LAST FLIGHT OF THE BLUE BARON

Rogue American attacked local aviators, foiled by German

Infamous pilot survived war but is now certain to have perished

Called a Hero

This morning the city awoke to reports of an aerial gun battle, or "dog fight" as they were known in the war, just south of the city off of Sandy Hook, New Jersey. As incredible as this news appears, it is nonetheless a fact, and this paper further has an eye witness to the event in the person of Victoria Chase, regular author of the Chase Report.

The reports this morning were incomplete and got several things wrong, and must firstly be cleared up. The battle was among three planes, not two, only one of which had any armament. Two of the these were destroyed and their pilots lost, but the well-known plane of Caulfield & Price was also part of the action and has returned to us with minimal damage. Citizens of New York may rest easy knowing that the attacker was among the destroyed.

Prior to last night's calamity, we were able to learn that Conrad von Preiss, commonly known as the Blue Baron and widely thought killed in 1918, in fact survived and was discharged by the German Army directly after the armistice. Remarkably, it has turned out that the man immigrated to the United States under an assumed name, and has lived among us obscure and unknown all this time.

Preiss however was unable to entirely give up his great passion for powered flight, and once established here he purchased a surplus aircraft, a very fast light bomber type, from the army. He went on to paint this craft with his signature blue color, perhaps thinking no one would expect him here, which seems to have been the case as he was not until recently discovered. However, despite his fearsome reputation, Preiss's intent seems to have been peaceful and he was not the cause of the melee.

The instigator of the battle was one Mark Jefferson, formerly a pilot for the United States Army and incidentally employed as a minor editor by the Gazette. Little is at present known about the man, but what is certain is that he was crippled while in flight over Germany, the victim of an enemy round piercing his cockpit. Whether he was of unsound mind before this injury cannot be known, but he returned from the war in an unstable and dangerous state, and plotted to carry out a series of gruesome aerial attacks.

Through entirely legal channels, Jefferson acquired a surplus fighter airplane as well as a heavy machine gun, military ammunition, and other necessary parts to arm the plane. Having completed this project, for reasons comprehensible only to his damaged and raving mind, Jefferson chose the pilots of Caulfield & Price Aviation as his first targets.

Yesterday evening, as the Caulfield & Price plane was on a routine flight south over the New Jersey coast, Jefferson put his plan into motion. He ambushed the two pilots, pursuing them and opening fire in the air, using tracer ammunition which was visible to observers on the shore. Fortunately, pilot Price who was at the controls is more capable than most, and was able to avoid the madman's fire, drawing him farther out to sea and away from crowded areas. At this point it was a one on one fight, with only Jefferson armed and in a smaller, more maneuverable craft, and given enough time it seems inevitable that the attack would have been successful.

But this is not how it played out. As part of her investigative work our own Ms. Chase was able to learn of Jefferson's plan, and informed Preiss about it even as Jefferson prepared his ambush. The great German pilot knew instantly what would proceed, and determined that he would not allow the madman to gun down innocent pilots unopposed. He immediately took to the air in his own craft and made top speed to the scene.

Despite his plane's swiftness, he arrived only after Jefferson had begun shooting, finding the two planes locked in a circling dance of death. Preiss dove at them out of the sky, coming upon Jefferson suddenly and without warning. With no thought to his own safety, he smashed his plane full-force into the attacker, instantly destroying both craft. The wrecks fell into the sea with no chance of survivors.

Thus freed of the assault, Caulfield and Price were able to return to Manhattan, their plane pierced in a few places but, we are told, not genuinely harmed.

This then is the complete story of last night's battle. The Blue Baron's final act was one of self-sacrifice in the name of peace for his adopted homeland, and those who have hated him must take this new fact into account. Had Mark Jefferson not been stopped at the start, we cannot know what terror he might even now be raining down on New York from the sky.

Reached for comment on these extraordinary events, Police Commissioner Enright points out that the police are not equipped to deal with military aircraft. Because the battle did not take place in the State of New York, and in his words "appears to be resolved", no investigation is planned. State of New Jersey authorities similarly washed their hands of the matter, noting that the attack took place off the coast and therefor lies within the purview of the Navy.

Commander Holden of Naval Air Station Rockaway reports that a patrol was dispatched this morning to look for survivors, but finding none, it returned to base with no further action planned. Holden had this to say: "The United States Navy is not a law enforcement organization and so we have no further involvement with this matter. I'm sorry to hear about the loss of von Preiss but am grateful for his sacrifice. The man is nothing short of a hero. I know and respect both Caulfield and Price and am relieved to hear that they are unharmed."

The Manhattan Weekly Gazette, Extra Edition, October 6, 1921

The cafe was mostly empty in the late afternoon. Victoria sat at the end of the counter, near the window, and ordered a coffee. Her article and the supplementary information surrounding it had been a smash, ultimately syndicated nationwide. That Conrad von Preiss had come to America and died a hero was now a matter of unquestioned fact.

Smitty had held up the extra edition, a quizzical look on his face.

"This doesn't quite match what I heard earlier," he'd said.

Victoria had just smiled at him. "I suppose you'll never know which is the truth."

"I suppose I won't."

With no editor and the paper abuzz with fresh activity, she'd been twice as busy as usual. The day of her scheduled tour with Caulfield & Price had arrived and she'd found herself entirely unable to go. She couldn't face climbing into that airplane again, her own fear thrown into harsh relief by Max's easy confidence. She imagined Chloe standing on the dock, smiling condescendingly up at her as she buckled in with shaking hands. She couldn't do it.

Two days later she'd received a letter from Max, thanking her for her exemplary reporting, regretting that she'd been unable to honor her appointment, and offering a complimentary tour at a later date — or, if she'd prefer, a flight lesson. Victoria had sat at her desk for a long time, staring at the letter. Eventually she'd shoved it into a drawer and tried to forget about it.

Then she'd found herself in this little cafe. The street thronged with commuters, but though gaps in the crowd she had a decent view of the steps leading down to the blank door of the Ladies' Uninteresting Underground Auxiliary. It wasn't much to watch, handfuls of women coming and going, nothing at all worth writing about. Nevertheless, here she was, watching. Again. Wondering what was behind that door. It was the normalcy of it that threw her. Even the nicer speakeasies were rough places, you had arguments, fights, gangsters, drugs, prostitutes. None of that here, as far as Victoria could tell.

She sipped at her coffee, black and bitter.

Outside, it had started to rain. A sea of umbrellas unfurled, and the unprepared hunched their shoulders and hurried toward shelter. It looked cold out there.

A draught blew across her as the door swung open. Behind her, someone shook off their umbrella, then came to sit beside her at the counter. Victoria scowled; there were plenty of other seats.

She glanced over to a young woman. Short, wearing a simple wool vest over a pale cotton blouse, and a wool skirt. Black hair peeked out beneath a grey cloche hat adorned with a pair of flowers. A practical, inexpensive, and entirely modern ensemble. It worked well with her figure.

The girl ordered a coffee, and when the man behind the counter had gone to fetch it, she looked at Victoria and smiled. Molly, the office girl from Caulfield & Price. One of them.

"You've been watching us for a while," the girl said. "Did you ever think to say hello?"

Victoria huffed. "Maybe I just like the coffee."

"Oh yes, the finest blend of dishwater and cigarette ash."

Victoria let out an involuntary chuckle, then took a sip. Dishwater and ash, indeed. "At least it's hot," she said. "I'm fairly certain you've just ordered a cup yourself." On cue, Molly's coffee arrived, set unceremoniously before her in a cheap, stained cup.

"Oh dear," Molly said, frowning at the steaming beverage. "I hope you'll keep me company while I endure this."

Victoria set coins on the counter and turned to leave. "I need to get to work," she said. She shouldn't have laughed at the joke. She hadn't meant to be spotted in the first place.

Molly pouted. "It's just a cup of coffee, Miss Chase."

Victoria hesitated. The truth was, she didn't have anywhere to be. Nothing interesting was going to happen until after dinnertime, at the earliest. And rain usually meant a slow night.

She turned back toward the counter, gesturing for a refill.