CHAPTER IV
OFF FOR THE FRONT
Months passed. The training of the Brighton boys went on steadilyafter they entered the service until each one of the six of themthat were still at the home airdrome was a highly efficient flierand well-grounded in the construction of air-machines as well.
Louis Deschamps had gone, with his mother, to France. Fat Bensonhad been passed on to a more important job. His work had been sothorough in the stores department that he was now being used asan inspector, traveling over half a dozen states, visiting all sortsof factories that were being broken-in gradually to turn out thenecessary aeroplane parts in ever-increasing quantities as the warprogressed.
Then came the day when the contingent into which the Brighton boyshad been drafted started, at last, for France. Final good-bys weresaid, last parting tears were shed, the cheers and Academy yellsat the station died into the distance as the train pulled out, andthe six young airmen, proud in the security of full knowledge thatthey were no novices, were truly "off for the front."
The days of embarkation, the dash across the Atlantic, and the landingin France came in due sequence. They had expected some excitementon the ocean voyage. The group of transports, of which their shipwas one, steamed warily eastward, convoyed by a flotilla of grimdestroyers, swift, businesslike, determined. Extra precautions weretaken in the submarine zone; but none of the German sea wolves roseto give battle with the American ships.
The coming into port, too, was less exciting than they had thought itwould be. The French people who were grouped along the quaysidecheered and waved, but the incoming American contingents were arrivingwith such regularity that the strangeness had worn away. Americawas in the war to do her utmost. France knew that well by the timethe Brighton boys crossed the ocean. The welcome was no less warm,but there was no element of novelty about it.
A troop train, consisting mainly of cattle trucks, puffed away fromthe coast town next morning, and attached to it were the cars containingthe new air squadron. Late that night it had reached one of thehuge airdromes, the vastness of which unfolded itself to the astonishedgaze of the boys at daybreak of the morning after. They had notdreamed that such acres and acres of hangars existed along the wholefront. The war in the air assumed new proportions to them. Theywere housed in huts, warm and dry, if not palatial.
During the day, given leave to wander about the airdrome, the sixBrighton boys took a stroll in company, eager to inspect at closequarters the latest types of flying machines.
"These airplanes are stronger than any we have ever seen," remarkedJoe Little, as they paused before a new-type French machine.
"Yes," cheerily commented an aviator---a clean-cut young Englishman---whowas grooming the graceful plane. "This very one crashed into theground two weeks ago while going at over sixty miles an hour. Sheis so strongly built that she was not hurt much and the pilot escapedwithout a scratch. This is what we call a 'hunter.' She has anunbeaten record for speed---can show a clean pair of heels to anythingin the air. She has tremendous power; and the way she can climb intothe clouds---my word!"
"Is she easy to fly?" asked Dicky Mann.
"Not bad," was the answer. "The high speed makes for a bust-up oncein a while. A pilot who gets going over one hundred and fifteenmiles an hour, and yanks his machine up to six thousand feet inseven minutes, as he can do on this type of plane, and then dropsstraight down from that elevation, as the 'hunter' fellows haveto do sometimes, puts a mighty big strain on his bus. Little bylittle this sort of thing dislocates important parts. Of coursethe pursuing game makes a pilot put his machine into all sorts ofpositions. He has to jump at the other chap, sometimes, at an angleof ninety degrees. I have known of cases where the air pressurecaused by such a drop has been so great that the planes of one ofthese 'hunters' have been broken off with a snap."
"Jiminy!" ejaculated Dicky.
At this the aviator laughed, saying smilingly: "Accidents of some sorttake place here several times a day. If they didn't we would not geton so fast either in the study of aeroplane construction or the artof flying itself. Accidents tell us lots of things. Between studyingaccidents and watching for Boche ideas, especially when we get holdof one of their late machines, we are never standing still at thisgame, I can tell you."
"Do you get many German planes?" asked Jimmy Hill.
"We _down_ lots of 'em, but we don't get many---which is different,"and the aviator smiled. "You see the Boche fliers stay their side,mostly, and when we drop one he goes down among his own lot. Nowthe hostile hunters for instance, rarely go over our lines. Theirbusiness apparently is to remain over their own territory. That istheir plan. They are brave enough. But the Germans look to theirhunters chiefly to prevent our observers from doing their work. Theywait for our observation machines where they know the observers mustcome. That is their game. Just get some of the fellows who havebeen over recently, when you get up front a bit, to tell you how thenew Fokkers hide themselves and pounce on our lot.
"Maybe the Boches look at it this way: if they have their fight attheir base of operations, over their own lines, and win out, theymay make a prisoner; if the machine is not destroyed, that may beutilized. If their man gets put out of commission we don't getthe beaten machine and therefore cannot learn their latest constructiondodges from it. It's a different plan of action. We go right outover the German lines with our hunters and tackle their observers,who do their reconnaissances from a bit back of their lines. Onlyin the very first part of the war, when the Germans outnumbered us infliers to an enormous extent, did they try to do much from ourtop-side. Nowadays we do our observing daily from well over theenemy's lines; and the Germans do most of theirs from well on theirown side. It's a different way of looking at it."
"Surely our way must be more efficient," said Joe Little.
"We think so," assented the aviator. "We know more of their linesthan they can possibly know of ours. For the rest of this war Iguess we will have to do so. We are going forward from now on, andthe Teutons are going back, and don't you forget it. We have to knowtheir lines well, and lots of other things, such as their routes ofsupply and reinforcement, and their gun positions and munition dumps.Our guns look to us, too, in a way they did not look to us a year ago,even. It's a big game."
The Brighton boys walked on slowly, without comment. Yes, it was abig game, in very truth. The closer they came to it the bigger itbecame.
"Hello! There is a monoplane. I thought there were no monoplanesin use now," said Bob Haines as they passed a round-bodied fleet-lookingmachine with a single pair of wings. It was a single-seater. Theywalked up to it and round it, gazing admiringly at its neat lines."What sort of a plane is this?" asked Bob of a mechanic who wasstanding beside the machine.
"An absolute hummer," was the reply. "Want to try her? You have tobe an Ace to get into her driving seat, son."
Bob flushed, and was inclined to answer sharply, but Joe Little steppedforward and said quietly: "We have just got here from the States.Came last night. This is our first look-around, and we want tolearn all we can. We did not know monoplanes were being used now.The only aeroplanes we have flown have been biplanes. Won't you tellus something about this type?"
"Certainly," said the mechanic. "I was only joking. No one canfly this sort of machine except the most experienced and best pilots.It is the fastest machine in the world. It is a Morane, and theycall it a 'Monocoque.' Someone told me that the latest type GermanFokker was modeled on this machine. It is a corker, but the trickiestthing to fly that was ever made. We have only got one here. I hearda French flyer say the other day that the Spad biplane was fasterthan this machine, but I don't believe it."
"What is an Ace?" queried Jimmy Hill.
"That term started with the French," answered the mechanic. "Weuse it here now, sometimes. It means a superior aviator, who hasbrought down five adversaries, in fair air-fight. The bringing-downbusiness, at least so far as the exact
number is concerned, is notalways applied, I guess. They just call a man an Ace when he isa real graduate flyer, and gets the habit of bringing down his Bochewhen he goes after him."
Every conversation around that part of the world seemed to have agrim flavor. The Brighton boys were getting nearer to actual warevery minute, they felt.
The boys found a row of S.P.A.D. machines not far distant. The"Spads," as the aviators called them, were fleet biplanes. Theyfound a genial airman to tell them something of the planes, whichhe described as the latest type of French fighting aeroplane. "Thissort has less wing surface than any machine we have had here," saidthe airman. "It is mighty fast. These four have just come back froma good pull of work. I think this lot were all that is left of twodozen that were attached to the B squadron just before the lastbig push."
"Cheerful beggar!" spoke up another pilot within earshot. "Are youtrying to impress a bunch of newcomers?" He walked toward the boys."Are you not some of the crowd that got in last night?"
"Yes," answered Bob Haines. "We're the Brighton Academy bunch. Wehave just come over from home."
"Do you know a fellow called Corwin?"
"I am Corwin," said Harry.
"My name is Thompson. Your brother Will was over here last weeklooking for you, and told me that if I was still here when you arrivedI was to look you up. He may not get a chance to run over again fora bit. He is some distance away."
Harry was delighted. He introduced his companions to Thompson, whotold them Will Corwin was fit and well, and had become quite famousas a flyer. Thompson promised to dine at their mess that evening.He did so, and after dinner sat and chatted about flying in general,telling the Brighton boys many things strange to them about thedevelopment of the flying service since the beginning of the war.
"I was in England in August, 1914, when the war broke out," Thompsonsaid. "I had been interested for some time in flying; had learnedto fly a machine myself, and had watched most of the big internationalflying meets. I knew some of the rudimentary points about aircraft,and as I had a cousin who was in the motor manufacturing business inEngland, I had been put fairly into touch with aeroplane engines.I don't know how much is known at home about what the French andBritish flying corps have done out here, but to get a fair ideaof what they have accomplished one has to know something of the wayboth France and England were caught napping. I think it is fair tosay that there was not one firm in all Great Britain at the outbreakof hostilities which had proven that it could turn out a successfulaeroplane engine.
"The English War Department had what they called the Royal AircraftFactory, where some experimental work was done, but the day war wasdeclared the British Army had less than one hundred serviceableflying machines of all types. What proved to be the most usefulplane used by the British for the first year of the war was onlya blueprint when the fighting started. France was better off.She had factories that could make aero engines. But as to actualplanes, three hundred would be an outside figure of the number withwhich France went to war.
"The use of the aeroplane in war was a subject which gave muchdiscussion, but few people, even in the army, thought that theaeroplane would be of great service except for scouting. At theairdrome where I learned to fly we used to practice droppingbombs---imaginary ones, of course---but we were so inaccurate at itthat none of us imagined we would be of much use in that directionin actual warfare. I have heard it said that the Germans directedtheir artillery by signals dropped from aircraft at the verybeginning. They did so before they had fought many weeks, anyway.Boche fliers, English gunners have told me, used to hover overbattery positions and drop long colored streamers and odd showersof colored lights. It was some time before the Allied airmancontributed much to the value of the Allied gunfire. When they gotat it, they beat the Huns at their own game, for the war had notbeen on many months before British planes were flying over Bochebatteries and sending back wireless messages from wirelesstelegraph installations on the machines themselves.
"The Boches had lots more machines than the Allies, and their armycommand had apparently worked out plans about using them which werenew to our side. I saw some of the early war-work of the Britishfliers, for I got into the Army Service Corps, the transport service,and came out to the front early in 1915. I did not get transferredinto the flying part of the business until the end of that year.There is no question but that the quality of the British flying menwas what put them ahead of the Germans long before they were equalmechanically. The French, too, are really great fliers. The Bochestry hard, and are certainly brave enough, but there is something inthe Boche makeup that makes him bound to be second-best to our lot.I have heard lots of discussions on the subject, and I think thosewho argue that the Boche lacks an element of sportsmanship just abouthit the weak point in his armor as regards flying.
"The flying game has been one long succession of discarding themachines we thought best at one time. That applies to the Germansas much as it does to us. One has to go back to the start to realizehow much flying has progressed. First, engine construction is anotherthing to-day. They can make engines in England now, though they werea long time getting to the point where they could do it. I believethat most all the best motor factories in England have learned to turnout good flying engines by now. It means a lot of difference toproduce a machine that can do sixty miles an hour and one that can dotwo miles a minute. Yet at the start mighty few aeroplanes could beatsixty miles an hour, and to-day I can show you plenty of planes righthere in this 'drome which can do one hundred and twenty. If a planecannot do two miles a minute nowadays it is pretty sure to meetsomething in enemy hands that can do so. Why, before long one hundredand twenty may be too slow.
"Then look at altitudes! When I first thought of flying, five thousandfeet up was big. That was not so very long ago. Before the war somevery specially built machines, no good for general work, had beencoaxed up to about fifteen thousand feet by some crack airman, whohad worked for hours to do it, but the best machine we had at the'drome where I learned flying would only do six thousand, and no onecould get her up there under forty minutes. She was a fine machine,too, as machines went in those days. To-day it is no exaggerationto say that ten thousand feet above the earth is low to a flier.Everyone goes to twenty thousand continually, and many of the biggestfights take place from seventeen thousand to twenty thousand feet up.
"The character of the work we have to do has changed as much asthe machines have changed. First, anti-aircraft guns---'Archies,'we call them---have improved enormously. In the first of the showthe airman merely had to keep five thousand feet up and no Archiecould touch him. A French friend of mine told me the other day thatone of their anti-aircraft guns hit a flier at a height of fifteenthousand feet. The gun was firing from an even greater distancethan that across country, too. The very fact that flying atconsiderable height protected aircraft when scouting producedscientific methods into the collection of information.
"The camera work that has been evolved in this war is little shortof wonderful. When it was realized that the planes could get photographsfrom a height that was out of reach of the Archies of those days,fighting one aeroplane with another came next. Fights in the air,instead of being rare, became the daily routine. I doubt if any ofthe planes that began the war game in 1914 were armed with rapid-fireguns. The aviators carried automatic pistols or rifles. Some carriedordinary service revolvers.
"With the introduction of the actual air fighting as a part of thescheme of things, three distinct jobs were developed. First, thereconnaissances, which the scouts had to make daily. Next, theartillery observers, whose work it was to direct our gun-fire. Next,the fighters, pure and simple. Another job was bombing, but we havenot had as much of that as of the other branches of the work.
"With the coming of the new element---the fighting planes, whichwent out with the sole idea of individual combat---came the necessityfor swifter planes, for the man on the fastest machine has the g
reatadvantage in the air. The latest development is along the line ofteam-work in attack. So it goes on changing. I think the smaller,speedier aeroplanes are becoming harder to manage, but we do thingsnow we never dreamed of doing a year ago. All of us can fly now aswe never thought before the war it would be possible to fly.
"Instead of rifles and pistols in the hands of the aviators everyplane now has at least one rapid-fire gun, and some have two andeven three. The position of the rapid-fire gun on an aeroplane hasa lot to do with the success or failure of a fight in the air. Allof you want to study that question carefully.
"But most fascinating of all to the new airman at the front is theactual handling of the machines when fighting. There lies the greatestprogress of all. Construction has made big strides, but fliers havemade bigger ones. Wait till you get up front and see."
Brighton Boys with the Flying Corps Page 4
