Von Richthofen: The Legend Evaluated

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  The Germans were also doing a lot of ground strafing by mid-1917, with purpose-designed aeroplanes formed into Schlachtstaffebz, Schlastas for short. They were all two-seaters and began with the AEG CIV, which had an armoured belly and was armed with a Spandau and a Parabellum. The Hannover CLIII, weighing 2378 lb, was also armour-plated underneath and had a Spandau and a Parabellum. The Junkers JI, with two Spandaus for the pilot and a Parabellum for the observer, had so much armour that it weighed 4787 lb. The Halberstadt CLII carried a Spandau and a Parabellum, had an armoured floor and, weighing 2532 lb, was the most manoeuvrable in avoiding ground fire. Neither the British nor the French had special ground-attack aeroplanes.

  Manfred also painted a grim picture of big bomber formations swarming over German territory, which his fighters must intercept.

  His own Jasta was at readiness on the morning of 6 July and ordered up to deal with ground strafers over the trenches. They were at 12,000 ft, which suggests that their original targets had finished their work and gone home before Jasta 11 could tackle them, when some FE2es of 20 Squadron came in sight. He heard Kurt Wolff, his No. 2, open fire just before he himself was attacked. The Fee’s observer started shooting at such long range that Manfred had not yet cocked his guns, because he did not think he could be hit from 300 yards. The Fee turned head-on and Manfred intended to turn in astern as soon as it next changed direction. ‘Suddenly I felt a blow on my head. I had been hit. For a moment I was completely paralysed. My hands dropped to my sides, my legs were limp. The worst part was that the blow on my head had affected the optic nerve and I was completely blinded. The machine dived and I doubted that the wings could stand it.’

  He was still conscious but unable to take hold of the control column. He managed to switch off the fuel and ignition. He could see nothing, not even the strong sunlight penetrated his eyes. When he was down to an estimated one or two thousand metres, he found his vision returning. He had some control over the Albatros but it kept steepening its glide into a dive. When he could read the altimeter it showed 800 metres. He restarted the engine and looked around. There were shell holes in every direction, but he saw a forest that he knew was behind German lines. His pilots had followed and he was soon down to fifty metres, but still there were only shell craters in which to land. He decided to fly eastwards for as long as he remained conscious. Presently he started blacking out again, so crash-landed near a road, tangling with broken telephone wires. Unable to climb out, he had to wait until help arrived. His pilots also put down near him. Soldiers appeared, recognised his aeroplane and he was soon in hospital at Courtrai. ‘I had quite a respectable hole in my head’. The wound was about two inches long and exposed his skull, which was fractured.

  He admitted that his immediate anxiety was lest Lothar were passed fit for flying before him.

  Nobody claimed to have shot the Red Baron down, but the evidence points to second Lieutenant A.E. Woodbridge, an observer who fired several bursts at him. The pilot, Capt C.A. Cunnell, was killed in action six days later when flying with a different observer who flew the aircraft back to base.

  Interviewed about the fight eleven years later, Woodbridge said: ‘Of course, neither Cunnell nor I had any idea that it was the Baron himself with whom we were exchanging pot shots, and, for that matter, I don’t know it yet, but I must say that Richthofen’s account of the fight coincides exactly with our reports made at the time and my recollections of that damned busy forty minutes we had with his flock of red Albatros scouts.’

  This appears to bear out that all Jasta 11’s aeroplanes were now painted solid red, in which event the original purpose, to make their leader easily recognisable, must have been abandoned.

  CHAPTER 14 - THE FOKKER TRIPLANE ENTERS SERVICE

  If Woodbridge’s bullet, fired from a range at which Manfred thought he was safe, had given him his final comeuppance, the lives of sixteen Britons, the wounding of four and capture of eight might not have happened; but, given the frequency and ferocity of the air battles and the skill of many other German pilots, many of these inflictions were probably inevitable anyway.

  The severe head wound had a profound effect on Manfred’s brain. His head had to be shaved and a bandage wrapped round it that reached down to his ears. The alteration to his appearance was temporary, whereas the change in his behaviour was permanent. As the effect of the anaesthetic faded, his head began to ache and for the few months that were left to him the pain would constantly recur and affect his conduct.

  Like all good commanders in every war, on land, at sea or in the air, he had the devotion of his officers and men. More than that, he had become an icon held in awe and affection as well as admiration. His Administrative Officer, Oberleutnant Karl Bodenschatz, and three of the squadron commanders visited him in hospital as soon as they were allowed and had to answer a barrage of questions about his welfare when they got back. Oberleutnant Kurt von Döring was temporarily commanding JG1 and Leutnant Kurt Wolff had taken over Jasta 11.

  When Manfred arrived home for a few days his mother was shocked to find that his wound had not yet healed and he had to go to a clinic every day for the dressing to he changed. ‘He does not look good and is irritable’ she wrote in Mein Kriegstagebuch (My War Diary). She asked him not to fly any more, to which he replied, ‘Who would fight the war if we all thought like that? The soldier in the trenches? When the professional fails in leadership, the situation soon becomes as it is in Russia.’

  She reminded him that in the Army everyone was given regular rests behind the lines, whereas he fought every day. His retort was, ‘Would you be happy if I were to rest on my laurels?’

  One evening when his persistent headache drove him early to bed, a group of locals called to pay him homage. His father felt duty-hound to rouse him. He reluctantly got up to meet them in a vile mood plain to everyone. After the intruders had left, Kunigunde Freifrau von Richthofen asked him to try to be friendly on such occasions in future. He told her that his best reward was not demonstration of admiration by civilians, it was when infantrymen, regardless of danger, climbed out of the trenches to ‘shout joyfully at me and I look into their grey faces, worn by hunger, battle and loss of sleep’. There is an honest depth of compassion there that he would never have expressed to anyone but his immediate family.

  Another secret he confided to his mother was that he had for a long time corresponded with a girl whom he wished to marry, but ‘not as long as I am liable to die any day’.

  Manfred’s absence did not immediately affect JG1’s fortunes. On the first day under his deputy’s command, it shot down ten RFC machines in the course of three patrols: on each of which the Albatroses considerably outnumbered the Sopwith Triplanes and 1½-strutters they fought. During the next few days Wolff was wounded and had to hand over command to a successor who had not yet won any victories but was his senior. Air activity was increasing and JG1’s losses mounting. Von Döring kept Manfred in touch with events. His tactic of sending up big formations had been dropped by a more senior officer at 4th Army HQ in favour of patrols in squadron strength. Moreover, these were confined to a specific area, like the old-fashioned barrier patrols. Fighter tactics had changed considerably and this was a retrograde step ordered by a Staff officer who knew as much about the subject as a Tibetan lama would know about ballroom dancing. Outraged, Manfred wrote in protest and, at the same time, complained about the quality of the current German fighters. The Sopwith Triplane, Spad 7 and Sopwith Camel were not only superior to the Albatros DV but also outnumbered it.

  On 25 July Manfred returned to JG1, although still grounded, bringing the good news that the Geschwader was about to receive Fokker triplanes, the latest scouts, with, he was promised, a phenomenal rate of climb and superb handling qualities. Despite his stricture of the Albatros, there was information to gladden him: in the last few days JG1 had shot down a Sopwith Triplane and a Camel.

  It was his expressed principle that, in the air, the commander of a Geschwader should no
t boss his squadron commanders around too much. They must have unconditional freedom in the area in which he has ordered them to operate. In other respects, he was stern as well as sensible. Dissatisfied with Jasta 10’s commander, who ignored instructions always to fly in numbers and used to go hunting alone, he replaced him with twenty-year-old Werner Voss, who had rapidly built up a score of thirty-four kills. Voss had begun by enlisting in the hussars, transferred to the air service as an observer, qualified as a pilot and served with Manfred in Boelcke’s Jasta 2. His pleasant personality endeared him to his comrades and he was as merciful as possible to the enemy. When he left his bomber squadron he was the only survivor of all the pilots and observers who had been on its strength when he joined. Seeing so many of his friends shot down in flames, he had such sympathy for all two-seater crews that he habitually fired at the engine in order to give them a chance of survival. This was genuine chivalry. He was a Jew — lucky that he was destined to die before Hitler got his hands on Germany.

  The RFC let Manfred know that they were aware of his return to the fray: No. 100 Squadron bombed the Marcke airfield. He was still grounded.

  The Allies’ capture of Messines Ridge was the preliminary to the Third Battle of Ypres, launched on 31 July 1917 with the customary artillery barrage. British air activity concurrently became more intense, but Manfred, not wishing to commit his Albatroses in large numbers to do battle with Sopwith Triplanes, Spad 7s and Camels, temporarily sent up one squadron or fewer at a time.

  On 16 August, leading a formation of five in his favourite formation, an arrowhead with two aircraft echeloned on each side and stepped up from front to rear, he flew for the first time since being wounded. They intercepted some Nieuport 7s; he sent one into a spin by shooting it in the engine and fuel tank, followed it down and, with unnecessary savagery, gave it a final burst that sent the already doomed machine plunging into the ground. The sortie wearied him so much that he went to bed.

  Four victories on the next day, in which he did not share, brought Jasta 11’s total to 200 and Manfred ordered a bottle of champagne: a rare event, as, in his view, alcohol affected fitness to fly, so there was little drinking in his Geschwader. The double century elicited a congratulatory telegram from General Hoeppner. This encouraged Manfred to write to HQ 4th Army, under whose orders JG1 operated, and point out that his pilots were overburdened. After having made long flights escorting bombers or ground-attack aircraft, they were tired and should not be required for combat patrols on the same day. This was heeded and Hoeppner signalled him again, expressing the wish that he should not fly unnecessarily until completely recovered from his wound.

  On the morning of 26 August Manfred took advantage of a justifiable reason for flying. At the head of a five-formation, he caught up with a lone Spad 7 at 3,000 metres, which he thought must he seeking a low-flying German artillery spotter. ‘When he came out of sun I attacked him. He tried to escape by diving, I shot at him and he disappeared in cloud. I followed him and saw him explode at about 500 metres altitude. The new very bad incendiary ammunition did a lot of damage to my pressure and intake pipes, etc. and it would have been impossible to follow a slightly wounded adversary.’

  What a pity that it didn’t do fatal damage and kill him: anyone defying the Geneva Convention and using the bullets that Mannock had bitterly condemned, deserved to die in flames himself.

  He had still not recovered physically or mentally from his wound, as revealed in a letter to his mother two days later. ‘I am glad to hear that Lothar is continuing to improve, but he should not be allowed to return to the front before he is fully fit. If he is allowed to do otherwise, he will suffer a relapse or be shot down. I speak from experience. I have made only two combat flights since my return. Both were successful, but after both I was completely exhausted. During the first one I was nearly airsick. My wound is healing very slowly and still as large as a five-mark piece. Yesterday they removed another splinter of bone, which I think will be the last.’

  On 28 August two Fokker Triplanes were delivered and Voss took one up to demonstrate it to the other pilots. On 1 September, he and Manfred each flying a Triplane, accompanied by three Albatroses, caught an RE8 whose pilot and observer probably assumed the triplanes to be RNAS Sopwiths. Manfred shot it down, his 60th victory, which would be celebrated by the last of his commemorative cups: the jeweller in Berlin informed him that no more silver would be available; another wartime dearth.

  On 3 September, flying his triplane at the head of four Albatroses in V formation, he fought a flight of Sopwith Pups. This time, he did not display the merciless determination to kill that lay deep in his character, but allowed his adversary to crash land from respect for him. The Pup pilot kept shooting right down to fifty metres altitude, strafed a column of infantry in the last few seconds before flaring out to make his landing, then deliberately smashed his aeroplane by ramming a tree.

  Manfred now went on four weeks’ leave, during which, of course, he spent most of his time shooting birds and four-legged game.

  CHAPTER 15 - IN ACTION AGAIN AND THE FOKKER TRIPLANE’S DEFECTS

  While Manfred was on leave, Wolff, with 33 victories and Voss with 48 were killed.

  On 25 September Lothar rejoined Jasta 11 and took over from its acting commander, Leutnant Groos, who had been wounded eleven days earlier but refused to go to hospital. Thenceforth Manfred, wondering how fast his brother was catching him up in the victory stakes before he could also return to the fray, must have been as uncomfortable as a nudist sitting on an ants’ nest.

  His game-hunting holiday ended on 30 September. He wrote to his mother to say he was very glad to hear of Lothar’s sudden recovery and looked forward to flying with him again and giving the ‘English’ a hard time together. He was no less pleased about his ‘sporting’ activities: ‘My bag during the past fortnight has not been bad, a large elk, three excellent stags and a buck. I am quite proud of my record, as Dad has shot only three stags in his life. I am going to Berlin today and will be with you within a week.’

  Although he was proud of the place he held in the esteem and affection of his compatriots and appreciative of the public demonstrations that welcomed him wherever he went, he never became swollen-headed or showed off. Despite his enormous innate self-confidence, he was essentially shy and guarded about his personal life. Although he had enjoyed sharing in the convivial side of life in an officers’ mess, when he became an airman he immediately recognised that carousing was incompatible with flying.

  Going about his leisure activities, he tried to be self-effacing. On the way by train to Berlin and the next appointment of his leave, he shared a compartment with a civilian who described how Manfred turned up his greatcoat collar and went to sleep. When he woke and was recognised he chatted unaffectedly for the rest of the journey and, before alighting at their destination, hid his Blue Max under his tunic so that he would not attract attention.

  A military friend who often entertained him at home said that although his manners in mixed company were impeccable, ‘he was not a ladies’ man in the usual sense of the term’, although women clearly found him attractive. Mobbed by them at a race meeting, he politely signed the race cards they thrust at him, whereas most other celebrities would have been annoyed. ‘He never put on airs or posed.’

  *

  A Fokker Triplane direct from the factory awaited his arrival back in command of JG1 on 23 October. His pleasure at this was dampened by the events of the next few days. First, there was an incident of the ‘friendly fire’ that has always been a hazard of war and has become an increasingly frequent occurrence in the present century. One of his pilots was shot down and killed by an unidentified ‘friend’ who obviously mistook the Fokker Triplane for the more familiar Sopwith ‘Tripe’. Next, when the Richthofen brothers took off the following morning for their first patrol together for nearly half a year, Manfred noticed that Lothar’s triplane was flying in a highly irregular fashion that compelled him to cut the engine a
nd glide back to the ground. Manfred followed him and was astonished to see that, although the machine landed safely, it immediately started to break up; a dire warning about its structural defects. Next day, another Jasta 11 pilot was killed in a crash caused by the collapse of his top wing. On 2 November all Fokker Triplanes were grounded and an investigation into the causes of the accidents began. The German aerodynamicists were plainly inferior to the British and French. Moreover, this type was not an original Anthony Fokker design, but merely an attempt to copy the Sopwith.

  For the time being, the Geschwader flew only the Albatros DV and the recently received Pflaz DIII, neither of which was a match for the Camel, the Sopwith Triplane or, in the hands of above average pilots such as 56 Squadron’s, the SE5A. The wings (which were still likely to collapse) of Manfred’s Albatros DV, tailplane and fin were now the only components bearing his distinctive red paint.

  Fog, rain and low cloud hindered flying for several days, during which the whole Jadgeschwader moved to airfields near Cambrai, where the battle of that name had begun on 20 November with a surprise attack by British tanks and infantry, not heralded this time by a long artillery bombardment.

  During the next seven days Manfred sent down his sixty-second and sixty-third British aircraft. One of his pilots, Leutnant Hans Klein, became the twenty-ninth fighter pilot to win the Blue Max, the seventh under his command to be thus honoured.