Monosoupape Gnome engine, a species of "box-kite" single-seater biplane,
albeit very fast and handy.
[23] One gathers that this account is substantially correct. The other
two British machines who were with Major Hawker became involved with von
Richthofen's four followers and with five other German chasers which
came into the fight from a higher altitude. These two, after a busy
time, fought their way out, while Major Hawker was fighting von
Richthofen. The only flaw in the story is that in fact one of the upper
German machines dived onto Major Hawker, who, apparently, in avoiding
it, came into action with von Richthofen.
IX
_I Get the Ordre Pour le Mérite_
I HAD brought down my sixteenth victim, and I had come to the head of
the list of all the flying chasers. I had obtained the aim which I had
set myself. In the previous year my friend Lynker, with whom I was
training, had asked me: "What is your object? What will you obtain by
flying?" I replied, jokingly, "I would like to be the first of the
chasers. That must be very fine." That I should succeed in this I did
not believe myself. Other people also did not expect my success. Boelcke
is supposed to have said, not to me personally--I have only heard the
report--when asked: "Which of the fellows is likely to become a good
chaser?"--"That is the man!" pointing his finger in my direction.
[Illustration: THE FORTIETH RICHTHOFEN VICTIM]
Boelcke and Immelmann were given the _Ordre pour le Mérite_ when they
had brought down their eighth aeroplane. I had downed twice that number.
The question was, what would happen to me? I was very curious. It was
rumored that I was to be given command of a chasing squadron.
One fine day a telegram arrived, which stated: "Lieutenant von
Richthofen is appointed Commander of the Eleventh Chasing Squadron."
I must say I was annoyed. I had learnt to work so well with my comrades
of Boelcke's Squadron and now I had to begin all over again working hand
in hand with different people. It was a beastly nuisance. Besides I
should have preferred the _Ordre pour le Mérite_.
Two days later, when we were sitting sociably together, we men of
Boelcke's Squadron, celebrating my departure, a telegram from
Headquarters arrived. It stated that His Majesty had graciously
condescended to give me the _Ordre pour le Mérite_. Of course my joy was
tremendous.
I had never imagined that it would be so delightful to command a chasing
squadron. Even in my dreams I had not imagined that there would ever be
a Richthofen's squadron of aeroplanes.
_Le Petit Rouge_
IT occurred to me to have my packing case painted all over in staring
red. The result was that everyone got to know my red bird. My opponents
also seemed to have heard of the color transformation.
During a fight on quite a different section of the Front I had the good
fortune to shoot into a Vickers' two-seater which peacefully
photographed the German artillery position. My friend, the photographer,
had not the time to defend himself. He had to make haste to get down
upon firm ground for his machine began to give suspicious indications of
fire. When we airmen notice that phenomenon in an enemy plane, we say:
"He stinks!" As it turned out it was really so. When the machine was
coming to earth it burst into flames.
I felt some human pity for my opponent and had resolved not to cause him
to fall down but merely to compel him to land. I did so particularly
because I had the impression that my opponent was wounded for he did not
fire a single shot.
When I had got down to an altitude of about fifteen hundred feet engine
trouble compelled me to land without making any curves. The result was
very comical. My enemy with his burning machine landed smoothly while I,
his victor, came down next to him in the barbed wire of our trenches and
my machine overturned.[24]
The two Englishmen who were not a little surprised at my collapse,
greeted me like sportsmen. As mentioned before, they had not fired a
shot and they could not understand why I had landed so clumsily. They
were the first two Englishmen whom I had brought down alive.
Consequently, it gave me particular pleasure to talk to them. I asked
them whether they had previously seen my machine in the air, and one of
them replied, "Oh, yes. I know your machine very well. We call it 'Le
Petit Rouge'."
_English and French Flying.
(February, 1917)_
I WAS trying to compete with Boelcke's squadron. Every evening we
compared our bags. However, Boelcke's pupils are smart rascals. I cannot
get ahead of them. The utmost one can do is to draw level with them. The
Boelcke section has an advantage over my squadron of one hundred
aeroplanes downed. I must allow them to retain it. Everything depends on
whether we have for opponents those French tricksters or those daring
rascals, the English. I prefer the English. Frequently their daring can
only be described as stupidity. In their eyes it may be pluck and
daring.
The great thing in air fighting is that the decisive factor does not lie
in trick flying but solely in the personal ability and energy of the
aviator. A flying man may be able to loop and do all the stunts
imaginable and yet he may not succeed in shooting down a single enemy.
In my opinion the aggressive spirit is everything and that spirit is
very strong in us Germans. Hence we shall always retain the domination
of the air.[25]
The French have a different character. They like to put traps and to
attack their opponents unawares. That cannot easily be done in the air.
Only a beginner can be caught and one cannot set traps because an
aeroplane cannot hide itself. The invisible aeroplane has not yet been
discovered. Sometimes, however, the Gaelic blood asserts itself. The
Frenchmen will then attack. But the French attacking spirit is like
bottled lemonade. It lacks tenacity.
The Englishmen, on the other hand, one notices that they are of Germanic
blood. Sportsmen easily take to flying, and Englishmen see in flying
nothing but a sport. They take a perfect delight in looping the loop,
flying on their back, and indulging in other stunts for the benefit of
our soldiers in the trenches. All these tricks may impress people who
attend a Sports Meeting, but the public at the battle-front is not as
appreciative of these things. It demands higher qualifications than
trick flying. Therefore, the blood of English pilots will have to flow
in streams.
_I Am Shot Down.
(Middle of March, 1917)_
I HAVE had an experience which might perhaps be described as being shot
down. At the same time, I call shot down only when one falls down.
To-day I got into trouble but I escaped with a whole skin.
I was flying with the squadron and noticed an opponent who also was
flying in a squadron. It happened above the German artillery position in
the neighborhood of Lens. I had to fly quite a distance to get there. It
tickles ones nerves to fly towards the enemy, especially when one can
see him from a long distance and when several minutes must elapse
before one can start fighting. I imagine that at such a moment my face
turns a little pale, but unfortunately I have never had a mirror with
me. I like that feeling for it is a wonderful nerve stimulant. One
observes the enemy from afar. One has recognized that his squadron is
really an enemy formation. One counts the number of the hostile machines
and considers whether the conditions are favorable or unfavorable. A
factor of enormous importance is whether the wind forces me away from or
towards our Front. For instance, I once shot down an Englishman. I fired
the fatal shot above the English position. However, the wind was so
strong that his machine came down close to the German captive balloons.
We Germans had five machines. Our opponents were three times as
numerous. The English flew about like midges. It is not easy to disperse
a swarm of machines which fly together in good order. It is impossible
for a single machine to do it. It is extremely difficult for several
aeroplanes, particularly if the difference in number is as great as it
was in this case. However, one feels such a superiority over the enemy
that one does not doubt of success for a moment.
The aggressive spirit, the offensive, is the chief thing everywhere in
war, and the air is no exception. However, the enemy had the same idea.
I noticed that at once. As soon as they observed us they turned round
and attacked us. Now we five had to look sharp. If one of them should
fall there might be a lot of trouble for all of us. We went closer
together and allowed the foreign gentlemen to approach us.
I watched whether one of the fellows would hurriedly take leave of his
colleagues. There! One of them is stupid enough to depart alone. I can
reach him and I say to myself, "That man is lost." Shouting aloud, I am
after him. I have come up to him or at least am getting very near him.
He starts shooting prematurely, which shows that he is nervous. So I say
to myself, "Go on shooting. You won't hit me." He shot with a kind of
ammunition which ignites. So I could see his shots passing me. I felt as
if I were sitting in front of a gigantic watering pot. The sensation
was not pleasant. Still, the English usually shoot with their beastly
stuff, and so we must try and get accustomed to it.[26] One can get
accustomed to anything. At the moment I think I laughed aloud. But soon
I got a lesson. When I had approached the Englishman quite closely, when
I had come to a distance of about three hundred feet, I got ready for
firing, aimed and gave a few trial shots. The machine guns were in
order. The decision would be there before long. In my mind's eye I saw
my enemy dropping.
My former excitement was gone. In such a position one thinks quite
calmly and collectedly and weighs the probabilities of hitting and of
being hit. Altogether the fight itself is the least exciting part of the
business as a rule. He who gets excited in fighting is sure to make
mistakes. He will never get his enemy down. Besides calmness is, after
all, a matter of habit. At any rate in this case I did not make a
mistake. I approached my man up to fifty yards. Then I fired some well
aimed shots and thought that I was bound to be successful. That was my
idea. But suddenly I heard a tremendous bang, when I had scarcely fired
ten cartridges. Presently again something hit my machine. It became
clear to me that I had been hit or rather my machine. At the same time I
noticed a fearful benzine stench and I observed that the motor was
running slack. The Englishman noticed it, too, for he started shooting
with redoubled energy while I had to stop it.
I went right down. Instinctively I switched off the engine and indeed it
was high time to do this. When a pilot's benzine tank has been
perforated, and when the infernal liquid is squirting around his legs,
the danger of fire is very great. In front is an explosion engine of
more than 150 h. p. which is red hot. If a single drop of benzine
should fall on it the whole machine would be in flames.[27]
I left in the air a thin white cloud. I knew its meaning from my
enemies. Its appearance is the first sign of a coming explosion. I was
at an altitude of nine thousand feet and had to travel a long distance
to get down. By the kindness of Providence my engine stopped running. I
have no idea with what rapidity I went downward. At any rate the speed
was so great that I could not put my head out of the machine without
being pressed back by the rush of air.
Soon I lost sight of my enemy. I had only time to see what my four
comrades were doing while I was dropping to the ground. They were still
fighting. Their machine-guns and those of their opponents could be
heard. Suddenly I notice a rocket. Is it a signal of the enemy? No, it
cannot be. The light is too great for a rocket. Evidently a machine is
on fire. What machine? The burning machine looks exactly as if it were
one of our own. No! Praise the Lord, it is one of the enemy's! Who can
have shot him down? Immediately afterwards a second machine drops out
and falls perpendicularly to the ground, turning, turning, turning
exactly as I did, but suddenly it recovers its balance. It flies
straight towards me. It also is an Albatros. No doubt it had the same
experience as I had.
I had fallen to an altitude of perhaps one thousand feet and had to look
out for a landing. Now such a sudden landing usually leads to breakages
and as these are occasionally serious it was time to look out. I found a
meadow. It was not very large but it just sufficed if I used due
caution. Besides it was favorably situated on the high road near
Hénin-Liétard. There I meant to land.
Everything went as desired and my first thought was, "What has become of
the other fellow." He landed a few kilometers from the spot where I had
come to the ground.
I had ample time to inspect the damage. My machine had been hit a number
of times. The shot which caused me to give up the fight had gone through
both benzine tanks. I had not a drop of benzine left and the engine
itself had also been damaged by shots. It was a pity for it had worked
so well.
I let my legs dangle out of the machine and probably made a very silly
face. In a moment I was surrounded by a large crowd of soldiers. Then
came an officer. He was quite out of breath. He was terribly excited! No
doubt something fearful had happened to him. He rushed towards me,
gasped for air and asked: "I hope that nothing has happened to you. I
have followed the whole affair and am terribly excited! Good Lord, it
looked awful!" I assured him that I felt quite well, jumped down from
the side of my machine and introduced myself to him. Of course he did
not understand a particle of my name. However, he invited me to go in
his motor car to Hénin-Liétard where he was quartered. He was an
Engineer Officer.
We were sitting in the motor and were commencing our ride. My host was
still extraordinarily excited. Suddenly he jumped up and asked: "Good
Lord, but where is your chauffeur?" At first I did not quite understand
what he meant. Probably I looked puzzled. Then it dawned upon me that he
thought that I was the observer of a two-seater and that he asked after
the fate of my pilot. I pulled myself together and said in the dryest
tones: "I always drive myself." Of course the word "drive" is absolutely
taboo among the flying men.
An aviator does not drive, he flies. In the eyes of the kind gentleman I
had obviously lost caste when he discovered that I "drove" my own
aeroplane. The conversation began to slacken.
We arrived in his quarters. I was still dressed in my dirty and oily
leather jacket and had round my neck a thick wrap. On our journey he had
of course asked me a tremendous number of questions. Altogether he was
far more excited than I was.
When we got to his diggings he forced me to lie down on the sofa, or at
least he tried to force me because, he argued, I was bound to be
terribly done up through my fight. I assured him that this was not my
first aerial battle but he did not, apparently, give me much credence.
Probably I did not look very martial.
After we had been talking for some time he asked me of course the
celebrated question: "Have you ever brought down a machine?" As I said
before he had probably not understood my name. So I answered
nonchalantly: "Oh, yes! I have done so now and then." He replied:
"Indeed! Perhaps you have shot down two?" I answered: "No. Not two but
twenty-four." He smiled, repeated his question and gave me to understand
that, when he was speaking about shooting down an aeroplane, he meant
not shooting _at_ an aeroplane but shooting _into_ an aeroplane in such
a manner that it would fall to the ground and remain there. I
immediately assured him that I entirely shared his conception of the
meaning of the words "shooting down."
Now I had completely lost caste with him. He was convinced that I was a
fearful liar. He left me sitting where I was and told me that a meal
would be served in an hour. If I liked I could join in. I accepted his
invitation and slept soundly for an hour. Then we went to the Officers'
Club. Arrived at the club I was glad to find that I was wearing the
_Ordre pour le Mérite_.
Unfortunately I had no uniform jacket underneath my greasy leather coat
but only a waistcoat. I apologized for being so badly dressed. Suddenly
my good chief discovered on me the _Ordre pour le Mérite_. He was
speechless with surprise and assured me that he did not know my name. I
gave him my name once more. Now it seemed to dawn upon him that he had
heard my name before. He feasted me with oysters and champagne and I did
gloriously until at last my orderly arrived and fetched me with my car.
I learned from him that comrade Lubbert had once more justified his
nickname. He was generally called "The bullet-catcher" for his machine
suffered badly in every fight. Once it was hit sixty-four times. Yet he
had not been wounded. This time he had received a glancing shot on the
chest and he was by this time in hospital. I flew his machine to port.
Unfortunately this excellent officer, who promised to become another
Boelcke, died a few weeks later--a hero's death for the Fatherland.
In the evening I could assure my kind host of Hénin-Liétard that I had
increased my "bag" to twenty-five.
FOOTNOTES:
[24] This incident confirms the impression that the small Albatros
biplanes are difficult to land except in a properly prepared aerodrome.
[25] Except when faced by pilots in approximately equal numbers and
equally mounted. It is interesting here to recall the dictum of General
von Hoppner, the chief of the German Flying Service, who said that the
English are dangerous opponents and show by their fighting spirit that
they are of Germanic race. It will be noticed that von Richthofen
repeats the sentiment later on.
[26] The reference is to what are called "tracer" bullets. The hind end
of the bullet contains a phosphorous mixture which leaves a trail of
smoke and so indicates to the gunner where his bullets are going. If
such a bullet penetrates a petrol tank or passes through escaping
petrol--due to a perforated tank or a cut petrol-pipe--it sets the
petrol on fire, but the prime reason is to trace the course of the shot.
The Germans use similar bullets as largely as do the Allies.
[27] This is a mistaken idea, common to many pilots who are not motor
engineers. Fire in such cases is caused by petrol or petrol vapor being
set alight by a spark from the magneto, which because the air-screw is
still revolving continues to generate sparks internally even when
switched off. A mere red-hot pipe in an engine would not cause petrol
fire.
X
_A Flying-Man's Adventure. (End of March, 1917)_
THE name "Siegfried position" is probably known to every young man in
Germany. During the time when we withdrew towards the Siegfried line the
activity in the air was of course very great. We allowed our enemies to
occupy the territory which we had evacuated but we did not allow them to
occupy the air as well. The chaser squadron which Boelcke had trained
looked after the English flying men. The English had hitherto fought a
war of position in the air and they ventured to abandon it for a war of
movement only with the utmost caution.
That was the time when Prince Frederick Charles gave his life for the
Fatherland.
In the course of a hunting expedition of the Boelcke Chaser Squadron,
Lieutenant Voss[28] had defeated an Englishman in an aerial duel. He was
forced to go down to the ground and landed in neutral territory between
the lines, in No Man's Land. In this particular case we had abandoned a
stretch of territory but the enemy had not yet occupied it. Only English
and German patrols were about in the unoccupied zone. The English flying
machine was standing between the two lines. Our good Englishman probably
believed that the ground was already in English possession and he was
justified in thinking so.
Lieutenant Voss was of a different opinion. Without a moment's
hesitation he landed close to his victim. With great rapidity he
transferred the Englishman's machine-guns and other useful things to
his own aeroplane, took a match and in a few minutes the English machine
stood in flames. Then he waved smilingly from his victorious aeroplane
to the English who were rushing along from all sides and was off.
_My First Double Event_
THE second of April, 1917, was a very warm day for my Squadron. From my
quarters I could clearly hear the drum-fire of the guns which was again
particularly violent.
I was still in bed when my orderly rushed into the room and exclaimed:
"Sir, the English are here!" Sleepy as I was, I looked out of the window
and, really, there were my dear friends circling over the flying ground.
I jumped out of my bed and into my clothes in a jiffy. My Red Bird had
been pulled out and was ready for starting. My mechanics knew that I
should probably not allow such a favorable moment to go by unutilized.
Everything was ready. I snatched up my furs and then went off.
I was the last to start. My comrades were much nearer to the enemy. I
feared that my prey would escape me, that I should have to look on from
a distance while the others were fighting. Suddenly one of the
impertinent fellows tried to drop down upon me. I allowed him to come
near and then we started a merry quadrille. Sometimes my opponent flew
on his back and sometimes he did other tricks. He had a double-seated
chaser. I was his master and very soon I recognized that he could not
escape me.
During an interval in the fighting I convinced myself that we were
alone. It followed that the victory would accrue to him who was calmest,
who shot best and who had the clearest brain in a moment of danger.
After a short time I got him beneath me without seriously hurting him
with my gun. We were at least two kilometers from the front. I thought
he intended to land but there I had made a mistake. Suddenly, when he
was only a few yards above the ground, he once more went off on a
straight course. He tried to escape me. That was too bad. I attacked
him again and I went so low that I feared I should touch the roofs of
the houses of the village beneath me. The Englishman defended himself up
to the last moment. At the very end I felt that my engine had been hit.
Still I did not let go. He had to fall. He rushed at full speed right
into a block of houses.
There was little left to be done. This was once more a case of splendid
daring. He defended himself to the last. However, in my opinion he
showed more foolhardiness than courage. This was one of the cases where
one must differentiate between energy and idiocy. He had to come down in
any case but he paid for his stupidity with his life.
I was delighted with the performance of my red machine during its
morning work and returned to our quarters. My comrades were still in the
air and they were very surprised, when, as we met at breakfast, I told
them that I had scored my thirty-second machine.
A very young Lieutenant had "bagged" his first aeroplane. We were all
very merry and prepared everything for further battles.
I then went and groomed myself. I had not had time to do it previously.
I was visited by a dear friend, Lieutenant Voss of Boelcke's Squadron.
We chatted. Voss had downed on the previous day his twenty-third
machine. He was next to me on the list and is at present my most
redoubtable competitor.
When he started to fly home I offered to accompany him part of the way.
We went on a roundabout way over the Fronts. The weather had turned so
bad that we could not hope to find any more game.
Beneath us there were dense clouds. Voss did not know the country and he
began to feel uncomfortable. When we passed above Arras I met my brother
who also is in my squadron and who had lost his way. He joined us. Of
course he recognized me at once by the color of my machine.
Suddenly we saw a squadron approaching from the other side. Immediately
the thought occurred to me: "Now comes number thirty-three." Although
there were nine Englishmen and although they were on their own
territory they preferred to avoid battle. I thought that perhaps it
would be better for me to re-paint my machine. Nevertheless we caught
them up. The important thing in aeroplanes is that they are speedy.
I was nearest to the enemy and attacked the man to the rear. To my
greatest delight I noticed that he accepted battle and my pleasure was
increased when I discovered that his comrades deserted him. So I had
once more a single fight.