I was casually wandering through the streets; stopped to read the
daily bulletins, and there was my name.
It happened the third day of my stay here. As my machines had not yet
arrived, the Captain loaned me a Fokker. I was told to be ready at
nine o'clock, as the others were to protect the Kaiser, who was
breakfasting in a nearby castle. As I wanted to get acquainted with my
machine, I went up at a quarter of nine. I was up about three or four
minutes when I saw bombs bursting and three or four enemy 'planes
flying toward M. I quickly tried to climb to their altitude. This, of
course, always takes some time, and by that time the enemy was over
M., unloading their bombs on the railroad station. Luckily they hit
nothing. After they had all dropped their bombs (there were now ten of
them) they turned to go home. I was now about at their altitude, so I
started for them. One of the biplanes saw me--it seems they go along
to protect the others--and he attacked me from above. Since it is very
hard to fire at an opponent who is above you, I let him have a few
shots and turned away. That was all the Frenchman wanted, so he
turned back. I again attacked the squadron and soon succeeded in
getting in range of the lowest of them. I did not fire till I was
within a hundred meters, to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. My
opponent was frightened and tried to escape. I was right behind him
all the while, and kept filling him with well-aimed shots. My only
worry was the others, who heard the shots and came to their comrade's
rescue. I had to hurry. I noticed I was having some success, because
the Frenchman started to glide to earth. Finally, both of us had
dropped from 2,500 meters to 1,200. I kept firing at him from behind,
as well as I could. In the meantime, however, two of his friends had
arrived and sent me several friendly greetings. That isn't very
comfortable, and to add to it all, I was without a map above a strange
territory and did not know where I was any longer. As my opponent kept
flying lower and his companions followed, I had to assume I was behind
the enemy's line. Therefore, I ceased my attack and soon, owing to my
speed and lack of desire to follow on the part of the French, I left
them far behind. Now I had to find my way back. I flew north, and
after a time got back to the district around M., which was familiar to
me from my days at the officers' school. When I got back I only knew
what I have told, and could report only a battle and not a victory.
By aid of a map I found I had been over P. à M. In the afternoon the
report came that the infantry on the heights of ---- had seen a
biplane "flutter" to earth. The artillery positively reported that the
biplane I had fired on had fallen behind the enemy's barbed-wire
entanglements. They said the pilot had been dragged to the trenches,
dead or severely wounded. Then our artillery had fired at the 'plane
and destroyed it. I can only explain the thing this way: I wounded the
pilot during the fight; he had tried to glide to earth and land behind
his own lines; shortly before landing he lost consciousness or control
of his machine; then he "fluttered" to earth; _i.e._, fell. This was
the fourth one.