Late one evening I went out again in a Nieuport, and got mixed up in a bad “dog fight.” It lasted for three quarters of an hour, and during that whole time I don’t think fifteen seconds went by that I did not have to turn my machine sharply in one direction or another, or do some other manoeuvre.
While engaging a few machines at the top of the fight, I saw underneath me a Nieuport, evidently in difficulty in the middle of a lot of Huns, so with one other of my squadron I started down to him, fighting all the way and striving for nothing but to frighten the Huns off, in order that we could get there in time to help our man. He seemed to be fighting very well, as his machine was turning around to the left, banking vertically, and turning very quickly. At 12,000 feet we started this, but by the time we “had reached him he was 500 feet from the ground. I had long ago wondered what was the matter, as he was going down almost as fast as we could come down to him. I could not understand why he did not see us, and in some way realise that if he stayed there a moment we would be down to help him, but instead his machine kept turning, doing a left hand spiral, and going down rapidly. At one thousand feet from him we managed to frighten away the two Huns, who were both engaging him. Then, turning to clear the fight, I looked over my shoulder to see if he was following; but no—he was still in the spiral. I was afraid, for the moment, that he thought I was another Hun, so went off to one side for a bit, but he continued spiralling, and realising that something was very wrong, I flew back toward him.
Just at that moment his machine spiralled straight into the ground, a few hundred feet underneath me. I made two or three turns over the spot, regardless of the fight above me, to determine whether or not he had been badly hurt, but could not see. I expected, every moment, some people to come running up and work at the smashed machine to get him out, but no sign of anybody moving. The other Nieuport, that had come down with me, was lower than I was, and the idea seemed to come to both of us, as the country seemed smooth enough, to land and see what was wrong. We both thought we were well this side of our own lines, as the trenches could be seen about three quarters of a mile to the east of us. Picking out a smooth piece of ground just near the smashed machine, I came down to glide on to it. Then, hearing the crackle of rifles and machine guns around, I put my engine on again and turned away, cursing the people on the ground for firing at me, thinking all the time it was our own troops making a mistake. I had now come down to a height of several hundred feet, and suddenly saw German uniforms in a small hollow in the ground, underneath me. It was a narrow escape, as both of us might have landed there and quietly been taken prisoners, without ever having a chance to escape.
A few days later I learned that in this particular place, the people holding the line were not in trenches, but in outposts, practically in the open field, and the line of trenches behind them was the Hindenburg line, where the Germans evidently intended retreating, when necessary.
Almost every one of my fights in the new machine were successful. Three of us went out early one Sunday morning, when the sun, shining from the east on a thick ground mist, made it very difficult to see. Clouds were also in the sky, making it impossible to go above seven thousand feet. Our new type of machines were evidently greatly feared by the Germans, as the moment we approached the lines, two two-seaters of the enemy, while just specks in the distance, were evidently signalled to from the ground, for they immediately dived straight down, and did not return. This happened again fifteen minutes later, when we sighted another of the artillery machines. They were evidently terrified of this type, and would not stay to fight us.
Then suddenly I saw four enemy scouts, and at the same moment they saw us. They approached, evidently with the intention of attacking us, but when only three hundred yards away recognised the machines we were flying, and turned away quickly. They had been looking for easier prey, and were not very anxious for battle. We went after them, though, and owing to our superior speed were able to catch up with them. Into the middle of them we went, and there followed a merry scrap. One of our trio, by some misfortune, got mixed up in a bad position, as he was not seen again, and must have been shot down. The other man’s guns had both jammed at the beginning of the fight, and he was so furious at this bad luck that for several minutes he stayed in the fight, just to bluff the Huns. Then one of them made it a little nasty for him, and it was necessary to escape. Back to the lines he went, making short dashes of 100 yards every now and then, two Huns following him all the way, and firing at him as he went, but owing to pure good flying and clever manoeuvring, he was able to avoid even having his machine hit. Then, on looking back from the lines, he saw the fight going on some distance over, and realising that I was alone in the middle of it he came back all that way, without either of his guns in working order. I referred to this in an earlier part of my book, and I still think it one of the bravest deeds I have ever heard of, as he had a hard time getting back to me, and then also in escaping a second time. He returned to the aerodrome, landed, had his guns fixed, and immediately hastened out again in the hope he would be able to help me.
I, for my part, was having the time of my life. The rattle of my two machine guns was too much for the Huns, altogether. They did not like it at all. I was above the whole lot of them, the original four having been joined by three others now, and they were trying to separate enough so that one or two of their number could get to one side, then climb up and get on top of me. But the moment one of them would begin to go over to one side I would begin to climb, until I would point my nose in his direction, and flying at wonderful speed, shoot across there, opening fire with rough aim, and down he would dive under the rest. This actually went on for fifteen minutes, during which time another of the enemy came along, and seeing only one British machine in all those Huns, felt safe in attacking me. I opened fire on him with my two guns, and the rattle of them again was sufficient. He did not even return the fire, but dived down and got under the other seven.
After this had gone on about ten minutes, I realised that to actually bring them down I must do better shooting, so picking the one which was higher than the rest, I concentrated on him and got within fifty yards of him, when I opened fire. He immediately turned over on his back, righted himself, turned over on his back again, and then fell completely out of control. The others I was unable to get, but continued in the fight in the hope that I would be more successful. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a heavy thunderstorm coming up from the direction of the aerodrome. I had to keep my mind on this, as I realised that it was a matter of judging just how long I could keep up the fight before I must make a break for it. At last I decided I had better go, so after a final survey of my “docile children,” who seemed to be just sitting under my thumb, I picked out the two or three highest ones and pointed my nose in their direction, on which they dropped down obediently. Then, seizing the opportunity, I dashed away and escaped. They must have been very furious indeed and it must have been bad for the morale of the German infantrymen and gunners on the ground to look up and see one British machine on top of all those Huns, holding them absolutely under his dominion. I reached the aerodrome ten minutes before the thunderstorm broke.
Bad weather then held again for over a week, and it was impossible to fly at all. The evening that it cleared up, I was leading my patrol—all of us on the new machines—when I sighted eight of the enemy, two miles the other side of the lines. It was just a half hour before dark, and the light was very bad. I put my engine full on, and headed in their direction. My machine being slightly faster than the remainder of my patrol, I managed to get a bit ahead of them, and carefully picking out the leader of the enemy formation, opened on him. After I had fired about twenty rounds, he turned completely around, and headed under me. I turned my sights on to another of his formation, and tried to catch him. Then, over my shoulder, I suddenly saw the machine I had first fired at, burst into flames in a most extraordinary way. It happened quite near two of the rest of my pat
rol, and incidentally rather frightened them, as the machine, which had been smoking slightly, suddenly burst into the whitest flame and fell to the ground, like a ball of livid fire. The man had evidently not been killed, as the machine was not falling out of control, but diving almost vertically toward the ground. Several times, out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at it as it still fell. Probably it was the bad light that made the flames show so white, but the glare was seen for twenty miles around, by people on the ground.
I then made an acquaintance, whom I grew to know quite well during the next week or so. It was a silver machine, with small black crosses on it. The pilot had carefully painted his machine, as the silver had been put on to represent the scales of a fish, and covered his planes as well as the body of his machine. During this fight he caused me a lot of worry. Several times I was just able to concentrate on one of two others, when this flying fish would butt in, and force me to a great deal of manoeuvring to escape him. Over and over again, while under me, he would pull up his nose and open fire. I would then point my nose down and open back at him, and he would turn away. This was his one weakness; he would not come head on, so I tried that bluff whenever he began to fire at me.
It was well that I knew this during the fights which followed in the next week. In the middle of this fight both of my guns suddenly jammed, and I could not get them to work. I struggled with them, all the time manoeuvring around so that I would not be hit myself. One of the enemy, besides the silver man, had noticed that my guns would not fire, and the two of them came at me, and came right up close on one occasion. Just as they did this I managed to get my guns to work, and opening fire, sent the second man down out of control. Old “Silversides,” however, had been too wily to even get near the range of my guns, and did nothing but cause me a lot of worry. It was getting dark now, and time to break off the fight, so I decided to escape. Once again the silver fellow came butting in. Every time I would turn toward the lines, he would come at me and open fire. I would dart across his sights, giving him a hard shot, then suddenly turn as if I were going to fire at him. He would turn the nose of his machine away immediately, and I would have a chance to again make a dart for the front. In this way I managed to reach the lines, where he left me. I then returned home, with two more machines to my credit.
The next machine I got was the fortieth aeroplane I had brought down, and counting my two balloons, the forty-second victory to my credit. I had gone out in the morning, about half-past eight and there did not seem to be many aeroplanes in the sky. I saw a single-seater some distance in toward Germany, and went in after him. He was, however, no picnic. The pilot was one of the very best. Several times we almost got shots at each other, but never a good one. Finally, I opened fire at random, and was greatly surprised to see him go into a spinning dive, but it looked suspicious, and I watched. A little below me he regained control. I dived vertically after him, but was diving too fast, so shot right by him, and he turned away and tried to escape, diving in the opposite direction. I had a second dive after him, but he again went into a spin, even before I had opened fire, and continued spinning straight into the clouds, where I lost him. I had the comfort, however, of knowing that he was not very happy in that spin, as all the time he was going down I was rattling away at him with my guns.
Fifteen minutes later, I brought down that fortieth machine. I had seen a two-seater at a tremendous height above me, just a speck in the sky. I was not sure at the moment whether he was British or German, and decided, as there was nothing more interesting, to fly in his direction. He was about two miles our side of the lines, and I imagine now that he was busy taking photographs. When I was about a mile away he saw me, and headed for home. I was still 2,000 feet underneath him, and owing to climbing, was not approaching very fast. However, he did the thing I wished for most of all; he put his nose down to lose height, and gain more speed. I was much faster than he was, so I flew level. In a few minutes he had reached my level, and was still losing height. We were now four or five miles inside his own lines, and I was also losing height slightly to gain greater speed. Finally I managed to get partly into the blind spot underneath his tail, and was rather amused at the observer firing away merrily all the time at me, even when he could hardly see me. I decided to stay there for a minute, in the hope that his gun would jam, or something of that sort happen. Then I proposed to dash in and finish him off at close range. But we travelled on another two miles without anything happening, and had now come down to 6,000 feet. It was getting too low for my liking, and we were too far from home, so opening my machine full out I shot in to seventy-five yards from him, and fired. One burst did the trick, and he began falling in every conceivable sort of way. I rather hoped he would go into flames or fall to pieces, but nothing of that sort occurred, and finally, in a spinning nose dive, he crashed into a field.
Then I had one of the nastiest times of my life; the return trip home. At 6,000 feet I started. Every anti-aircraft gun in the neighbourhood opened fire at me, and they did some wonderful shooting that day. Everywhere I turned there seemed to be huge shells bursting. Several times I heard the little “plank” as they hit my machine in some place, and once quite a large piece struck a plane. I decided that I would lose still more height, in order to come home at a tremendous pace, but in my excitement had forgotten which way the wind was blowing, and have later decided that was why I was such an easy mark. I was going straight into the teeth of a forty-mile gale, and consequently my speed was much slower than I thought it was. The “Archie” people seemed to have gone mad or anxious to use up all the ammunition they had in France; anyway, the air was black with bursting shells, and after I had finally reached the lines I looked back, and for five miles could see a path of black smoke from the shells which had been fired at me. They must have fired five hundred in all, but luckily I was still intact.
One day, just at this time, I had truly a wonderful surprise. It had been a very rainy day, and as there was no flying I went over to lunch with a cousin of mine, who was stationed only three miles away. After luncheon I returned, and upon seeing my new squadron commander, went up to speak to him. He told me that the General in command of the Flying Corps had been trying to get me on the telephone, and said he wanted to speak to me when I came in. I could not imagine why so important a person as the General should want to speak to “little me,” but rang him up. My cup of happiness overflowed when he told me that he wanted to be the first to congratulate me upon being awarded the Victoria Cross.
Chapter XXI
I could hardly hold myself down after hearing the great news. Walking across the aerodrome to the squadron headquarters, which was stationed on the other side, I had tea with the men there and then came back. The next night we had a big celebration in the way of a dinner, and managed to collect guests who came quite big distances to be there. It was a wonderful success, lasting until after midnight, and several of our guests remained all night and returned early the next morning.
I had a most exciting fight soon after this. The Germans seemed to know my machine, which I had had specially marked with red, white and blue paint, and in nearly every fight I found that many attempts were made to trap me. Several times I had very narrow escapes in getting away, but always managed at the last moment to squeeze out of it.
It was while flying just under the clouds, I suspected a trap, as the machine with which I was fighting did not seem particularly anxious to come to close quarters, so I pulled my machine back and “zoomed” up through the clouds. The layer was very thin, and I suddenly emerged in blue sky on the upper side, and just as I did so, I saw the last of a group of German scouts diving vertically. A little to one side, there was a huge black burst of German high explosive. The whole thing was obvious to me at once. The pilot under the clouds had led me to this particular spot, while the people above had been signalled when to dive through to get me.
My revenge was very sweet, because in the heat of the moment, not mi
nding the odds, I dived after them. I came out to find them still diving in front of me, so being not far from one machine, and directly behind it, I opened fire with both guns. It did not need careful shooting; the man went down, never knowing he was hit, continuing his dive straight into the ground. I then pulled up and climbed back into the clouds, and over them, and got away without even a bullet hole in my machine.
That same afternoon I had several more fights, and ran up against my silver friend again. He was a most persistent rascal, although not very brave in actual fight, and would never leave me alone when I was trying to quit a combat. Several times he followed me right back over our own side of the lines, firing every chance he could get. But even when he was fairly certain my; guns were not working, he would not come to close quarters, which, however, was probably lucky for me. He was not a good shot from long range, but the next day he managed to get underneath one of our machines and shot it about quite badly, causing it to return at once and land, seriously damaged.
Several indecisive fights took place about this time, much on the same lines as many others I have described ; each one as exciting as the others, but much the same story, both sides ending by breaking off the combats and returning. Several times we lost pilots, and also several times others of the squadron shot down enemy machines.
The weather was very bad for some time after this, and although we prayed and prayed for just a few days to get a chance to fight, each morning would find us more restless and worked up because there did not seem to be a chance to get into the air at all.
I was especially keen at this time to fly every moment that was possible, because I had learned a few days before, that I would likely be returned to England shortly, for a job there of some sort. I was not at all keen on this, but being a soldier it was not, of course, my opinion that counted, and my work was simply to do as I was told, and to go where I was sent.
Winged Warfare Page 15
