Before we were fairly settled at Bar-le-Duc, Hall brought down a
German observation craft and Thaw a Fokker. Fights occurred on almost
every sortie. The Germans seldom cross into our territory, unless on
a bombarding jaunt, and thus practically all the fighting takes place
on their side of the line. Thaw dropped his Fokker in the morning, and
on the afternoon of the same day there was a big combat far behind the
German trenches. Thaw was wounded in the arm, and an explosive bullet
detonating on Rockwell's wind-shield tore several gashes in his face.
Despite the blood which was blinding him Rockwell managed to reach an
aviation field and land. Thaw, whose wound bled profusely, landed in
a dazed condition just within our lines. He was too weak to walk, and
French soldiers carried him to a field dressing-station, whence he
was sent to Paris for further treatment. Rockwell's wounds were less
serious and he insisted on flying again almost immediately.
A week or so later Chapman was wounded. Considering the number of
fights he had been in and the courage with which he attacked it was a
miracle he had not been hit before. He always fought against odds and
far within the enemy's country. He flew more than any of us, never
missing an opportunity to go up, and never coming down until his
gasolene was giving out. His machine was a sieve of patched-up bullet
holes. His nerve was almost superhuman and his devotion to the cause
for which he fought sublime. The day he was wounded he attacked four
machines. Swooping down from behind, one of them, a Fokker, riddled
Chapman's plane. One bullet cut deep into his scalp, but Chapman, a
master pilot, escaped from the trap, and fired several shots to show
he was still safe. A stability control had been severed by a bullet.
Chapman held the broken rod in one hand, managed his machine with the
other, and succeeded in landing on a nearby aviation field. His wound
was dressed, his machine repaired, and he immediately took the air in
pursuit of some more enemies. He would take no rest, and with bandaged
head continued to fly and fight.
The escadrille's next serious encounter with the foe took place a
few days later. Rockwell, Balsley, Prince, and Captain Thénault were
surrounded by a large number of Germans, who, circling about them,
commenced firing at long range. Realizing their numerical inferiority,
the Americans and their commander sought the safest way out by
attacking the enemy machines nearest the French lines. Rockwell,
Prince, and the captain broke through successfully, but Balsley found
himself hemmed in. He attacked the German nearest him, only to receive
an explosive bullet in his thigh. In trying to get away by a vertical
dive his machine went into a corkscrew and swung over on its back.
Extra cartridge rollers dislodged from their case hit his arms. He
was tumbling straight toward the trenches, but by a supreme effort he
regained control, righted the plane, and landed without disaster in a
meadow just behind the firing line.
Soldiers carried him to the shelter of a nearby fort, and later he was
taken to a field hospital, where he lingered for days between life and
death. Ten fragments of the explosive bullet were removed from his
stomach. He bore up bravely, and became the favourite of the wounded
officers in whose ward he lay. When we flew over to see him they would
say: _Il est un brave petit gars, l'aviateur américain_. [He's a brave
little fellow, the American aviator.] On a shelf by his bed, done up
in a handkerchief, he kept the pieces of bullet taken out of him, and
under them some sheets of paper on which he was trying to write to his
mother, back in El Paso.
Balsley was awarded the _Médaille Militaire_ and the _Croix de Guerre_,
but the honours scared him. He had seen them decorate officers in the
ward before they died.