opponent did not make matters easy for me. He knew the fighting business
and it was particularly awkward for me that he was a good shot. To my
great regret that was quite clear to me.
A favorable wind came to my aid. It drove both of us into the German
lines.[29] My opponent discovered that the matter was not so simple as
he had imagined. So he plunged and disappeared in a cloud. He had nearly
saved himself.
I plunged after him and dropped out of the cloud and, as luck would have
it, found myself close behind him. I fired and he fired without any
tangible result. At last I hit him. I noticed a ribbon of white benzine
vapor. He had to land for his engine had come to a stop.
He was a stubborn fellow. He was bound to recognize that he had lost the
game. If he continued shooting I could kill him, for meanwhile we had
dropped to an altitude of about nine hundred feet. However, the
Englishman defended himself exactly as did his countryman in the
morning. He fought until he landed. When he had come to the ground I
flew over him at an altitude of about thirty feet in order to ascertain
whether I had killed him or not. What did the rascal do? He took his
machine-gun and shot holes into my machine.
Afterwards Voss told me if that had happened to him he would have shot
the airman on the ground. As a matter of fact I ought to have done so
for he had not surrendered. He was one of the few fortunate fellows who
escaped with their lives.
I felt very merry, flew home and celebrated my thirty-third aeroplane.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] Voss was afterwards shot in a fight by the late Lieut. Rhys-Davids,
D. C. O., M. C. In this fight, which is said to have been one of the
most gallant actions in the war, Voss was flying a Fokker triplane with
a French le Rhone engine, taken out of a captured machine. He was
attacked by six British S. E.'s, all faster than he was. His solitary
companion, on an Albatros, was shot down at the first onset, but Voss,
instead of getting away, as he could have done, stayed and fought the
crowd. His manoeuvering and shooting are said to have been wonderful.
Every British machine was hit, but none was brought down, and Voss
himself finally fell to a direct attack by Rhys-Davids.
[29] It is well to note how often von Richthofen refers to the wind
being in his favor. A west wind means that while the machines are
fighting they are driven steadily over the German lines. Then, if the
British machine happens to be inferior in speed or manoeuverability to
the German, and is forced down low, the pilot has the choice only of
fighting to a finish and being killed, or of landing and being made
prisoner. The prevalence of west winds has, for this reason, cost the R.
F. C. a very great number of casualties in killed and missing, who, if
the fight had occurred over territory held by the British, would merely
have landed till the attacking machine had taken itself off. For similar
reasons, the fact that the R. F. C. has always been on the offensive,
and so has always been flying over the German lines has caused many
casualties. Under all the circumstances it is surprising that the R. F.
C. casualties have not been a great deal heavier.
XI
_My Record-Day_
THE weather was glorious. We were ready for starting. I had as a visitor
a gentleman who had never seen a fight in the air or anything resembling
it and he had just assured me that it would tremendously interest him to
witness an aerial battle.
We climbed into our machines and laughed heartily at our visitor's
eagerness. Friend Schäfer[30] thought that we might give him some fun.
We placed him before a telescope and off we went.
The day began well. We had scarcely flown to an altitude of six thousand
feet when an English squadron of five machines was seen coming our way.
We attacked them by a rush as if we were cavalry and the hostile
squadron lay destroyed on the ground. None of our men was even wounded.
Of our enemies three had plunged to the ground and two had come down in
flames.
The good fellow down below was not a little surprised. He had imagined
that the affair would look quite different, that it would be far more
dramatic. He thought the whole encounter had looked quite harmless until
suddenly some machines came falling down looking like rockets. I have
gradually become accustomed to seeing machines falling down, but I must
say it impressed me very deeply when I saw the first Englishman fall and
I have often seen the event again in my dreams.
As the day had begun so propitiously we sat down and had a decent
breakfast. All of us were as hungry as wolves. In the meantime our
machines were again made ready for starting. Fresh cartridges were got
and then we went off again.
In the evening we could send off the proud report: "Six German machines
have destroyed thirteen hostile aeroplanes."[31]
Boelcke's Squadron had only once been able to make a similar report. At
that time we had shot down eight machines. To-day one of us had brought
low four of his opponents. The hero was a Lieutenant Wolff, a
delicate-looking little fellow in whom nobody could have suspected a
redoubtable hero. My brother had destroyed two, Schäfer two, Festner two
and I three.
We went to bed in the evening tremendously proud but also terribly
tired. On the following day we read with noisy approval about our deeds
of the previous day in the official communiqué. On the next day we
downed eight hostile machines.
A very amusing thing occurred. One of the Englishmen whom we had shot
down and whom we had made a prisoner was talking with us. Of course he
inquired after the Red Aeroplane. It is not unknown even among the
troops in the trenches and is called by them "le diable rouge." In the
Squadron to which he belonged there was a rumor that the Red Machine was
occupied by a girl, by a kind of Jeanne d'Arc. He was intensely
surprised when I assured him that the supposed girl was standing in
front of him. He did not intend to make a joke. He was actually
convinced that only a girl could sit in the extravagantly painted
machine.
_"Moritz"_
THE most beautiful being in all creation is the genuine Danish hound, my
little lap-dog, my Moritz. I bought him in Ostend from a brave Belgian
for five marks. His mother was a beautiful animal and one of his fathers
also was pure-bred. I am convinced of that. I could select one of the
litter and I chose the prettiest. Zeumer took another puppy and called
it Max.
Max came to a sudden end. He was run over by a motor car. Moritz
flourished exceedingly. He slept with me in my bed and received a most
excellent education. He never left me while I was in Ostend and obtained
my entire affection. Month by month Moritz grew, and gradually my tender
little lap-dog became a colossal, big beast.
Once I even took him with me. He was my first observer. He behaved very
sensibly. He seemed much interested in everything and looked at the
world from above. Only my mechanics were dissatisfied when they had to
clean the machine. Afterwards Moritz was very merry.
Moritz is more than a year old and he is still as child-like as if he
were still in his teens. He is very fond of playing billiards. In doing
this he has destroyed many billiard balls and particularly many a
billiard cloth. He has a great passion for the chase. My mechanics are
highly satisfied with his sporting inclinations for he has caught for
them many a nice hare. I do not much approve of his hunting
proclivities. Consequently he gets a whacking if I catch him at it.
He has a silly peculiarity. He likes to accompany the flying machines
at the start. Frequently the normal death of a flying-man's dog is death
from the propeller. One day he rushed in front of a flying-machine which
had been started. The aeroplane caught him up and a beautiful propeller
was smashed to bits. Moritz howled terribly and a measure which I had
hitherto omitted was taken. I had always refused to have his ears cut.
One of his ears was cut off by the propeller. A long ear and a short ear
do not go well together.
Moritz has taken a very sensible view of the world-war and of our
enemies. When in the summer of 1916 he saw for the first time Russian
natives--the train had stopped and Moritz was being taken for a walk--he
chased the Russian crowd with loud barking. He has no great opinion of
Frenchmen although he is, after all, a Belgian. Once, when I had settled
in new quarters, I ordered the people to clean the house. When I came
back in the evening nothing had been done. I got angry and asked the
Frenchman to come and see me. When he opened the door Moritz greeted him
rather brusquely. Immediately I understood why no cleaning had been
done.
_The English Attack Our Aerodrome_
NIGHTS in which the full moon is shining are most suitable for night
flying.
During the full moon nights of the month of April our English friends
were particularly industrious. This was during the Battle of Arras.
Probably they had found out that we had comfortably installed ourselves
on a beautiful large flying ground at Douai.
One night when we were in the Officers' Mess the telephone started
ringing and we were told: "The English are coming." There was a great
hullabaloo. We had bomb-proof shelters. They had been got ready by our
excellent Simon. Simon is our architect, surveyor and builder.
We dived down into shelter and we heard actually, at first a very gentle
humming and then the noise of engines. The searchlights had apparently
got notice at the same time as we, for they started getting ready.
The nearest enemy was still too far away to be attacked. We were
colossally merry. The only thing we feared was that the English would
not succeed in finding our aerodrome. To find some fixed spot at night
is by no means easy. It was particularly difficult to find us because
our aerodrome was not situated on an important highway or near water or
a railway, by which one can be guided during one's flight at night.[32]
The Englishmen were apparently flying at a great altitude. At first they
circled around our entire establishment. We began to think that they had
given up and were looking for another objective. Suddenly we noticed
that the nearest one had switched off his engine. So he was coming
lower. Wolff said: "Now the matter is becoming serious."
We had two carbines and began shooting at the Englishman. We could not
see him. Still the noise of our shooting was a sedative to our nerves.
Suddenly he was taken up by the searchlights. There was shouting all
over the flying ground. Our friend was sitting in a prehistoric packing
case.[33] We could clearly recognize the type. He was half a mile away
from us and was flying straight towards us.
He went lower and lower. At last he had come down to an altitude of
about three hundred feet. Then he started his engine again and came
straight towards the spot where we were standing.
Wolff thought that he took an interest in the other side of our
establishment and before long the first bomb fell and it was followed by
a number of other missiles.
Our friend amused us with very pretty fireworks. They could have
frightened only a coward. Broadly speaking, I find that bomb-throwing
at night has only a moral effect. Those who are easily frightened are
strongly affected when bombs fall at night. The others don't care.
We were much amused at the Englishman's performance and thought the
English would come quite often on a visit. The flying piano dropped its
bombs at last from an altitude of one hundred and fifty feet. That was
rather impertinent for in a moonlit night I think I can hit a wild pig
at one hundred and fifty feet with a rifle. Why then should I not
succeed in hitting the Englishman? It would have been a novelty to down
an English airman from the ground.
From above I had already had the honor of downing a number of
Englishmen, but I had never tried to tackle an aviator from below.
When the Englishman had gone we went back to mess and discussed among
ourselves how we should receive the English should they pay us another
visit on the following night. In the course of the next day our
orderlies and other fellows were made to work with great energy. They
had to ram into the ground piles which were to be used as a foundation
for machine guns during the coming night.
We went to the butts and tried the English machine guns which we had
taken from the enemy, arranged the sights for night shooting and were
very curious as to what was going to happen. I will not betray the
number of our machine guns. Anyhow, they were to be sufficient for the
purpose. Every one of my officers was armed with one.
We were again sitting at mess. Of course we were discussing the problem
of night fliers. Suddenly an orderly rushed in shouting: "They are
there! They are there!" and disappeared in the next bomb-proof in his
scanty attire. We all rushed to our machine guns. Some of the men who
were known to be good shots, had also been given a machine gun. All the
rest were provided with carbines. The whole squadron was armed to the
teeth to give a warm reception to our kindly visitors.
The first Englishman arrived, exactly as on the previous evening, at a
very great altitude. He went then down to one hundred and fifty feet and
to our greatest joy began making for the place where our barracks were.
He got into the glare of the searchlight.
When he was only three hundred yards away someone fired the first shot
and all the rest of us joined in. A rush of cavalry or of storming
troops could not have been met more efficiently than the attack of that
single impertinent individual flying at one hundred and fifty feet.
Quick firing from many guns received him. Of course he could not hear
the noise of the machine guns. The roar of his motor prevented that.
However, he must have seen the flashes of our guns. Therefore I thought
it tremendously plucky that our man did not swerve, but continued going
straight ahead in accordance with his plan.[34]
At the moment he was perpendicularly above us we jumped quickly into our
bomb-proof. It would have been too silly for flying men to die by a
rotten bomb.
As soon as he had passed over our heads we rushed out again and fired
after him with our machine guns and rifles.
Friend Schäfer asserted that he had hit the man. Schäfer is quite a good
shot. Still, in this case I did not believe him. Besides, everyone of us
had as good a chance at making a hit as he had.
We had achieved something, for the enemy had dropped his bombs rather
aimlessly owing to our shooting. One of them, it is true, had exploded
only a few yards from the "petit rouge," but had not hurt him.
During the night the fun recommenced several times. I was already in
bed, fast asleep, when I heard in a dream anti-aircraft firing. I woke
up and discovered that the dream was reality. One of the Englishmen flew
at so low an altitude over my habitation that in my fright I pulled the
blanket over my head. The next moment I heard an incredible bang just
outside my window. The panes had fallen a victim to the bomb. I rushed
out of my room in my shirt in order to fire a few shots after him. They
were firing from everywhere. Unfortunately, I had overslept my
opportunity.
The next morning we were extremely surprised and delighted to discover
that we had shot down from the ground no fewer than three Englishmen.
They had landed not far from our aerodrome and had been made prisoners.
As a rule we had hit the engines and had forced the airmen to come down
on our side of the Front. After all, Schäfer was possibly right in his
assertion. At any rate, we were very well satisfied with our success.
The English were distinctly less satisfied for they preferred avoiding
our base. It was a pity that they gave us a wide berth, for they gave us
lots of fun. Let us hope that they come back to us next month.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] Schäfer was also shot by Lieut. Rhys-Davids, R. F. C., later in
1917.
[31] It is possible that the figures are correct. Early in 1917, before
the advent of the British fighters and de Havillands in quantities, the
R. F. C. was having a very bad time. On April 7, for example, it was
reported in the G. H. Q. Communiqué that twenty-eight English machines
were missing.
[32] This might be a useful hint to some people who like to build repair
depots, or big bombing aerodromes, right alongside the sea a few miles
behind the firing line, so that they may be easily located after the
shortest possible flight by the most inexperienced bombing pilot.
[33] One assumes that the reference is to the ancient F. E. 2b. "pusher"
biplane, which, though produced in 1915, was still used for night
bombing up till well on in 1918.
[34] This description is typical of what these extraordinary
night-flying pilots do with their ancient "flying pianos" night after
night, when the weather is reasonable. Von Richthofen's generous
admiration is thoroughly well deserved.
XII
_Schäfer Lands Between the Lines_
WE went on a shooting expedition on the twentieth of April. We came home
very late and lost Schäfer on the way.
Of course everyone hoped that he would come to hand before dark. It
struck nine, it struck ten, but no Schäfer was visible. His benzine
could not last so long. Consequently, he had landed somewhere, for no
one was willing to admit that he had been shot down. No one dared to
mention the possibility. Still, everyone was afraid for him.
The ubiquitous telephone was set in motion in order to find out whether
a flying man had come down anywhere. Nobody could give us information.
No Division and no Brigade had seen anything of him. We felt very
uncomfortable. At last we went to bed. All of us were perfectly
convinced that he would turn up in the end.
At two o'clock, after midnight, I was suddenly awakened. The telephone
orderly, beaming with pleasure, reported to me: "Schäfer is in the
Village of Y. and would like to be fetched home."
The next morning when we were sitting at breakfast the door opened and
my dear pilot stood before me. His clothes were as filthy as those of an
infantryman who has fought at Arras for a fortnight. He was greeted with
a general Hurrah! Schäfer was tremendously happy and elated and
tremendously excited about his adventure. When he had finished his
breakfast he told us the following tale:
"I was flying along the front intending to return home. Suddenly I
noticed far below me something that looked like an infantry flier. I
attacked him, shot him down, and meant to fly back. However, the English
in the trenches did not mean me to get away and started peppering me
like anything. My salvation lay in the rapidity of my machine, for
those rascals, of course, would forget that they had to aim far in front
of me if they wished to hit me.
"I was at an altitude of perhaps six hundred feet. Suddenly, I heard a
smash and my engine stopped running. There was nothing to do but to
land. I asked myself whether I should be able to get away from the
English position. It seemed very questionable. The English noticed my
predicament and started shooting like mad.
"As my engine was no longer running I could hear every single shot. The
position became awkward. I came down and landed. Before my machine had
come to a standstill they squirted upon me heaps of bullets from machine
guns in the hedge of the village of Monchy near Arras. My machine became
splashed with bullets.
"I jumped out of it and down into the first shell hole. Squatting there
I reflected and tried to realize exactly where I was. Gradually it
became clear to me that I had landed outside the English lines, but
cursedly near them. Happily it was rather late in the evening and that
was my salvation.
"Before long the first shell came along. Of course they were gas shells
and I had no mask with me. My eyes started watering like anything.
Before darkness set in the English ascertained the distance of the spot
where I had landed with machine guns. Part of them aimed at my machine
and part at my shell crater. The bullets constantly hit its rim.
"In order to quiet my nerves I lit a cigarette. Then I took off my heavy
fur coat and prepared everything for a leap and a run. Every minute
seemed to me an hour.
"Gradually it became dark, but only very gradually. Around me I heard
partridges giving a concert. As an experienced shot I recognized from
their voices that they felt quite happy and contented, that there was no
danger of my being surprised in my hiding place.
"At last it became quite dark. Suddenly and quite close to me a couple
of partridges flew up. A second couple followed. It was obvious that
danger was approaching. No doubt a patrol was on the way to wish me a
happy evening.
"I had no time to lose. Now or never. First I crept very cautiously on
my chest from shell hole to shell hole. After creeping industriously for
about an hour and a half I noticed I was nearing humans. Were they
English or were they Germans? They came nearer and I could almost have
fallen round their necks, when I discovered our own musketeers. They
were a German patrol who were nosing about in No Man's Land.
"One of the men conducted me to the Commander of his Company. I was told
that in the evening I had landed about fifty yards in front of the enemy
lines and that our infantry had given me up for lost. I had a good
supper and then I started on my way home. Behind me there was far more
shooting than in front of me. Every path, every trench, every bush,
every hollow, was under enemy fire. The English attacked on the next
morning, and consequently, they had to begin their artillery preparation
the evening before. So I had chosen an unfavorable day for my
enterprise. I reached the first telephone only at two o'clock in the
morning when I 'phoned to the Squadron."
We were all very happy to have our Schäfer again with us. He went to
bed. Any other man would have taken a rest from flying for twenty-four
hours. But on the afternoon of this very day friend Schäfer attacked a
low flying B. E. above Monchy.
_The Anti-Richthofen Squadron_
THE English had hit upon a splendid joke. They intended to catch me or
to bring me down. For that purpose they had actually organized a special
squadron which flew about in that part which we frequented as a rule. We
discovered its particular aim by the fact that its aggressive activity
was principally directed against our red machines.
I would say that all the machines of the squadron had been painted red
because our English friends had by-and-by perceived that I was sitting
in a blood-red band-box. Suddenly there were quite a lot of red
machines and the English opened their eyes wide when one fine day they
saw a dozen red barges steaming along instead of a single one. Our new
trick did not prevent them from making an attempt at attacking us. I
preferred their new tactics. It is better that one's customers come to
one's shop than to have to look for them abroad.
We flew to the front hoping to find our enemy. After about twenty
minutes the first arrived and attacked us. That had not happened to us
for a long time. The English had abandoned their celebrated offensive
tactics to some extent. They had found them somewhat too expensive.
Our aggressors were three Spad one-seater machines. Their occupants
thought themselves very superior to us because of the excellence of
their apparatus. Wolff, my brother and I, were flying together. We were
three against three. That was as it ought to be.
Immediately at the beginning of the encounter the aggressive became a
defensive. Our superiority became clear. I tackled my opponent and
could see how my brother and Wolff handled each his own enemy. The usual
waltzing began. We were circling around one another. A favorable wind
came to our aid. It drove us, fighting, away from the front in the
direction of Germany.
My man was the first who fell down. I suppose I had smashed up his
engine. At any rate, he made up his mind to land. I no longer gave
pardon to him. Therefore, I attacked him a second time and the
consequence was that his whole machine went to pieces. His planes
dropped off like pieces of paper and the body of the machine fell like a
stone, burning fiercely. It dropped into a morass. It was impossible to
dig it out and I have never discovered the name of my opponent. He had
disappeared. Only the end of the tail was visible and marked the place
where he had dug his own grave.
Simultaneously with me, Wolff and my brother had attacked their
opponents and had forced them to land not far from my victim.