Yesterday you read of Number 30, but even that is a back number.
Number 31 has followed its predecessors.
On September 17th came Number 27. With some of my men I attacked a
squadron of F.-E. biplanes on the way back from C. Of these, we shot
down six out of eight. Only two escaped. I picked out the leader, and
shot up his engine so he had to land. It landed right near one of our
kite-balloons. They were hardly down when the whole airplane was
ablaze. It seems they have some means of destroying their machine as
soon as it lands. On September 19th six of us got into an English
squadron. Below us were the machines with lattice-work tails, and
above were some Morans, as protection. One of these I picked out, and
sailed after him. For a moment he escaped me, but west of B. I caught
up with him. One machine gun jammed, but the other I used with telling
effect. At short range, I fired at him till he fell in a big blaze.
During all this, he handled himself very clumsily. This was Number 28.
On September 27th I met seven English machines, near B. I had started
on a patrol flight with four of my men, and we saw a squadron I first
thought was German. When we met southwest of B., I saw they were enemy
'planes. We were lower and I changed my course. The Englishmen passed
us, flew over to us, flew around our kite-balloon and then set out for
their own front. However, in the meantime, we had reached their height
and cut off their retreat. I gave the signal to attack, and a general
battle started. I attacked one; got too close; ducked under him and,
turning, saw an Englishman fall like a plummet.
As there were enough others left I picked out a new one. He tried to
escape, but I followed him. I fired round after round into him. His
stamina surprised me. I felt he should have fallen long ago, but he
kept going in the same circle. Finally, it got too much for me. I knew
he was dead long ago, and by some freak, or due to elastic controls,
he did not change his course. I flew quite close to him and saw the
pilot lying dead, half out of his seat. To know later which was the
'plane I had shot down (for eventually he must fall), I noted the
number--7495. Then I left him and attacked the next one. He escaped,
but I left my mark on him. As I passed close under him I saw a great
hole I had made in his fuselage. He will probably not forget this day.
I had to work like a Trojan.
Number 30 was very simple, I surprised a scout above our front--we
call these scouts "Häschen" (rabbits)--fired at him; he tilted, and
disappeared.
The fall of Number 31 was a wonderful sight. We, five men and myself,
were amusing ourselves attacking every French or English machine we
saw, and firing our guns to test them. This did not please our
opponents at all. Suddenly, far below me, I saw one fellow circling
about, and I went after him. At close range I fired at him, aiming
steadily. He made things easy for me, flying a straight course. I
stayed twenty or thirty meters behind him and pounded him till he
exploded with a great yellow flare. We cannot call this a fight,
because I surprised my opponent.
Everything goes well with me; healthy, good food, good quarters, good
companions, and plenty to do.