AT THE FRONT,
December 1, 1917.
I tried to give you all some idea of the strength of a Spad in a letter
a while ago. At home people speak of a factor of safety, meaning the
number of times stronger the machine is than is necessary for plain
flying. The Spad is made so that a man can’t bust it no matter what he
does in the air--dive as far and as fast as he can and stop as brutally
as he can--it stands the racket. Of course, motors do stop and if it
happens over a mountain range--well, that’s just hard luck.
Have had a few patrols since last I wrote. One at a high height,
4,000-4,500 metres, considerably above the clouds which almost shut
out the ground below, wonderfully beautiful sight but beastly cold,
and a couple when the clouds were low and solid. The patrol stays at
just the height of the clouds, hiding in them and slipping out again
to look around. If it gets below, the enemy anti-aircraft guns pepper
it whenever near the lines and at a low altitude that is rather
awkward--so the patrol shows itself as little as possible.
It’s lots of sport to try to keep with the patrol: be behind the
chief of patrol, see him disappear and then bump into a fog bank, a
low-hanging cloud and not see a darn thing. Then dive down out of the
cloud wondering whether the other guy is right underneath or not;
shoot out of the cloud and see him maybe 500 yards away going at right
angles. Then bank up and turn around fast and give her the gear--full
speed to catch up and so on. See a Boche regulating artillery fire,
start to manoeuvre into range and zip! he’s out of sight in the clouds
and the next you see he is beating it far back of his lines. Not very
dangerous this weather, but lots of fun.