A TIGHT CORNER
_Somewhere in France,
Friday._
The other day, yesterday afternoon to be exact, a most exciting
adventure befell me. I was detailed to take part in a bombing raid
at ----. We had not proceeded far beyond our own lines, after the
customary bombardment of anti-aircraft shells, when suddenly the
machine immediately in front of us rocked violently, and began to dive
towards the earth. “B----’s been hit,” my observer bawled into my ear.
I continued to watch the machine in its headlong descent. Alas, it was
only too true! There was no possible escape: after diving steeply six
hundred feet, the machine had begun to spin, and was now whirling round
and round like a humming-top, and hardly a minute after, had crashed
into the midst of a wood, from which there immediately came up a cloud
of gray smoke and a leaping tongue of flame.
We had started out four strong; our mission being to raid M----, a
large German military center, containing a staff headquarters, an
ammunition park, and a large aerodrome. And now our machine was the
sole survivor, two having been shot down when crossing the lines. Alone
and single-handed, in a notoriously dangerous portion of the enemy’s
lines, every moment we were liable to be fired at from all quarters,
and attacked by enemy aircraft.
I looked searchingly at my observer; it was his first trip across the
lines, and I had to admit to myself that never before, in my six months
of flying at the front, had I been in such a deucedly uncomfortable
position. How would he take it? I hesitated. Should we turn back
to safety, or should we continue on our way to what was almost
certain death? I glanced at his face, it was stern and set, with the
deliberation of the man who is willing to risk everything. With his
left hand he patted and fondled the deadly machine-gun. I determined to
go on.
Then they opened fire on us again. Apparently for the last few minutes
they had all deserted their guns and had been busy gaping at the
remains of poor B----’s machine; but now, flushed with their recent
success, they commenced to fire with demoniacal fury. Shots burst
behind, before, above, below: one minute immediately over the nose,
the next immediately beneath the tail of the machine. To avoid them
we climbed, and dived, and banked in all directions, until her old
ribs began to groan and creak from sheer exertion, and she threatened
every moment to fly asunder in mid-air. At last we got clear of them,
and sighted our objective, just as the sun broke through the clouds,
and revealed to us a stretch of low, flat-lying country, dotted here
and there with villages and camps and ammunition bases. M---- showed
up easily, it was a moderate-sized town of ant-like pigmy dwellings,
little white and gray patches in the brilliant sunlight. A small
winding river skirted the town, looking for all the world against the
dark background like the vein in a man’s arm. North and south ran the
gleaming, glinting railway lines, and a large road led up from the town
to the firing line. This road was now converged with traffic of all
descriptions. We dropped a bomb, but it was very wide of the mark, and
it served to draw the enemy’s fire, which again broke out all round us
with renewed fury. M---- was better supplied with anti-aircraft guns
than any other position on the German front. Higher and yet higher we
climbed until we were well above the clouds, and the earth was almost
hidden from our sight. By this simple and expedient _ruse de guerre_
we might be able to get over the city before the gunners were aware of
our existence. But alas for our well laid plans! We had not gone far
when we encountered a great double-engined Albatross, and there, with
the white billowy clouds stretching like waves of a gigantic sea in
all directions, we fought our battle of life and death. Fritz opened
the encounter by sweeping down upon us at top speed, pouring out a
steady stream of lead from the machine-gun in the nose of his machine.
To avoid this we climbed rapidly, and he flashed by, beneath us, at an
alarming rate. We attempted to bomb him, but it was futile, and the
bomb fell downwards to the earth below.
We turned as soon as were able, and waited for the enemy to recommence
the attack. He was all out now, and putting on top speed bore down
upon us with the speed of an express train. Nearer and yet nearer he
drew. Thankfully I noticed that we were both at the same altitude. When
yet about a quarter of a mile distant, his observer opened fire, the
bullets flying all around us in a leaden stream, and still we did not
reply. I looked at my observer. He was bending over his gun, fumbling
about with some portion of the mechanism. There was no need to ask what
was the matter. Alas! I knew too well. The gun had jammed. Now followed
a ticklish time for both of us, for without the gun we were completely
unarmed, and Fritz was drawing nearer every second. Already I could
hear and feel his bullets singing past my head, occasionally chipping
portions of the machine. Now he was right level with us. What were we
to do? To remain in that same position would mean certain death. If
we climbed, he would climb faster, and would almost immediately be up
with us again. There was only one thing to be done--the unexpected!
So putting her nose-down, we dived towards the earth like a stone,
and had gone over a thousand feet before I could get her level again.
This maneuver so upset the calculations of the enemy, that he was now
about three-quarters of a mile distant. This gave us precious time to
prepare again for the attack. The observer was still working feverishly
away, when we commenced to climb. Fritz had already turned and was
coming down to meet us; but we had the advantage this time of having
the wind behind our backs. If only that infernal gun were ready! Up we
climbed, and down came Fritz; all the faster because he knew we were
comparatively unarmed. Now we were under half a mile distant, now only
a quarter, and now he had commenced to fire. Would we never reply? At
last! Brrr! Brrr! Brrr! yapped the gun in our bows.
Fritz was so startled at this unexpected development that for a moment
he paused in his firing. This was our opportunity; taking steady aim
J---- put the whole drum of 47 cartridges into his back in three
bursts. He staggered and reeled, he was hit; I felt I wanted to cry out
for sheer joy, but my throat was parched and dry. Oh! the reaction
after that dreadful ten minutes. But although we had hit him, Fritz
was yet by no means out of running, that is if he elected to remain
and fight it out, which I doubted extremely; for the Hun is ever
super-courageous when he has an unarmed and helpless foe to deal with.
So throttling her down I watched him anxiously. Turning to the left he
started off at top speed in the direction of his own base. This I had
expected, and off we started in his trail with only another half-hour’s
petrol in our tanks. On and on he flew, over wood and town, and we
were close in the rear, both flying at top speed. Every moment he was
getting lower. I knew only too well what that meant. He was trying to
lead us into a trap, where we would make a set target for a ring of
his anti-aircraft guns. We must never let this happen or we should
be finished for a certainty. If we could only catch up with him; but
it was in vain we wished, for he was yet a quarter of a mile ahead,
when, as usual, the unexpected happened. He had engine trouble. Within
five minutes we were almost on top of him. He commenced to sink like a
stone. Now was our opportunity, an opportunity which our observer was
not slow to take advantage of. Right into the middle of his back flew
the steady stream of bullets. Again he reeled, and this time there was
that peculiar fluttering of the wings, which tells only too plainly
that an aeroplane is “out of control.” Like poor B---- he commenced to
whirl round like a humming-top, then with one long last plunge he had
crashed into one of his own encampments, and all was over.
We were left to reach our own lines with twenty minutes’ petrol
remaining, and under a violent bombardment of the enemy “Archies.”
* * * * *
Again an interesting personal account, told in the words of the pilot
participating in a Zepp Strafe:--
The orderly from the telephone room brought the news. Zeppelins had
been sighted at ---- and were proceeding in a northerly direction. This
meant that they would be overhead at any moment.
A few sharp orders and the station began to throb with life.
Mechanics hurried hither and thither, some to the sheds to get out the
machine, others to fetch the bombs and a Véry’s pistol from the armory;
yet others to lay out the light flares across the aerodrome in order
that upon our return we might perchance be able to define the right
landing ground.
Compasses, electric light torches and maps were dragged hurriedly from
their hiding-places in lockers. A general bearing was taken of the
enemy’s course, and we ran out on to the aerodrome, where a searchlight
had already begun to work, sending long, scintillating beams of light
across the dark night sky, turning and twisting, first in one quarter,
then in another, covering the heavens in the twinkling of an eye, but
never disclosing the true object of its search.
At last there is a shout from one of the men by the light. He had
discovered the whereabouts of the Zeppelin. Yes! there she is! A long,
gray, cigar-shaped object far up in the clouds.
We hurried across to the machine, and while I examined the bombs in the
bomb-rack beneath the fuselage (body), and attended to the fitting-in
of the Lewis-gun, the pilot tested the engine. And before five minutes
had elapsed since the first alarm we were off the ground.
Who can well and truly describe the sensations of night flying?
Suddenly one is hurled from the ground into an unbounded space of
darkness at the rate of fifty miles an hour. It is like jumping off a
cliff on a dark night and plunging on and on, one knows not where. It
is impossible to see beyond one’s nose, and the only thing that seems
real and natural is the incessantly loud hum of the engine. It is a by
no means pleasant task.
Leaving the ground we miss a roof-top by inches, and, feeling
considerably shaken, climb rapidly. At first it is dark, pitch dark.
We see nothing, we know not where we are. One would lose one’s reason
were it not for the hum of the racing engine.
At last there breaks through the long shadows of darkness, beneath us,
a long, narrow, winding ribbon of shimmering gray. The young moon has
broken through the clouds and the reflection of its light upon the
water gives us the position of the river. On either side or moving
slowly along the surface are small pin-pricks of colored lights; I
switch on my electric light in front of the observer’s seat, glance at
the altimeter, and discover that we are already 500 feet up.
The glare of that light, feeble though it be when contrasted with the
black darkness of the atmosphere around, has got into my eyes, and for
a moment or two I can distinguish absolutely nothing. Then lights begin
to make themselves visible.
The street lamps can easily be distinguished; as being darkened at the
top the light is concentrated downwards in a circle onto the pavement
beneath, which serves the purpose of reflecting it heavenwards and
upwards. The main streets can be picked out by the two parallel lines
of colored lights; the windows of shops, the lights of which have been
covered with red and green shades.
I have another look at the altimeter. Only a thousand, but still
climbing steadily. Into a dark bare patch of land far below there comes
rushing a flaring, glaring gleam of light, followed by a string of
smaller lights. I puzzle out what this strange apparition may be. It is
a railway train.
As we mount yet higher we begin to lose all our bearings, and all sight
of the earth beneath. A much more beautiful earth when compared with
the dull, prosaic everyday affair, looking for all the world like a
huge garden decorated with a myriad of multi-colored lights. It is
difficult to realize that those few, straggling, irregular rows of
lamps encompass seven million living souls; that there far below us
sleepily blinking and twinkling is the greatest city of the world.
The altimeter registers 5000 ft. Getting nearer to the Zepp altitude,
yet no sign! The anxiety of waiting and suspense is becoming
insufferable. Nothing but the incessant throb of the engine. But I have
spoken too soon! Out of the darkness and blackness there rushes past,
with the speed of an express train, a black unholy shape.
Suddenly there is the most violent cannonade; a sure sign that the
anti-aircraft gunners have spotted their quarry. Searchlights from all
directions are in a second of time concentrated upon ourselves, while
they are endeavoring to get the range. This latter, much to the disgust
of the pilot, who, blinded by the glare, banks too steeply, just in
time saves her from a nose-dive, and consigns all anti-aircraft gunners
to a certain well-known locality possessed of a permanent and extremely
warm climate.
We are in luck’s way, however; for presently the guns are all silenced.
The searchlights go out one by one. All becomes quiet and dark,
dismally dark. We cruise around for another ten minutes or so, then
descend cautiously and gradually. With one eye glued to the altimeter,
to make certain of the height, I peer over the side with the other to
pick up the first sign of lights or landmarks.
Eight thousand feet! Seven thousand feet! Getting horribly cold! Six
thousand! Five thousand! Shall we never get down? Four thousand! Three
thousand! it seems like an age. Two thousand! One thousand! Cautiously
now or our necks will be broken!
At last we are safe back on Mother Earth again, and very thankfully
seek the refuge of our beds!