Ever since the days of Jules Verne no theme has proved so popular in
fiction as fighting in the air. It was a subject which lent itself to
vivid imagination and spirited picturesque portrayal. Discussion might
be provoked, but it inevitably proved abortive, inasmuch as there was a
complete absence of data based upon actual experience. The novelist
was without any theory: he avowedly depended upon the brilliance of his
imagination. The critic could only theorise, and no matter how dogmatic
his reasonings, they were certainly as unconvincing as those of the
object of his attack.
But truth has proved stranger than fiction. The imaginative pictures
of the novelist have not only been fulfilled but surpassed, while the
theorising critic has been utterly confounded. Fighting in the air has
become so inseparable from the military operations of to-day that it
occurs with startling frequency. A contest between hostile aeroplanes,
hundreds of feet above the earth, is no longer regarded as a dramatic,
thrilling spectacle: it has become as matter-of-fact as a bayonet melee
between opposed forces of infantry.
A duel in the clouds differs from any other form of encounter. It is
fought mercilessly: there can be no question of quarter or surrender.
The white flag is no protection, for the simple reason that science and
mechanical ingenuity have failed, so far, to devise a means of taking
an aeroplane in tow. The victor has no possible method of forcing the
vanquished to the ground in his own territory except driving. If such a
move be made there is the risk that the latter will take the advantage
of a critical opportunity to effect his escape, or to turn the tables.
For these reasons the fight is fought to a conclusive finish.
To aspire to success in these combats waged in the trackless blue,
speed, initiative, and daring are essential. Success falls to the swift
in every instance. An aeroplane travelling at a high speed, and pursuing
an undulating or irregular trajectory is almost impossible to hit from
the ground, as sighting is so extremely difficult. Sighting from another
machine, which likewise is travelling rapidly, and pursuing an irregular
path, is far more so. Unless the attacker can approach relatively
closely to his enemy the possibility of hitting him is extremely remote.
Rifle or gun-fire must be absolutely point blank.
When a marauding aeroplane is espied the attacking corsair immediately
struggles for the strategical position, which is above his adversary. To
fire upwards from one aeroplane at another is virtually impossible,
at least with any degree of accuracy. The marksman is at a hopeless
disadvantage. If the pilot be unaccompanied and entirely dependent upon
his own resources he cannot hope to fire vertically above him, for
the simple reason that in so doing he must relinquish control of his
machine. A rifle cannot possibly be sighted under such conditions,
inasmuch as it demands that the rifleman shall lean back so as to obtain
control of his weapon and to bring it to bear upon his objective. Even
if a long range Mauser or other automatic pistol of the latest type be
employed, two hands are necessary for firing purposes, more particularly
as, under such conditions, the machine, if not kept under control, is
apt to lurch and pitch disconcertingly.
Even a colleague carried for the express purpose of aggression is
handicapped. If he has a machinegun, such as a Maxim or a mitrailleuse,
it is almost out of the question to train it vertically. Its useful
vertical training arc is probably limited to about 80 degrees, and
at this elevation the gunner has to assume an extremely uncomfortable
position, especially upon an aeroplane, where, under the best of
circumstances, he is somewhat cramped.
On the other hand the man in the aeroplane above holds the dominating
position. He is immediately above his adversary and firing may be
carried out with facility. The conditions are wholly in his favour.
Sighting and firing downwards, even if absolutely vertically, imposes
the minimum physical effort, with the result that the marksman is able
to bring a steadier aim upon his adversary. Even if the machine be
carrying only the pilot, the latter is able to fire upon his enemy
without necessarily releasing control of his motor, even for a moment.
If he is a skilled sharpshooter, and the exigencies demand, he can
level, sight, and fire his weapon with one hand, while under such
circumstances an automatic self-loading pistol can be trained upon the
objective with the greatest ease. If the warplane be carrying a second
person, acting as a gunner, the latter can maintain an effective rifle
fusillade, and, at the same time, manipulate his machine-gun with no
great effort, maintaining rifle fire until the pilot, by manoeuvring,
can enable the mitrailleuse or Maxim to be used to the greatest
advantage.
Hence the wonderful display of tactical operations when two hostile
aeroplanes sight one another. The hunted at first endeavours to learn
the turn of speed which his antagonist commands. If the latter is
inferior, the pursued can either profit from his advantage and race away
to safety, or at once begin to manoeuvre for position. If he is made of
stern stuff, he attempts the latter feat without delay. The pursuer, if
he realises that he is out classed in pace, divines that his quarry will
start climbing if he intends to show fight, so he begins to climb also.
Now success in this tactical move will accrue to the machine which
possesses the finest climbing powers, and here again, of course,
speed is certain to count. But, on the other hand, the prowess of the
aviator--the human element once more--must not be ignored. The war has
demonstrated very convincingly that the personal quality of the aviator
often becomes the decisive factor.
A spirited contest in the air is one of the grimmest and most thrilling
spectacles possible to conceive, and it displays the skill of the
aviator in a striking manner. Daring sweeps, startling wheels,
breathless vol-planes, and remarkable climbs are carried out. One
wonders how the machine can possibly withstand the racking strains to
which it is subjected. The average aeroplane demands space in which
to describe a turn, and the wheel has to be manipulated carefully and
dexterously, an operation requiring considerable judgment on the part of
the helmsman.
But in an aerial duel discretion is flung to the winds. The pilot
jambs his helm over in his keen struggle to gain the superior position,
causing the machine to groan and almost to heel over. The stem stresses
of war have served to reveal the perfection of the modern aeroplane
together with the remarkable strength of its construction. In one or two
instances, when a victor has come to earth, subsequent examination has
revealed the enormous strains to which the aeroplane has been subjected.
The machine has been distorted; wires have been broken--wires which have
succumbed to the enormous stresses which have been imposed and have
not been snapped by rifle fire. One well-known British airman, who was
formerly a daring automobilist, confided to me that a fight in the
air "is the finest reliability trial for an aeroplane that was ever
devised!"
In these desperate struggles for aerial supremacy the one party
endeavours to bring his opponent well within the point-blank range of
his armament: the other on his part strives just as valiantly to keep
well out of reach. The latter knows fully well that his opponent is at
a serious disadvantage when beyond point-blank range, for the simple
reason that in sighting the rifle or automatic pistol, it is difficult,
if not impossible while aloft, to judge distances accurately, and to
make the correct allowances for windage.
If, however, the dominating aviator is armed with a machine gun he
occupies the superior position, because he can pour a steady hail of
lead upon his enemy. The employment of such a weapon when the contest is
being waged over friendly territory has many drawbacks. Damage is likely
to be inflicted among innocent observers on the earth below; the airman
is likely to bombard his friends. For this very reason promiscuous
firing, in the hope of a lucky shot finding a billet in the hostile
machine, is not practised. Both parties appear to reserve their fire
until they have drawn within what may be described as fighting distance,
otherwise point blank range, which may be anything up to 300 yards.
Some of the battles between the German and the French or British
aeroplanes have been waged with a total disregard of the consequences.
Both realise that one or the other must perish, and each is equally
determined to triumph. It is doubtful whether the animosity between the
opposing forces is manifested anywhere so acutely as in the air. In some
instances the combat has commenced at 300 feet or so above the
earth, and has been fought so desperately, the machines climbing and
endeavouring to outmanoeuvre each other, that an altitude of over 5,000
feet has been attained before they have come to close grips.
The French aviator is nimble, and impetuous: the German aviator is
daring, but slow in thought: the British airman is a master of strategy,
quick in thought, and prepared to risk anything to achieve his end. The
German airman is sent aloft to reconnoitre the enemy and to communicate
his information to his headquarters. That is his assigned duty and he
performs it mechanically, declining to fight, as the welfare of his
colleagues below is considered to be of more vital importance than his
personal superiority in an aerial contest. But if he is cornered he
fights with a terrible and fatalistic desperation.
The bravery of the German airmen is appreciated by the Allies. The
French flying-man, with his traditional love for individual combat,
seeks and keenly enjoys a duel. The British airman regards such a
contest as a mere incident in the round of duty, but willingly accepts
the challenge when it is offered. It is this manifestation of what may
be described as acquiescence in any development that enabled the British
flying corps, although numerically inferior, to gain its mastery of the
air so unostentatiously and yet so completely.
All things considered an aeroplane duel is regarded as a fairly equal
combat. But what of a duel between an aeroplane and a dirigible? Which
holds the advantage? This question has not been settled, at any rate
conclusively, but it is generally conceded that up to a certain point
the dirigible is superior. It certainly offers a huge and attractive
target, but rifle fire at its prominent gas-bag is not going to cause
much havoc. The punctures of the envelope may represent so many
vents through which the gas within may effect a gradual escape, but
considerable time must elapse before the effect of such a bombardment
becomes pronounced in its result, unless the gas-bag is absolutely
riddled with machine gun-fire, when descent must be accelerated.
On the other hand, it is to be presumed that the dirigible is armed.
In this event it has a distinct advantage. It has a steady gun-platform
enabling the weapons of offence to be trained more easily and an
enhanced accuracy of fire to be obtained. In order to achieve success
it is practically imperative that an aeroplane should obtain a position
above the dirigible, but the latter can ascend in a much shorter space
of time, because its ascent is vertical, whereas the aeroplane
must describe a spiral in climbing. Under these circumstances it is
relatively easy for the airship to outmanoeuvre the aeroplane in the
vertical plane, and to hold the dominating position.
But even should the aeroplane obtain the upper position it is not
regarded with fear. Some of the latest Zeppelins have a machine gun
mounted upon the upper surface of the envelope, which can be trained
through 360 degrees and elevated to about 80 degrees vertical. Owing to
the steady gun platform offered it holds command in gun-fire, so that
the aeroplane, unless the aviator is exceptionally daring, will not
venture within the range of the dirigible. It is stated, however, that
this upper gun has proved unsatisfactory, owing to the stresses and
strains imposed upon the framework of the envelope of the Zeppelin
during firing, and it has apparently been abandoned. The position,
however, is still available for a sniper or sharpshooter.
The position in the sky between two such combatants is closely analogous
to that of a torpedo boat and a Dreadnought. The latter, so long as it
can keep the former at arm's, or rather gun's, distance is perfectly
safe. The torpedo boat can only aspire to harass its enemy by buzzing
around, hoping that a lucky opportunity will develop to enable it to
rush in and to launch its torpedo. It is the same with the aeroplane
when arrayed against a Zeppelin. It is the mosquito craft of the air.
How then can a heavier-than-air machine triumph over the unwieldy
lighter-than-air antagonist? Two solutions are available. If it can
get above the dirigible the adroplane may bring about the dirigible's
destruction by the successful launch of a bomb. The detonation of the
latter would fire the hydrogen within the gas-bag or bags, in which
event the airship would fall to earth a tangled wreck. Even if the
airship were inflated with a non-inflammable gas--the Germans claim
that their Zeppelins now are so inflated--the damage wrought by the bomb
would be so severe as to destroy the airship's buoyancy, and it would be
forced to the ground.
The alternative is very much more desperate. It involves ramming the
dirigible. This is undoubtedly possible owing to the speed and facile
control of the aeroplane, but whether the operation would be successful
remains to be proved. The aeroplane would be faced with such a
concentrated hostile fire as to menace its own existence--its forward
rush would be frustrated by the dirigible just as a naval vessel parries
the ramming tactics of an enemy by sinking the latter before she reaches
her target, while if it did crash into the hull of the dirigible,
tearing it to shreds, firing its gas, or destroying its equilibrium,
both protagonists would perish in the fatal dive to earth. For this
reason ramming in mid-air is not likely to be essayed except when the
situation is desperate.
What happens when two aeroplanes meet in dire combat in mid-air and one
is vanquished? Does the unfortunate vessel drop to earth like a stone,
or does it descend steadily and reach the ground uninjured? So far as
actual experience has proved, either one of the foregoing contingencies
may happen. In one such duel the German aeroplane was observed to start
suddenly upon a vol-plane to the ground. Its descending flight carried
it beyond the lines of the Allies into the territory of its friends.
Both came to the conclusion that the aviator had effected his escape.
But subsequent investigation revealed the fact that a lucky bullet
from the Allies' aeroplane had lodged in the brain of the German pilot,
killing him instantly. At the moment when Death over took him the
aviator had set his plane for the descent to the ground, and the machine
came to earth in the manner of a glider.
But in other instances the descent has been far more tragic. The
aeroplane, deprived of its motive power, has taken the deadly headlong
dive to earth. It has struck the ground with terrific violence, burying
its nose in the soil, showing incidentally that a flying machine is an
indifferent plough, and has shattered itself, the debris soaked with
the escaping fuel becoming ignited. In any event, after such a fall the
machine is certain to be a wreck. The motor may escape damage, in
which event it is salvaged, the machine subsequently being purposely
sacrificed to the flames, thereby rendering it no longer available
to the enemy even if captured. In many instances the hostile fire has
smashed some of the stays and wires, causing the aeroplane to lose its
equilibrium, and sending it to earth in the manner of the proverbial
stone, the aviators either being dashed to pieces or burned to death.
What are the vulnerable parts of the aeroplane? While the deliberate
intention of either combatant is to put his antagonist hors de combat,
the disablement of the machine may be achieved without necessarily
killing or even seriously wounding the hostile airman. The prevailing
type of aeroplane is highly susceptible to derangement: it is like a
ship without armour plate protection. The objective of the antagonist is
the motor or the fuel-tank, the vital parts of the machine, as much as
the aviator seated within.
A well-planted shot, which upsets the mechanism of the engine, or a
missile which perforates the fuel tank, thereby depriving the motor of
its sustenance, will ensure victory as conclusively as the death of the
aviator himself. Rifle fire can achieve either of these ends with little
difficulty. Apart from these two nerve-centres, bombardment is not
likely to effect the desired disablement, inasmuch as it cannot be
rendered completely effective. The wings may be riddled like a sieve,
but the equilibrium of the machine is not seriously imperilled thereby.
Even many of the stays may be shot away, but bearing in mind the slender
objective they offer, their destruction is likely to be due more to
luck than judgment. On the other hand, the motor and fuel tank of the
conventional machine offer attractive targets: both may be put out of
action readily, and the disablement of the motive power of an enemy's
craft, be it torpedo-boat, battleship, or aeroplane, immediately places
the same at the assailant's mercy.
Nevertheless, of course, the disablement of the airman brings about
the desired end very effectively. It deprives the driving force of its
controlling hand; The aeroplane becomes like a ship without a rudder: a
vessel whose helmsman has been shot down. It is unmanageable, and likely
to become the sport of the element in which it moves. It is for this
reason that aviators have been urged to direct their fire upon the men
and mechanism of a dirigible in the effort to put it out of action.
An uncontrolled airship is more likely to meet with its doom than an
aeroplane. The latter will inevitably glide to earth, possibly damaging
itself seriously in the process, as events in the war have demonstrated,
but a helpless airship at once becomes the sport of the wind, and anyone
who has assisted, like myself, in the descent of a vessel charged with
gas and floating in the air, can appreciate the difficulties experienced
in landing. An uncontrolled Zeppelin, for instance, would inevitably
pile up in a tangled twisted ruin if forced to descend in the manner of
an ordinary balloon. Consequently the pilot of a dirigible realises to
the full the imperative urgency of keeping beyond the point-blank fire
of aerial mosquito craft.
The assiduity with which British aviators are prepared to swarm to the
attack has been responsible for a display of commendable ingenuity
on the part of the German airman. Nature has provided some of its
creatures, such as the octopus, for instance, with the ways and means
of baffling its pursuers. It emits dense clouds of inky fluid when
disturbed, and is able to effect its escape under cover of this screen.
The German aviator has emulated the octopus. He carries not only
explosive bombs but smoke balls as well. When he is pursued and he finds
himself in danger of being overtaken, the Teuton aviator ignites these
missiles and throws them overboard. The aeroplane becomes enveloped in
a cloud of thick impenetrable smoke. It is useless to fire haphazard
at the cloud, inasmuch as it does not necessarily cover the aviator. He
probably has dashed out of the cloud in such a way as to put the screen
between himself and his pursuer.
In such tactics he has merely profited by a method which is practised
freely upon the water. The torpedo boat flotilla when in danger of being
overwhelmed by superior forces will throw off copious clouds of smoke.
Under this cover it is able to steal away, trusting to the speed of the
craft to carry them well beyond gunshot. The "smoke screen," as it is
called, is an accepted and extensively practised ruse in naval strategy,
and is now adopted by its mosquito colleagues of the air.