PERSONAL LETTERS FROM SERGEANT McCONNELL--AT THE FRONT
We're still waiting for our machines. In the meantime the Boches sail
gaily over and drop bombs. One of our drivers has been killed and five
wounded so far but we'll put a stop to it soon. The machines have
left and are due to-day.
You ask me what my work will be and how my machine is armed. First of
all I mount an _avion de chasse_ and am supposed to shoot down Boches
or keep them away from over our lines. I do not do observation, or
regulating of artillery fire. These are handled by escadrilles
equipped with bigger machines. I mount at daybreak over the lines;
stay at from 11,000 to 15,000 feet and wait for the sight of an enemy
plane. It may be a bombardment machine, a regulator of fire, an
observer, or an _avion de chasse_ looking for me. Whatever she is I
make for her and manoeuvre for position. All the machines carry
different gun positions and one seeks the blind side. Having obtained
the proper position one turns down or up, whichever the case may be,
and, when within fifty yards, opens up with the machine gun. That is
on the upper plane and it is sighted by a series of holes and cross
webs. As one is passing at a terrific rate there is not time for many
shots, so, unless wounded or one's machine is injured by the first
try--for the enemy plane shoots, too--one tries it again and again
until there's nothing doing or the other fellow is dropped. Apart from
work over the lines, which is comparatively calm, there is the job of
convoying bombardment machines. That is the rotten task. The captain
has called on us to act as guards on the next trip. You see we are
like torpedo boats of the air with our swift machines.
We have the honour of being attached to a bombardment squadron that is
the most famous in the French Army. The captain of the unit once lost
his whole escadrille, and on the last trip eight lost their lives. It
was a wonderful fight. The squadron was attacked by thirty-three
Boches. Two French planes crashed to earth--then two German; another
German was set on fire and streaked down, followed by a streaming
column of smoke. Another Frenchman fell; another German; and then a
French lieutenant, mortally wounded and realizing that he was dying,
plunged his airplane into a German below him and both fell to earth
like stones.
The tours of Alsace and the Vosges that we have made, to look over
possible landing places, were wonderful. I've never seen such
ravishing sights, and in regarding the beauty of the country I have
missed noting the landing places. The valleys are marvellous. On each
side the mountain slopes are a solid mass of giant pines and down
these avenues of green tumble myriads of glittering cascades which
form into sparkling streams beneath. It is a pleasant feeling to go
into Alsace and realize that one is touring over country we have taken
from the Germans. It's a treat to go by auto that way. In the air, you
know, one feels detached from all below. It's a different world, that
has no particular meaning, and besides, it all looks flat and of a
weary pattern.
THE FIRST TRIP
Well, I've made my first trip over the lines and proved a few things
to myself. First, I can stand high altitudes. I had never been higher
than 7,000 feet before, nor had I flown more than an hour. On my trip
to Germany I went to 14,000 feet and was in the air for two hours. I
wore the fur head-to-foot combination they give one and paper gloves
under the fur ones you sent me. I was not cold. In a way it seemed
amusing to be going out knowing as little as I do. My mitrailleuse
had been mounted the night before. I had never fired it, nor did I
know the country at all even though I'd motored along our lines. I
followed the others or I surely should have been lost. I shall have to
make special trips to study the land and be able to make it out from
my map which I carry on board. For one thing the weather was hazy and
clouds obscured the view.
We left en escadrille, at 30-second intervals, at 6:30 A.M. I'd been
on guard since three, waiting for an enemy plane. I climbed to 3,500
feet in four minutes and so started off higher than the rest. I lost
them immediately but took a compass course in the direction we were
headed. Clouds were below me and I could see the earth only in spots.
Ahead was a great barrier of clouds and fog. It seemed like a
limitless ocean. To the south the Alps jutted up through the clouds
and glistened like icebergs in the morning sun. I began to feel
completely lost. I was at 7,000 feet and that was all I knew. Suddenly
I saw a little black speck pop out of a cloud to my left--then two
others. They were our machines and from then on I never let them get
out of my sight. I went to 14,000 in order to be able to keep them
well in view below me. We went over Belfort which I recognized, and,
turning, went toward the lines. The clouds had dispersed by this time.
Alsace was below us and in the distance I could see the straight
course of the Rhine. It looked very small. I looked down and saw the
trenches and when I next looked for our machines I saw clusters of
smoke puffs. We were being fired at. One machine just under me seemed
to be in the centre of a lot of shrapnel. The puffs were white, or
black, or green, depending on the size of the shell used. It struck me
as more amusing than anything else to watch the explosions and smoke.
I thought of what a lot of money we were making the Germans spend. It
is not often that they hit. The day before one of our machines had a
part of the tail shot away and the propeller nicked, but that's just
bum luck. Two shells went off just at my height and in a way that led
me to think that the third one would get me; but it didn't. It's hard
even for the aviator to tell how far off they are. We went over
Mulhouse and to the north. Then we sailed south and turned over the
lines on the way home. I was very tired after the flight but it was
because I was not used to it and it was a strain on me keeping a
look-out for the others.
AT VERDUN
To-day the army moving picture outfit took pictures of us. We had a
big show. Thirty bombardment planes went off like clock-work and we
followed. We circled and swooped down by the camera. We were taken in
groups, then individually, in flying togs, and God knows what-all.
They will be shown in the States.
If you happen to see them you will recognize my machine by the MAC,
painted on the side.
Seems quite an important thing to have one's own airplane with two
mechanics to take care of it, to help one dress for flights, and to
obey orders. A pilot of no matter what grade is like an officer in any
other arm.
We didn't see any Boche planes on our trip. We were too many. The only
way to do is to sneak up on them.
I do not get a chance to see much of the biggest battle in the world
which is being fought here, for I'm on a fighting machine and the sky
is my province. We fly so high that ground details are lacking. Where
the battle has raged there is a broad, browned band. It is a great
strip of murdered Nature. Trees, houses, and even roads have been
blasted completely away. The shell holes are so numerous that they
blend into one another and cannot be separately seen. It looks as if
shells fell by the thousand every second. There are spurts of smoke at
nearly every foot of the brown areas and a thick pall of mist covers
it all. There are but holes where the trenches ran, and when one
thinks of the poor devils crouching in their inadequate shelters under
such a hurricane of flying metal, it increases one's respect for the
staying powers of modern man. It's terrible to watch, and I feel sad
every time I look down. The only shooting we hear is the tut-tut-tut
of our own or enemy plane's machine guns when fighting is at close
quarters. The Germans shoot explosive bullets from theirs. I must
admit that they have an excellent air fleet even if they do not fight
decently.
I'm a sergeant now--_sergent_ in French--and I get about two francs
more a day and wear a gold band on my cap, which makes old
territorials think I'm an officer and occasions salutes which are some
bother.
A SORTIE
We made a foolish sortie this morning. Only five of us went, the
others remaining in bed thinking the weather was too bad. It was. When
at only 3,000 feet we hit a solid layer of clouds, and when we had
passed through, we couldn't see anything but a shimmering field of
white. Above were the bright sun and the blue sky, but how we were in
regard to the earth no one knew. Fortunately the clouds had a big
hole in them at one point and the whole mass was moving toward the
lines. By circling, climbing, and dropping we stayed above the hole,
and, when over the trenches, worked into it, ready to fall on the
Boches. It's a stunt they use, too. We finally found ourselves 20
kilometres in the German lines. In coming back I steered by compass
and then when I thought I was near the field I dived and found myself
not so far off, having the field in view. In the clouds it shakes
terribly and one feels as if one were in a canoe on a rough sea.
VICTOR CHAPMAN
I was mighty sorry to see old Victor Chapman go. He was one of the
finest men I've ever known. He was _too_ brave if anything. He was
exceptionally well educated, had a fine brain, and a heart as big as a
house. Why, on the day of his fatal trip, he had put oranges in his
machine to take to Balsley who was lying wounded with an explosive
bullet. He was going to land near the hospital after the sortie.
Received letter inclosing note from Chapman's father. I'm glad you
wrote him. I feel sure that some of my letters never reach you. I
never let more than a week go by without writing. Maybe I do not get
all yours, either.
A SMASH-UP
Weather has been fine and we've been doing a lot of work. Our
Lieutenant de Laage de Mieux, brought down a Boche. I had another
beautiful smash-up. Prince and I had stayed too long over the lines.
Important day as an attack was going on. It was getting dark and we
could see the tiny balls of fire the infantry light to show the
low-flying observation machines their new positions. On my return,
when I was over another aviation field, my motor broke. I made for
field. In the darkness I couldn't judge my distance well, and went too
far. At the edge of the field there were trees, and beyond, a deep cut
where a road ran. I was skimming ground at a hundred miles an hour and
heading for the trees. I saw soldiers running to be in at the finish
and I thought to myself that James's hash was cooked, but I went
between two trees and ended up head on against the opposite bank of
the road. My motor took the shock and my belt held me. As my tail went
up it was cut in two by some very low 'phone wires. I wasn't even
bruised. Took dinner with the officers there who gave me a car to go
home in afterward.
FIGHTING A BOCHE
To-day I shared another chap's machine (Hill of Peekskill), and got it
shot up for him. De Laage (our lieutenant) and I made a sortie at
noon. When over the German lines, near _Côte_ 304, I saw two Boches
under me. I picked out the rear chap and dived. Fired a few shots and
then tried to get under his tail and hit him from there. I missed, and
bobbed up alongside of him. Fine for the Boche, but rotten for me! I
could see his gunner working the mitrailleuse for fair, and felt his
bullets darn close. I dived, for I could not shoot from that
position, and beat it. He kept plunking away and altogether put seven
holes in my machine. One was only ten inches in from me. De Laage was
too far off to get to the Boche and ruin him while I was amusing him.
Yesterday I motored up to an aviation camp to see a Boche machine that
had been forced to land and was captured. On the way up I passed a
cantonment of Senegalese. About twenty of 'em jumped up from the bench
they were sitting on and gave me the hell of a salute. Thought I was a
general because I was riding in a car, I guess. They're the blackest
niggers you ever saw. Good-looking soldiers. Can't stand shelling but
they're good on the cold steel end of the game. The Boche machine was
a beauty. Its motor is excellent and she carries a machine gun aft and
one forward. Same kind of a machine I attacked to-day. The German
pilots must be mighty cold-footed, for if the Frenchmen had airplanes
like that they surely would raise the devil with the Boches.
As it is the Boches keep well within their lines, save occasionally,
and we have to go over and fight them there.
KIFFIN ROCKWELL
Poor Kiffin Rockwell has been killed. He was known and admired far
and wide, and he was accorded extraordinary honours. Fifty English
pilots and eight hundred aviation men from the British unit in the
Vosges marched at his funeral. There was a regiment of Territorials
and a battalion of Colonial troops in addition to the hundreds of
French pilots and aviation men. Captain Thénault of the American
Escadrille delivered an exceptionally eulogistic funeral oration. He
spoke at length of Rockwell's ideals and his magnificent work. He told
of his combats. "When Rockwell was on the lines," he said, "no German
passed, but on the contrary was forced to seek a refuge on the
ground."
Rockwell made the _esprit_ of the escadrille, and the Captain voiced
the sentiments of us all when, in announcing his death, he said: "The
best and bravest of us all is no more."
How does the war look to you--as regards duration? We are figuring on
about ten more months, but then it may be ten more years. Of late
things are much brighter and one can feel a certain elation in the
air. Victory, before, was a sort of academic certainty; now, it's
felt.