THIS week we have story of air intrigue by E.W. Chess. Elliot W. Chess was a prominent author in the pulps—his name frequently appearing on the covers to entice readers. His pulp career spanned from 1929 to 1940, but a majority of his output was in the early thirties. Equally adept at both westerns having grown up in El Paso, Texas and air war stories having served in the Royal Flying Corp in the First World War and the 7th Squadron of the Polish Air Force afterward when Russians tried to invade the country. Here, Chess tells a tale of a “Doomed Squadron” whose pilots are mysteriously disappearing one by one. . . .

Thirty-four pilots gone—one by one they screamed to their death, and not a Hun in the sky! And each one that was found had bitten off the end of his tongue . . . . What was the terrible force operating on the Doomed Sguadron?

From the pages of Eagles of the Air, it’s “The Doomed Squadron” by E.W. Chess!

• Download “The Doomed Squadron” (February 1930, Eagles of the Air)

If you haven’t check it out, Pulpflakes posted an excellent post about the life of “Elliot Chess—Fighter pilot, Author” last year.

THIS week we have a story by a new writer to this site, Wallace R. Bamber.

Wallace Rugene Bamber was born in 1895 in Tacoma. A veteran of the First World War, serving in the A.E.F. from 1917-19, during the 20’s he lived in New York City and became a well-known writer of air fiction for pulp magazines. Later he branched out as an editor and publisher of the short-lived Far East Adventure, a fiction magazine of the Orient with a dozen issues from 1930-32, and Amazing Detective Stories with five issues published in 1931. Later he became a traveling representative of the American Fiction guild, and moved to Seattle. He was with the federal writers’ project there, and later a WPA administrative staff official. Bamber also worked for a time as editor of the Port Orchard Independent, and was active in Democratic party affairs. A newspaperman at heart, in 1944 he started publication of a weekly paper, The Bainbridge Merchant, on Bainbridge island where he was then residing, but illness forced him to curtail this venture after two issues. He passed away in November of that year.

From the February 1930 issue of the short lived Flight, we have Bamber’s “Send Him up with Saunders.”

The C.O. kept Sanders as a free lance, for more than one reason perhaps. But mainly, no doubt, because there were other observers who could do the regular air work as well or better than Sanders could, while none of them could do the special work that he did. He had one exceptional quality that all the others observers lacked—He could tell a good pilot from a poor one far sooner than the commanding officer, himself, could. When a new pilot came up to the squadron, the first thing the C.O. would say to the operations officer, was: “Send him up with Sanders.”

When a new pilot came up to the Squadron the C.O. said “Send him up with Sanders”—and Sanders never failed to know at once a good pilot from a bad one. And no one knew his method!

• Download “Send Him Up with Sanders” (February 1930, Flight)

As a bonus, here’s an article from THE OREGONIAN where Mr. Bamber discusses what he sees as the state of Pulp fiction writing from February 17, 1931:

FREE-LANCE writers who are getting nothing but rejection slips should take heart because 1931 probably will not be such a tough year in the fiction market as 1930 was and the chances are that 1932 will be pretty good. This is the advice brought from New York by Wallace R. Bamber, publisher of Far East Adventure Stories and Amazing Detective Stories. Mr. Bamber was in Portland yesterday after a brief visit to Spokane, where he grew up and started writing. Speaking of pulp-paper fiction, Mr. Bamber said that, gangster stories now are in most demand, with half a dozen magazines publishing nothing else, and a number of others using this type of story generously. War stories, he said, are now almost unsalable, and the detective Story market, is on the wane after enjoying tremendous popularity. As to what will succeed the gangster story in vogue, “I wish I knew,” he said.

In pulp fiction there are only three kinds of stories, according to Mr. Bamber—love, detective mystery, and adventure. The gangster story is in the adventure, not detective field. In each of these divisions there are three kind’s of conflict—man against man, man against himself, and man against nature.

Furthermore, according to Mr. Bamber, there is only on® plot with which the pulp-paper writer need concern himself. The story opens, figuratively speaking, with the villain on top of the hero with a knife in his hand, and ends with the positions reversed. This one plot can be varied to suit any pulp magazine, the individuality of the story depending upon the characters used and the incidents employed in effecting the reversal of positions.

The magazine publishing business is largely a gamble, in Mr. Bamber’s view, and this is the reason so many pulp publications start and stop abruptly.

• Download “Fiction Field Better” (February 17, 1931, The Oregonian)

THEIR familiar war cry rings out—“Let’s Go!” The greatest fighting war-birds on the Western Front are once again roaring into action. The three Spads flying in a V formation so precise that they seemed as one. On their trim khaki fuselages, were three identical insignias—each a huge, black-painted picture of a grim-looking mosquito. In the cockpits sat the reckless, inseparable trio known as the “Three Mosquitoes.” Captain Kirby, their impetuous young leader, always flying point. On his right, “Shorty” Carn, the mild-eyed, corpulent little Mosquito, who loved his sleep. And on Kirby’s left, completing the V, the eldest and wisest of the trio—long-faced and taciturn Travis.

Were back with the second of three Three Mosquitoes stories we’re presenting this month. This week the inseparable trio tangle with the menace of the western front—the riderless plane! The mere thought of it sent a cold chill coursing up Kirby’s spine. It was all right to pit your skill and wits against an enemy pilot who, after all, was just a human being like yourself. But to face a freak plane which flew of its own accord, with its cockpit utterly empty—that was asking too much of any man. It seemed incredible, preposterous, this horrible machine without a pilot, shooting through the air like a streak, doing its deadly work, and then mysteriously vanishing. And yet, incredible as it was, it had taken its hold on the entire Allied air force and was slowly but surely breaking down their morale. From the February 1930 issue of War Birds, it’s “The Riderless Plane!”

Here, gang, is one of the great mysteries of the late war revealed at last! The hair seemed to rise beneath Kirby’s helmet, while a chill sensation of horror drove needles into his spine. He almost stalled the Spad as he kept staring, looking at that incredible sight—expecting to find his eyes deceiving him. The cockpit of that all-red plane was empty. It was the riderless plane!

• Download “The Riderless Plane” (February 1930, War Birds)

If you enjoyed this tale of our intrepid trio, check out some of the other stories of The Three Mosquitoes we have posted by clicking the Three Mosquitoes tag or check out one of the three volumes we’ve published on our books page! And come back next Friday or another exciting tale.

“LET’S GO!” Once more, The Three Mosquitoes familiar battle cry rings out over the western front and the three khaki Spads take to the air, each sporting the famous Mosquito insignia. In the cockpits sat three warriors who were known wherever men flew as the greatest and most hell raising trio of aces ever to blaze their way through overwhelming odds—always in front was Kirby, their impetuous young leader. Flanking him on either side were the mild-eyed and corpulent Shorty Carn, and lanky Travis, the eldest and wisest Mosquito.

We’re back with the second of three tales of Ralph Oppenheim’s Three Mosquitoes we’re featuring this march for Mosquito Month! This week, the germans are advancing troops to the front on road 12, but all reconnaissance flights report no activity on road 12! So it’s up to the inseparable trio to unravel the mystery of road 12—all they need is a little “Mosquito Luck!” From the February 13th, 1930 issue of War Stories—

Hordes of gray-green troops were being moved up to the Front in broad daylight, yet Allied intelligence had failed to find out how. That was the baffling mystery the colonel set before the “Three Mosquitoes.” And Kirby answered the challenge with their famous war whoop: “Let’s go!”

• Download “Mosquito Luck” (February 13, 1930, War Stories)

And check back next Friday when the inseparable trio will be back with another exciting adventure!