by David Ward
Between the lines of his words I sensed a creeping despair. But then I smiled grimly. His courage was still there. His last lines read: We’ll get them yet. Be safe, little brother.
In my mother’s note she mentioned that Robert had received news of my enlistment and pilot training from Sarah. She said he honoured my choice and that, God willing, we would meet in France. I set the letter down, allowing my mind to drift back to our farm, my parents and Sarah.
“All’s well?” Billy sat down beside me.
“It’s rough going at the Front,” I said. I didn’t want to say too much, knowing what had happened to his brother.
“That it is,” he murmured.
I held up Nellie’s letter. He tried to snatch it from me. “You dog!” he cried with a grin. I wanted privacy to read it and without another word Billy wandered off.
Her writing was neat and simple like Sarah’s, which suddenly made me wonder about her schooling. Her family was well. She had received my letter and was delighted with my drawings. To my surprise she included her own drawing: a small sketch of a biplane, so high it looked almost like a bird, and of an arm and hand just entering the frame and waving from the ground. She had drawn something floating between the hand and the plane and I realized that it was a kiss. I tucked Nellie’s letter into my jacket pocket, right next to my maps.
Over the next few days we practised target shooting more than usual and discussed how to attack a Zeppelin. We also received a short stint of training on how to escort Strutter bombers.
* * *
Williams came to our hut one night after supper. “Be on the ready, lads,” he said. “Word has it we might be flying tonight. An unconfirmed sighting of an airship off Whitby. Looks like the Hun is back.”
Twenty minutes later he returned. “To your planes!” he commanded. I scrambled off my bunk and into my gear. Two of the lads who weren’t flying tonight jumped up and helped us with zippers and gloves. It was the first time we had been called to a sortie from the ground with an actual enemy in sight, and everyone was excited.
It was an unusually cold night. Billy clapped my shoulder as we ran to our planes. “Good luck, Paul. I’ve got your back.”
“And same for you,” I said.
We took off in staggered intervals, a few minutes between each plane to avoid collisions once we were up there. The first few minutes in the air were more terrifying than dawn patrol, for the darkness never left. There were moments when I was completely blind, relying solely on hearing. I strained to see ahead. I sang a hymn to keep my heart from pounding so hard.
The moon crept out from the clouds and the world changed. It was a little like entering a room with a candle: directly ahead was silver and clear, while beside and below remained in darkness. Clouds floated past us like elusive shadows — blimp-like shapes appearing and disappearing in the sky.
I reached forward and touched my Vickers gun nervously. If it jammed, I had no defence other than my flying skills. My hand trembled as I touched the gun handle. I didn’t touch the trigger, having learned my lesson from my first flight in a Strutter.
I found the Zeppelin just north of Whitby. The towns were blacked out — all their lights extinguished so the airships could not find targets on the ground. However, I knew from my speed and flying time that Whitby was close.
It was a larger airship than the one I’d followed previously. The sight of it made me shiver. The Zeppelin had not yet spotted me, for it maintained its course rather than increasing altitude. They would hear us soon enough.
Over the next 10 minutes I slowly climbed higher, searching for my companions. The sky was bright enough for me to catch glints here and there, and I realized I was not alone. One or two others had also spotted the Zeppelin. Our objective, as determined back at the base, was to rise above the dirigible and fire down on it. The moon illuminated the giant cylindrical shape enough that I could see the forward and aft gondolas clearly. It was from these compartments that our greatest challenge would come.
There were at least two other Strutters with me. The moonlight glinted from time to time off their wings. My heart pounded as we drew closer.
We pulled even with the airship at about 9000 feet and were still climbing to get above it when the crew spotted us. The ceiling was low and we soon pulled clear of the clouds and into the full moonlit sky. Their guns opened up. Red flames suddenly appeared from the aft gondola as their gunners fired. Bullets whined through the air around me and a small hole appeared in my top wing. I banked sharply away from the airship.
For a brief moment I felt the urge to keep on going, to head straight back to the aerodrome. Then I heard Robert’s words in my mind: Move towards the fear. I cleared the castor oil from my goggles and took a breath. “Okay,” I said. “Here we go.”
When I came around again, the Zeppelin’s nose was angled upward as it tried to gain altitude and escape our attack. The moment I was within 1000 feet of it, bullets whizzed around me again. I fired a burst and then stopped immediately as Billy’s plane shot by my nose. “Billy!” I screamed. “I almost shot you!” The tracer bullets continued to follow his plane like hellish fireflies in the night.
Suddenly the giant sides of the airship were right in front of me. I pulled back hard on the stick. The engine strained and my poor Strutter shook like a rag doll. “Come on, come on!” I muttered. A second later I was clear of the Zeppelin and headed for open sky. I hoped that none of my companions was above me, for it was still difficult to see.
Instead of pulling out from the stall, I kept my nose up and performed a loop. Once again the Strutter shook and shimmied. At the end of the manoeuvre I maintained a dive and saw the enormous top of the airship some 700 feet in front of me. At 500 feet I opened fire. Orange and blue flame erupted from my guns as the red streaks of my incendiary bullets headed for the airship’s top.
As I pulled away and got ready for another loop, I caught sight of a streaking flame off the starboard side of the Zeppelin. Another Strutter. The plane’s nose turned towards the earth and it began to spiral, with billows of white smoke filling its wake.
“No!” I cried. I levelled my Strutter and leaned out, straining to see the burning plane. There was no way of telling whose it was. Suddenly I was furious at the Zeppelin. I pulled hard on the stick and ignored the pressure and buffeting wind. I hardly even noticed when I turned upside down this time. All I could think of was seeing the top of the airship again.
I managed to fire two bursts into the top of the Zeppelin. Ahead of me was another plane, strafing its aft portion. I pulled up just as an orange glow appeared at the airship’s midsection. Its gunners had stopped firing. I gained some distance and then turned around. A blast of flame roared out from the top as the Zeppelin exploded. I watched, fascinated, until the hot air struck my Strutter. My wings were buffeted so fiercely I was afraid they would be torn off. There was nothing I could do to break free. All I could do was fight to keep her steady and wait for the buffeting to pass.
When the blast ended I regained control and turned back. The dark night revealed a hideous sight. The frame of the dying Zeppelin stood out starkly in the yellow and orange flames, like the skeleton of a giant beast as it fell through the skies. Small figures, like sparks, fell off from the burning mass and blazed tiny trails to the ground. With horror I realized that they were men.
“Lord have mercy,” I murmured. I felt sick to my stomach.
The remaining Strutters were ahead of me. I caught up quickly, suddenly remembering the burning plane I had seen earlier. Billy waved at me in the bright moonlight and I leaned back heavily in my seat, whispering thanks. On closer inspection it appeared that Williams was the one who had gone down. I thought for a moment that I was going to vomit into my mask. Billy suddenly dipped his wings and took the lead, heading towards the ground and not our aerodrome. We followed him as best we could, keeping a safe distance, making our way home.
Here and there along the ground we saw burning pieces of th
e Zeppelin. The main body had fallen into the sea only a hundred yards from shore.
I scanned the ground as best I could, still trying to spot Williams, but it was difficult to see anything. When we finally touched down, I sat in the cockpit for several minutes after the engine stopped.
“Sir?” a ground crewman ventured.
“It’s all right,” I heard Billy say. “I’ve got him.” He climbed onto the wing and sat on the edge of the cockpit. “I don’t think Williams is dead, Paul,” he said. “I saw him level out. The light was tricky, but I swear he gained control. And then the flames went out and I couldn’t see him anymore. That’s why I brought us so close to the ground.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve already informed ground crew,” Billy said. “They’ll send a wire to Whitby and the search will be on.”
We were silent for a moment and then I said, “Billy, what have we done? Those men … those burning men.”
He gripped my shoulder. “You listen to me, Paul Townend! The men in that Zeppelin were about to drop bombs on women and children! On girls like your Nellie. You remember that!” He pushed me roughly and started to leave.
“Billy, wait!” I released my safety belt and stood up. “We blew the Zeppelin wide open. I’ve never killed anything other than a chicken. And these were men. I don’t know what to feel.”
“Feel nothing,” he said gruffly. “It’s easier that way.”
* * *
They brought Williams back the next morning. He was dead. They found his plane at the edge of a field outside of Whitby. He must have managed to bring the plane down under control, only to strike a tree in the darkness. The commander asked Billy to write a letter informing Williams’s parents, as Billy was the last to see him go down.
“You’re better with words, Paul,” he said, and pushed the paper towards me.
I nodded. It was the most difficult thing I had ever written. My hand shook when I picked up the pen. Williams was twenty-one years old and their only son.
That night at supper Billy stood up at the table in the mess hall. He raised his glass and all conversation stopped. “To Williams,” he said simply. There was a murmur of assent and all raised their glasses. After a pause Billy added, “Grieve, but don’t weep. You can’t shoot the Hun with tears in your eyes.”
Later, when I reached the end of my letter, my hand finally stopped shaking.
Chapter 6
Mid-October 1916
Two days later, four of us were transferred to No. 3 Wing RNAS and given orders to ferry two Sopwith 1½ Strutter bombers and two fighters to Luxeuil air base in eastern France.
Flying across the English Channel was a monumental experience. It was considered a rite of passage. We left from Whitefield, near Dover, where I traded my single-seater for a two-seater fighter. The bombers were loaded and we all shook hands before taking off. Billy clapped my shoulder. “Here we go, Paulie! Au revoir! À bientôt!”
It was cold and the high winds whipped up the water below into a crisp chop. There were no clouds, though. Once again I felt the emotional combination of exhilaration and fear. We were flying towards France and the front lines of battle and not the relative safety of our aerodrome at Redcar. Flying escort for the bombers meant that we were their eyes and ears, their protectors. I didn’t have the security of three other fighters in tight formation ready to come to my aid when I needed it. It also crossed my mind that I was getting closer to Robert. Once in France, I would try to find out where he was fighting.
While Redcar had been a considerable change from Curtiss, the difference between England and Luxeuil was another huge step. The most evident difference was the number of planes — French and British planes, whole squadrons of them parked on the airstrip. We found ourselves sharing the airfield with several squadrons, including American fighter pilots from the famous French Escadrille Americaine, designated N.124.
“Well, this is something,” Billy murmured as we surveyed the scene. “I suppose we have finally arrived at the war.” We soon noticed a feeling among the flyers here that was different from Redcar. Men returned to their huts at the end of the day looking haggard, and there was less laughter.
For several days we practised escorting bombers, and Billy and I were assigned gunners. Harry Pritchard, from Nova Scotia, sat in the cockpit behind me. In only a few short hours of training we developed plenty of communication signals in preparation for combat.
We heard the guns from the Front that night, an incessant booming sound, very faint, that must have been shockingly loud nearby. I wondered about Robert and if he was right in the middle of it all, or if his unit was somewhere safe. In the morning there was fog, and we stood ready for an hour or so in case it lifted. The clouds settled in, however, and there was no flying. Instead, Billy, Harry and I walked into the town of Luxeuil. I wanted to see the old Benedictine monastery, but Harry thought we ought to get back to base. We did stop for coffee at a little café with the hills in full view. I drew a picture of the centre of town for Nellie that night.
Some days later, on a clear, cold morning, we stood ready for a scheduled raid. We were headed across enemy lines, where our bombers were to target a munitions factory. Billy and I wished each other luck.
This would be the most dangerous sortie we had yet attempted — actually attacking the enemy over enemy lines. Harry whistled as we walked to our plane. It was a nervous little tune and I wished that he would keep silent. We shook hands once we were in our seats.
“Good luck, Paul!” he said.
“You too,” I answered. My mind was already turned to the start-up routine. I checked the gauges and tried the ailerons. Thirteen other planes started up around me, Billy’s included. The noise was deafening, and as we pulled away from our blocks, clouds of dust blew across the airstrip. It was quite a contingent compared to the few planes of dawn patrol. We kept the bombers at our centre. Billy, Ashcroft, Watson and I formed a Canadian right flank.
Ashcroft was a tall, sandy-haired man from Ontario. I liked him well enough, as did Billy, and the three of us had formed an alliance on the soccer field the last game or two. I had not met Watson until the night before. He kept to himself for the most part. He was from Saskatchewan.
We climbed to 10,000 feet and then flew steadily northeast, heading for the German border. Even though we were bundled up in winter gear, my hands were cold. I realized shortly that it was my nerves and not the temperature causing my discomfort. I shook my shoulders and tried to relax.
I was not the only one feeling anxious. Usually when we flew in formation, Billy allowed his wings to dip or slide playfully with updrafts. On this raid he kept his plane reined in, pulling the nose down quickly and straightening his wings as if containing a spirited horse.
The visibility was excellent. I searched the skies around me, knowing that Harry was doing the same. The towns beneath us were difficult to distinguish, each with its own churches and steeples. We relied more on landmarks such as lakes and hills and their proximity to determine particular towns. We had all been briefed on our flight plan, but it was the leaders of the formation who were doing the navigating; they would be closely following the maps.
About an hour out from our base we tightened formation. We were getting close. The bombers began to descend. I realized that we were fully behind German lines. I glanced back at Harry and found him sitting alert, with his hands firmly placed on the guns.
The land came more clearly into focus and I was surprised to find farmers’ fields and criss-cross fences that looked the same as they did in France. Somehow the Germans had become so much of an enemy that I had forgotten they had farms, farmers, families. I hated the thought that we might be dropping bombs near these civilians.
Our target was a cleared area with a set of buildings in the middle, steam rising from a row of chimney stacks. A number of trucks travelled the road leading from the woods to the factory.
Our bombers did their wor
k, dropping bomb after bomb in succession. We stayed right with them and then banked for a second turn. Ashcroft gave me a wave — partially, I think, to share the bizarre experience going on below. We were present but not really participating.
It was surreal to see the bombs explode. No sooner did they touch the ground than enormous sheets of earth were hurled into the air. Half a building crumpled and the bricks spilled like toy blocks onto the ground. Smoke soon covered the area and I could not tell if our strike was successful or not, but I did see two trucks rise right up into the air and land on their sides. One of the wheels ended up on the remaining portion of the factory roof. I couldn’t help smiling — it was such a strange sight. I was glad for the smoke, however, for there were no bodies or dying men to see, as there had been with the Zeppelin.
Flickering light from below caught my attention. There were flames now, leaping up beneath the smoke. And then it was all over. Not a single shot was fired at us. We made one last pass and then we were on our way back to France like a swift-moving storm, striking and flowing past. Ashcroft pulled up alongside me and pointed to the skies around us: Watch carefully!
We gained altitude in the hope of seeing enemy sorties before they saw us. Billy saluted me as we came back into formation. Harry kept looking beneath us and behind, sometimes standing up for a better view. Ashcroft, Watson, Billy and I took up the rear guard to cover our retreat.
Not more than 10 minutes passed before we were attacked. They came from above, dropping down on us like hawks chasing sparrows. I didn’t even know they were on us until Harry’s gun started chugging away. He had no time to warn me. The first Albatros sped between Billy and me in a dive and I realized in a second that he was preparing to loop. So did Billy. We both pushed down on our control sticks to follow, and opened fire. I fired burst after burst. Brushing too close to Billy, I pulled up and edged portside, unable to follow the Albatros. I had to get back to the bombers and provide them some cover.
