Fictional Diary of a World War I Fighter Pilot.

June 2nd 1916: My name is John Miller, I am xx dollar bill years old, and I am stati championd at the No.3 Naval Squadron airdrome in Fernes, France. I enlisted my services save two months ago, and today I find myself in a squadron conduct by the great British ace Raymond Collishaw! The theater is large, housing some(prenominal) contrary kinds of aircraft, from the Sopwith Camel to the Nieuport. I have only been in the Squadron for two weeks and I have already logged fin missions and numberless hours of flying. Up until today, I had no encounters with enemy aircraft, as close of my missions were reconnaissance and did non take me inside enemy lines. Today however, was a different story. I awoke to the sound of mechanics scurrying roughly the airfield, hammering on parts of the monotone and yelling orders to one another. I was not aware of any missions planned for the day, so I went to Mr. Collishaws living quarters to see if he knew what was way out on. He said German observation b every last(predicate) in alloons stationed along the wait were giving away our army positions. Our squadron had received emergency orders to flame the balloons, as the troops were be after to push for more shew in the sexual climax days. It was a bitter cold morning, with the mist hugging the ground equivalent a cold blanket.

I got into the tiny cockpit of my Sopwith Camel, revved up the engine, and tested all the levers and controls. There was no room for geological fault at 5000 feet. As I pulled back on the throttle, my plane zipped across the distort grass runway and became airborne. As the five of us led by Collishaw gained altitude! , we came into clear view of the front lines. Constant barrage absquatulate and machine gun fire had turned... If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: BestEssayCheap.com

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