Book IV

by Robert P McAuley

  In an instant, Rickenbacker was aware that his Spad had just passed John’s and he looked back to see John now on his tail, the speed brake now flush against the aircraft’s belly.

  The commander laughed out loud and said to himself, “Ha! Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. He’s a ringer! He bested me! Damn, I have to get that contraption on my machine.” He looped and slid left and right only to see John still on his tail. Finally, he threw his arm up, and John slid in next to him. They flew back to the field and landed in formation.

  When the fighters finished rolling to a stop, Rickenbacker jumped out and ran to John as he was getting out of Number 13. He slapped him on the back. “John, when did you guys come up with that? That’s great. Are they going to put it into production?”

  John had a little white lie ready for him and said, “That’s one of the reasons I’m here, Captain. To see how it works in combat. I’m to see if I can go up against a Hun, and best him, using this.”

  “This what? What’s it called?”

  “It’s called a speed brake. It creates a drag on the fighter and slows her down real fast. Before the other fellow realizes it, he’s in the front of your guns.”

  “Great! I want one too.” He turned to the maintenance officer who was collecting money from the others and said, “Lieutenant Belli, can you put one together tonight for me?”

  The young man shook his head no. “Sorry, Captain, can’t. We used the last spare control stick on Number 13. But give me a few days and it’ll be ready.”

  Rickenbacker continued as he crawled under John’s Spad, “Ingenious! Just ingenious.” He turned to John. “Tomorrow we go up with a two-seater that Headquarters wants us to escort over the lines. They think the Germans are getting ready for an offensive and want some pictures. I’ll bet the Hun will be there too. Can you be ready at four?”

  “I’ll be ready, Captain. In the meantime, I want to tighten up a few wires on thirteen. Just some fine tuning.”

  “Good,” answered the commander as he started back to his office. By that time, most of the group were under the Spad, and wanted to know all about this innovation.

  John went back to the hangar tent when Belli and the mechanics went to chow. He sat up in the cockpit of Number 13 and took out the communicator hairbrush, pressed down and turned it to show the small keyboard. He typed in:

  BILL, I’M GETTING SET TO GO OUT TOMORROW ON THE MISSION RICKENBACKER HAS THE PROBLEM ON. SCARED AS ALL GET OUT, BUT FEELING GOOD ABOUT MY LITTLE SPAD. SHE GIVES A GOOD RIDE AND IS QUICK AND RELIABLE. I BUILT A LITTLE ADD-ON SPEED BRAKE FOR DOGFIGHTING. HOPE THIS DOESN’T MESS UP TIME IN ANY WAY BY INTRODUCING A NEW INVENTION BEFORE ITS TIME. WILL CONTACT YOU AFTER THE MISSION. JOHN B.

  He sent it and two minutes later the device vibrated in his pocket. A message was coming back from Bill Scott in 2011:

  HELLO JOHN. GOOD TO HEAR FROM YOU AND GLAD ALL’S GOING WELL. DON’T WORRY ABOUT INTRODUCING SOMETHING NEW. THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IS THE MISSION. TEXT ME BACK WHEN THE MISSION IS COMPLETE. BILL.

  John put the message unit away and went off to relax in his tent. Got to get up early and be sharp tomorrow. It’s gonna be the flight of my life.

  At four o’clock the following morning, the orderly shook him awake. He dressed in the dark as he listened to engines being warmed up. It was raining and the field was covered in fog as he walked over to the mess tent. He felt butterflies in his stomach as he realized the outcome of today’s flight could change the lives of so many people to come. And, the outcome depended on him.

  He entered the tent that served the group it’s chow and spotted Rickenbacker, Dowd and Divers drinking coffee. All were talking with their hands as they relived past missions using one hand as the enemy and the other as themselves. They dived and zoomed as pilots had done ever since the beginning of flight, in 1903.

  The commander waved John over and he grabbed a mug of coffee and joined them.

  “Morning all,” he said sitting down. They greeted him and Rickenbacker got right down to business.

  “Guys, Headquarters wants us to escort a two-seat B.E. 2C over the lines. They think the Hun’s going to attack and need some photos of the area to see if there’s a buildup.” He took a sip, then continued, “Now, the two-seater has to fly at three thousand feet to get the best results, but if we want to catch some Huns, we’re going up to eight thousand feet. Forecast says the sun will be up by then and at our back, so we’ll be sitting pretty if the Hun attack the photo plane.”

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The word is, there are talks going on and the war may be over any day now, so I don’t want to lose anyone.” He sat back and continued, “However, I think it’s necessary that we keep pressure on the Hun. And it doesn’t hurt that they usually go after the two-seaters, so we have a good chance of getting some victories for the group today. Anyway men, stay aggressive, but stay safe. Got it?”

  They all nodded.

  “Now,” he turned to John, “as you guys know Captain Brand is from Air Training Command, stateside. He has that little speed brake gizmo attached to his crate as you saw yesterday. Today, his job is to hopefully, engage the Hun and see firsthand how it works.” He took a sip of coffee then continued. “I have a feeling it’ll turn out to be a big advantage for our side, and I want John to get home and teach that maneuver to all the new guys coming along.”

  He looked at his watch. “Takeoff time is eleven fifteen, weather permitting. The photo aircraft needs good light for his mission.” He finished his coffee and said, “I’m going to take advantage of the downtime to do some more of the danged paperwork. See you guys later.”

  He left and Dowd asked John if he wanted to play cards with them but John begged off saying he wanted to check the aircraft.

  Walking back to the operation’s tent, he thought, Boy, they’re a couple of great guys and I’d love to play cards with them. But, I just don’t feel right making friends with people that are twenty plus years in my past. It seems unfair somehow, like I’m lying to them. He went back to check on Number 13.

  John looked out at ten-thirty and saw the fog lifting as the sun struggled to burn through. He double-checked the twin Vickers guns and the speed brake for the umpteenth time, then walked slowly to the hangar to put on his flying clothes as the butterflies returned.

  At eleven o’clock, the mechanics rolled out the aircraft and all four pilots climbed into their respective Spads. Rickenbacker started his engine and the others followed. Soon all four signaled that all was good with their aircraft and taxied to the starting point on the grass runway.

  Takeoff was becoming normal for John as he advanced the throttle and bumped down the grass strip following the commander after the thirty-second separation. Dowd and Divers followed, and they joined up over the field. Finally, Rickenbacker waggled his wings and pointed the aircraft’s nose east.

  They headed east and did a slow climb until they reached five thousand feet. They circled over Chervou Aerodrome as the two-seat photo aircraft slowly climbed to its assigned altitude of three thousand feet. It headed east with the four escorts above.

  Once again Rickenbacker waggled his wings and pointed up, signaling the start of the climb of his group to eight thousand feet.

  Alone in his wood and canvas cockpit John felt the cold creeping under his clothing. He became aware of little things he had never thought of before. He constantly swiveled his head looking for the enemy while listening to every noise his Spad made.

  What was that? He thought. Did the engine just miss? He checked the few gauges he had, over and over, only to check them again. All were good. And the cold! I’ve never been so cold in my life! he suddenly realized. He had flown this high many times, yet had never felt the cold so much. It’s combat! I’m nervous! Damn, he thought, I’ve got to control this, I’ve got to remember that I know what’s going to happen and stay calm.

  He saw Rickenbacker and the other pilots looking down for the enemy they hoped to catch from abo
ve. They weren’t noticing John’s Spad slowly falling behind. With an effort John pulled his long glove down and checked the time. Twelve-twenty five. Got to get some more height to pull this off. He added power and gently raised the Spad’s nose toward the blue sky above. Number 13 started slowly climbing in the thin air as the other Spads continued their flight at the lower altitude. If they noticed my departure from their flight, he thought, there’s nothing they can do about it at this point. Their main task is to provide cover for that photo recon aircraft below them.

  John finally got his fighter up to nine thousand feet, and was just below a large white cloud when he looked up and thought he saw something. What was that? He nudged his fighter up into the cloud’s base. Once inside the cloud, he noticed it was easier to see through it and spotted shadows above him. Aircraft! he realized. They’re about to pounce on the flight! He looked down and saw Rickenbacker and the others just as they started their dive on the two German fighters now attacking the two-seater below.

  The shadows quickly got sharper as they flew through the cloud, heading for the diving Spads below. They zoomed past without seeing John, and he quickly pushed his nose down and pursued the three red enemy triplanes, one with a white tail.

  Damn! I should have started my dive as soon as I saw them, he thought, as the three planes pulled away from him. John opened the throttle all the way and stood the Spad on its nose, finally picking up ground on them.

  The Germans were so absorbed as they watched Rickenbacker’s group that they didn’t notice John diving on them.

  John went all out to get the enemy in range, before they got into range of his group. The wind screamed through the wires of his biplane as it shuddered through the air and he felt the aircraft vibrate in the sharp dive. He realized his effort was too late, the enemy was going to strike before he would be able to stop them.

  No! It’s no use, he thought, they’re going to reach the group before I can get them in range . . . unless. John squeezed off a burst at the enemy aircraft, and, even though they were out of range, the chatter of his guns made them break off their attack. The three diving, red triplanes flew off into different directions.

  “I’ve done it!” shouted an elated John. “I’ve completed my mission and saved Rickenbacker!” He watched as his group circled the two-seater and began to head for home. John stayed at a higher altitude to watch over them as they flew toward safety.

  All was fine in John Brand’s world as he sat at six thousand feet and watched the trenches glide by. Suddenly, red-and-black puffs of antiaircraft artillery started bursting around him. They were pretty shades of black, red and orange but John knew they were packed with deadly explosives that could blow him out of the sky. He started jinking his fighter around to mess up their aim. Well, he thought as it stopped, that seemed to have worked. They quit shooting at me.

  Suddenly his instrument panel exploded in a shower of sparks, glass and wood splinters. One of his Vicker’s machine guns was knocked off its mount and his small windshield was blown away. Instinctively he pushed the stick forward and dived.

  “What the heck . . .!” he shouted as he looked back over his shoulder, only to see a red Fokker with a white tail peppering his Spad whenever he straightened out. Damn! he thought. No wonder the antiaircraft guns stopped. They didn’t want to shoot down their own guy.

  John threw the aircraft around the sky as he looked at the broken gauges. This guy must have circled around and climbed up after I forced him to break off his attack. If there’s good news, he thought, it’s that the engine seems to be okay and so do the controls.

  John looked to where he thought Rickenbacker and the group might be, but the sky seemed empty, except for him and the triplane on his tail.

  Another burst riddled his right wing, separating some wires as he quickly twisted away, only to see a burst fly over his left wing. This guy is good, he thought as he flipped upside down and dove towards the ground. He was wringing wet as he sat as low as possible, knowing the wood and canvas behind him gave no protection at all.

  “Damn! Where’s the group?” he said, looking around as he put the Spad into every twist and turn he could think of. Damn! Not even a cloud in the sky to hide in, he thought as he continued to jink his aircraft every which way. Another burst caught his fighter in the tail. He was shaking when he remembered the words he used to instill confidence in his trainees, You are the best fighter pilot in the world, and in combat if you remember that, you’re more than halfway to beating your opponent.

  Suddenly he recalled why he was picked to be here. Hey! This is the only combat I’m going to get in this lifetime, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose to some guy from the past.

  He put his hand on the second control stick and, knowing he had to make the guy behind him cocky, flew in a straight line for a millisecond. The enemy sensed his moment, steadied and fired a burst just as John pulled back on the stick, which pushed the speed brake down and out into the wind. Immediately his Spad seemed to stumble in the air and lose speed, allowing the red Fokker to fly over and slide in front, giving John a shot at him. He felt his finger tighten up on the remaining Vickers’s trigger as he saw the enemy pilot look back with amazement and grave concern on his face.

  He suddenly let go of the trigger as he thought, Wait! What am I doing? I can’t kill him! I don’t know if he died in this war, or what he went on to become.

  Now John was in a quandary. Well John, what now? he thought as he copied every move the Fokker made. I’ve got the tiger by the tail, and if I scoot he’ll catch me, and my family line is over. Yet I can’t take his life.

  He looked around but still there was no help from his group. Frustrated he thought, The mission is completed. It’s now getting down to him or me. He checked his fuel. The gauge was broken and he had no idea how much he had left in his tank. Man, I have to do something fast, he thought, as he once again started tightening his trigger finger. Wait! I’m the best and I’ve got some tricks he’d never think of. I’m going to take out his propeller, and if he’s as good as he seems, he’ll be able to land his crate and walk away.

  John pulled his nose up for a fraction of a second then dived, accelerating a bit and swooped over the top of the enemy fighter as he tried to drag his wheels through the Fokker’s propeller. He missed and found himself out in front again.

  The enemy pilot lost no time and fired off a burst chewing up some more of John’s rudder. Damn! John thought as he quickly pulled his speed brake down, putting him in the rear again.

  John once again pulled up, then dived trying to damage the triplane’s prop, and once again the red fighter quickly dipped its nose and John missed, only to receive another burst from the enemy’s twin Spandau machine guns.

  How many times do I do this, he thought, as he once again pulled down his speed brake, before he gets a good burst in me?

  The enemy pilot looked back and wondered what the heck was going on with this crazy American as John once again swooped down on him. This time John’s wheel missed but his tail passed through the arc of the enemy aircraft’s wooden propeller, shattering it, and some of John’s control cables along with it.

  Damn! he thought as he fought his loose controls. He looked over and saw the red Fokker going down alongside him minus a good piece of his prop. He couldn’t help but think, as he tipped his helmet in a short salute, Well fella’, good luck to you,

  His Spad was vibrating as he fluttered over no-man’s-land. He saw a small patch that was relatively flat and willed his fighter toward it. He hit tail first and it snapped off, sending the front end along the muddy landscape, finally ending nose down in a trench. John quickly shut off the ignition and unfastened the safety belt as German artillery started dropping around him.

  “ ‘ere mate,” said a voice from the trench, “take me ‘and.”

  John saw a group of soldiers in the trench. One reached out for him and pulled him, head over heels, into the safety of the muddy trench. A smiling Aussie annou
nced that he was safe behind the Allied lines. He said they saw it all and if John shared a cup of tea with them, they’d phone up to headquarters that he downed a Hun. He joined them in their tea and was more than a little surprised, that they didn’t seem to take the German shelling too serious as they brewed their tea, deep in the trench. An hour later an Aussie motorcyclist drove him back to the airfield.

  As he got out off the motorcycle Rickenbacker and the rest of the Ninety-Fourth greeted him. The commander slapped him on the back saying, “Men, Captain Brand and his secret weapon saved a bunch of us today, not to mention the photos that we got back to HQ.” He looked at John and continued, “The Aussies in the trenches phoned us about the fight you had up there today. They also said you downed a Hun.” He slapped his back again. “Sounds like you got to complete your mission, John.”

  John smiled as he said, “Yes, sir, Captain, the speed brake worked and I have some combat time to pass along to the next batch of students.”

  John realized he wasn’t lying about that. As he wiped mud from his face he saw a red spot of blood from a slight cut on his cheek.

  “You’re wounded!” said Rickenbacker, as he looked closely at John’s forehead. “You get to wear the Purple Heart, Captain Brand.” The commander smiled his big grin and continued, “I just have to imagine the boys back at Air Training will be a jealous group now.”

  John shook his head and said, “Sorry about ‘ol number 13 captain.”

  “Don’t worry about that John, Lieutenant Belli will put in for a new replacement plane and I’ll get to be the pilot.” Rickenbacker walked him back to the operations tent and asked, “So, what’s next?”

  “I’m going to head out tomorrow,” answered John.

  “So soon?” asked the commander with a look of surprise. “Want to try bagging another one tomorrow?”