If you’re curious about the RFC from a historical angle, their recruitment was a fascinating mess. They initially wanted gentlemen—educated types who could ‘handle’ the sophistication of flying. But as losses mounted, they scrapped the elitism and took anyone vaguely competent. You’d start as an observer (the guy in the back seat spotting artillery), then maybe train as a pilot if you survived long enough. The planes were so primitive that weather was often deadlier than enemy fire. I read a memoir where a pilot described landing in a field to ask for directions mid-mission—warfare with a bizarrely personal touch.
Back in my grandfather's day, joining the Royal Flying Corps was a mix of bravery, luck, and sheer determination. The RFC was the aerial warfare branch of the British Army during WW1, and they needed pilots desperately as the war dragged on. You had to be a British subject, preferably between 18 and 30, and already serving in some military capacity—often the Army. My granddad was a cavalryman before he transferred, and he said the process was chaotic. You'd apply, get a cursory medical check, and if you weren't completely hopeless, they'd ship you off to flight school. Training was brutal and short—sometimes just a few hours in the air before you were sent to the front. The planes were flimsy, the tactics were being invented on the fly, and survival rates were grim. But if you had nerves of steel and a love for adventure, it was the place to be. He used to say the sky felt like the last true frontier, even if it was a death trap half the time.
What fascinates me is how informal the whole system was compared to today. There were no simulators, no lengthy psych evaluations—just a willingness to climb into a wooden crate with a machine gun and hope for the best. The RFC also took volunteers from Commonwealth countries, so you'd meet Australians, Canadians, and South Africans all flung together. Granddad kept a diary, and one entry just says, 'Learned to loop today. Crashed twice. Still alive.' That reckless spirit is hard to imagine now, but it’s why those early pilots feel like legends.
2026-04-11 15:15:32
7
View All Answers
Scan code to download App
Related Books
Flying Death
Saree
10
19.1K
Travis "Punch" Mitchell is not just any wolf shifter. He should absolutely be illegal, everything about him is sculpted by the goddess herself. He is the lead enforcer of the Flying Death, one of the most deadly and notorious packs there is. Alpha Axel "Dozer" Dennison adopted him and knew immediately that Punch was no ordinary pup. It takes a killer to know a killer.
As fate would have it, Alpha Dozer has a beautiful daughter nobody dares to go near. Punch however, is already closer than anyone else to the female. They are in a constant tit for tat with each other, neither ever winning and always walking away frustrated with the other. He's a lot of bark, but no bite when it comes to her.
Hazel Dennison is a girl who knows what she wants but is extremely immature with how she gets it. Punch is not only her ultimate nemesis, he is her crush. Her dream mate who wants nothing to do with her. Little does she know he's the female he loves to hate.
When she takes matters into her own hands and dates another Alpha's son, Punch can't just sit back. Unfortunately for him, pack business interferes in his love life and everything goes upside down.
Excerpt:
I find myself leaning against the wall by his room, grateful my parents’ room is downstairs.
"Go to bed,” I hear, barely above a whisper.
"No,” I say, defiantly, turning to face his door.
Either he sensed my heartbeat out here or he smelled me. Maybe both. I can’t wait to have my wolf. This sucks.
He needs to know I’m not backing down. I’m not a dumb pup, I more than know what I want.
Him.
However I can get him.
Shane Flanagan is Prince of the City and all-around badass; that is until he comes up against Arianna Rossi, the young spitfire with nothing but guts and determination on her side. They butt heads at every turn as they each battle for dominance. Who will be the victor in this tug of war as they circle each other while keeping their enemies at bay? Shane, the tough young don? Or Ari, the mouthy younger woman with a truckload of secrets?The Spitfire was created by Jordan Silver an eGlobal Creative Publishing Signed Author.
Warren Cole was living his life as an average student at the University of Flemond. He just finished his programming class when he received a call from back home. Taking out his phone, he was confused to see that it was Uncle Geoffrey. "Please come home, Warren. There is something important you have to know. Make sure to be here in the next three days." A click was heard and then it was quiet. Warren arrived at the dorm room and packed his bags. When he arrived at the airport, it was still unbeknownst to him that when he would return to Flemond, his whole life would be turned upside down...
Royal academy, the academy is as old as man, many Generation has pass through it, the school was established by some certain rich families. The school is controlled by a group of people called the EDICT. The school isn't what it seems to be,every year student are either missing or being killed. Katherine Griffin was admitted into the academy. She met some group friend and they name the group THE CIRCLE. They are to investigate what happening in the academy. Will they survive, will they find the mystery behind the school.
Before heading off to war, Sebastian Crawford made a solemn blood vow on his honor—just to keep me from worrying while he was gone. He promised to come back and marry me with a grand ceremony, the whole nine yards.
Eight years later, Sebastian returned as a general, draped in glory. But by his side was a woman—dressed like a man, her very pregnant belly sticking out like a sore thumb.
I took a deep breath, calmly slipped off my engagement ring, and called the whole thing off.
Sebastian scowled, clearly annoyed.
"Lena bled with me on the battlefield. I've always seen her as a brother in arms. She's pregnant because she helped me take care of a physical need. It was simple and practical. No strings attached."
I let out a bitter laugh. Then I sent a messenger pigeon.
"Fine. Then I'll find someone to help me out too."
King Lucien as decided that he wasn't going to wait for his counsel of elders to look for another bride for him since the first one they choose cheated, he decided that he would marry one of his people be it a noble or a commoner, all he wanted was a queen to seat on the vacant throne so his counsel of elders will get off his back.
So he decided to hold a competition for all eligible maiden wanting to be the next Queen.
Rosy is a small town girl living with her mum, after going through the betrayal of her bestfriend and boyfriend she decided that she needed space and closure and she saw the competition as a perfect opportunity to go away for some time, so she decided to join the competition not to be Queen but to move away from her current place so she will hurt less and also to help her mum in paying up their debt with the allowance that will be sent to her mum while she was in the palace.
The Royal Flying Corps (RFC) had a fascinating array of aircraft during World War I, each with its own quirks and roles that shaped early aerial combat. One of the most iconic was the Sopwith Camel, a nimble little fighter that packed a serious punch with its twin Vickers machine guns. It wasn't the easiest plane to handle—pilots joked that it could turn on a dime and give you nine cents change—but its agility made it deadly in dogfights. Then there's the SE5a, another powerhouse that balanced speed and stability better than most. Unlike the Camel, it was more forgiving to fly, which made it a favorite among less experienced pilots. The RFC also relied heavily on reconnaissance work, and for that, they used beasts like the BE2 series. These were slow, stable, and unfortunately, sitting ducks for German fighters, but they got the job done in spotting enemy movements.
Later in the war, the RFC introduced bombers like the Handley Page O/400, a massive biplane that could carry a serious payload. It was a far cry from the fragile early-war aircraft, showing how quickly aviation technology evolved under the pressures of combat. And let's not forget the Bristol F2 Fighter, a two-seater that defied expectations by being just as effective as single-seat fighters. Its rear gunner gave it an edge, and pilots often used it aggressively rather than just for reconnaissance. What strikes me about the RFC's lineup is how experimental everything felt—planes were being designed, tested, and thrown into battle at breakneck speed, with pilots learning on the fly (literally). It's wild to think how much of modern aerial combat was being figured out in those rickety wooden frames and fabric-covered wings.
The Royal Flying Corps (RFC) has this fascinating origin story that feels like something straight out of a wartime drama. It was officially formed in 1912, merging the Air Battalion of the Royal Engineers and the Naval Air Service, which sounds like a bureaucratic move but was actually a huge deal. Back then, aviation was still in its infancy—imagine brave souls flying flimsy biplanes made of wood and fabric! The RFC’s early days were all about reconnaissance, spotting enemy movements from the sky, which was revolutionary for the time. By World War I, they were thrust into the spotlight, and their role expanded wildly, from dogfights to bombing runs. It’s crazy to think how quickly they evolved from observers to full-on combatants.
One of the most gripping parts of RFC history is how they handled the technological and tactical challenges of aerial warfare. Pilots had no parachutes, and survival rates were grim—talk about nerve-wracking! The rivalry with the German Luftstreitkräfte birthed legendary aces like Manfred von Richthofen, but the RFC held its own with heroes like Albert Ball. The Corps merged with the Royal Naval Air Service in 1918 to form the RAF, but its legacy is etched into aviation history. What blows my mind is how these pioneers laid the groundwork for modern air forces, all while flying what we’d now consider death traps.