The first time he was to go over the lines his orders were to bring
up the rear of a flight of six machines, and he found keeping up with
the formation such a busying task that he could be conscious of little
else. “Every time the formation turned or did anything unexpected,” he
says, “it took me two or three minutes to get back in my proper place.
But I got back every time as fast as I could. I felt safe when I was
with the formation and scared when I was out of it, for I had been
warned many times that it is a fatal mistake to get detached and become
a straggler. And I had heard of German ‘head hunters’ too. They are
German machines that fly very high and avoid combat with anything like
an equal number, but are quick to pounce down upon a straggler, or an
Allied machine that has been damaged and is bravely struggling to get
home. Fine sportsmanship that!
“The way I clung to my companions that day reminded me of the little
child hanging to its mother’s skirts while crossing a street. I
remember I also felt as a child does when it is going up a dark pair
of stairs and is sure something is going to reach out somewhere and
grab it. I was so intent on the clinging part that I paid very little
attention to anything else.”
Some distance off was another formation on patrol that became engaged
with a Hun formation and he saw the young flyer of one of the machines,
“one of our own,” going down in flames, but his reflections on that
incident were suddenly interrupted by a “bang” of terrifying violence
close to his ears. The tail of his machine shot up in the air and he
fell three or more hundred feet before he could recover control. It was
a shot from an “Archie” (an anti-aircraft gun), and Colonel Bishop says
of it: “That shot, strange to relate, was the closest I have ever had
from anti-aircraft fire.”