Easter Sunday was one of the most beautiful days I have ever seen, and
we felt that at last the gods of the weather were going to smile on
a British offensive. The sky was a wonderful blue, flecked only here
and there with bits of floating white clouds. There was a warmth of
spring in the sunshine that filled one with the joy of living. Hundreds
of our machines were aloft to demonstrate anew the fact that we were
masters of the air. They carried the fighting wholly into the enemy’s
territory, sought out his aerodromes, his military headquarters, his
ammunition dumps, his concentration camps, and challenged him in every
possible manner to come up and fight. Some of our reconnaissance
machines flew from sixty to ninety miles behind the German lines.
It used to amuse and amaze me to think, on days like this, of the
marvels that modern flying had accomplished. Our machines were not
only called upon to fly faster by far than the swiftest birds, but
to do “stunts” that no bird ever thought of. Whoever heard of a bird
flying upside-down? Yet there were plenty of our pilots who rather
delighted in doing this. There are trick flyers just as there are
trick bicyclists and trick riders in the circus. I belonged to the
steady flyers’ class, but some day soon I am really going to learn
to fly, to do aerial acrobatics, and everything. I remember crossing
the lines one day in the hottest sort of “Archie” fire and suddenly
seeing below me one of the most remarkable sights of my flying-career.
The shape of the machine looked a little familiar, and the colour was
certainly familiar. But there was something queer about the rigging. My
curiosity was aroused, and in spite of the whistling “Archie” shells
I determined to have a nearer look at this stranger of the air. As I
approached I made out something that looked like wheels stuck up toward
the sky. I was more puzzled than ever for a moment, then realized it
was a machine upside-down. The wing-tips bore the red, white, and
blue target markings of the British service, so I flew very close
to see if anything was wrong. When I got near enough I recognized my
squadron commander at the time. He was out having an afternoon stroll
and had deliberately sailed over the lines upside-down, just to show
his contempt for the Hun “Archies,” and also in the hope that he might
attract the attention of a “head-hunter,” and thus bring on a little
excitement.
With the great attack scheduled for dawn the next morning, we went
at our work on Easter Sunday with an added zest. At 9 o’clock, just
after the early-morning mist had been driven away by the mounting sun,
I was due for an offensive patrol--in other words, there were six of
us going over the lines in search of trouble. Our squadron commander
was in the flight, and he had been leading us inside Hunland for about
twenty minutes before anything happened. Then a two-seated machine,
with the enemy markings on it, appeared underneath us. Our commander
dived at him like a hawk, and his first burst of fire clearly hit home.
The enemy machine dived toward the ground, but thinking this might
be a trick I dived after it, firing all the way. I soon saw, however,
that the Huns actually had been hurt and were doomed. So I pulled my
machine out of the dive and looked around for the rest of the patrol.
They had all disappeared. A moment or two later I sighted a pair of
our machines engaged in a helter-skelter fight to the left of me, and
had just started in their direction, when, seemingly out of nowhere
at all, an enemy scout dived at me. I turned quickly and avoided him.
Then for several minutes we had a running fight, firing occasionally,
but neither one of us being able to manœuvre into a position of real
advantage. Finally, the enemy flew away eastward and escaped.
In the excitement of the fighting I had not noticed it before, but now,
looking downward, I saw a Boche sausage just beneath me. I plunged at
it just as the crew began to pull it frantically down. I kept diving
and firing at the big bag, but as no smoke appeared I gathered I had
either missed it all the while, or my bullets had failed in their duty
as “fire-bugs.”
I had dropped to 800 feet in my chase after the bag and could plainly
see German troops marching toward the support and reserve lines at
the front. Evidently they were preparing for our assault. The way our
artillery had been going for a week past left them little room for
doubt. I flew about watching these troops for some time, despite the
tell-tale rattle of the machine guns on the ground, but at last decided
I had better get out of it. I saw a cloud some distance above me and
decided to climb into it and lose myself. I had just about reached the
edge of the cloud when another enemy scout decided to have a go at me.
I had fired about a hundred rounds at him when my gun jammed. I dodged
away to have time to correct this, and the enemy, immediately seeing
his advantage, dived after me. He was using explosive bullets, and I
could see them burst near me from time to time. One hit the machine
about 3 feet from where I was sitting and exploded, but did no material
damage. A little more dodging from these ungentlemanly missiles, and
a little more work, and my gun was right again. So I turned upon
my pursuer. We fought round and round each other for a seemingly
interminable time, when at last I saw my chance, darted behind him
and gave him a short burst of fire. No effect. A second later I got
him within my sights again, and this time I fired very carefully. His
machine gave a shiver, then began tumbling toward the earth completely
out of control. I followed to within a few hundred feet of the ground,
and as it was still plunging helplessly, I turned away.
The sky around me now seemed entirely deserted. It gave me time to
speculate as to whether I should climb up to a nice, safe height of
about two miles and then fly home, or whether I should streak it across
the trenches as I had done the day before. Recalling some incidents of
yesterday’s adventures, however, I decided to climb! I proceeded upward
in wide sweeping circles, looking all the time for any trace of my
missing comrades. They were not visible, even at 10,000 feet, so I flew
around a bit more in the hope of finding them.
My search was rewarded, not by meeting my friends, but by the sudden
appearance of two Hun machines flying in the direction of our lines.
Drawing a little to one side so as to have a good look at them, I
discovered they were being escorted and protected by three other
machines flying well back of and above them. By quick thinking I
estimated I could make a running attack on the lower two before the
upper three could get into the affair. I closed in and fired a burst at
the nearer of the two, but the second one got on my tail and, firing
very accurately, gave me some of the most uncomfortable moments of
my fighting-career. One of his bullets grazed my cap as it passed my
head, then crashed through the little wind-screen just in front of
me. This was too much, so, leaving my pursuit of the first machine,
I turned and paid attention to Number 2. Hun No. 1, in the meantime,
evidently decided he had had enough, for he kept flying away as fast as
he could. In turning on the second machine I chanced to find myself in
an ideal position, and my first burst of fire sent him spinning in an
uncontrolled nose-dive, which ended a few seconds later in a “crash”
just beneath me.
I figured that by this time the upper three were due, and, turning,
found all of them diving for me, firing with all their guns. There
was no time for any choice of tactics on my part, so I headed for the
enemy machines and flew directly under them, managing to get in a good
burst of fire upward at the leading two-seater that seemed particularly
anxious for a fight. He wasn’t so anxious as I had thought, for after
the first exchange of shots he kept diving away and did not return.
The other two, however, remained on the “field” of battle. I estimated
by this time that I had only about forty rounds of ammunition left
for my gun; but again there was no real choice for me. I had either
to fight or be attacked in a very nasty position; so I fought. My two
adversaries had seen the previous combats, and when I showed fight
toward them they seemed none too anxious to prolong the fray. I had
just finished my last bullet when the two of them dived away in
opposite directions and left me--“lord of all I surveyed.”
There was not another machine in the sky now, and, thankful for that
fact, I headed for home with my throttle pushed wide open, and landed
without any more excitement. When I turned in my report, especially
the part dealing with the fight with the formation of five enemy
machines, some of the squadron looked on me as some sort of wild man
or fire-eater just escaped from the Zoo. The Colonel telephoned up and
said that I had better not fly any more that day, so I was given the
afternoon off.
As we had to be ready to fly with the dawn next morning, we were early
to bed on Easter night. As we turned in, the British guns were roaring
all along the far-reaching battle-line. The whole horizon was lighted
with their flashes, like the play of heat-lightning on a sultry summer
evening. I knew the meaning and the menace in the booming of the
cannon, but I slept the sound slumber of a little child.