MY WAR RUSE
HOW sad and desolate it now looked in my little house!
Immediately at the beginning of the siege, my good Patzig was obliged
to leave me and to rejoin his 21-centimetre Battery-commander. He had
only luxuriated for four weeks in the possession of our beautiful
little home, and now he sat in his redoubt and fulfilled his duty
until he had fired his last shell and the Japanese, with their heavy
howitzers, had levelled to the ground the whole of his battery.
As soon as the first shot was fired, my Chinese cook, Moritz,
faithlessly left me in the lurch, and one evening I found that also
Fritz, Max and August had vanished without trace.
After a few days a new Chinese cook—Wilhelm—appeared on the scene,
and recounted with emphatic gestures:
“Kind Master, me plenty good cook; me no lun away like bad fellow
Molitz; me havee no fear; me makee plenty good chau-chau.”
I believed him, promised to give him five dollars and more. Things went
fairly well, until one day the first enemy shells burst close to my
house, and Herr Wilhelm as promptly disappeared as his predecessors.
I now sat alone in my deserted home with my faithful batman, Dorsch. We
were the only inhabitants of the whole villa quarter of Iltis Bay.
Not exactly a safe or pleasant spot, for the villas were built on
the hill which carried our chief batteries, and the enemy shells
which whizzed past them landed straight in our midst. But we were
very cautious. That is to say, we left our top floor and settled down
comfortably and safely on the ground floor. As a further precaution we
placed our beds in a corner, in such a way that they were far from a
window, and thus we secured sufficient immunity. It was, however, lucky
that no heavy shell challenged this position.
But I did not remain for long in sole control of the air.
On the forenoon of the 5th of September, under an overcast sky, with
low-hanging clouds, we suddenly heard the purring of a motor, and I
ran home to see what had happened. I was hardly there when an immense
biplane shot into sight close over our heads. I was speechless, and
peered dazedly at the apparition. Soon, however, the first explosions
rent the air, and I now perceived the round red balls under the planes.
It was a Jap!
I must say that I felt rather queer on beholding my huge enemy
colleague floating so near us in the sky. A bright outlook for the
future!
Kiao-Chow regarded the advent of the enemy airman as a most
disagreeable surprise, for no one had expected that the Japs would be
equipped with aircraft.
On the whole, they eventually produced eight aeroplanes, amongst them
four gigantic seaplanes, for whose possession I heartily envied the
Japs. How often in the ensuing weeks did I gaze longingly at them, as
they circled round the town, and wish for one!
The Japs flew well and with extraordinary pluck. It is lucky, however,
that their bomb-dropping was not on a par with it, otherwise it would
have been a bad look out for us. The Japanese bombs were heavy, of
recent construction, and most destructive.
The enemy seaplanes also had a tremendous advantage over us. They
were able to take off at a great distance, without consideration of
the wind, with as much space for turning out as they could wish for;
and when they had ascended with the greatest security to the altitude
of 3000 metres they swooped down upon us, and simply jeered at our
shrapnels and machine-guns.
One of the chief aims of the enemy was to destroy my hangar. Soon
matters became so unpleasant for my aerodrome that one fine day I
decided that it was time to stop my enemy colleagues’ little game.
My real shed lay at the northern end of the ground; it made a splendid
target, and the Japanese knew its location by heart. I now built
unobtrusively a new shed on the opposite side, close to a mountain
slope, covering it with clods of earth and grass, so that nothing of it
could be noticed from above. We then proceeded with deep cunning and
malice to the erection of a bogus aeroplane, with the help of planks,
sailing canvas and tin. From above it looked exactly like my Taube.
And after that, the moment an enemy aviator was in sight, we played a
little comedy.
On some days the doors of my old shed were wide open, and my imitation
Taube sprawled in front of it on the beautiful green grass. On others
the shed was closed and nothing to be seen. Another day my sham machine
sat in a different place, where it could be spotted at once. Now the
enemy aviators arrived and dropped bombs and bombs in their endeavours
to hit the innocent bird. Whilst this was going on we sat in the real
aeroplane, well protected by our roof, holding our sides with laughter
as we saw the bombs seeking their bogus victim.
Once when we had been specially deluged with them, I picked out a fine
splinter from a Japanese aviation bomb, affixed my visiting card to it
and wrote:
“Kindest greetings to the enemy colleagues! Why do you shy at us with
such hard objects? If you aren’t careful you will end by hurting us!
It isn’t done.”
I took this letter on my next flight and dropped it in front of the
Japanese seaplane station.
But this was only to announce my visit.
In the meantime one of our men had been preparing bombs for me. Simply
marvellous specimens! Huge tin boxes of 4 lb. each, on which could
be read in big letters: “Sietas, Plambeck & Co., best Java coffee.”
They were filled with dynamite, horseshoe nails and scrap iron, a lead
spar fixed to the bottom and a fuse at the top. It was exploded by
a sharp iron point which hit the percussion-cap of a cartridge. All
these things seemed pretty uncanny to me, and I handled them with the
greatest caution—always happy when I had done with them. But they
never caused much damage. Once I hit a torpedo boat, and even then it
did not explode; on several occasions I just missed a convoy. And once
I learned through Japanese reports that I had dropped a bomb into the
midst of a Japanese marching column and sent thirty yellow ones to the
nether regions!
I soon got over the first pleasant emotion of bombing. My time was
fully occupied apart from it, and the results did not justify the time
I lost.
I often met my enemy colleagues in the air. I did not hanker for these
meetings, for I could do little with my slow, laboriously climbing
Taube against the huge biplanes which carried a crew of three men.
Above all, I dared not forget that my chief object was reconnoitring,
and after that to bring back my machine to Kiao-Chow in good condition.
Once I was busily engaged on my observations, when my aeroplane began
to pitch and toss. I thought this was due to bumps in the air, caused
by the many steep and rugged mountains of this country which made
flying extraordinarily difficult. Without even looking up, I went on
taking observations, only grasping the control-lever with one hand in
order to keep the aeroplane steady.
After my return I was informed, to my great surprise, that an enemy
plane had flown so closely on top of me that they thought I should be
shot down.
Next time I was more careful. And on sighting one of my enemy
colleagues I followed and shot him down with my Parabellum pistol,
after firing thirty times.
A short time afterwards I nearly shared his fate. I was only at an
altitude of 1700 metres, and in spite of the greatest efforts I could
not get any higher. I was just above the enemy seaplane station as one
of the great biplanes started. I now carried out my reconnaissance,
thinking to myself: “Well, he can bestir himself until he gets up as
high as I!”
But after forty minutes, when I looked on my left over the plane, I saw
the enemy already gaining on me at a distance of only a few thousand
metres. This meant to be on guard and climb higher. But my Taube simply
refused to budge, and I could not gain another yard. A quarter of an
hour only elapsed before the other chap had outdistanced me, and was
coming diagonally across my trail, trying to cut me off from the road
to Kiao-Chow.
It was now a matter for betting who would first reach Kiao-Chow, but I
won the race. When I returned to my aerodrome I simply dived down, and
no sooner did I reach the ground than bombs were bursting all around
us.
It is extraordinary how they sometimes find their mark!
Strict orders had been given at Kiao-Chow that everybody should make
for cover as soon as an enemy airman was sighted. We had only two
casualties—a non-commissioned officer and a Chinese. And that was
quite marvellous enough. On my aerodrome I had about one hundred
coolies, and they always sped to safety. One day, however, a native
remained standing in the middle of the ground, all on his lonesome,
staring at the large bird. Bang! A bomb hurtled through the air and
exploded but a few paces away. The poor devil was badly hit. To have
really bad luck there is no easier way than to be on the spot where
shells and other heavy missiles are flying about.