I was at S. collecting all the equipment of my division. As all the
authorities helped me quickly and well, I was ready to move on June
30th. Imagine my bad luck: just on this very day I was destined to
make my exit from the stage. It was like this:
Near Verdun there was not much to do in the air. Scouting had been
almost dropped. One day, when there was a little more to do than
usual, I had gone up twice in the morning and was loafing around on
the field. I suddenly heard machine-gun firing in the air and saw a
Nieuport attacking one of our biplanes. The German landed and told me,
all out of breath:
"The devil is loose on the front. Six Americans are up. I could
plainly see the American flag on the fuselage. They were quite bold;
came all the way across the front."
I didn't imagine things were quite so bad, and decided to go up and
give the Americans a welcome. They were probably expecting it;
politeness demanded it. I really met them above the Meuse. They were
flying back and forth quite gaily, close together. I flew toward them,
and greeted the first one with my machine gun. He seemed to be quite a
beginner; at any rate, I had no trouble in getting to within 100
meters of him, and had him well under fire. As he was up in the clouds
and flew in a straight course, I was justified in expecting to bring
him to earth soon. But luck was not with me. I had just gotten my
machine back from the factory, and after firing a few shots my gun
jammed. In vain I tried to remedy the trouble. While still bothering
with my gun the other "five Americans" were on me. As I could not
fire, I preferred to retreat, and the whole swarm were after me. I
tried to speed up my departure by tilting my machine to the left and
letting it drop. A few hundred meters, and I righted it. But they
still followed. I repeated the manoeuver and flew home, little
pleased but unharmed. I only saw that the Americans were again flying
where I had found them.[A] This angered me and I immediately got into
my second machine and went off again. I was hardly 1,500 meters high
when with a loud crash my motor broke apart, and I had to land in a
meadow at C.
[Footnote A: The result of this was that the English wireless news
service asserted the next day: "Yesterday Adjutant Ribière succeeded
in bringing down the famous Captain Bölcke in an air battle at
Verdun." In the meantime I have relieved him of this misapprehension.]
We made another pretty flight this day. The district around B. and
west of Verdun was to be photographed by a scout division. Captain V.
was to go over with the squadron, and asked me to go with two other
Fokkers to protect them. I went with them, and as I kept close to
them, I was right at hand when two French battleplanes attacked. The
first one did not approach very close, but the second attacked the
biplane which carried Captain V. As he was just then engaged in
looking through his binoculars, he did not see the machine approach.
The pilot, also, did not notice it till the last moment. Then he made
such a sharp turn that Captain V. almost fell out. I came to their
aid; the Frenchman started to run. I could hardly aim at him at all,
he flew in such sharp curves and zigzags. At 1,800 meters' elevation,
I fired a few parting shots and left him. I was sure he would not do
us any more harm. As one of the wires to a spark-plug had broken, my
engine was not running right, so I turned and went home. The squadron
had all the time in the world to take photographs, and was quite
satisfied with results. The machine I had attacked was first reported
as having fallen, but later this was denied.
Now came the extremely sad news of Immelmann's death. One evening we
received word he had fallen. I first thought it was one of the usual
rumors, but, to my deep sorrow, it was later confirmed by staff
officers. They said his body was being taken to Dresden. I, therefore,
immediately asked for leave to fly to D.
It was very impressive. Immelmann lay in the courtyard of a hospital,
on a wonderful bier. Everywhere there were pedestals with torches
burning on them.
Immelmann lost his life through a foolish accident. Everything the
papers write about a battle in the air is nonsense. A part of his
propeller broke off and, due to the jerk, the wire braces of the
fuselage snapped. The fuselage then broke off. Aside from the great
personal loss we have suffered, I feel the moral effect of his death
on the enemy is not to be underrated.
I made good use of my chance to again attack the English at D. I liked
it so well, I kept postponing my return to S. One evening I flew a
Halberstadt biplane; this was the first appearance of these machines
at the front. As it is somewhat similar to an English B.-E., I
succeeded in completely fooling an Englishman. I got to within fifty
meters of him and fired a number of shots at him. But as I was flying
quite rapidly, and was not as familiar with the new machine as with
the Fokker, I did not succeed in hitting him right away. I passed
beneath him, and he turned and started to descend. I followed him, but
my cartridge belt jammed and I could not fire. I turned away, and
before I had repaired the damage he was gone.
The next day I had two more opportunities to attack Englishmen. The
first time, it was a squadron of six Vickers' machines. I started as
they were over L., and the other Fokkers from D. went with me. As I
had the fastest machine, I was first to reach the enemy. I picked out
one and shot at him, with good results; his motor (behind the pilot)
puffed out a great quantity of yellow smoke. I thought he would fall
any moment, but he escaped by gliding behind his own line. According
to the report of our infantry, he was seen to land two kilometers
behind the front. I could not finish him entirely, because my left gun
had run out of ammunition, and the right one had jammed. In the
meantime, the other Fokkers had reached the English. I saw one
160-horsepower machine (Mulzer, pilot,) attack an Englishman in fine
style, but as the Englishman soon received aid, I had to come to
Mulzer's rescue. So I drove the one away from Mulzer; my enemy did
not know I was unable to fire at him. Mulzer saw and recognized me,
and again attacked briskly. To my regret, he had only the same success
I had had a while before, and as Mulzer turned to go home, I did
likewise. In the afternoon, I again had a chance at an Englishman, but
he escaped in the clouds.
Meanwhile, the Crown Prince had telephoned once, and our staff officer
several times, for me to return. I had at first said I would wait for
better weather, so they finally told me to take the train back if it
was poor weather. So I saw it was no use, and the next morning I flew
back to S. Here I found a telegram for me: "Captain Bölcke is to
report at once to the Commander-in-Chief of the Aerial Division. He is
to be at the disposal of the Commander-in-Chief of the Army." My joy
was great, for I expected to be sent to the Second Army, where the
English offensive was just beginning. In the afternoon I reported to
the Crown Prince, and there I began to have doubts, for he left me in
the dark as to my future. On the next day I reported to the Chief of
the Aerial Division at C., and here all my expectations were proven
unfounded. For the present, I was not to fly, but was to rest at C.
for my "nerves." You can imagine my rage. I was to stay at a
watering-place in C. and gaze into the sky. If I had any wish I just
needed to express it, only I was not to fly. You can imagine my rage.
When I saw that I could do nothing against this decision, I resolved
that rather than stay at C. I would go on leave of absence, and at
this opportunity see the other fronts. After I telephoned Wilhelm (who
was glad rather than sorry for me), my orders were changed to read:
"Captain Bölcke is to leave for Turkey and other countries at the
request of ----."
[Illustration: AMONG HIS COMRADES]
[Illustration: GERMAN MARINE AVIATORS ON A FIELD NEAR THE NORTH SEA]
Even though this was nothing that replaced my work, it was, at least,
a balm for my wounded feelings. I immediately went to S. to pack my
things and use the remaining two days to fly as much as possible. I
flew twice that night, because I had to utilize the time. In spite
of bad weather, I had the luck to meet five Frenchmen the second time
I went up. One came within range and I attacked him. He was quite low
and above his own trenches, but in my present frame of mind that did
not matter to me. I flew toward him, firing both guns, flew over him,
turned and started to attack him again, but found him gone. It was
very dark by then. When I got home I asked if anyone had seen him
fall, but no one knew anything definite.
The next day the weather was bad, and I flew over to Wilhelm to talk
over several things and bid him farewell. Picture my surprise, when I
read in the afternoon's wireless reports: "Yesterday an enemy machine
was brought down near Douaumont." This could only have been my enemy,
because, on account of the bad weather, I was the only German who had
gone up at that part of the front. I immediately called up the staff
officer, and he said yes, it had been a Fokker, yesterday evening,
that had brought down the Frenchman, but no one knew who was flying
the Fokker. I told him the time, place, and other circumstances, and
he seemed very surprised, and forbid me any further flight. He
proceeded to make further inquiries. The next morning the further
surprising details arrived: The enemy airplane that had been attacked
above our first line trenches had fallen in our lines because of
heavy south winds. That was very fine for me. Now, my departure from
the front was not so bad, because I had brought down another enemy and
so had put a stop to any lies the enemy might start about me. The
others, my helpers, friends, etc., were well pleased. To put a stop to
any more such breaks of discipline, they made me go direct to Ch. It
pleased me that I could make four of my mechanics corporals before I
left. Three of them got the Iron Cross. In Ch. I had to quickly make
my final preparations, get my passes, etc., for my trip, and now I am
on the way, Dessau-Berlin. On the day I left I had breakfast with the
Kaiser, and he greeted me with:
"Well, well; we have you in leash now."
It is funny that everyone is pleased to see me cooped up for a while.
The sorriest part of all is that I am forced to take this leave just
at a time when the English offensive is developing unprecedented
aerial activity.