Death in the Clouds

The Coldest Dawn

“Mein Gott! Must we fly in this?” The new leftenant waved a thickly gloved hand through the swirling flakes that descended in the gray dawn. He glared at his crew, as if daring them to disagree.
“We fly when the Fatherland needs, no matter what God sends our way— or the Devil.” The voice was young, but there was a coldness to it, deeper than the frozen air, as of someone who had danced with Death many, many times.
The leftenant’s crew snapped to attention, as he spun around to face the speaker. “I am Leftena—” he started, but cut off his speech, his face blanching as one with the snow. “I-I- forgive me, Herr Commandant!” The glove snapped up in a salute.
The commander waved the salute away. “It is of no matter, leftenant. I am none too fond of this weather myself.” He looked up. “But it will be a fine day above these clouds, with the mother Sun behind our backs.” The veteran pilot smiled. “But do not expect her to warm them much. Icarus must have flown higher than I to catch her heat.”
“Sir, I just hope we shan’t catch our deaths in this cold!”
The commander stared at the leftenant. “It is war. Someone always catches Death. And it is always cold.”
The Red Baron turned and walked across the snowy aerodrome to his crimson triplane, which blazed like fresh blood against the snow-streaked ground.

A Flight for War and Glory

Recently my group gathered for an evening of Wings of War/Wings of Glory, featuring my as yet unblooded Gotha GV bomber. We had a new victi— that is, player— joining us, who eagerly selected the bomber as his plane of choice. A bit much for a rookie to the game, but he was insistent, and we felt we could coach him through any difficulties (though admittedly, none of us had ever flown one of the “Giants of the Air” either!). (I apologize for the fuzzy photos— aerial photography is hard!)

DOGFIGHT!

For simplicity’s sake, our scenario was simple: The rookie bomber pilot would have two targets for his bombs; a factory placed in the center of the table, and a bridge placed towards the farthest corner from his entry point. If he could succeed with both bomb drops, the Central Powers (Germany) would win; if he was shot down without achieving this goal, victory would go to the Allies (Britain).

The table, as you can see, is triangular, making for an unusual set up. We took advantage of this to create a three-point entry situation: The Gotha from one corner, the Allies (all Brits) from another, and the German fighter cover from the third (as if on advanced patrol near the targets).

We paid no attention to points, but merely allowed each side to select their favored aircraft. As the rest of us were experienced pilots, and we felt the bombing run was rather simple, we allowed the Allies fighters (Michael and Chase) to take four planes (two per player), while Will and I commanded three— Will, a lone Albatros D.II, and myself an Albatros D.Va and the famous crimson Fokker Dr.1— the Red Baron himself. The British planes were a Bristol F.28 two-seater fighter, an R.E.8 two-seater, and two Sopwith Snipes. (Clearly, we also didn't pay attention to concurrent service years, either.)

I had not packed my traditional green felt table cover, so we used the table’s existing white pad as our surface, which we decided represented a snowy dawn over France, with enough break in the clouds to reveal the bomber’s target (“The Devil always leaves a path for Death,” says the Red Baron).

Duel above the clouds! Or the snow! Take your pick!

The fight started off with a rather lengthy approach (due to table size), which included the Rookie inevitably miss-plotting and turning back across (and off) the table. In our group we call that “pulling a Fleming,” for the hapless pilot among us who first pulled this error (and still does, from time to time).

Not this Fleming, but not the other one, either. "The rookie did it!"

"Of course I can fly it. See? I turned around all by myself!"

Having corrected for this mishap by allowing the bomber to return to the field, the fight began in earnest. Early hits went to the German aces, but soon the first victim plummeted through the clouds to the frozen lands below— the Red Baron himself! (Truly, the Fokker Dr.1 is just too fragile an airframe, maneuverability or not. Though admittedly losing that maneuverability in the first fracas didn’t help!)

No! Not the Baron!

Jammed rudders suck.

After the death of the Baron, the fight finally reached the Gotha, and she began taking hits— and dealing them. But not before a second German plane went down— prompting its pilot to abandoned his loyalties and take up arms for the other side! (Will claimed one of the extra Allied craft so as to stay in the game— a poor excuse for treason as ever there was!)

Another German down! So sorry, Will. You shall be avenged— uh, Will? Why are you in a British uniform?

But the Central Powers pressed on, and soon the first British plane spiraled into the ground— and the bomber reached her first target. Down went the bombs, and the factory was ablaze. “That one’s for the Baron!”

British take a long fall.

BOMBALAMA BOOM BOOM!

On to the bridge, a desperate chase— the Allied suffered another loss, the Albatros finally making good on its presence. Fire continued to pour into the Gotha, but on she flew, inching ever closer to victory— closer, closer, almost there... (Wait, wrong movie.)

Stay on target...

Stay on target......

And down she went, just shy of that final break in the clouds. The Devil got his due, but the Kaiser did not.

Well, so much for that!

The lone Albatros abandoned the field, returning to bring news of mourning to the aerodrome.

Final Briefing
It was generally agreed that had not the bomber “pulled a Fleming,” the victory might well have gone the other way. The delay in reaching the first target certainly allowed the Allied planes the time to close. We were stunned at the amount of hits the bomber took— he kept drawing card after card after card— but the tale of the deal showed that many were 0s, resulting in no actual damage to the craft. As the British had chosen planes armed with weaker B guns, this had much to do with the Gotha’s longevity in the fight.

A lotta bullets and a lotta blanks.

Wings of War (or Wings of Glory, as it is now sold) is always a satisfying game, and a real pleaser for rookies. We’re already set up for return engagements of the game. I for one, relish getting in the cockpit again— though not the Dr.1. No, I have something (and someone) more exciting to fly...but that surprise will have to wait.

‘Til then, thumbs up and watch your six!

—- Parzival, the Wargamesmonger