#bristol fighter

[nocternalrandomness]

Bristol Fighter photographed during Shuttleworth Heritage day at Old Warden Airfield, England

#Bristol #F.2 #Fighter #Biplane #WW1 #vintage aircraft #airplane #plane #aviation photography #Airshow #Bristol Fighter

[pinturas-gran-guerra-aire]

1918 03 18 Bristol shoots down Lothar von Richthofen - Mark Postlethwaite

On 13 March 1918, Bristol F 28 C4630, crewed by Cpt Geoffrey F Hughes and Lt Hugh Clave, led 11 aircraft of No 62 Sqn on an offensive patrol southeast of Cambrai at 16,000 ft, Spotting ten Fokker Dr I triplanes and ten Albatros DVs 6000 ft below him, Hughes deliberately turned his flight to draw the enemy away from DH 4 bombers in the vicinity -he also gained the attention of five more Dr Is and five Pfalz DIll in the process.

'It was now five minutes after the time our patrol was due land having succeeded in drawing all the enemy aircraft to a point just east of Cambrai, I considered our work was done and turned for the lines, not intending to be drawn into combat against at least 40 enemy aircraft', Hughes subsequently reported ,

'As I turned to cross the tines I saw one of my Bristols dive on the triplanes below us. Apparently another machine thought that it was I who had dived , for he followed the first. This blunder upset all my plans, and I was forced to attack'.

After driving a Dr I off a Bristol's tail,, Hughes fired 80 rounds into a second triplane that was threatening another of his squadron mates, apparently hitting the German pilot and sending the Fokker down out of control. Hughes then zoomed up to attack a red-nosed triplane. into which his observer, Claye, fired 50 rounds at 50 yards' distance until it fell vertically with its upper wing falling away in pieces..

In all, No 62 Sqn claimed six victories in the melee (…). The squadron lost two F2Bs, however. The Gemans claimed two Bristols , at the cost of Ltn d R Walter Bowein killed in action. Another German casualty was Lothar von Richthofen of Jasta 11, wounded when the wing of his red and yellow Dr I was shot up and he was badly injured In the en suing crash landing , Manfred von Richthofen's younger brother was possibly the victim of either the team of Hughes and Claye, or Sopwith Camel pilot Capt Augustus Orlebar of No 73 Sqn - who claimed a triplane southeast of Cambrai at the same time - or both

#bristol fighter #two seater #lothar von richthofen #mark postlethwaite

[bookloversofbath]

Take Flight: Celebrating Aviation in the West of England Since 1910 :: Andrew Kelly & Melanie Kelly

Take Flight: Celebrating Aviation in the West of England Since 1910 :: Andrew Kelly & Melanie Kelly

View On WordPress

#978-0-9550-7423-3 #aeronautics #archibald e russell #bac airplanes #beaufighter #books by andrew kelly & melanie kelly #brabazon #bristol aeroplane company #bristol airplanes #bristol airways #bristol fighter #bristol history #bristol passenger jets #britannia #company histories #concorde #english aerospace industries #imperial airlines #pistons #propellers #sir george white #sir stanley white

[bigglesworld]

Bristol F.2B Mk.II cn5893. Fighter and reconnaissance aircraft. Type first flew in 1916. RAF. At Filton in 1921. Operated in the Middle East theatre

#Bristol #fighter #military aircraft #reconnaissance aircraft #biplane #WW1

[carbone14]

Bristol Beaufighter TF Mk X

©Artwork by Andrzej Deredos

#WWII #Artwork #Andrzej Deredos #Aviation militaire #Military aviation #Chasseur lourd #Heavy Fighter #Chasseur nocturne #Night Fighter #Bombardier-torpilleur #Torpedo-Bomber #Avion d'attaque au sol #Ground-attack aircraft #Bristol Beaufighter

[crownedstoat]

Bristol Bulldog

#1920's #Bristol #Bulldog #Biplane #RAF #fighter

[cagesidepress]

UFC Vet Bristol Marunde on Jump From Fighting to Political Arena

Read the full story on cagesidepress.com

#Bristol Marunde #The Ultimate Fighter 16

[jayne-hecate-writer]

To Ak or not to Ak...

It was a warm autumnal evening in September, back in the year of two thousand and twenty two, back when I was a young thing of only just about forty nine and I had decided to venture into Bristol to attend a performance by a very good extreme metal band, as I was want to do back in those days.

Obviously, at that time we still had petrol cars and fuelling one up for such a journey, cost an absolute fortune. Yet we persevered and my good lady wife drove me to the venue and declared that she would collect me later that same evening, once the show was over. Well as you can imagine, a woman on her own, going to a live music performance, in the heart of Bristol, the lord alone knew what sort of trouble I could have been letting myself in for. However, I was by that time well accustomed to attending such events on my own, well I was never the most sociable of people, especially in my younger days. The ticket I had purchased stated that the performance was due to start at seven in the evening, so I arrived in good time and tried to enter the venue. As I was walking in, a young man leaving, passed comment upon the t-shirt I was wearing, a charming piece released by the terribly nice band called Voices. They were an avant-garde, arty, metal band, very popular among the underground extreme metal scene and I had purchased the shirt when the band were raising money for a children's charity. I received a compact cassette tape along with it and even by then, the cassette player was ludicrously outdated and I had nothing to play it, but it was a delightful thing to own. Anyway, the young man and I exchanged a few words and he turned out to be the lead singer of the very band I had chosen to see. He was a charming young man, extremely friendly and humble, for a man of his stature with in the metal community of the day. I did of course congratulate him upon his musical output and explained how it had helped me through a very difficult part of my life. He was terribly gracious and we parted company on happy terms.

The venue though had mislead the public as to the start time and I was lucky enough to find a seat inside, upon which I was able to perch for the hour or so before the performance finally started. The seat was a tall metal stool, no not like that, get your mind out of the gutter! As I was saying, the stool was terribly uncomfortable (Oh stop it, you rude thing, you!) upon my aching parts and to pass the time and with no one to talk to, I browsed the internet on my mobile telephone and then decided to read some more of my Star Wars Alphabet Squadron book. I must admit to finding the book rather tiresome, but I had purchased all three as a bundle and just wanted to get through them to avoid having wasted my money. There was plenty of distractions though as band members wandered around buying drinks or spending time with their wives or girlfriends. There was also the quality of the music that was being pumped through the PA system that evening, that was both eclectic and interesting. Finally, the support band were ready and I was able to wander into the staging area. The support band were a sort of technical death metal band and I wish that I could tell you what they sounded like, but they had made the classic mistake of over amplifying the sounds of their kick drum, meaning that it over rode everything else in the sound mix. The pounding of the kick drum was a physical pained experience, rather than an enjoyable aural one and after a short while, it started to feel like I was being pounded on my body. I was wearing ear plugs, which I am sad to report was something that I did not start doing soon enough while attending concert performances in my youth. Yet, even with the effects of the ear plugs damping a lot of the sound, I was still unable to hear anything of the band, other than their drum. Eventually, the noise became so painful that I pressed my fingers to my ears, to block out even more of the low frequency bass notes of the kick drum. It was only then that I was able to hear the high frequency notes of the guitars and vocals, all of which were terribly, terribly nice. The young men played for around forty minutes and during this time, I think that they played roughly three songs!

During the break between bands, I was able to sit down and rest my aching bones on the harsh wooden benches, clearly bought from a church sale and watch the headlining band set up. The nice thing about very small venues like the Exchange in Bristol, is that the band and the fans can get very close, which although great for fans, may feel a little intimidating for the musicians. However, this was a Sunday night, at the start of the school term and quite a lot of the people in attendance that night were all of the age that they very likely had children at home. Mind you, the headlining band was celebrating their twenty fifth anniversary, so they were of similar age too. Do you know who that headlining band was? That's right, it was Akercocke, the fabulous band, from Bedfont in Middlesex. They were originally formed in the last century and played through into the early twenty first century before taking an extended break from music. I never really found out why they left the scene, but when they came back, they were better, darker and more melodic than ever before. My favourite of their albums back then was probably 'Words that go unspoken, deeds that go undone'. It was a masterpiece of extremity in music, with some truly beautiful moments. I had previously seen them live on two other occasions and they had presented a performance both times that was more akin to a religious experience than that of a musical event. As you can well imagine, I was a devout follower and I thoroughly enjoyed both of those shows, at least one of which, I think I attended with my younger brother, who like me was born in the last century. So after both of those delightful performances, I was anticipating a fabulous show. Sadly, this was not to be.

What was presented was fun, but it seemed to rather lack energy, to which I am at a loss as to say from whence it came, the crowd or the band. At the end of a short tour of the United Kingdom, as it was back then, only a few days after the death of the monarch, I am sure that they were fully entitled to feel tired, but I do not know what excuse the crowd had. It also seemed to thin out somewhat after the first band played, which was rather sad, but it did mean that I was able to see the band very easily from where I was stood, near the seating which consisted of rather old and shabby church pews. Their sound levels were absolutely perfect, the clarity of the music and vocals were also absolutely perfect to my peculiar hearing, but there was that strange feeling of tiredness about the whole event, as if some undefined spark were just missing from the performance.

I must admit that this was not the first musical performance I attended where the band sounded or looked tired. Several years before, I had acquired tickets to see the the band Opeth in Bristol's terrible O2 Academy, which was a shockingly poor venue. The awful acoustics and terrible viewing area made that a place to avoid, unless you had no other choice. I was unfortunate enough to see that venue ruin several of the very best bands of the day, including the wonderful band from Mongolia, The Hu. Not even they, with all of their beauty, could overcome the appalling acoustics in that terrible venue. Mind you that was right before the infamous pandemic that happened just before the start of the twenty twenties. Oh that frightful disease cost an awful lot in both lives and money, thanks to the incompetent Government of the day, the very same Government who created the fiasco, known at the time as Brexit. I don't think that we will ever truly know the full extent of the damage done by, or reasons behind, Brexit.

Anyway, back to that night and what happened. When the performance came to an abrupt end, without the usual encore, I was, I must admit, really rather startled. It was practically unheard of for a band at that time, to finish a set after less than an hour, let alone without an encore. This was maybe another sign that they were very tired. As they started to pack down, the room lights came up fully and I gathered up my things. I used to carry all of my bits and bobs in a Star Wars handbag back then, it was a marvellous bag, with an advert for the Sienar Fleet Systems, TIE Fighter printed on the front. I really loved that bag and took it almost everywhere with me. I was also wearing my little black bomber jacket, with my Death Star pin badge and I had my hair loose, swept to the side in a nice gothic style, with subtle eye make up. I will admit now, as a more sporty type, I was never very good at make up, even back then. It seemed like a lot of fuss to me, but when in Rome and all that. So as I was preparing to leave, the lead guitarist was walking out of the room and he looked towards me and I smiled at him. You should have seen his face, it was like he had looked up expecting to see a woman and had instead seen some kind of terrifying monster! He rather quickly walked away and no doubt had to have a swift brandy to calm his nerves. Having seen his reaction, two larger (or if I were feeling rather more kind than I am, I would say rotund) gentlemen also looked over to me and began staring really rather alarmingly. Feeling deeply uncomfortable, I did what any woman in my place would do, I said fuck it and left. Outside of the venue were the busy Bristol streets, filled with those terribly annoying electric scooters that were so popular back then and an awful lot of petrol cars, all whizzing past terribly quickly and all making an awful noise. I took shelter a few paces up the street, opposite a large bus stop and waited for my darling wife to come and collect me, which is where my night grew an awful lot stranger. Now I don't know what the area is like, surrounding the Exchange venue, but I did meet some truly fun characters while I waited there. I was not the only one to wait at that chosen space and because of this, several strange hybrid taxis, branded Uber with magnetic stickers on the side of their cars, were waiting or parking up to look for the next job. Slowly the taxis came and went, along with the other people waiting until I was left all alone.

The first person to approach me after that was a young man in his early to middle twenties, pushing a bicycle. He had that youthful swagger that society had not yet beaten out of him and he was smoking one the things that we called cigarettes, made with real tobacco. It was a foul smelling thing and he tried to hide his cigarette when approached me. When he came to a stop, he seemed to lean over as if her were somehow hurt and I must admit that his face was terribly pale and also rather covered with scabs, that could have been acne or something far worse. “Please will you buy my last Big Issue, so that I can get a bed for the night?” He asked me with a soft frightened voice.

“I am terribly sorry,” I replied kindly, “but I do not have any change what so ever.”

“Fair enough.” he said straightening up and wandering off with the same swagger he had approached me with.

A few moments after that, I was approached by two women who were a little younger than I and they also tried to sell me their last copy of the Big Issue magazine. Again, I had to apologise because I had no change and they smiled and told me to have a nice evening, before going off to try and sell their last Big Issue magazine else where. The two women were both very lovely and I do hope that they found some shelter and were helped to find a better life than that found on the streets.

The final person who approached me was a gentleman on a bicycle who appeared to stop as he passed, so that he could urinate in a doorway. After finishing his stop and wiping his hands on his coat, he cycled over to where I was stood, a single, lone woman, waiting by a bus stop. He had a very soft and gentle voice and he appeared to be very, very happy and was possibly even feeling rather cuddly. He asked me my name and where I lived, while he got very close to me which, because I am not a very sociable person, I found rather uncomfortable. Luckily, before my new friend could offer me one of his really long friendly hugs, my dear wife arrived with the car and I was able to wish him a good night and climb right in. The journey home rather lacked any of the humorous moments that my waiting for my lift had.

#black metal #death metal #extreme metal #doom metal #thrash metal #akercocke #The Exchange #Bristol #Live Music #women at gigs #danger to women #star wars #tie fighter #death star #woman on my own #anxious at gigs #concert anxiety

[klaus-mikaelsonslut]

dating george clarke...

he's such a sweetheart fr 😘

buys you flowers n all 🌷

you're constantly featured in his youtube videos and the useless hotline

all of his friends love you 🙌

but grace, she becomes your long lost soulmate 🫶

you're literally inseparable, gets to the point where george has to drag you away

jealous bf 😔

living with george and his...interesting roommates is definitely something

jk jk arthur and alex love you fr 😘

if you're an aspiring singer, you and arthur definitely swap and criticize each other's lyrics

go play 'you're not a god' while you're at it!

alex is the type of guy to listen to 'queens of the stone age' for sure or 'foo fighters'

plays his music way too loud so when you and george are cuddling for example, george has to shout out to him to get him to turn it down lmao 😭

george is most definitely an amazing chef

brings you a cup of tea every morning 🍵

actually banging though

because you're born in london and have a thick accent, george loves to mock it while you imitate his posh bristol accent

you two are literally so in love

grace or max will take photos of him just gazing at you

"look at you! you big softie"

saw it on someone else's account but it's so true 😭😭, if you're influencer then you wouldn't really bring him to events as much bc he'd just stand in the corner with a little drink in his hand

literally wouldn't know anyone there 😭

you and max become really good friends so quick

back to that useless hotline headcanon, like andrew does you'd be on george's lap in the episodes that you're featured in 🫶

max is literally so invested in your relationship

double dates w him and andrew 👫🍜👬

you and george created your own lil podcast called 'honesty's the best policy'

gets so many reviews icl

it's one of the podcasts where you don't have guests, it's just the two of you

"google play 'just the two of us' by bill withers"

you talk about your relationship, you read random reddit stories and give your opinions, talk about upcoming events/the current news

it's a great way for the both of you to become really open towards each other, not that you weren't before

since the start of your relationship, your channel has received so much more attention

you're grateful always 🫶

you and george make a video looking back at your first few videos (you were, in fact, fourteen years of age)

you're embarrassed asf but laughing the whole way though

so glad you got out of your teenage clothing style 😘

was an actual disgrace against humanity

cooking together, reading to each other, cuddling while watching films

literally so comforting

when you meet his family, they LOVE you

can't get enough of your brilliant sense of humour

#comedian

before you moved in together, you two would ride trains to go see each other

running to each other in the station

#movieworthy

his hugs are literally the best, he's so warm it's like hugging a large cat

kinda sounds insulting but i swear it's not 😭

speaking of cats, you have one or two...

okay, when he went to yours for the first time you had four

😭

MILLIE BOBBY BROWN HAS THIRTEEN WHY SHOULDN'T YOU LIVE OUT YOUR DREAMS

they all love him

your oldest cat, sylvester, literally hates strangers for unknown reasons but loves george

he's literally full on purring and you're just like 'wtf??'

do you move all four cats into george, arthur and alex's flat?

yes, yes you do

luckily they all love cats 😍

except alex...he's slightly sceptical lmao

your relationship with george is so slay 🫶🫶

you love him through everything and he's the same to you

he whispers 'i love you' when you're cuddling 😭😭

literally on the ground

personally, i would never recover

#george clarkey x reader #y/n #youtuber #influencers #george clarkey imagine #i'm in love #delusional

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Lark’s Song

Summary: Florence Lark joined the ENSA to do her part for the war effort. On a daily basis she is surrounding by charming young men, so why would David Webster the any different. His blunt personality seems to draw her in but with the world at war, can they make it through? Warnings: not too many warnings for this chapter, some swearing

When Two Hearts Meet

Florence tapped her foot rhythmically against the wooden floorboards of the stage, as the music played out from the band around her. Some light chattering from the men in the front row distracted her, eyes hovering over the man at the end of the row, who seemed too engrossed in his novel to listen to her singing. As the instrumental section came to an end she took a deep breath, drifting across the stage as she began to sing again.

“We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when”

Florence preferred singing to the English troops, they always knew all the words and would sing along with her. It was in those moments that Florence felt that she was doing the most good to help boost their morale. The American troops, however, seemed disinterested. Too many of them were smoking, playing cards and talking, but the one dark-haired soldier at the front bothered her the most, his nose buried in a red, leather bond novel. A few of the officers at the back watched her intently, swaying along to the music, whether it was more out of respect for her or because they didn’t have any other plans for their Saturday evening. As the song came to an end, a pathetic round of applause followed and Florence found herself excusing herself, leaving the band playing Glenn Millers' ‘In The Mood’.

Florence lit the cigarette, bringing it to her red lips and inhaling the nicotine deeply, warmth filling her lungs until she exhaled, watching as the smoke wafted gently into the starry night sky. She wondered if her brother, Tom, was looking up at the same sky right now. Whether he was looking up at the same moon somewhere in Normandy. Her father probably was. He often sat in the small back garden of their terraced house, looking up at the sky for any planes. He had been in the Royal Flying Corps back in The Great War before it had become the RAF. He’d flown a Bristol Type 22 two-seater fighter plane with his best friend, Eddie. Eddie had sadly lost his life when their plane crashed which was the same accident where her father lost his right leg. He had been desperate to sign up again when war was declared in 1939, thinking that if he went to fight it would spare his son but being 41 and only having one leg meant he wouldn’t be accepted, so he’d signed up for the home guard instead. Florence often wondered whether having a uniform again gave her father a sense of purpose. After their mother died 8 years ago he’d been lost but had put all his effort into raising his two children and being the best father he could. This was probably why both Florence and Tom had such a good relationship with their father.

Florence took another long drag of her cigarette when she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind her. She spun around quickly, expecting to see a half-cut paratrooper trying to make some kind of advance towards her. She’d had to fight off her fair share of unwanted attention from soldiers before and she wasn’t afraid to sock it to them. Instead, she was met by a rather handsome, kind-faced man. His lips pulled upwards into a friendly smile but as Florence’s eyes drifted over his frame she couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she saw the red leather-bound book held tightly in his right hand.

“Oh, it’s you. Sorry, I don’t do private shows, if you didn’t pay attention the first time that’s your loss.” She turned her back to him, allowing her eyes to settle once again across the rooftops of Aldbourne.

“It’s nothing personal,” he spoke up, moving to stand beside her. Florence could feel the hairs on her arms prickly in his presence and a light blush spread across her cheeks. “I just think once you hear one singer, you’ve heard them all. It’s always the same songs, the same dances. It just doesn’t hold my interest anymore.”

Florence snorted, turning to face the man who decided it was a good idea to insult her entire career.

“So what do you want, some strip tease or something? I’m sorry if the ENSA is too tame for you, Mr…?”

“David. I’m David Kenyon Webster,” he reached his large hand forward to greet her but she just brushed him off. “Well Mr Webster, I’m sorry if it’s too tame for you. Maybe you should try some of the London clubs if you’d rather have that sort of entertainment.”

David Webster looked rather shocked by her outburst but reached out towards her.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” He looked at her sincerely. “I’m just not like the others I guess.”

“Well, at least you sat through the whole performance. Most of your comrades either left or started playing cards. I think your officers only stayed out of sympathy.”

David nodded slowly, contemplating what to say next. “If it’s any consolation it’s not your singing. Your voice is beautiful but most of us have sat through quite a few performances and since Normandy, I guess we’ve all lost something.”

Florence nodded understanding, “I understand what you mean. My brother Tom was at Dunkirk. The last time I saw him he was so different. He’s lost the spark from his eyes, the light.”

David placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder, looking down at her, his chocolate eyes glistening under the light of the moon, illuminating his pale features in contrast to his full head of brunette hair. His eyes were tired, dark purple shadows enveloped his eyes and his forehead was wrinkled with worry lines. He was handsome. Florence had rarely found any of the soldiers she sang for actually attractive, many of them thought they were good-looking and certainly acted in that way but David was different. He was the kind of man who didn’t realise how handsome he was.

“Thank you, David.”

He smiled brightly at her. “You’re welcome.”

“So, what book was taking up so much of your attention?” Florence asked, reaching out to grasp the small book, prising it from David’s fingers and fingering the pages carefully. David just watched in amusement as her eyes danced over the pages.

“Oh well, that’s not what I was expecting. I didn’t realise Paratroopers read classic,” she mused, enjoying the feel of his eyes watching her fondly.

“Well most of us don’t. I’m an exception,” he chided, allowing his shoulders to relax now that he no longer felt as though he was under interrogation. Florence handed the book back to him, “I approve. It’s good to know some of you read more things than Dick Tracey and Flash Gordon.”

Webster scoffed, “Yes. I feel that many of them lack the basic, functional skills to hold an adult conversation.”

“Well you’re right there,” Florence smiled up at Webster and he could feel his cheeks heating up under her gaze once more. “It was a pleasure talking to you Webster but I really must be getting back before the boys start to miss me.” She squeezed passed him and Webster chased himself for staring at her like a fool instead of moving aside.

“I look forward to hearing you sing again,” he called after her and to this she just laughed, not bothering to turn around and Webster watched as his hips swayed rhythmically in her red dress as she disappeared.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lover Boy Webster. Who’d have thought the infamous Florence ‘I don’t take shit from anyone’ Lark would let the likes of Webster into her panties,” Leibgott’s dulcet tones called from behind him, followed by the sniggers from Luz and Toye.

“Oh give it a rest, Liebgott and Florence’s panties are none of your business,” Webster snapped, his glare harsh as he watched the three men appear from behind the tent.

“Who knew Webster could be so jealous,” Luz gave a low whistle but Webster wasn’t about to wait around to hear what else they had to say. He extinguished the cigarettes he’d just lit, stomping it out under his boot and following the music back into the tent. Florence's voice called to him, wafting like a soft lullaby and pulling him back inside. She was like some sort of mermaid, dragging him down to the deep but also like a songbird singing life into these dark days. Webster wasn’t sure when he’d become so poetic, especially about a woman but he found himself scribbling notes in the back of his notebook, her name flowing from his pen like he’d been writing it his whole life.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @lena-basilone @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

#the larks song #david webster x oc #david webster x reader #band of brothers

[nocternalrandomness]

1918 Bristol F2B Fighter at the Shuttleworth Airshow

#Vintage aviation #Flying #Vintage aircraft #WW1 fighter plane #Shuttleworth #Airshow #British WW1 aircraft #Biplane #Bristol F2B

[pinturas-gran-guerra-aire]

1918 03 12 Lothar von Richthofen victories 28 and 29 - Mark Postlethwaite

On the morning of 12 March 1918, nine Bristol F2B fighter of No 61 Sqn, Royal Flying Corps, were intercepted by a flight of Fokker DrIs of Jasta 11, ... near Le Cateau. The triplanes were led by other than Manfred von Richthofen in DrI 152/17 accompanied by his brother Lothar in DrI 454/17 and Ltn Werner Steinhauser. At 1100 hrs the Fokkers stabbed into the formation Bristols. After watching his brother bring down one of the two-seaters, Lothar looked around for an opponent of his own:

' To that end there was one especially suited for me about 100 meters below the English squadron. I attacked him. I was flying ahead of my Staffel when I suddenly saw that I was surrounded by aircraft with English cockades. I made a long dive of about 100 meters in order to get out of that unpleasant company. One of them followed me down. At the same altitude, we flew toward one another, head-on. We approached each other with the great speed of over 400 km/h. Here, you must aim clean, otherwise you will get the worst of it.

' We rushed towards one another shooting. At the last moment I noticed I had hit him. A blazing aircraft whizzed by me. I pulled my machine around and made such a sharp turn that I was three-quarters on my back. A sea of fire in the form of an English airplane whistled right by me. The observer stood up and stared into the flames. Completely ablaze, the English machine made another turn. Both crewmen jumped out along the way.

In the running battle that followed, Lothar brought down another Bristol ten minutes later, and Steinhauser added one more to bring his personal tally to four. These victories contributed to a total of seven for the day by JG, the most legendary of all German fighter units of World War I

#lothar von richthofen #Fokker DrI #Jasta 11 #mark postlethwaite

[usafphantom2]

13 March 1918. Bristol Fighter F.2b C-4619 of 62 Squadron RFC, flown by Second Lieutenant William Ernest "Bull" Staton and Lieutenant Horace Ernest Merritt observer shot down an Albatros D.V over Cambrai, France. Their second victory.

@ron_eisele via X

[iwannakissasopwithcamel]

Markgraf Zerstörer B - "Draft Ox of the Channel War"

Role: Multirole Fighter Served With: Kingdom of Sopwith First Flight: 1592 Strengths: Good All-Rounder Weaknesses: Single Forward Gun Inspiration: Bristol F.2 (1916)

Description:

The Markgraf Zerstörer was designed as a unique multirole aircraft, to fit the divergent doctrine of the Königliche Sopwith Fliegerkorps. Neither fully an observer, a bomber, or a fighter, these aircraft were truly flexible, expected to operate without escorts after Attentäter scouts secured the skies.

At the core of this remarkable aircraft was a V12 engine, which gave the aircraft speed competitive with single-seaters despite its bulk. It was also given a highly modular armament, capable of carrying a large number of bombs and a variety of weapons for both the pilot and gunner position to fill any role. It could even mount cameras!

Many nations tried to copy the machine with varied results, and post-War, the Sopwith government sold off much of their reserve stock. This makes the Zerstörer a common sight in the skies.

#flying circus #flying circus rpg #tumblr polls #biplane #bristol f.2

[webtoons-to-add-to-your-tbr]

Title: Ordeal

Author: Brent Bristol

Canvas or Original: Original

Publication year: 2021

Genre: action

Blurb: Che is just a human in a world full of superpowered kimyos, but he's determined to become the greatest fighter to ever live. When his beloved mentor is murdered, Che swears vengeance and embarks on a mission to unmask the killer...but soon, Che learns that the world of kimyos is much larger than he ever imagined, and that he himself might be one - the most powerful kimyo on Earth, with the power of the sun itself. Will Che be able to harness his new strength, or will he burn up in the heat of this ordeal?

#webtoon #ordeal #brent bristol #original #2021 #action

[airmanisr]

F-AYBF (E2262 / A-6), Bristol F.2b Fighter, La Ferte Alais / Cerny, 19-05-2018 by Gordon Riley Via Flickr: Fuselage frame from Weston on the Green, originally retrieved by RAF Museum. Disposed of and restored by The Vintage Aviator Limited, Masterton, NZ, as ZK-VTV before sale to Amicale Jean Baptiste Salis in May 2016.

#F.2b #aircraft