It will soon be boresome if I trouble you to read of all my narrow
escapes. As a matter of fact aviation is so full of them that they
become almost commonplace. What happened this time was only an incident
of the training for real encounters. There is a little lake near here,
and in it is a German aeroplane as a target. We go over and dive at that
target and shoot. It is the second good flying day we have had. The
captain told me to go over and shoot. On my first drive at the target I
shot two handfuls of bullets. I had been peaking 200 meters with full
motor. I pulled the machine up too quickly and there was a rip, a crash,
and the machine shot into a vertical bank upward. I swung into _ligne de
vol_ by crossing controls. A glance at my wing showed the end of the
lower right wing torn away. The machine was laboring but I still could
guide it, so I returned to the school and landed without mishap. It was
one more miracle of a charmed life that I returned. They all came out to
congratulate me. Well, sir, the whole front edge of my lower right wing
was broken away and bent down. The end of the wing was gone and shreds
of braces and cloth dangled along. I really cannot understand why a
machine has a lower right wing when you can come home without it. It was
caused by too brutal handling at a formidable speed. I had been led to
understand that a Spad could peak 500 meters with full motor and redress
quite strongly. I had only peaked 175 with three-quarters motor, which I
learned was far too much. I begin to think I am a fool, for reason tells
me anyone but a fool would have been afraid. But, honestly, there was no
more fear than with a blow-out on a tire. Yet all the way home I knew
that it would be probable death if anything more went wrong. I came home
because I knew the landing ground and it was only five minutes’ flight.