Rockwell, who attacked so often that he has lost all count, and who
shoves his machine gun fairly in the faces of the Germans, used to
swear their planes were armoured. Lieutenant de Laage, whose list of
combats is equally extensive, has brought down only one. Hall, with
three machines to his credit, has had more luck. Lufbery, who evidently
has evolved a secret formula, has dropped four, according to official
statistics, since his arrival on the Verdun front. Four "palms"--the
record for the escadrille, glitter upon the ribbon of the _Croix de
Guerre_ accompanying his _Médaile Militaire_.[9]
A pilot seldom has the satisfaction of beholding the result of his
bull's-eye bullet. Rarely--so difficult it is to follow the turnings
and twistings of the dropping plane--does he see his fallen foe
strike the ground. Lufbery's last direct hit was an exception, for he
followed all that took place from a balcony seat. I myself was in the
"nigger-heaven," so I know. We had set out on a sortie together just
before noon, one August day, and for the first time on such an occasion
had lost each other over the lines. Seeing no Germans, I passed my
time hovering over the French observation machines. Lufbery found one,
however, and promptly brought it down. Just then I chanced to make a
southward turn, and caught sight of an airplane falling out of the sky
into the German lines.
As it turned over, it showed its white belly for an instant, then
seemed to straighten out, and planed downward in big zigzags. The pilot
must have gripped his controls even in death, for his craft did not
tumble as most do. It passed between my line of vision and a wood, into
which it disappeared. Just as I was going down to find out where it
landed, I saw it again skimming across a field, and heading straight
for the brown band beneath me. It was outlined against the shell-racked
earth like a tiny insect, until just north-west of Fort Douaumont it
crashed down upon the battlefield. A sheet of flame and smoke shot up
from the tangled wreckage. For a moment or two I watched it burn; then
I went back to the observation machines.
I thought Lufbery would show up and point to where the German had
fallen. He failed to appear, and I began to be afraid it was he whom I
had seen come down, instead of an enemy. I spent a worried hour before
my return homeward. After getting back I learned that Lufbery was quite
safe, having hurried in after the fight to report the destruction
of his adversary before somebody else claimed him, which is only too
frequently the case. Observation posts, however, confirmed Lufbery's
story, and he was of course very much delighted. Nevertheless, at
luncheon, I heard him murmuring, half to himself: "Those poor fellows."
The German machine gun operator, having probably escaped death in the
air, must have had a hideous descent. Lufbery told us he had seen the
whole thing, spiralling down after the German. He said he thought the
German pilot must be a novice, judging from his manoeuvres. It occurred
to me that he might have been making his first flight over the lines,
doubtless full of enthusiasm about his career. Perhaps, dreaming of the
Iron Cross and his Gretchen, he took a chance--and then swift death and
a grave in the shell-strewn soil of Douaumont....