The Mammoth Book of Fighter Pilots (20 page)

Thereafter I began to feel annoyed, as there were dozens of Huns up, and our pilots, I could see from the ground, had their hands fairly full. So I decided to get back to our advanced landing ground, so as to borrow a machine and get up again while activity was about normal. I tried to borrow a car at Artillery Headquarters, but they were not having any, so I made up my mind to walk. I was in a pair of long heavy thigh boots, more vulgarly known by pilots as “fug boots,” and that afternoon I walked six miles in those boots through mud and slush and all manner of things, to a railhead near Velu, where I was told that I could board a train for Bapaume. Whilst on my way to Velu I saw a German two-seater come miles over our lines unmolested, apparently on an urgent reconnaissance, for he was very low, not more than 3,000 feet, and his six-cylinder engine made a very loud roar.

By Jove! I was fed up to be sitting on the ground and seeing that insolent Hun come over getting just what information he wanted. I watched him till he flew back over his own lines, and then I resumed my walk. I boarded the train at Velu about 5 p.m., and was given some tea by some Canadian railway engineers who had constructed the railroad on which we were.

We waited for some time and then started. On the way we discussed the German push, and I remember they were not too optimistic, for they had been told to get as many of their trucks back as possible.

We passed the landing ground about 6 p.m., and I jumped off and made my way to the aerodrome, where I boarded a tender that was going to Albert immediately, where I arrived very soon, and then got back to my Squadron, after having a very exciting day’s work. That night the breakdown party arrived out where my machine and the Hun were. They fitted a new propeller to my machine and burnt my perfectly priceless brand-new Hun.

Their explanation was that the Huns were advancing and they did not know whether they would be cut off or not, so they fixed my machine up, and having burnt my Hun, skedaddled for Albert, home and beauty. Needless to say I was very much annoyed, for the Huns never did come anywhere near Havrincourt, where the burnt L.V.G. lay for months.

The next day I left camp in a tender with Corporal Rogers, my Scottish mechanic, who hailed “fra Glasgae,” at about 7 a.m., armed with a tool box and several bars of soap. We had a devil of a job getting near to my machine, as the roads were very congested, and at last we could get no further than Trescault, where we left the car and walked the remainder of the way to my machine, which was about half a mile away.

We got to the machine and ran the engine for a little while to warm it thoroughly, and then we stuffed two bars of soap into the large hole made by the Hun’s explosive bullet. Having done that we filled the radiators with water, and I at once took off. The water was pouring out, but I wanted at least to get the machine to a place farther away from the Hun shells, which were dropping around in generous quantities, so that we could fit a radiator in peace and quietness. So with my topping old S.E., with its radiator crammed full of soap, I flew as far as our advanced landing ground, where I landed without a drop of water. It had not hurt the engine at all, for it went well for weeks after that.

At the advanced landing ground the men very quickly fitted a new radiator, and that afternoon I arrived back at the camp, where I found that the party who went out to salve the L.V.G. had brought back its propeller and “spinner,” and its rudder and several odds and ends, also the black crosses off the wings, which always make very good screens in the mess.

After this I made a vow not to land alongside German machines again if I could possibly help it, for I am all against walking six miles through thick mud in large fugboots.

On the 3rd of December a new Factory-built S.E.5 came to my flight and I at once took it over. I gave my Martinsyde-built S.E. to the youngest member of the flight, for it was a very good one. Truscott was quite happy with the Martinsyde, so everything was well. My new S.E. was numbered A/4891, and was fitted with elevators with a narrow chord, which was an improvement, and it also had a new type of undercarriage which was much stronger than the others. (No doubt they knew that Factory machine would come to me.)

I set to work and very soon had my special gadgets fitted on, and got my guns and Constantinesco gear working, and by the 4th I was again ready for the Great War.

On December 5th, the visibility being good, I went up looking for photographic Rumplers, and had been up about an hour and was at 19,000 feet when I saw a Hun over Bourlon Wood coming west at about my height. I at once sneaked into the sun, and waited until the Hun was west of me, and then I flew north and cut him off from his lines. I very quickly secured a good firing position, and after firing a good burst from both guns the Rumpler went down in a vertical dive and all its wings fell off at 16,000 feet and the wreckage fell in our lines near Hermies. I went back to my aerodrome, landed, and after having had lunch took my patrol out for the afternoon sports.

We found several two-seaters over the Canal at Vendhuille, and after having sent them about their business we returned home at the end of our patrol, for the enemy activity was very slight.

The next day, December 6th, my patrol went over the lines at 10 a.m., and after being out an hour, and having some indecisive fighting, I saw a two-seater crossing our lines north of St. Quentin, so waited until he was getting to his business taking photographs. Then I appeared from the east and bore down on the Hun like an enraged farmer after a boy who was in his orchard stealing apples. I very soon put paid to the photographic D.F.W.’s bill, and he also fell to pieces, the wreckage falling in our lines near the Holnon Wood.

I now saw an L.V.G. coming north from over St. Quentin, but by the time I caught up with him he was a little too high to engage successfully, so I returned to my aerodrome and had lunch.

Afterwards my flight went off and got our height towards Havrincourt Wood, and about 3 p.m. crossed the lines at 12,000 feet over Gouzaucourt. Flying west we espied a patrol of Albatros scouts flying west over Bourlon Wood. They were slightly below us, and so I led my patrol north and then turned west behind the six V-strutters, who still flew on looking to the west. We closed on them, and I gave every one of my men time to pick a Hun before I fired and drew their attention.

It seemed to me very funny that six of us should be able to surprise six Huns so completely as to get within range before being seen. I closed on the Hun I had selected, and fired a short burst at him, after which he went down vertically with a stream of escaping petrol following him. I noticed he had a tail painted light blue.

By now I was in the middle of these Albatroses and saw that they were a patrol of good Huns whom we had fought before. They all had red noses and yellow fuselages, but each had a different coloured tail. There was a red, light blue – whom I sent to the sports – black, yellow, black and white striped, and our dear old “green-tail.” By Jove! They were a tough lot. We continued scrapping with them for half an hour, and they would not go down although we were above them most of the time.

This particular Albatros patrol were different from most Huns whom we met in that they would stay and fight, even when at a disadvantage, in a way that was disconcerting to behold. During the afore-mentioned fight, blue tail was the only Hun that went down, and eventually both patrols went away without any ammunition, for apparently the Huns had run out of ammunition at the same time as we had. It was awfully difficult for two good patrols to gain a decision, although one may fire all one’s bullets, for each individual is so good at manœuvring in defence that his opponent wastes a lot of bullets on empty air. We flew home that evening and at tea and toast discussed the afternoon’s sport, and were all agreed that the Huns whom we had fought that afternoon had been at the game for some time.

On this date I engaged a two-seater over Bourlon Wood and drove it down damaged. This machine had a biplane tail, and is now known as the Hannover. I mention this because the description of this new machine first appeared in February, 1918, about three months after I had first encountered it.

On December 10th I was leading my patrol above Bowman’s formation, and after chasing a two-seater east of St. Quentin we returned north, climbing, and then we saw some Albatroses over Le Câtelet, so we went over to wish them good-day. I went down on the rear Hun, who did not see me, and fired a short burst at him, but I was closing on him too fast, and I had to zoom up to avoid running into him. However, he went down emitting steam, and I hope his mechanics had to work all night fitting a new radiator.

We circled round the other V-strutters for a time and then came away, as they were too far east. I now missed Bowman’s patrol, who had flown up north, and at the end of my patrol flew back to our aerodrome. Here I found Bowman wandering gloomily round his machine, which had three main spars broken at the interplane struts. It happened like this: Bowman had seen my patrol tackling the Albatroses over Le Câtelet and so went up farther north in search of prey. Seeing a nice fat balloon down over the Bois de Vaucelles, he decided that it was insolent looking and should be reproved immediately. So Bowman “dived like Hell,” as he afterwards put it, with his adjustable tail fully forward to facilitate steep diving, and his bloodthirsty lads behind him. When a few hundred feet above the balloon, Bowman saw some Huns coming down on top of him, so he said, “That is no place for me,” and hoicked out of the dive with such vim that three wing-tips at once collapsed. He then said he looked at the wing-tips wobbling about like a jelly, and he was quite surprised when they did not break off. After falling some way out of control Bowman decided that life after all was worth living, so he resumed control and flew all the way back to the aerodrome at a speed not exceeding 65 m.p.h. so as not to impose too great a strain on his weakened wings. What had happened was that the spars of three out of four main planes had broken just outside the struts.

I should think that most people, after an experience like that, would have stopped flying for a while; but not so Bowman, for he was up the very next day. Bowman now tells me that he has finished with balloons and does not like them, and he has good cause, too. You will remember his first experience with a balloon on Mount Kemmel in the autumn of 1916, when we were both in the same squadron.

On December 12th my patrol went over the lines near Vendhuille, where there was much enemy activity, and very soon we were fighting over Bourlon Wood, but, gaining no decision, went south and engaged some Pfalz and Albatros scouts who were firing into our trenches near Villers.

We dispersed these Huns and went north to Cantaing and, on looking west, I saw a Hun two-seater just below the clouds at 4,000 feet over Hermies, about four miles west of our lines, so I led the patrol towards him. I knew if I stayed below the clouds he would go into them, so just before I got to him nose on, I went into the clouds to get above, and as soon as my patrol were above the clouds I dived down below them, so now the Hun was for it, whatever way he went. As I dived down I went quite close to the Hun and opened fire with my Vickers, for my Lewis was out of action. For the next five minutes I fought that D.F.W. from 4,000 to 500 feet over our lines, and at last I broke off the combat, for the Hun was too good for me and had shot me about a lot. Had I persisted he certainly would have got me, for there was not a trick he did not know, and so I gave that liver-coloured D.F.W. best.

On December 15th I left the ground at 10 a.m. to pursue German machines alone. I climbed steadily and very soon got up to 18,000 feet, when I saw a German machine in the distance coming towards our lines. I waited in the sun until he came quite close, but he turned north and, being just above the line, I would not attack him yet, for I wanted him to fall in our lines. Also there was a very strong westerly wind high up, which was against my tactics. I followed behind him for some time until I realised that he was not going far over our lines, so I then dived on him from 19,800 feet, for the Hun was at 19,000 feet. I closed on him and opened fire, but I had misjudged my speed and was over-shooting him, so I had to do a turn to avoid running into him.

The next I saw of him he was diving steeply away to the east. I caught him up again, but could not defeat him, for the pilot was good and gave his gunner every opportunity, and I had to leave him very soon, for the wind being strong from the west I was now miles over Hunland, so I returned west.

By the time I had got to our lines the whole sky seemed alive with Hun two-seaters, and so I at once engaged another Rumpler over Villers. He at once ran away, but I overhauled him slowly and finally fired a long burst at 400 yards range, after which the Rumpler got into a steep right-hand spiral. Then he came out of it and went down in a straight dive, finally crashing just east of the Bois de Vaucelles. Having no more petrol with me for any length of time I flew back to my aerodrome.

On this day I was awarded the Distinguished Service Order, and also received a telegram of congratulation from the G.O.C., R.F.C., General Trenchard, C.B., D.S.O.
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On December 19th we lost Maybery, the “A” Flight Commander. His and my formation were working in conjunction with each other, and he was below me. We crossed the lines over Ribecourt and flew towards Cambrai, and very soon saw eight V-strutters about our own height. They were not offensively inclined, so very soon Captain Maybery, followed by his formation, dived on some Huns over Bourlon Wood at about 6,000 feet. As I went down to follow, the eight Huns from north of Cambrai came towards us, and I had to pull out of the dive and fight these Albatroses. We fought them until they dispersed, but did not gain any decisive result.

I could now see Maybery’s formation very low going towards the lines, as though to reform, and so I flew down south towards Vaucelles Wood, over which I saw three Albatroses, on whom we leapt with great vigour. We fought these three Huns for a time, but they eventually went down east quite all right. We now flew up towards Bourlon Wood, where we encountered “green-tail” and a brown Pfalz. We scrapped these two for over half an hour, and with no result, for they co-operated wonderfully, and put up a magnificent show, for we could not attack either of them without having the other after us. There were now only three of us, and we did our very best to get one of them, but to no avail. After a time they both went down, apparently for some more petrol or ammunition, and we flew home.