Wimbush's Luck by John Malone

Wimbush’s Luck

He shudders as he gulps the raw whiskey, feeling its fire all the way down to his privates. Please, God, don’t let this be the day my number comes up. Later, as he boards his Sopwith Triplane, number N5458, with "Barbara" painted in big white letters on the side of the fuselage just beneath the cockpit, he feels strangely lighter. Is it the whiskey, or is he perhaps finally liberated from the power of the pewter mug? He misses Barbara.

Ahead of him for takeoff is Australian pilot Bob Little, Naval 8’s leading Ace, already credited with an impressive number of kills. Little is flying his Triplane N5493, nicknamed "Blymp." At 07.05 hours, Little, Wimbush and one other Triplane leave Auchel on offensive patrol across the Vimy Ridge and the Hindenburg Line to the German stronghold of Lens.

Thirty miles to the east, in a tiny village on the outskirts of Douai, another siren has sounded. Vizefeldwebel Karl Menckhoff of Jagdstaffel 3, Royal Prussian Luftstreitkräfte, climbs into the cockpit of his new Albatros D-III with a big black M painted on the fuselage and takes off toward the west to meet the British patrol, already crossing the Hindenburg Line into German-held territory.

At 07.30 hours, Menckhoff sees the three Sopwiths approaching in the distance, signals to two of his squadron to proceed toward them at a low altitude as decoys and quickly climbs higher with the rest of the squadron so they can dive down on top of the Sopwiths directly out of the bright morning sun. As they come within range, he cocks the twin 7.92 mm machine guns mounted on the nose of his Albatros just in front of the cockpit and swoops down like a giant falcon on the British patrol.

Little’s log book contains the following entry: Whilst on patrol at 0730 hrs in company with two other Triplanes, I observed two hostile aircraft east of Lens, steering west. At the same time all three Triplanes attacked them, but we were set upon by a large number of scouts from above. One Triplane had to break off the combat owing to a jammed gun, and the hostile aircraft diving past me attacked Lieutenant Wimbush, who was about 200 feet below me. He fought with them very well until his engine was shot and he himself was wounded. He escaped and made a forced landing near Koleuse-les-Mines.

After wounding Wimbush and disabling his engine, Menckhoff follows his crippled Triplane, which is leaving behind a sour-smelling trail of dark brown smoke, as it glides to earth. He sees it land bumpily in the distance on the other side of the trenches, and takes a victory roll as he turns back to look for the other Sopwith. Wimbush is his fifth victory. In the meantime, Little has attacked the two German decoys from above and shot down one of them. Alone and badly outnumbered, he heads south to the aerodrome at St. Eloi to find reinforcements.

After managing to land his disabled Sopwith in a field behind the Allied trenches, Wimbush is found by three Canadian soldiers, who give him first aid for his wounded left leg, splintered by one of Menckhoff’s machine gun rounds. He is then carried on a stretcher to a nearby advanced dressing station and from there by motor ambulance to the casualty clearing station in Barlin and by rail to the base hospital in Boulogne for treatment and evacuation by sea to England. His good luck still seems to be with him.

Wimbush’s mug is found under his bed a week later by a French charwoman while cleaning the room for a new occupant. She gives it to her alcoholic husband, a wounded veteran with a croix de guerre, who uses it to drink his daily ration of rough-tasting, cheap red wine.

During the summer Wimbush is released from hospital in England, promoted to flight lieutenant and, after a month’s leave, assigned to temporary duty with No.19 Training Squadron back at Chingford. He spends the weekends with Barbara and his parents, but he is not content to while away the rest of the war living in the lap of luxury while his friends are fighting and dying in France. As long as there is any chance that he might be back in harm’s way again, he decides not to marry Barbara until the war ends. It would be so unfair to die and leave his beloved Barbara a young war widow. He knows several such women. Their prospects are bleak.

Having recovered sufficiently from his wound to walk without a cane, he is now an assistant instructor, teaching newly certified pilots to fly fighting aeroplanes before sending them into battle. Naval 8’s remaining Sopwith Triplanes have all been brought back from France to Chingford, replaced in operations by sturdy, powerful Sopwith Camels, dangerous aeroplanes, not only for their enemy opponents but also for novice pilots who haven’t learned how to handle them.

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Wimbush’s Luck

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