the thousands of bullets that were flashing all around me that would get
me first. He was so close that had it been necessary for me to move my
machine gun one particle of an inch he would have finished with me
before I could have fired a single shot. The Hun very well knew that he
had caught me unawares and that I could not possibly do anything to
defend myself. Like a flash my finger flew to the trigger of my machine
gun, which was resting in its ordinary position on the tourrelle. I did
not move it an inch for fortune had pointed it directly in line with the
oncoming German. Already the bullets began singing from my gun and by
the grace of good fortune they were going directly into him. On he came
and it seemed that a collision was unavoidable, then with the speed of
lightning he dived under me. West saw this dive and sharply banked the
plane to keep me in a firing position and as the boche began to zoom to
a position under my tail I again let him have it. I was surprised at the
apparent accuracy of my guns. The Hun made a loop and dived toward home.
I knew he was disabled and could not come back. There were still two
other enemy planes coming on, but strange things happen in the air, for
the other two did not fire a single shot, but turned and flew toward a
light fringe of clouds high above us. I have never, however, been able
to account for their failure to attack simultaneously with the attack of
the first. For once I was close enough to a Hun to see not only the Iron
Maltese Cross but also the fatal cross that stared me squarely in the
face. It is not a pleasant feeling. The first plane got to Germany all
right, but I am quite sure he was forced to land before he reached his
airdrome. I have a hunch, too, that he took his machine guns out on a
cement sidewalk and broke them to pieces, for if ever an aviator had the
death grip on his adversary they all had it on me. In a moment I saw
Schnurr and Thompson, who were flying quite low. It seems that they were
attacked first, which accounts for the first gun shots I heard, and the
Hun, having gotten on their tail first, they were forced to dive. In a
few minutes the two Huns in the cloud were joined by a third, but
fortunately the sun was on our side, so the only thing to do was to
watch that cloud. Regardless of these Huns, Schnurr and Thompson began
climbing and soon reached their position directly behind us.
I wanted to go home in the worst way but the first law we had learned
was that the presence of enemy planes is no excuse in observation for
failure to perform the mission assigned. For once in my career I had
completely lost my courage and pointed toward home. The starch had been
taken out of me completely and it was quite immaterial to me what any
one wanted to think about our quitting. I felt that enough was enough
and I had more than enough. As we passed over our battery, however, my
mind turned to that new Division which had just come in that morning and
who were doing their first service in the lines; in fact, it was the
first time one of our National Army divisions had been placed in the
line. They had been gassed on their first day. What would they think?
This thought of what those lads in the trenches, who, of course, had
seen the entire fight, would say when they saw an American aviator quit,
changed my whole attitude and, to be frank, saved me from becoming a
downright coward. I knew that nothing helped the morale of the doughboys
more than to see American nerve displayed in the air and, on the other
hand, nothing pulled them down more than to see the lack of it. So, I
shook the plane and motioned West to turn around. I threw my switch in,
clutched the key and with an unsteady hand proceeded to send the
correction of the first salvo which I had seen, but which I almost had
not lived to report.
I afterwards learned that the boys at the radio receiving set at the
Artillery checked each other up on the receipt of this message, so
dubious were they that it had been sent from our plane. In a few minutes
the battery put out the signal “Received and battery is ready.” I then
told West to fly in the direction of the line and the three Huns,
although I knew quite well if we flew that way we were going to be
attacked, but it would be a sportier combat, at least, for I had been
caught asleep for the first and only time. I gave the wireless signal to
the battery to fire, but I confess I was not looking at the “White Work”
target, I was keeping an eye on the three Boche in the sky, looking for
more dirty work. The Huns made no sign whatever to attack—they simply
kept circling above us in that slender line of clouds.
This was the worst adjustment I have ever been guilty of performing. I
simply could not watch the target. We went ahead for an hour and fifteen
minutes and during that time we fired a total of seventeen salvos, of
which I saw but seven, for my mind was not on the work—I was busy with
the cloud. At the end of the seventeen salvos, the Huns came out of the
sky and started in our direction, then playfully changed their course
and flew back into Hunland. I watched them until they were completely
out of sight for I knew they would have to go home some time. Actually I
was never so relieved in my life, not for the reason that we were safe
from further interruption, but from the fact that we had buffaloed them
and were the winners of the day’s combat against great odds.
But I was certain that it was only a question of time before they would
have to leave that cloud for a chasse (pursuit) plane does not carry the
same large amount of gasoline as an observation plane, and can not stay
in the air as long in a single flight. I was delighted and beaming all
over, and especially happy to think, or rather imagine, what was taking
place in the trenches below us—those hardboiled doughboys were, perhaps,
congratulating themselves that they too were Americans.
Our gas was running extremely low and it was getting late in the
evening, but with two additional salvos, when my mind was free from
“enemy planes,” we succeeded in putting the battery directly on the
target. We then signaled for destruction fire and signaled we were going
home. Right above the airdrome the motor stopped and we had to glide in.
We had used our last drop of gasoline.
As the airdrome was only twelve kilometers from the line every one had
seen the fight and had seen us stick it out. It was really a joyous time
and we all got a real welcome. Even Brereton came across. It was the
first and only time in my life I ever heard him compliment any one or
anything. What he praised, however, was not “us” but the plane, in that
the Antique Rattletrap was not such a bad old bus after all. Then every
one got around the plane to count the holes made by the enemy airplane.
I did not wait to see how it came out for I wanted to get to my bunk and
collect myself. I was told later, however, that twenty-one holes were
counted—then the mechanics got tired and quit.
IV
BRERETON’S FAMOUS FLIGHT
The one characteristic above all others that made Major Lewis Hyde
Brereton respected by both those under him, and his superiors, was the
fact that he flew over the lines continuously and he never assigned any
one to a mission that he would not do himself. All the boys were
acquainted with his record for he not only fought in the air, but also
on the ground. He kept his remarkable hold on men for they knew he was a
fighter from the word “Go.” His whole career had been marked by a series
of brilliant ideas which were so radical and revolutionary that they
always took him into a fight before obtaining their adoption.
For instance, he came to France with a large number of other
officers—about two hundred in all—who accompanied Brigadier General
Foulois, the latter having come over to take command of the Air Service
of the American Expeditionary Force. The majority of the officers in the
party were Brereton’s superiors, and it seemed that he was going to be
swallowed up with many others in the service of supply, or in those
days, what was called line of communications, which was in the rear, for
out of that large number it seemed that but few were destined to reach
the Front. Brereton immediately asked for the command of a squadron at
the front. The authorities, of course, laughed at him and politely
informed him that the Americans only had one squadron at the front and
it had gone forward only a few days ago and that all the other squadrons
in France had competent officers assigned to them; besides, the other
squadrons could not go to the front for a long, long time on account of
not having the proper planes and equipment, the production scheme in
America having fallen down. This did not sound encouraging to Brereton
so he arranged to have himself assigned to a tour of inspection at
Amanty, near Gondrecourt, which was the place designated for our future
observation squadrons to assemble before going to the Front. When he got
there he found that it was true that only one squadron had, as yet, gone
to the Front, but that there were three other squadrons then at
Amanty—the 12th, 88th and 91st waiting for service airplanes before
moving up for action. All these squadrons had old training planes, the
A.R.’s—Avion Renaults.
The squadrons were to leave in the order of the 88th first, then the
91st and then the 12th, according to the rank of the Commanding Officers
of each. Major Harry Brown was then in command of the 12th Squadron and
Brereton found by accident, that Brown was extremely anxious to get into
the bombardment end of the game and was more or less dissatisfied that
the 12th was to be made an Observation Squadron. Brereton found that an
assignment to bombardment would more than please Brown so he wasted no
time on further inspection. He had happened onto his great opportunity,
and he departed immediately for Colombey-les-Belles, which was the
Headquarters of the Air Service, Zone of Advance.
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE OF VAUX ON THE DAY PRECEDING THE BATTLE OF
VAUX]
Arriving at Headquarters, he presented Major Brown’s request to be
transferred to Clermont-Ferrand to take a course in Bombardment in order
that he might command our first Bombardment Squadron. This visit
resulted in two orders being issued—the first relieved Major Harry Brown
from the 12th and ordered him to Clermont, and the other designated as
Commanding Officer of the 12th Aero Squadron, an officer previously
unheard of in aviation at the front—Lewis Hyde Brereton.
Brereton asked permission to take his squadron to the front immediately,
whereupon they thought him insane. It was pointed out to him that on
account of not having service planes the squadron could not possibly get
to the front before six weeks. Brereton went into one of his famous
“pouts,” in which he puckers up his face like a baby about to cry, and
said that we would never have an Air Service on the Front if they were
going to be that particular. His idea was to take what we had and use
it. He argued that since the squadron was going to work over a quiet
sector they could operate just as well with training planes as with
service planes, providing they had machine guns.
Fortunately, he had hit upon the psychological argument for at that time
every one in America was demanding the reason why we did not have
squadrons at the front. There was a terrible mess going on about the
Liberty motor and the other airplane scandals, so those in power agreed
that it would help conditions materially to be able to say that we had
squadrons at the front, rather than one squadron, so after considerable
argument Brereton was authorized to take his squadron to the front at
once with such equipment as they had.
So, the 88th and 91st were left at Amanty and the new comer arrived with
orders in his hand to move the squadron forward for action.
Thus when it came time to pick a leader for offensive operations,
General Mitchell knew what he was about when he selected Brereton for
the Château-Thierry affair. He wanted a fighter and he got a fighter,
for with his characteristic foresight Brereton prepared for any
eventuality. He quite well knew that something would likely happen any
day and he did not intend to let the observation end fall down if it was
humanly possible to prevent it. His job was to accomplish the
impossible; our “quiet sector” units must be prepared for a great and
long offensive, and they must be gotten ready quick.
Brereton selected Lieutenant Ben Harwood as his Liaison Officer,
Lieutenant Mathis as his Information Officer and put me in charge of the
Operations, so, we were gone from morning until late at night, traveling
between the squadrons, corps headquarters and the various divisional
headquarters, getting proper coöperation worked up and, in fact, getting
some semblance of organization. The covetous eye of the Hun already
looked on Paris. It was only a question of days until the German hand
would be extended to grasp what the eye had seen.
The Huns held complete supremacy of the air. They dominated in the ratio
of five to one and flew about in droves of fifteen and twenty. Where a
fight on a mission had previously been the rare exception to our flyers
it was now the common rule. We were very short of pursuit planes. Our
Pursuit Squadrons—four in number—were trying to take care of not only
our own Corps area, but also other areas held by the French and which
adjoined us. As a result, very little direction protection was furnished
to the Observation planes. So, the boys knew pretty well when they went
out for a mission that it meant a scrap.
There was only one time at Château-Thierry when the Boche did not have
the complete supremacy of the air. This was on July first at the Battle
of Vaux, at which place Johnny Miller and I did the preliminary
adjustment and Brereton and I did the artillery control for the
Americans during the battle. We had every American pursuit and
observation plane we could get off of the ground. There were not less
than ninety-six planes in that formation—their mission being to protect
the Infantry plane and to protect Brereton and me, who were doing the
artillery work. There was such a swarm of planes above us that we
practically never looked into the sky, but kept our attention entirely
on the work before us. This was my idea of real protection. It was the
nearest we ever came to our big threat to literally blacken the skies by
droves of American airplanes. However, none of these were American
airplanes, although the aviators were Americans. This was the first time
in the war that the doughboy was brought to realize that there were
really other American aviators than those famous ground flyers who took
off and landed so often at the famous Hotel Crillion Bar Airdrome in
Paris and who were so accurately described by Irvin Cobb.
The Vaux affair seemed to me just like the practice control of artillery
fire that I once did on the blackboard in school exercises. It was
really one of the easiest jobs I ever did and for which I probably
received more credit. The previous day I had passed over the town and
was happy for the poor peasants that it had been spared, for even though
in the hands of the enemy it was practically intact. Now it was a
shell-torn blot of destroyed homes, made more desolate by the scattered
bodies of the German dead—and I had been one of the guiding masters of
its ruin.
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE OF VAUX DURING THE BATTLE OF VAUX, JULY 1,
1918]
From the first of July to the fifteenth we were continuously engaged in
making the best possible preparations for what we knew must come. On the
morning of the fifteenth it came. It came from Château-Thierry along to
Rheims. The first day we did not worry a great deal for we confidently
felt that the Germans would never be able to cross the Marne as all the
bridges had been blown up, but on the morning of the sixteenth day
things were mighty blue. An American pursuit plane immediately after
daylight, reported that the Germans had constructed pontoon bridges in
different places and were already sweeping across the Marne.
This flight by a pursuit plane and the resulting information was, I
think, unquestionably one of the greatest flights of the entire war. I
did not learn until several days later who the aviator really was. No
one seemed to know, nor could we find any record on the regular reports.
The French Army Commander told me the source from which he had gotten
this timely information as to the presence of the pontoons. It seems
that General William Mitchell, who commanded all American Aviation at
the Front, had been at the French Army Headquarters during the night of
the fifteenth, getting the reports from the Front and making his aërial
dispositions accordingly. An hour before daybreak on the morning of the
sixteenth he left the French Headquarters and without telling any one
his intended movements he drove his high-powered automobile, with all
haste, to the American Pursuit Airdrome about fifty kilometers away.
Climbing into a single place Spad, the General hastily drew out a pocket
notebook and scribbled a few words to his chief of staff, and handed
this note to his mechanic. Then the General headed his plane into the
wind and with whirring motor sailed off into the somber darkness. At the
first glimpse of dawn he was over Fere-en-Tardenois, fifteen miles
within the German lines. He saw the glare of the village, but the usual
whiteness of the roads was not there—they were of a greenish hue, like
the morning mist surrounding them. It was hard to comprehend the
magnitude of this view. Heading south for five miles, the roads
presented the same aspect. From fifteen thousand feet the General swept
down to three thousand. Here he could realize the awful fact of what was
taking place below him—the whitened roads were green with the thousands
of German troops driving on toward the Marne with the steadiness and
determination of a huge caterpillar. On south he flew—the Germans were
everywhere—infesting the whole salient like a plague of locusts.
Reaching the Marne, it was certain the inevitable had happened—one, two,
three, four, five—five pontoon bridges already across and the onrushing
Huns were marching across in terrible precision.
It was singularly fortunate that the man who undertook this hazardous
mission was a rare tactician and strategist. He realized the awful truth
where the ordinary airman would not have conceived the possibilities of
such a situation. The General knew that the biggest German Army ever
concentrated was on the move in a final effort to intimidate and conquer
the world.
He made a landing in a small wheat field at the French Army
Headquarters. It would have been folly to go on to the American Airdrome
for if ever seconds were golden this was the time. He told the supreme
commander the extent of his observation and how far back the Germans
were concentrated. It was realized that it would be absolutely
inconceivable to attempt to hold back this advance by a frontal attack.
There was only one thing to do—we must flank the German Army and force
them to withdraw or be annihilated. This must be done within three days
or the Germans would break the line of our armies and march unmolested
to Paris, coming up and flanking our own Northern forces. Going to his
own Headquarters, the General was handed the note he had written to his
distinguished chief of operations, Captain Phil Roosevelt. It simply
stated that if he did not return by eight o’clock that morning to notify
Brereton to take command of the American Aviation at the Front. The
distinguished Roosevelt had also been out doing some rough riding so the
note had never reached his hands.
This flight of General Mitchell’s needs no comment—it was no less than
wonderful, and when the flyers finally heard who had made it, our morale
was strengthened one hundred per cent. We felt we had a fighting General
sure enough.
The Germans continued their crossing on the sixteenth, sweeping on down
toward Epernay on the seventeenth and on the night of the seventeenth it
rained. It rained all night; and all night long, passing our
headquarters were troops going up to the front; all night long we could
hear their continuous tramping; the roads were hydraulically jammed with
cannons, ammunition trains, supplies and troops. They were going to
Château-Thierry. They were retreating from the south it seemed, but why
did they come to this side of the salient? Why not stop the Germans by a
frontal defense?
In a few hours we knew why for on the night of the seventeenth, at nine
o’clock we received orders from General DeGouttes of the French Army
that the French Army, in connection with the First American Army Corps,
would attack all the way from Soissons to Château-Thierry in an effort
to flank the German advance and would continue at any and all costs
until the Germans were forced to withdraw from the salient or face
annihilation.
The attack was to start at daybreak on the following morning. Then I
heard of Mitchell’s flight and information. His recommendations had been
concurred in by Marshal Foch and General Pershing. There was some
activity in our headquarters. We got hold of our squadron and balloon
commanders and ordered them to report immediately. By the time they all
got there it was eleven thirty at night. Harwood was still up at the
line where he had been all day in liaison with the line units. Brereton
was over in conference with the Corps Commander, General Liggett.
Lieutenant Mathis was busy getting out the necessary maps, so, I took
the orders for the battle and, like a young Napoleon, I told the whole
story and made the aërial dispositions for the first day. Fortunately
the squadron and balloon units had already been assigned to the various
line units and had made some arrangements. Of course, the suddenness of
the attack, and the short time we had been there, had caused many
details to be incomplete. I told them that they would still have to go
up to the lines that night and see the units to which they were assigned
in order to be on the job at daybreak. This was absolutely necessary and
yet it did not seem that they could possibly be able to get there due to
the roads being packed with the on-marching troops. It was a great
question, but it was the only way possible. Ben Harwood, our liaison
officer, saved the day, for he came in just as I was about to dismiss
them. Ben had shown his natural initiative and resourcefulness, and had
already been to every American unit. He had gotten the big news while
still at the front lines and had, very fortunately, obtained all the
necessary liaison information. Harwood took over the meeting, explained
everything he had learned from the line units, and by one-thirty o’clock
all the squadron and balloon commanders were on their way back to their
organizations to get out the necessary orders and to see that the planes
were at the lines at zero hour.
The rain stopped just before daybreak. It seemed that even the heavens
were effecting a close, immediate and personal liaison with us, as
Harwood would say. When the barrage lifted and the boys went over the
top in America’s first big effort, they found there to cheer them and to
assist them the drone of airplanes, upon the wings of which was painted
the American cocarde. It was the real launching of American aviation—it
was truly the beginning of the end.
We were tremendously handicapped by the shortage of pilots and observers
and during the entire period of the offensive we were unable to get
replacements for our casualties. In our office we were taking care of
the transmission of every order pertaining to the Air Service, taking
care of the aviation movements, issuing of instructions, getting out the
necessary reports and information. Our office personnel consisted of
Colonel Brereton, Lieutenant Harwood, Lieutenant Mathis and Sergeant
“Spike” Marlin, of whom I cannot speak too highly for sticking to the
job throughout that prolonged period. The boy was sick at the time, but
knowing we had no one else, he stayed right with it and worked on the
average of twenty hours a day for two weeks straight. I might
incidentally say that all of the rest did the same. In fact, our real
activities began when the Germans made their attack on the fifteenth and
with our Shortage of personnel it was necessary that some one be on the
job day and night. Our losses were terrible. It began to tell on me for
I was losing all my dearest friends.