C'Est La Guerre (NEW Series!)

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C'Est La Guerre (NEW Series!)
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<center>_9:35 A.M. – Saturday – November 9, 1918_</center><center>_Above Northern France_</center>

From my assigned patrol altitude of 5,000 feet, the Albatross D-III appeared as little more than a tiny black cross against the dark green farmland west of the German airfield at Ars-sur-Moselle.  In fact, it was not the aircraft itself, but the dark shadow following along on the ground behind it that brought the Boche ship to my attention.

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The Albatross was headed east at an altitude of about a thousand feet and at what seemed a leisurely speed.  I speculated that the German flier might be completing his morning patrol and returning to one of the Jasta aerodromes around Labry.  Such speculation, however, mattered little for, regardless of his reason for being on our side of the front lines, I intended to rid the sky of this Boche menace.

When I first saw the enemy pilot he was about a mile ahead of me and a mile to my right.  Now, less than thirty seconds later we were abeam each other and I was watching him carefully for any sign that he had seen me.  Seeing no such indication, I planned my attack.

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Lowering the nose of my Spad S.XIII slightly to gain some airspeed and lose some altitude, I held my westerly course for another minute.  I used that time to give the skies around me a thorough perusal.  It was a common tactic of the Boche to send a lone flier out as bait while his comrades lurked nearby waiting to ambush the unwary French, British or American pilot who went for the bait like a big stupid fish.

The skies on this particular morning, though, were clear and I put my plan of attack into motion by beginning a wide descending turn to the right.  When I leveled my wings again, I was about three miles behind the Albatross and roughly two thousand feet above it.  From the airspeed indicator attached to my port wing I calculated my speed at around 190 kilometers-per-hour—a speed of about 120 miles-per-hour in American terms.  The Boche scoundrel continued at his leisurely pace, oblivious to my presence.  I would soon give him reason to regret his lack of vigilance.

During the next three or four minutes I continued to close the distance between us, all the while keeping a close watch on the sky above and behind me for other enemy aircraft.  At the same time I made slight adjustments to my glide path so that I would end up slightly above the Albatross when the distance between us was reduced to one hundred yards—the perfect spot from which to rake the Boche ship from nose to tail with deadly fire from my twin thirty-caliber Marlin machine guns.

When I reached the position from which I would begin my attack, I pulled the cocking lever to clear my guns and gave the sky around us one last look.  Then, with my hand on the firing lever, I turned my attention back to my target and the Albatross had disappeared into thin air!

<center>_To Be Continued_</center>

![](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmfLPgcnsVezTj62MEbmXUi7EzZgry9z8zhv8jQh73tZrH/image.png)

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

<center>This series was extracted from the prologue of H. P. Oliver's 1920s period novel, Winging IT.</center>

Story and design © Steve Eitzen
Header Graphic & HPO Logo © HPO Productions
Albatross image modified from public domain photograph
Spad S.XIII image modified from U. S. Air Force photograph
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