BEHIND THE FIRING LINE
_Somewhere in France,
Friday._
Tucked away in a corner of an unused Flanders roadway, a long straggled
line of irregular shaped huts and sheds surrounding a wide open meadow
land, several acres in extent, is the aerodrome I have in mind.
On either side are the long gaunt avenues of trees and in rear of them,
bare and low-lying arable lands.
No one can claim for it that it is a beauty spot. But it is comfortable,
and above all one is able to obtain a bath there.
On the right are the officers’ quarters: three long, low, wooden huts.
Within, a passage runs along the center of the hut; and on either side
of it are the various cabins, each about six feet square, and providing
just sufficient space for a camp-bed, washstand and chair.
A stove is at either end for warming purposes; and one bath is allotted
to each hut.
The mess-room is contained in a similar building across the way. The
furniture is not such that one would meet with, say at the Ritz or the
Savoy; but it serves its purpose. Three plain deal tables, each covered
with a spotless cloth. A dozen or so stiff-back wooden chairs, and one
solitary easy-chair. The competition for the latter is enormous.
The general atmosphere of the place is cheery to a degree. Every member
of the mess is full of good humor, quips and jests. Sub chaffs captain
and captain chaffs sub, the while they attack plain wholesome fare with
an unstinted vigor.
After dinner in the evening, an impromptu concert is started. One, an
obliging musician, renders an excellent violin solo. He is followed by
a gentleman of poor voice. The station orchestra, in which the penny
tin whistle is the most prominent instrument, plays delightfully and
harmoniously with the possible exception of one member in the extreme
rear, who, having previously had some bread-crumbs gently deposited
down his neck by an admiring colleague, finds some difficulty in
reaching the correct notes. It is, of course, the star-turn of the
evening.
There are good card-games to be had, when off duty. Also a gramophone
and two pianos. The gramophone usually will not work. Ludo is the rage
to-day. Badminton, writing letters home, and visiting the neighboring
town about complete the leisure time. There is, however, really not
very much to do in the town, except to sit in the cafés, drink bad
coffee, and try to talk French to the girls.
Any number and variety of pets and mascots are there. Cats and kittens,
dogs of all breeds. A few hunters, with which some excellent rides
across the sand-dunes can be obtained. A goat that wanders around the
aerodrome risking life a dozen times daily from aeroplanes getting off
and landing. And a parrot with a perfectly wonderful vocabulary of
oaths.
Thus far we have been shown only the lighter side of the life. Now we
come to the more serious work of flying across the lines. The strain
on the nerves is so great that a pilot is only detailed for duty every
other day. The work is distributed among the various squadrons and
flights. One is responsible for reconnaissance work; a morning and an
afternoon patrol along the coast for submarines, or a trip inland to
have a look at a new gun emplacement, or to report on a new movement
of the enemy’s troops. Another, the fighting squadron, is responsible
for the bombing raids, for the battle flights, for convoying the
reconnaissance machines, and for meeting enemy air attacks.
To the headquarters flight is allotted the photography, and any special
and confidential job that may crop up.
Naturally there is the pick of all the machines, equipped with all the
latest improvements and inventions.
One peculiarity concerning atmospheric conditions on the other side
is, that either the weather is too misty for flying, or on the other
hand, it is so remarkably clear, that it is possible to view the land
from twice the altitude that it would be under similar circumstances in
England. For the first two hours after sunrise there is invariably a
heavy ground mist, and very little takes place save when an expedition
is setting out for some distant spot, necessitating an early start. The
late morning and the late afternoon are the most favorable times for
flying purposes.
Almost the whole of the Flanders country is intersected by waterways
and canals. This is of extreme value to the air pilot, and aids him
greatly in the matter of navigation. Railway systems there are in
plenty, mostly following an east or west direction.
The junctions of these railway lines are the nerve centers of the
German Army in the field; they control entirely the supplies of
reinforcements, ammunition, and supplies to the firing line. It is
for this reason that so many of our own air raids have been made on
Bruges, Courtrai, Roubaix, Lille, Tournai, and Douai. Each of these
towns mentioned contains an important railway junction.
The large majority of the Belgian towns in the enemy country,
immediately behind the firing line, have been totally deserted by their
inhabitants and the soldiers alike; it is not considered either safe or
desirable to remain within the area of a conspicuous landmark, of which
the enemy artillery can obtain an exact bearing with the utmost ease.
Added to this, frequent allied air-raids, and the accurate firing of
the Allied artillery have reduced them to untenable masses of fallen
masonry.
A point regarding aerial photography is worthy of note; if the surface
of the earth has been disturbed in any way within two days previous to
the photo being taken, that is, disturbed by the explosion of a shell,
or a new path across a field made by the tramp of many feet, such
disturbance will always show up prominently on the camera negative.