments, but breaks off when he sees it trailing smoke. He offers a grim smile toward the other Bristol and starts moving back into formation.

(From (#29) Fokker DR1) Manfred does manage to put a fair bit of space between him and the opposition at least. But the fire is still burning.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby looks forward again. "You don't sound too good up there! Can you still fly?" His voice is tinged with concern, both for Weatherby and the rest of the crew who don't want to see this plane land /hard/.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby yells back a sharp, "I can fly!" at Robby. At least he's a righty. The blood is flowing out of his left shoulder. He still tries to keep both hands on the controls, but the left one just sort of flops about.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is now trying to get into position himself, up there.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins is a bit perplexed, and perhaps worried, when the Bristol on his wing suddenly starts to dive. He pushes the stick down to follow.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1749-Dangerfield) fires its 1x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 0)

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1749-Dangerfield) fires its 1x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 and hits!

Manfred suffers 5 wound damage to his left hand.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1749-Dangerfield) fires its 1x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 and hits!

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby nods. "Put it another way! Can you complete the objective!" The sound of gunfire has him searching the sky again.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 0)

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 0)

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield zooms past the Fokker and shoots the German plane up in the process. He speeds right past and begins to climb to get into new position.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 (#1747-Robby) fires its 2x.303 at (#29) Fokker DR1 but misses! (Accuracy 0)

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby swears some more when the German pilot doesn't crash and burn properly. But he's close enough to their destination now to have other concerns. "Get on your camera, man!" he calls back at Robby. "We're within sight of that river your commanders are so concerned with."

Aircraft (#29) Fokker DR1 has been destroyed!

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield doesn't seem to have to; the Fokker is plummeting fast now. He soars higher up, swinging around in circles to see what is happening. As the plane crashes, he waves to his comrades.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby smiles when he catches the Fokker going down, out of the corner of his eye. That turned out well, anyhow.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins wags his wings in response, as if to say, "Good show!" He's probably a bit far to see the wave.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby fires off a few more rounds toward the Fokker, but turns to his camera when ordered. A brief glance goes to the other Bristol. Damn Dangerfield. Taking the credit when /their/ aircraft did most of the work! "I'm ready back here!"

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby yells, "Get to it, man!" at Robby. He can't do much with the camera up there. He goes as low as he dares, for good photography.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield turns his plane about and heads after the others, to catch up and provide cover. His observer has taken some photos but the more they can get, the better. No more yelling from USMC majors!

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby As the river and it's surrounding land zooms by below then, the camera snaps a few times. It's slow enough to get a fair amount of the area in it, but quick enough so that the pictures are fairly close together. "Got some good ones! Gonna make another pass?!"

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins continues scanning the skies, and tries to fly closer to his comrades

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby grimaces at the idea of another pass, but he does go back 'round. "Is it necessary?" he asks, between clenched teeth. His shoulder is still bleeding badly.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby grimaces at the idea of another pass, but he does go back 'round. "Is it necessary?" he asks, between clenched teeth. His shoulder is still bleeding badly. *re for Robby*

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield stares as he comes to the sudden realization that artillery is exploding. He begins to wave frantically, towards the direction of Belleau. Time to get out of here!

Some German fires his MG 08 at (#1747 0.236797) and hits!

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby is circling 'round while Robby photographs, looking fussing and bloody. "And you're the observer! Let me know when you've bloody well got what you need."

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield also, to make his point clear, points up. The higher, the better.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins frowns in alarm as the lower planes come under attack from the ground. He continues to circle around the area at a - hopefully - safe altitude.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby grimaces when he spots Dangerfield's pointing. Not that the Brit is wrong. He angles up.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby desperately pulls up, up, up to get away from the ground fire.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Robby manages to get a few more photographs before the plan jumps back into the air. "Sorry! Yeah, yeah, got some better ones on that last pass. Damned Hun can't wait until I finish!" Nevertheless, he breaths out a sigh of relief at being alive.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield once more slows down. His plane is not hit at all and he knows Weatherby took some damage, but not how bad. He keeps turning his head to look back at them, concerned.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby keeps going up, getting as far away from that blighter on the ground as possible. He grimaces, looking over at his shoulder. Which makes him grimace more.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins climbs to join the other planes, a concerned expression on his face. He peers at the other Bristols for any signs of damage as he gets closer.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby levels his plane out he gets it up to a height that seems safe. He's still pushing the Bristol for all it's worth, but the plane is slowing down nonetheless. All that punishing has taken it's tole.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is on a straight course for Belleau now, but flies rather leisurely and slowly. Archie seems unable to reach any longer and he tips the wings encouragingly at Weatherby.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby has likewise adjusted his course back to Belleau. He isn't chatting so much with his observer now, or paying much attention to Dangerfield. He's putting all his energy in not passing out on his controls.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins brings up the rear, keeping a watch out as they make their way home.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby coaxes some more sped out of his Bristol. To get him to those medics all the faster.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is close to Weatherby now, and clearly intends to let him pass him by; he gestures to that effect as well. It's easier to keep an eye out if Weatherby is ahead of him. Not that he can do much from where he is.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby flies past Dangerfield, raising an arm to wave to the other pilot. His good arm. He keeps his head held high because, dammit, he's not going to pass out while Dandyfield can see him.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins settles in for the long flight home, watching the little exchange between the other two planes from a distance.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby keeps his mind on his job while he flies, straight and without embellishment, back to Belleau. He blinks, giving his head a slight shake. Keep your head, man!

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby starts angling lower as they get closer to Belleau. That's /probably/ his reasoning. His plane still /seems/ to be under control. He gives his head another shake. Must stay awake. The pain helps with that. He mutters out a string of curses, wincing at his shoulder.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins joins Weatherby in the dive, though there's still a ways to go.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby is flying at top, almost reckless speed. For his life, one might say.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins struggles to keep up with the Bristol, and it seems to keep gaining distance.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield feels safe enough now, far behind enemy lines. But he still looks about every now and then, somewhat paranoid. And, he keeps a close eye on Weatherby.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby unwraps his scarf with an irritable mutter and uses it to wrap his shoulder wound. He doesn't do a very good job of it, but it's something. The ends of his makeshift bandage flap in the breeze when he's done. Weatherby glares at it.

(From (#1747) Bristol Type 22) Weatherby goes lower and lower, within spitting distance of Belleau now. And not a moment too soon.

Aircraft Bristol Type 22 lands at Belleau Wood!

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins has lost sight of Weatherby's plane, but figures they're close enough to home now that it ought to be safe. Even so, he keeps a sharp eye out.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield sees Weatherby making it home and he grins broadly into the wind, relieved and happy. He's not far from landing either and is flying low now.

Weatherby manages to climb out of the plane, but he doesn't get much farther before he simply collapses. He spent his strength to get home. It's time to pass out now.

(From (#242) Sopwith Camel) Higgins is still a bit behind, but calmly brings his plane down toward the field

Kathleen is, as usual, waiting on the edge of the airfield when she hears the roar of the engines. She rushes out to meet Weatherby when she sees him collapse.

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