RIVER TRAP

A Skeleton Crew Squadron adventure in Simguild Skies.

A black smudge below stained the flat green landscape. The Dr1 had impacted at terminal velocity. The pilot dead before the first nerves could register his torn flesh, broken neck and shattered spine. Wood, canvas, wire, rubber and glue now one with scattered flesh as man and machine now mixed as a macabre indistinguishable mess. Only the thick black cloud now slowly rising into the air above served as a marker for his earthly grave.

Only moments before the Dr1 had been at 5000 feet, seemingly alone in a hostile sky. Its pilot unaware of the dark specks high above as the rising air currents under his wings buffeted his aircraft gently in the midday sky. His exposed face enjoying the cool breeze lulling him into a false sense of peace as he briefly forgot about War and savoured the real reason he was here, to fly.
Had he been aware, he would have seen the 5 specks drop one after the other as they fell from the sky onto their unsuspecting prey. Each speck growing larger and larger, wings now distinguishable, cowling, paint, pilot, roundels and the large white SC painted under the wing of each Spad XIII.

The altimeter exploded in front of him as two pairs of forward fixed .303 Vickers machine guns unleashed a volley of lead shredding the fuselage and shattering wing spars before finding their mark.

The Sky over Ancheville was no place for an untested pilot alone. This 3 dimensional expanse was the hunting grounds of many experienced Squadrons. The Skeleton Crew SC, The Lone wolves LW, Duckwing Squadron DW, the Arabian Knights AK, the Skylords, SL, the Flying Tigers FT, The Flying Eagles FE, the Green Mountain boys GMB, the Wild Geese WG, the Crash Test Dummies CTD, Jasta 18, the 94th, the Screaming Eagles SE, Vockermans Vultures Vv and more.

Only the foolish and unfortunate would fly here alone and expect the live to tell about it. War had taken its toll on these pilots. Chivalry was something once spoken about in Beta. Numbers, altitude, speed and aggressiveness and reflex dictated the victor and the vanquished. It was no longer forbidden to bomb the enemy rolling on the field, to strafe the unwitting plane landing, to take the wings off a crippled plane or to outnumber your enemy 10:1. Here, in the skies of the Spad XIII, the Sopwith Camel, the Neiuport 28, the Dr1, the Pfalz and t the Albatross DIII, only the strong survived.

With the burning remnant of their hapless victim passing out of sight below, the Skeleton Crew flight began their shallow dive to the Ancheville river, a body of water running the length of the Simguild battlefield, north to south, passing through both allied and axis front lines. Sections of its length provided cover from prying enemy eyes to low flying aircraft whose silhouette could remain hidden from above.

The SC flight leader, SC-One Shot checked his guns were clear. Not for the first time had he been caught out in an engagement to find a .303 cartridge jamming his gun ports. A glance behind confirmed the location of the rest of the flight. 4 aircraft, all in left echelon with their pilots heads constantly turning against silk scarves as they scanned the vast blue surrounds for enemy threats. The churning waters of Ancheville river came up fast filling his ring sight with frightening speed. As it seemed that the Spad would plunge into the raging depths, One Shot pulled back on the stick and the nose lifted as the waves licked at his landing gear. “Close!” he thought, “too damn close.” Another glance confirmed the flight had managed to avoid a watery grave and were still in neat formation, their aircraft dancing the same dangerous jig above the wave tops.

Racing along at 135mph, One shot knew they would keep their rendevous despite the action with the Dr1. With the wind at their back, the mission was well on track. 20 minutes later after an exhausting low sweep fighting the stick, wind and plane to avoid the waters below, One Shot risked a brief wing waggle and lifted the nose of his craft and turning the aircraft onto a new heading.

SC-Sp00k, SC-Asp, SC-Greybeard and SC-Spif followed dutifully behind. Each pilot occupied with their own thoughts on the mission and their chances of returning back to Coyolles field alive. The Spads flew on; steadily gaining height now they were officially behind enemy lines. Here, altitude definitely meant life. The 220-horsepower Hispano-Suiza engines were never great at climbing and were notoriously unreliable. This was not the place to come down if one wanted to be home for tea!

15 minutes later, a burst of gunfire from behind had One Shots head snapping to his left. SC-Asp, barely distinguishable with a face covered in whale oil to keep his face from freezing, held his arm out rigidly out of the *censormode*pit pointing at something unseen below. One Shots eyes scanned the area indicated and made out several dark shapes circling about 4000 feet below. It had to be the Camels! They’d made it.

Far below, SC pilots, Mutt, Gort, Mongoose, Spinq, Swat, Krayz, Budweisser, Daddy-O, Bama and Ramrod stared up intently. Despite the damn cold, each man sweated like a stuck pig. If that wasn’t the Spads up there, they knew they were dead. The Camels had no hope of outrunning the new enemy planes this far behind the lines. Mutt got the identity first. A gloved fist with an out struck thumb immediately eased the tensions of the entire flight. It was the Spads. Now all they had to do was survive the next few minutes while they waited.

The Spads soared over head. Their mission was about to start its most dangerous phase. Ahead lay the enemy field of Ancheville. They had surprise on their side. In and out. No hanging about. With speed and a hell of a lot of luck, they would come out alive.

The Spad flight turned east. The Ancheville approach had to be from the south. That’s where the sun lay and they would want it at their back if they had any hope of surviving One Shots mad cap plan. One Shots flight curved lazily in the sky until the sun shone over the tail plane and with one sweep of his arm, the flight put their noses down to whatever fate had in store for them below.

Hunched over the stick presenting as little a bullet catcher as possible, SC-Sp00k could barely hear the Hispana-Suiza. This was its element, the dive. But the racing wind challenged it for noise supremacy as wires from the wing struts howled like a flock of banshees filling his ears with deafening noise. None the less, nothing could draw his attention from the scene below racing up to greet him. Ancheville field! Good god, they had caught them on the hop!

Dr1’s, Pfalz III’s and Albatrosses damn near littered the field. Bunched together just begging to be blasted off the face of the earth. Despite his eardrums being fit to burst as they dealt with the inferno of noise and the rapidly changing ear pressure, Sp00k could do little but grin from ear to ear. Who could imagine this much luck!

The .303’s began their furious chatter and men no bigger than dots could be seen diving and running in a desperate bid to escape the death that had come to claim them. Shapes became figures and an Albatross exploded on the field sending itself skyward in small pieces engulfed in flame and thick black impenetrable smoke. Another and another started to burn. A Dr1 was seen to collapse, seemingly upon itself as its spars splintered and gave way under the fuselages weight. Lines of spitting earth tore across the field seeking man and machine alike. Every enemy airmen claiming that they were all chasing him and him alone.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. The Spads tore out to the north on the deck like bats out of hells gates. SC-Asp looked over at SC-Greybeards aircraft as it sped alongside. There was half a hedge wedged in his landing gear! A line of small holes were evident in the lower right wing and the wing spar looked like someone had taken an axe to it and damn near succeeded. But it flew on. Greybeards silk white scarf trailing a whipping line behind his head which was still half buried in the *censormode*pit with his eyes peering over the top of the cowling to scared to look back less he not like what he sees.

Asp took stock of himself. Fingers and toes check! Arms, legs, check! Head! Still in one piece! Only then did he realize he needed to take a breath. He doubted he’d remembered since he dropped from 6000 feet. Man that was a rush!

One Shot was still the lead craft. Once sufficiently safe from the field flak, he brought the flight around in a large circle. Would one strafe be enough?

The answer came sooner than expected. Here they came. He counted 8. An angry swarm of Dr1, Albatross and Pfalz aircraft, all seeking vengeance on those who had killed their comrades only moments before. One Shot didn’t wait, swinging the stick over, the flight was again nose down and racing for the north.

“Where the bloody hell are they?” he swore, Greybeard could feel his aircraft shaking abnormally. Nothing this bad felt normal! One Shot glanced across as Greybeards aircraft slowly fell behind and the enemy slowly closed upon him. “Dammit ! Where are you bastards!” One Shots hand gripped the stick tight until his gloved knuckles turned white. He was to the point of swinging the plane round to engage their pursuers and give Greybeard a chance of escape when he saw them.

“Oh you beautiful bastards!” he cried as the SC Camel Flight launched into the enemy from above. SC’s Mutt, Gort, Mongoose, Spinq, Swat, Krayz, Budweisser, Daddy-O, Bama and Ramrod dove through the enemy formation, guns spitting, tearing holes in the air as the enemy formation fell apart, desperately trying to combat this new threat. Two Dr1 pilots never had the time to register the danger. Their world became a stuttering chatter of machine gun and their planes slowly disintegrated around them as the tell tale thud, thud, thud of .303’s found their marks. Both had started to roll over and spin out of control before the last Camel had flown past.

A whirling chaotic melee of green, brown and red ensued as the combatant fought to gain advantage. Some intent on the kill and others to simply survive. One Shot turned the Spad flight into the attack and with the odds decisively in the SC’s favour, the battle was virtually over before it begun.

A couple of the enemy got lucky and sped for home as fast as their engines would carry them with the Spads in hot pursuit. The Camels sought the safety of altitude and turned for the river for the long trip home.

Landing at Coyolles airfield, One Shot was pleased to count them all back. Greybeard’s aircraft had made it despite many repeated attempts to dump him into the waiting earth below. As the last Camel touched the earth with its wheels, One Shot turned away making ready for his report.

There would be more of this work and next time, they may not be so lucky.