by David Ward
The remainder of the Gotha pack had maintained their formation despite the constant strafing from the other Camels. I could see the lines of fiery bullets coming from two of our planes, narrowly missing the top wing of the port-side Gotha. The other bombers turned their guns and concentrated their fire.
“Get under him, get under him!” I shouted. In a cloudless portion of the sky where I could see the bomber clearly, one of the Camels did a tricky little flip and banked to port, out of the line of fire.
“Cheeky!” I shouted. The other Camel went under the Gotha as if he had miraculously heard me yelling. It was a close call for both of them. And where in the world were those other Camels? They were nowhere to be seen.
Our battle drifted towards the same giant cumulous cloud into which the first Gotha had disappeared moments before, and the others decided to follow suit. I was nearly on them again, at full throttle.
The two missing Camels came into sight a moment later. In a brilliant move they had sped ahead of the bombers, to loop back and come straight on, firing burst after burst. The sky was alight with incendiary bullet trails. In the meantime I caught up and strafed the rear gunners while my mates took them from the front.
Bullets whistled round my head. Incendiary trails stemmed from two different Gothas, making it clear that I had become the focus of their attention. In another second they would find their mark.
I rolled my Camel over to starboard. She flipped as easily as a seal in the water. When I came round, I realized that I was closer to the bombers than I had intended. I opened fire and managed two full bursts before sliding underneath them.
The Gothas had almost reached the cloud when another thought struck me — fuel. With all our tricks and manoeuvres we had expended a great deal of it. We could only fly for two and a half hours on a full tank, while the Gothas were good for five.
I came round again and joined two other Camels. We dove on the last Gotha, entering the cloud like crows after an eagle. The rear gunner fired madly at all three of us. We kept ourselves spaced from one another, with enough room to flit back and forth to avoid fire. One of us — it looked like the pilot on my starboard side — got in a good burst that ran up from the Gotha’s tail to the cockpit. The gunner stopped shooting.
“Got you!” I yelled triumphantly and fired another burst. One of the Gotha’s giant engines began to smoke, and just as the bomber entered the cloud I saw it lose power on the starboard side. It fell slowly, coasting along the edge of the wispy white cloud and in and out of our vision.
Suddenly it appeared again, its nose down, one engine burning like a fireball. When the Gotha disappeared into the darkness of a cloud bank below, I turned for home. Whether or not the bomber crashed, I could not tell, but it was most certainly earthbound.
It had been a short, sharp battle and we returned with five of our six fighters intact. The Camels performed well, and if it had not been for Newkirk’s loss, it would have been a perfect night. It was the first time I had commanded an attack and I was thankful to have all four planes land safely behind me.
“Bloody good fight!” said one of the pilots as he thumped me on the back.
“I couldn’t see a damned thing whenever I fired my gun,” another added. “My eyes were full of stars.”
“We’ve got to do something about that,” I answered. “It will get us killed some night unless we do. Brilliant move to come back and attack from the front!” We shook hands and clapped one another’s backs.
As we crossed the field our celebrations ceased. The twisted remains of Newkirk’s plane lay heaped by the side of the hangar.
Chapter 14
September–November 1917
We saw regular action right through to the end of September. To our delight, Rogers was transferred to our squadron. There was much to say. We spent several evenings staying up late and talking. I’d never drunk so much coffee in my life.
“Tying the knot, young man!” Rogers teased me. “Well, it’s about time. You talk about her enough.”
I also heard from Robert. He wrote from a hospital where he was recovering from another round of trench foot. He was a sergeant now. He wrote sparingly and I could tell he simply did not want to waste words on the horrors he’d confronted. He focused on our farm and, like Billy, asked about where Nellie and I would live. To my own surprise I wrote back: If Nellie wants it, I’d be pleased for us to have a farm somewhere near Winnipeg, close enough to all of you.
I could only hope that all of us would one day meet together safely. I desperately wanted my parents and Sarah to meet Nellie face to face. And of course, I wanted everyone to meet Billy.
Billy had come to love the Sopwith Camel. His initial hesitations were eliminated after his first flight. He and the Camel were made for each other, although I often felt he was a little too confident with the manoeuvres he attempted. He could flip his Camel so easily to pull out of nasty situations that he began to rely on the trick rather heavily. In short order he scored 4 victories, mostly Albatros D.V.s and one Albatros two-seater, bringing his total to 7.
On a crisp, clear October morning, four of us went up on patrol. No more than 3 minutes from takeoff, Rogers caught my attention. Instinctively I glanced above. The sky was clear. Rogers shook his head. He put his arm outside of the cockpit and pointed down. We were only 2000 feet above the Channel and the water was covered in a light chop. It was tricky to see anything clearly with the whitecaps setting the ocean in motion. I stared closely and caught sight of what Rogers was pointing at. Something was coming out of the water half a mile from the shore, an oblong black shape.
“A U-boat,” I muttered to myself. “Rogers, you found us a submarine!” I waved to indicate that I’d spotted it.
He gave me a thumbs-up and banked sharply.
The rest of us followed. As we descended I wondered what we were going to do. The ground crew had not loaded bombs into my plane that morning, as there had been a problem with the detaching mechanism. One of the others might have bombs, but I’d be reduced to strafing. There were several ships in the area and we needed to alert them immediately. The top of the U-boat tower was well out of the water and they would soon be aware of us.
Rogers dove steeply and we buzzed right over the conning tower. We circled above it, drawing attention from our nearby ships. Sailors on them began running. Alarm bells sounded. There was no need to spell out what was happening; the sailors knew, the instant we began circling. A small destroyer was already in the area, steaming our way, though less than a mile from Dunkirk. I could see the smoke from its stack as it rushed to the scene. The U-boat must have noticed us too. It began to submerge.
We attacked on the next flyby, each of us strafing the disappearing conning tower. Little if anything happened. Our bullets struck the water without effect. I felt so helpless without any bombs and I determined from that moment never to fly without them again. We could still see the giant shape of the U-boat below the surface, but it was quickly going deeper.
By the time the destroyer reached us, the U-boat had completely disappeared.
There was a great deal of bustle aboard the destroyer. A collection of what looked like large oil drums was gathered at its stern. Our ship slowed down and one after another of the drums was released into the sea, precisely where we had last seen the U-boat. I knew the drums were depth charges loaded with highly explosive TNT, and that they were effective up to 300 feet below the surface. I wondered how deep the U-boat had managed to go before the destroyer arrived.
We continued to circle, searching a wider area, but the submarine was nowhere to be seen.
Moments later there was a series of explosions as the depth charges blew. Enormous water spouts erupted. It was quite a sight from the air. Sailors onboard the destroyer watched, leaning over the rails to spot any sign of success. We too watched and waited. Several men pointed and there appeared to be some excitement. Then the gesturing stopped and the sailors went back to their positions.
Rogers took us for a lengthy pass up and down Dunkirk’s coast before heading home. We found out on our return that the destroyer had successfully blown up a passing school of fish. The U-boat escaped, likely unscathed, although there was no way of knowing for certain. But the experience made me aware of how important our job was. We were the eyes of defence — in the air and on the sea.
* * *
On the night of November 2 we were told to stand ready, as enemy planes had been spotted heading down the Belgian coast for England, possibly Gotha bombers. Eight of us prepared for a sortie. There was a great deal of cloud covering the moon that night, which gave the Germans an advantage against anti-aircraft fire. They’d chosen the night for their raid well.
Rogers went up first — he was now commander of our unit and our most respected pilot.
“Not too close,” he had shouted above the roar as the first Camel started up. “There’s a lot of us and vision will be tricky. Give me four or five minutes before you follow.” He gave me a gentle punch in the arm.
“Good luck, Stitch!” called Billy. I waved over to him.
Takeoff was the easiest thing that happened that night. There was little time to lose, as the enemy had the advantage of altitude and it would take some time for us to match them. As planned, I kept the throttle open, gaining altitude and hoping to intercept the bombers based on the last information we’d had on the ground. In truth, it was like chasing shadows, but there was little choice and we made the best of it.
Halfway across the Channel I saw Rogers ahead of me when the clouds broke, and I kept him in sight. The others behind me were doing the same, for when I looked back I caught a glimpse of at least two planes. Rogers headed up to 10,000 feet and banked to starboard, cutting back in towards the Belgian coast. He was creating a zigzag pattern in the hope that we might spot the enemy, just as if we were hunting for a lost plane, or a lost person in the forest. It was in the next turn towards the English side that I spotted our quarry. They were above me, dotted like black stars spread out against the sky. I counted nine for certain, although there could have been more.
I increased altitude and aimed for an intercept. If they were Gothas, then I wanted to avoid a rear attack, if possible, having learned from our previous engagement. Clouds got in the way as we rose higher, and I lost sight of the enemy numerous times. Once I entered the thickest clouds I kept turning to search for friend and foe alike, hoping that others were doing the same. Billy suddenly appeared on my port side as we shot out into a clear space.
Rogers was either brilliant or extremely lucky, for our timing could not have been better. He and I emerged from the cloud with the Hun straight ahead.
They spotted us and gained further altitude, rising above the remaining clouds and into clear sky. We matched their altitude and kept straight on towards them. I flexed my hands and got ready to fight. The Gotha silhouette against the cloud looked like an enormous dragonfly. As the enemy grew nearer, I opened fire and watched the trail of my bullets rip through the night towards them. Their return fire came just as fiercely from the fore gunner, so I immediately flitted from side to side to avoid taking a hit.
I continued straight ahead and flew over top of the bomber, then looked behind me. Billy, on my left flank and a little below, performed his favourite roll to starboard. As he flipped beneath me I saw that another Gotha had also lowered altitude, but to port, opposite of his fellows. It was a split-second decision, an instinct made by both pilots at the same time as they drove towards the same spot in the sky. There was a clacking sound beneath me, the likes of which I had never heard before, followed by a burst of flame. I craned over the starboard side of the cockpit, fearing the worst.
In the flaring light I saw two planes, barely visible and rapidly disappearing. One spiralled down towards the Channel while the other wobbled precariously, heading back towards the coast. In the darkness I couldn’t tell which was which.
The plane spiralling towards the earth must have taken the worst of the crash, for it went straight down and I could see no sign of it pulling out of the dive. The other pilot was at least headed in the right direction. It gave me hope, since Billy, and not the Hun, would likely make for France. Just as I was about to turn and chase after the fleeing plane in the hope of finding Billy, I came upon one of the bombers.
The air whistled with bullets and my Camel was soon pressed to its limits, flipping, banking and strafing. In the light of our bullet trails and one flaming engine of a bomber, a Gotha pilot stared straight at me as I buzzed over him. I came right in between two others of our group, all of us firing but managing to miss each other. We were so close that the gunners were forced to stop firing as I passed.
Then something white-hot struck the side of my head. The pain was so excruciating I wondered if a bullet had gone through my skull. The blow knocked me over to the starboard side of the cockpit, where I sat stunned for several seconds. I stared dizzily at the instrument panel, but the battle was still hot around me and I sat up. Instinctively I fired burst after burst until I was clear of the bombers.
Decreasing throttle, I looked to see if there was any pursuit, but the darkness remained complete behind me. I sucked in several deep breaths and rested my forehead on one hand. Searing pain followed by deep throbbing wracked the side of my skull. I touched the wound and then brought my hand down to the dim lights of my instrument panel. My fingers came back slippery with blood.
I removed my helmet, undid my scarf, wrapped it tightly around my chin and tied it off. Then I replaced the helmet and hoped I’d stanched the worst of the bleeding. Tightening my chinstrap helped stabilize my head. When I stared at my instrument panel to check the state of my plane, though, the gauges blurred. I was suddenly quite dizzy and needed to vomit.
With my head pounding, I turned the plane around. It was at that instant that I blacked out. One moment I was headed back to the battle; the next I was in a nosedive, headed for the English Channel. I had fallen forward with my head resting on the instrument panel. The wind was ferocious, shaking me as I tried to sit up. I felt exhausted and wanted only to put my head back down.
“Up!” I commanded myself, fighting through the grogginess. The blackout must not have lasted long, for my engine was still running and I was not going very fast. I reached forward and eased back on the stick. I adjusted the flaps, still fighting the wind and gravitational pull. Slowly, very slowly, the plane came back under my control. I was down to 4000 feet and it suddenly came clear to me how close I’d been to crashing.
I levelled off, made a slow bank around, and began to climb again. Questions plagued me. Had I lost too much blood? Had my brain been injured? My disorientation seemed to grow by the minute. I breathed deeply several more times to settle my racing heart. It was in that moment that I decided to head back to France. I couldn’t risk another blackout — especially in the heat of battle — and endanger my companions. My duty was to return the plane and myself to base in sound condition, rather than be a hindrance to the sortie.
By the time I reached the coastline, I remembered Billy. I started to turn around. Then I remembered the plane headed for France. If Billy’s plane was damaged and he had turned back to base, then my returning to battle was wasted. But if Billy’s plane was the one that went down … No! I did not let myself think about it.
I felt steadily weaker as I progressed along the coast. In addition to the pain in my head and my nauseated stomach, there was a deeper fear growing inside me. Landing a plane in the dark was as dangerous as fighting an enemy at night. How was I going to land without all my faculties in proper working order?
I sat up straighter. Pull it together, Stitch. Let’s do this right. Be alert! Be awake! I sang a song and pushed the pain away as far as I could. I retightened the scarf and my chinstrap in the hope of slowing the blood loss. The land was a black mass below. I stared until my eyes ached.
Soon another problem began to worry at me. Where was the base? Had I passed it already? All I could m
ake out below was the dim phosphorescence off the sea, distinguishing water from land. Over the past few months we had patrolled the coast over and over again, so I hunted for every promontory and headland that looked familiar.
I dropped altitude, coming down extremely low along the water in the hope of finding some sort of feature that would help me locate the base. My head continued to throb and I had to retighten the scarf several more times.
Increasing altitude again, I turned and went back up the coast. Still there was nothing, although one of the headlands looked vaguely familiar. The base had to be somewhere nearby.
In my dizzy condition, I couldn’t remember when we’d set out, or even how long I had been up. There was still fuel in the tank and I took courage from that.
Some time later I made the decision to go inland and attempt to find a field if the base didn’t present itself in the next few minutes. It was not the best option, for there was little certainty of landing, and even less certainty of landing on friendly soil. But only a minute elapsed before I spotted, less than a mile ahead, a series of little lights outlining a safe landing area on the field.
I recognized the tiny lamps that the ground crew set out when visibility was particularly poor, placing gas-covered rags in small cans to help pilots find their way. The lights wouldn’t stay lit long, for fear of a U-boat in the harbour or bombers coming our way. I came down rather clumsily and in a hurry.
“Too fast,” I muttered and eased up the throttle. I’d try again. I headed farther out into the Channel, made a slow bank and came around. When the beach came up too quickly I was forced to turn again for another try.
