The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Red Battle Flyer, by
Capt. Manfred Freiherr von Richthofen
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Title: The Red Battle Flyer
Author: Capt. Manfred Freiherr von Richthofen
Translator: T. Ellis Baker
Release Date: October 24, 2012 [EBook #41159]
Language: English
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THE RED BATTLE FLYER
[Illustration: CAPTAIN BARON VON RICHTHOFEN]
THE RED BATTLE FLYER
BY
Captain Manfred Freiherr von Richthofen
Translated by T. Ellis Barker, with a preface and
notes by C. G. Grey, editor of "The Aeroplane"
NEW YORK
Robert M. McBride & Co.
1918
Translation
Copyright 1918
By
ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY
_Printed in the United States of America._
Published July, 1918
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE 1
I. MY FAMILY 19
II. THE OUTBREAK OF THE WAR 29
III. BOREDOM BEFORE VERDUN 52
IV. IN THE AIR 57
V. MY FIRST SOLO FLIGHT 82
VI. I FLY IN A THUNDERSTORM 92
VII. BOMBING IN RUSSIA 98
VIII. MY FIRST ENGLISH VICTIM 109
IX. I GET THE ORDRE POUR LE MÉRITE 127
X. A FLYING MAN'S ADVENTURE 145
XI. MY RECORD DAY 154
XII. SCHÄFER LANDS BETWEEN THE LINES 168
XIII. MY BROTHER 196
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
CAPTAIN BARON VON RICHTHOFEN _Frontispiece_
THE FAMOUS RICHTHOFEN "CIRCUS" 64
THE FORTIETH RICHTHOFEN VICTIM 128
LIEUT. SCHÄFER SPEAKING WITH ANOTHER MEMBER OF THE SQUADRON 194
CAPTAIN RICHTHOFEN WITH HIS MASCOT DOG "MORITZ" 194
PREFACE
SOME time ago a Naval Officer who was engaged on particularly hazardous
duty was discussing calmly the chances that he and his like had of
surviving the war, assuming that it continued for several more years and
that his particular branch of it increased its intensity. He wound up
his remarks by saying, "The chief reason why I particularly want to
survive the finish is that I'm so keen on comparing notes with our
opposite members in the German Navy."
That is the answer to those who ask, as an important official gentleman
asked recently, why this English translation of Rittmeister von
Richthofen's book should be published. It gives our flying people an
opportunity of comparing notes with one of Germany's star-turn fighting
pilots, just as that excellent book by "Contact" gives the Germans the
chance of gathering the atmosphere of the Royal Flying Corps as it was
in 1916 and 1917.
"The Red Battle-Flyer" has evidently been carefully censored by the
German authorities. Also it has possibly been touched up here and there
for propagandist purposes. Consequently, although the narrative as it
stands is extraordinarily interesting, the book as a whole is still more
interesting on account of what one reads between the lines, and of what
one can deduce from the general outlook of the writer. There is,
perhaps, little to learn of immediate topical interest, but there is
much that explains things which were rather difficult to understand in
the past, and the understanding of such points gives one a line of
reasoning which should be useful to our active-service aviators in the
future.
When one makes due allowance for the propagandist nature of the book,
which gives one the general impression of the writing of a gentleman
prepared for publication by a hack journalist, one forms a distinctly
favorable mental picture of the young Rittmeister Baron von Richthofen.
Our old friend Froissart is credited with the statement that in his age
of chivalry it was always "impossible to inculcate into the German
knights the true spirit of knightliness." Which seems to indicate that
the practical German mind of those days could not understand the
whimsicalities of the Latin ideas of chivalry, which--for example--bade
a knight against whose shield an opponent "brake his spear" haul off out
of the fight till the lance-less enemy unsheathed his sword and "drave
into the combat" again. Probably the Hun of those days proceeded to
stick his opponent in the midriff--wherever it may be--and so finished
the fight.
In the same true spirit of knightliness an Englishman knocks a man down
and then stands back so that he can get up and have another chance,
whereas a more practical person would take excellent care that his
opponent never got up till he had acknowledged himself beaten. It is all
a matter of the point of view, and largely no doubt a matter of
education. However, making due allowance for the point of view, one
finds surprisingly little Hunnishness in von Richthofen's manners or
methods as set forth in print.
It is one of the accepted facts of the war that the German aviators have
displayed greater chivalry than any other branch of the German services.
It was a common occurrence for their pilots to fly over our lines in the
course of their business, and, by way of variety from that business, to
drop packets containing letters from captured British aviators, or the
personal belongings of the dead. One gathers that these acts of courtesy
have become less frequent of late, owing to the intensification of
aerial warfare, but it seems that captured and killed aviators still
receive the full courtesies of war from the German aviators, whatever
may be the fate of prisoners in other hands afterwards.
It is not surprising therefore to find that, taking him all round,
Rittmeister von Richthofen conveys to one the general impression that,
_mutatis mutandis_, he is very like an English public school boy of
good family. His egotism, as one finds it in the book, is the egotism of
a young man who is frankly pleased with himself, but is more elated by
his good luck than by his cleverness.
Taking him by and large, one rather likes von Richthofen, and one
fancies that most of the R.F.C. people who have fought him would be
quite pleased after the war to sit at table with him and compare notes
over the cigarettes and liquors, as my Naval friend wants to do with his
pre-war friends of the German Navy. And there are unhappily not too many
of our present enemies of whom one would like to express such an
opinion.
When one comes to read into the book one begins to find many interesting
things about the German Army, and the war in general, as well as about
the German Feldfliegertruppen--or Flying Service. The German is not
really a skilful censor. Just as certain portraits painted by an artist
at Ruhleben conveyed by the expression of the faces a good deal that
Germany would like hidden, so von Richthofen's book, though carefully
censored, lets out quite a good deal of information.
The first thing that strikes one is that Germany's standing army at the
beginning of the war was nothing like so perfect a fighting machine as
we in this country believed. Although, like all the people with any
sense in this country, the German Army knew that a war was coming, the
officers and men seem to have set about their work in a singularly
amateurish way, judging by the short section of the book devoted to the
opening of the war on the Russian Front. And one is pleased to find that
von Richthofen has the grace to laugh at himself and his
brother-officers for their mistakes.
In some ways the soldiers of all nations resemble one another strongly.
For instance, one finds in this book the same contempt for what the
Germans picturesquely call a "base-hog," as the French have for the
"embusqué" and as the British front-line officer has for the young and
able-bodied officer who is "Something on the Staff." This obnoxious
breed is the same in all armies, and must be clearly distinguished from
the carefully trained and expensively educated General Staff Officer,
who is very much of a specialist and is the very brain of the Army.
When we come to the purely aviatic portion of the book one finds more of
the real von Richthofen and less of the cavalry officer. His honesty
about his utter mental confusion the first time he went into the air
recalls General Brancker's famous remark in his lecture to the
Aeronautical Society when he said that no one ever sees anything at all
during his first hour in the air owing to the hopeless confusion in his
mind caused by the novel aspect of everything. Von Richthofen's
description of his experience is about the best thing that has been
written on the subject.
An interesting bit of information is disclosed in his description of his
flight in a "Grossflugzeug," on September 1st, 1915. At that period
little was known about twin-engined aeroplanes. The Germans were known
to have tried them, but they were not a success. The only example known
to our people--though probably there were actually several different
machines--was commonly known in the R.F.C. as "Wong-wong," on account of
the curious noise made by the engines or air-screws when they got "out
of phase"--as an electrician might call it. This noise is now quite
familiar to the inhabitants of Southeastern England as the
characteristic note of the Gotha bombers.
Von Richthofen's good judgment of fighting values, though he was then
only an observer, and a novice at that, is shown by his disapproval of
the twin-engined aeroplane as a fighting machine. It is also of interest
to learn that at that period the Germans had tried an auto-lock device
to hold the rudder of a twin-engined machine over to one side so that it
would fly straight if one engine went out of action, an ingenious idea
even if foredoomed to failure.
It is encouraging to find that though these twin-engined machines were
in operation in September, 1915, the first bombing squadron so composed
only came into action against defenceless Bucharest a year later. This
shows that actually we in this country are not so very much slower in
producing our new ideas, for our big Handley Page twin-engined biplanes
first flew towards the end of 1915, and we began to use them regularly
early in 1917--only a little more than a year later.
The similarity of aviators in all countries is shown by von Richthofen's
frank confession of blue funk when he made his first flight alone. That
first solo is always the most anxious time in a pilot's career. Another
touch of that nature which makes all aviators akin is seen in his
accounts of how he and other pupils under instruction used to fly off on
cross-country training trips and suffer from opportune forced landings
in the parks of their friends or in likely-looking estates. One imagined
that this manifestation of "wongling" was an essentially English trick,
and would not have been tolerated for a moment under the iron discipline
of the German Army. In the early days of the R.F.C. this looking for
opulent hosts used to be known sarcastically as "hunting for
Jew-palaces."
The state of affairs on the Russian front is well shown in the brief
reference in the book. "Flying in the East is absolutely a holiday,"
says the writer, who adds that there was no danger on the Russian front,
except the danger of being massacred by the Russians if brought down by
engine failure. From which one understands that the Russians did not
approve of making prisoners of enemy aviators. Their "Archies" were
apparently good, but too few to be useful, and their aviators
practically did not exist. Which is rather what one ventured to surmise
in print at the time, despite the magniloquent Russian communiqués. When
one thinks of all the good British and French aeroplanes and engines
which were sent to Russia one regrets the waste of material.
On the subject of air fighting, von Richthofen is always worth studying
carefully. None will dispute his wisdom in laying stress on the
importance of calmness in an air fight. We have lost many good fighting
pilots through their getting excited and dashing headlong into an
unequal combat. He, or his editor, has been sufficiently skilful not to
give away his pet method of attack. However, one gathers that he
depended largely on his first rush for his results, rather than on a
prolonged series of manoeuvres.
His dictum that "in air fighting results depend on ability and not on
trickery," rather bears out this impression. Nevertheless he
occasionally tells of a lengthy tussle with a particularly skilful
enemy.
Such a story relates how that very gallant gentleman, Major Lanoe
Hawker, one of the best loved and admired of the R.F.C.'s many gallant
fighting leaders, fell. It would seem that Major Hawker's machine was
outclassed rather than that he was beaten by superior skill. One is glad
to find that von Richthofen pays a tribute to the bravery and ability of
his enemy, and it is perhaps some slight consolation to those of us who
knew Lanoe Hawker to think that he fell a victim to the Germans' best
man and not to a chance shot from an unworthy foe.
It is rather curious that some time after emphasizing the fact that
trickery does not pay in air fighting, von Richthofen should show how
trickery does pay by describing his young brother Lothar's trick of
pretending to be shot and letting his machine fall apparently out of
control, so as to break off a fight with opponents who were above his
weight. One is inclined to wonder how many optimistic young air-fighters
have reported enemy machines as "driven down out of control," when in
reality the wily Hun has only been getting out of the way of harm. The
older hands in these days are not easily caught by such a trick, and the
High Command refuses to count any victims so claimed unless the
performance is verified by independent witnesses either on the ground or
aloft.
Another point of interest in von Richthofen's fighting methods is that
he states, that as a rule, he opens fire at 50 yards. Distances are
hard to judge in the air. The pilot is more likely to underestimate them
than otherwise, just as one does in judging distances at sea. But von
Richthofen is probably as good a judge as any, and in this he seems to
be stating a plain fact. In these days 50 yards is fairly long range.
Some of our own crack fighters prefer 50 feet, if they can get into
their favorite positions. Anyhow he shows the unwisdom of opening fire
at 1,000 yards, as some inexperienced and excited machine-gunners are
rather apt to do.
Von Richthofen's chaser squadron--or Jagdstaffel, as the Germans call
these formations--was the first to be known as a "circus." The famous
Boelcke squadron, although a fairly mobile body, the members of which
co-operated closely on occasion, never developed formation fighting to
the extent that von Richthofen did.
His men, although, as the book shows, they went out periodically on
lone-hand ventures, generally flew in a body, numbering anywhere from
half a dozen to fifteen or so. Their leader chose to paint his little
Albatros a brilliant pillar-box red. The others painted their machines
according to their fancy. Some had yellow noses, blue bodies and green
wings. Some were pale blue underneath and black on top. Some were
painted in streaks, some with spots. In fact, they rang the changes on
the whole of the paint-box.
They flew wonderfully, being all picked men, and in a fight they
performed in a manner which would have seemed impossible to the most
expert aerial acrobats.
Also, the squadron was moved from place to place as a self-contained
unit, so that it appeared wherever the fighting was thickest, or
wherever British or French reconnaissance machines were busiest. It
would be operating at Verdun one week. The next week it would be north
of Arras. A few days later it would be down on the Somme. But as a rule
it specialized on the British front. Wherever it pitched its tents it
did its regular squadron performance, and followed it later in the day
with lone-hand raids, or "strafing" flight by two or three machines at
a time.
When one considers the harlequin coloring of the machines, their
acrobatic flying and their "two shows a day" performances from their
one-week pitches, it follows logically that the humorists of the R.F.C.
simply had to call the squadron "von Richthofen's Traveling Circus."
Since then the word has acquired a meaning of its own among flying men.
It connotes practically any special formation organized for the purpose
of hunting enemy aviators, and consisting of picked men under a
specially skilful leader. It need not necessarily be more mobile than
any other squadron, and it need not indulge in freak colorings, though
in the nature of its work, its flying must be acrobatic. The British
"circuses" are in these days superior to the German circuses, because
our machines are now at least as good as those of the Germans, and so
our men, who have always been of higher average quality than the German
aviators, have a fair chance of proving their worth.
Of those of von Richthofen's circus mentioned in the book, Schäfer was
the first to be killed. Before the war he lived in London, to learn
English, working in an office in the city, when so inclined, but mostly
spending his time on the river, or in sport. Those who knew him say that
he was a pleasant lad and a good sportsman.
Voss was the next to go, after what has been described by those who were
in it as one of the most gallant fights of the war. On a Fokker triplane
with a French le Rhone engine--evidently an experimental machine built
for quick manoeuvring--he fought single-handed a patrol of six of our
people, when he could have broken off the fight and have got away by
abandoning an inferior companion. He was a brave man and a most
brilliant pilot. His flying and shooting in his last fight are said to
have been marvelously clever. None admire his bravery more than those
who fought him.
Others of the "circus" have fallen since then, and the present
"Richthofen Jagdstaffel" is probably constituted very differently from
that band of high-spirited desperadoes which was evolved from the
original Boelcke squadron, and helped to build up the fame of von
Richthofen. There is none of the old R.F.C. who would not cheerfully
kill what is left of the "circus," and there is probably none who would
not gladly shake hands with the survivors after peace is declared. They
are worthy enemies and brave men.
This little book gives one a useful insight into the enemy's methods,
and more than a little respect for at any rate some of those whom we are
at present endeavoring to kill.
C. G. GREY,
EDITOR, _The Aeroplane_.
I
_My Family._
THE members of my family--that of Richthofen--have taken no very great
part in wars until now. The Richthofens have always lived in the
country; indeed, there has scarcely been one of them without a landed
estate, and the few who did not live in the country have, as a rule,
entered the State service. My grandfather and all my ancestors before
him had estates about Breslau and Striegau. Only in the generation of my
grandfather it happened that the first Richthofen, his cousin, became a
General.
My mother belongs to the family Von Schickfuss und Neudorf. Their
character resembles that of the Richthofen people. There were a few
soldiers in that family. All the rest were agrarians. The brother of my
great-grandfather Schickfuss fell in 1806. During the Revolution of 1848
one of the finest castles of a Schickfuss was burnt down. The Schickfuss
have, as a rule, only become Captains of the Reserve.
In the family Schickfuss and in the family Falckenhausen--my
grandmother's maiden name was Falckenhausen--there were two principal
hobbies: horse riding and game shooting. My mother's brother, Alexander
Schickfuss, has done a great deal of game shooting in Africa, Ceylon,
Norway and Hungary.
My father is practically the first member of our branch of the family to
become a professional soldier. At an early age he entered the Corps of
Cadets and later joined the 12th Regiment of Uhlans. He was the most
conscientious soldier imaginable. He began to suffer from difficulty of
hearing and had to resign. He got ear trouble because he saved one of
his men from drowning and though he was wet through and through he
insisted upon continuing his duties as if nothing had happened, wet as
he was, without taking notice of the rigor of the weather. The present
generation of the Richthofens contains, of course, many more soldiers.
In war every able-bodied Richthofen is, of course, on active service. In
the very beginning of the present war I lost six cousins, and all were
in the cavalry.
I was named after my uncle Manfred, who in peace time, was adjutant to
His Majesty and Commander of the Corps of the Guards. During the war he
has been Commander of a Corps of Cavalry.
My father was in the 1st Regiment of Cuirassiers in Breslau when I was
born on the 2nd of May, 1892. We then lived at Kleinburg. I received
tuition privately until my ninth year. Then I went for a year to school
in Schweidnitz and then I became Cadet in Wahlstatt. The people of
Schweidnitz considered me as one of themselves. Having been prepared for
a military career as a Cadet, I entered the 1st Regiment of Uhlans.
My own adventures and experiences will be found in this book.
My brother, Lothar, is the other flying-man Richthofen. He wears the
_Ordre pour le Mérite_. My youngest brother is still in the Corps of
Cadets and he is waiting anxiously until he is old enough to go on
active service. My sister, like all the ladies of our family, is
occupied in nursing the wounded.
_My Life as a Cadet_
AS a little boy of eleven I entered the Cadet Corps. I was not
particularly eager to become a Cadet, but my father wished it. So my
wishes were not consulted.
I found it difficult to bear the strict discipline and to keep order. I
did not care very much for the instruction I received. I never was good
at learning things. I did just enough work to pass. In my opinion it
would have been wrong to do more than was just sufficient, so I worked
as little as possible. The consequence was that my teachers did not
think overmuch of me. On the other hand, I was very fond of sport.
Particularly I liked gymnastics, football, and other outdoor amusements.
I could do all kinds of tricks on the horizontal bar. For this I
received various prizes from the Commander.
I had a tremendous liking for all risky foolery. For instance, one fine
day, with my friend Frankenberg, I climbed the famous steeple of
Wahlstatt by means of the lightning conductor and tied my handkerchief
to the top. I remember exactly how difficult it was to negotiate the
gutters. Ten years later, when I visited my little brother at Wahlstatt,
I saw my handkerchief still tied up high in the air.
My friend Frankenberg was the first victim of the war as far as I know.
I liked very much better the Institution of Lichterfelde. I did not feel
so isolated from the world and began to live a little more like a human
being.
My happiest reminiscences of Lichterfelde are those of the great sports
when my opponent was Prince Frederick Charles. The Prince gained many
first prizes against me both in running and football, as I had not
trained my body as perfectly as he had done.
_I Enter the Army. (Easter, 1911)_
OF course, I was very impatient to get into the Army. Immediately after
passing my examination I came forward and was placed in the 1st Regiment
of Uhlans, "Emperor Alexander III." I had selected that regiment. It was
garrisoned in my beloved Silesia and I had some acquaintances and
relations there, who advised me to join it.
I had a colossal liking for the service with my regiment. It is the
finest thing for a young soldier to be a cavalry man.
I can say only little about the time which I passed at the War Academy.
My experience there reminds me too much of the Corps of Cadets and
consequently my reminiscences are not over agreeable.
I remember that once one of my teachers bought a very fat mare, an
amiable animal, whose only fault was that she was rather old. She was
supposed to be fifteen years old. She had rather stout legs, but she
jumped splendidly. I rode her frequently, and her name was Biffy.
About a year later, when I joined the regiment, my Captain, von Tr----,
who was very fond of sport, told me that he had bought a funny little
mare, a fat beast, who jumped very nicely. We all were very interested
to make the acquaintance of the fat jumping horse who bore the strange
name Biffy. I had quite forgotten the old mare of my teacher at the War
Academy. One fine morning, the animal arrived and I was astonished to
find that the ancient Biffy was now standing as an eight-year-old in the
Captain's stable. In the meantime, she had changed her master
repeatedly, and had much risen in value. My teacher had bought her for
$375., as a fifteen-year-old, and von Tr---- had bought her a year
later, as an eight-year-old, for $850. She won no more prizes for
jumping, in spite of her renewed youth, but she changed her master once
more and was killed in action in the beginning of the war.
_I Become an Officer. (Autumn, 1912)_
AT last I was given the epaulettes. It was a glorious feeling, the
finest I have ever experienced when people called me Lieutenant.
My father bought me a beautiful mare called Santuzza. It was a marvelous
animal, as hard as nails. She kept her place in the procession like a
lamb. In course of time I discovered that she possessed a great talent
for jumping and I made up my mind to train her. She jumped incredible
heights.
In this enterprise I got much sympathy and co-operation from my comrade
von Wedel, who won many a prize with his charger, Fandango.
We two trained our horses for a jumping competition and a steeplechase
in Breslau. Fandango did gloriously. Santuzza also did well by taking a
great deal of trouble. I hoped to achieve something with her. On the day
before she was to be put on the train I wished once more to jump all the
obstacles in our training ground. In doing so we slipped. Santuzza hurt
her shoulder and I broke my collar-bone.
I expected that my dear fat mare, Santuzza, would also be a quick runner
and was extremely surprised when she was beaten by Wedel's thoroughbred.
Another time I had the good fortune to ride a very fine horse at a
Sports Meeting at Breslau. My horse did extremely well and I had hopes
of succeeding. After a run of about half the course I approached the
last obstacle. At a long distance I saw that the obstacle in front was
bound to be something extraordinary because a great crowd was watching
near it. I said to myself: "Keep your spirits up. You are sure to get
into trouble." I approached the obstacle, going full speed. The people
about waved to me and shouted that I should not go so fast, but I
neither heard nor saw. My horse jumped over and on the other side there
was a steep slope with the river Weistritz in front. Before I could say
_knife_ the horse, having jumped, fell with a gigantic leap into the
river and horse and rider disappeared. Of course, I was thrown over the
head of the animal. Felix got out of the river on the one side and I on
the other. When I came back, the weighing people were surprised that I
had put on ten pounds instead of losing two pounds as usual. Happily no
one noticed that I was wet through and through.
I had also a very good charger. The unfortunate beast had learned to do
everything--running, steeplechasing, jumping, army service. There was
nothing that the poor beast had not learned. Its name was Blume and I
had some pleasant successes with him. The last prize I got riding that
horse was when I rode for the Kaiser Prize in 1913. I was the only one
who got over the whole course without a single slip. In doing so I had
an experience which cannot easily be repeated. In galloping over a piece
of heath land, I suddenly stood on my head. The horse had stepped into a
rabbit hole and in my fall I broke my collar-bone. Notwithstanding the
breakage, I rode another forty miles without making a mistake and
arrived keeping good time.
II
_The Outbreak of War_
ALL the papers contained nothing but fantastic stories about the war.
However, for several months we had been accustomed to war talk. We had
so often packed our service trunks that the whole thing had become
tedious. No one believed any longer that there would be war. We, who
were close to the frontier, who were "the eyes of the Army," to use the
words of my Commander, believed least that there would be war.
On the day before military preparations began we were sitting with the
people of the detached squadron at a distance of ten kilometres from the
frontier, in the officers' club. We were eating oysters, drinking
champagne and gambling a little. We were very merry. No one thought of
war.
It is true that, some days before, Wedel's mother had startled us a
little. She had arrived from Pomerania in order to see her son before
the beginning of the war. As she found us in the pleasantest mood and as
she ascertained that we did not think of war, she felt morally compelled
to invite us to a very decent luncheon.
We were extremely gay and noisy when suddenly the door opened. It
disclosed Count Kospoth, the Administrator of Ols. He looked like a
ghost.
We greeted our old friend with a loud Hoorah! He explained to us the
reason of his arrival. He had come personally to the frontier in order
to convince himself whether the rumors of an impending world-war were
true. He assumed, quite correctly, that the best information could be
obtained at the frontier. He was not a little surprised when he saw our
peaceful assembly. We learned from him that all the bridges in Silesia
were being patrolled by the military and that steps were being taken to
fortify various positions.
We convinced him quickly that the possibility of war was absolutely nil
and continued our festivity.
On the next day we were ordered to take the field.
_We Cross the Frontier_
TO us cavalry men on the frontier the word "war" had nothing unfamiliar.
Everyone of us knew to the smallest detail what to do and what to leave
undone. At the same time, nobody had a very clear idea, what the first
thing would be. Every soldier was delighted to be able to show his
capacity and his personal value.
We young cavalry Lieutenants had the most interesting task. We were to
study the ground, to work towards the rear of the enemy, and to destroy
important objects. All these tasks require real men.
Having in my pocket my directions and having convinced myself of their
importance, through hard study during at least a year, I rode at the
head of a file of soldiers for the first time against the enemy at
twelve o'clock midnight.
A river marks the frontier and I expected to be fired upon on reaching
it. To my astonishment I could pass over the bridge without an incident.
On the next morning, without having had any adventures, we reached the
church tower of the village of Kieltze, which was well known to us
through our frontier rides.
Everything had happened without seeing anything of the enemy or rather
without being seen by him. The question now was what should I do in
order not to be noticed by the villagers? My first idea was to lock up
the "pope"[1]. We fetched him from his house, to his great surprise. I
locked him up among the bells in the church tower, took away the ladder
and left him sitting up above. I assured him that he would be executed
if the population should show any hostile inclinations. A sentinel
placed on the tower observed the neighborhood.
I had to send reports every day by dispatch-riders. Very soon my small
troop was converted entirely into dispatch-riders and dissolved, so
that I had at last, as the only one remaining, to bring in my own
report.
Up to the fifth night everything had been quiet. During that night the
sentinel came suddenly rushing to the church tower near which the horses
had been put. He called out, "The Cossacks are there!" The night was as
dark as pitch. It rained a little. No stars were visible. One couldn't
see a yard ahead.
As a precaution we had previously breached the wall around the
churchyard. Through the breach we took the horses into the open. The
darkness was so great that we were in perfect security after having
advanced fifty yards. I myself went with the sentinel, carbine in hand,
to the place where he pretended he had seen Cossacks.
Gliding along the churchyard wall I came to the street. When I got there
I experienced a queer feeling, for the street swarmed with Cossacks. I
looked over the wall, behind which the rascals had put the horses. Most
of them had lanterns, and they acted very uncautiously and were very
loud. I estimated that there were from twenty to thirty of them. One had
left his horse and gone to the Pope whom I had let off the day before.
Immediately it flashed through my brain: "Of course we are betrayed!"
Therefore, we had to be doubly careful. I could not risk a fight because
I could not dispose of more than two carbines. Therefore, I resolved to
play at robber and police.
After having rested a few hours, our visitors rode away again.
On the next day I thought it wise to change our quarters. On the seventh
day I was again back in my garrison and everyone stared at me as if I
were a ghost. The staring was not due to my unshaved face, but because
there had been a rumor that Wedel and I had fallen at Kalisch. The place
where it had occurred, the time and all the circumstances of my death
had been reported with such a wealth of detail that the report had
spread throughout Silesia. My mother had already received visits of
condolence. The only thing that had been omitted was an announcement of
my death in the newspaper.
An amusing incident happened about the same time. A veterinary surgeon
had been ordered to take ten Uhlans and to requisition horses on a farm.
The farm was situated about two miles from the road. He came back full
of excitement and reported to us:
"I was riding over a stubble field, the field where the scarecrows are,
when I suddenly saw hostile infantry at a distance. Without a moment's
hesitation I drew my sword and ordered the Uhlans to attack them with
their lances. The men were delighted and at the fastest gallop they
rushed across the field. When we came near the enemy I discovered that
the hostile infantry consisted of some deer which were grazing in a
nearby meadow. At that distance I had mistaken them for soldiers, owing
to my shortsightedness."
For a long time that dear gentleman had to suffer the pleasantries of
the rest of us because of his bold attack.
_To France_
WE were ordered to take the train in my garrison town. No one had any
idea in what direction we were to go.
There were many rumors but most of the talk was very wild. However, in
this present case, we had the right idea: westward.
A second-class compartment had been given to four of us. We had to take
in provisions for a long railway journey. Liquid refreshments, of
course, were not lacking. However, already on the first day we
discovered that a second-class compartment is altogether too narrow for
four war-like youths. Therefore, we resolved to distribute ourselves. I
arranged part of a luggage car and converted it into a bed-drawing room,
to my great advantage. I had light, air, and plenty of space. I procured
straw at one of the stations and put a tent cloth on top of it. In my
improvised sleeping-car I slept as well as I did in my four-poster in
Ostrowo. We traveled night and day, first through Silesia, and then
through Saxony, going westward all the time. Apparently we were going
in the direction of Metz. Even the train conductor did not know where he
was going to. At every station, even at stations where we did not stop,
there were huge crowds of men and women who bombarded us with cheers and
flowers. The German nation had been seized by a wild war enthusiasm.
That was evident. The Uhlans were particularly admired. The men in the
train who had passed through the station before us had probably reported
that we had met the enemy, and we had been at war only for a week.
Besides, my regiment had been mentioned in the first official
communiqué. The 1st Regiment of Uhlans and the 155th Regiment of
Infantry had taken Kalisch. We were therefore celebrated as heroes and
naturally felt like heroes. Wedel had found a Cossack sword which he
showed to admiring girls. He made a great impression with it. Of course
we asserted that blood was sticking to it and we invented hair-raising
tales about this peaceful sword of a police officer. We were very wild
and merry until we were disembarked from the train at Busendorf, near
Diedenhofen.
A short time before the train arrived we were held up in a long tunnel.
It is uncomfortable enough to stop in a tunnel in peace time, but to
stop suddenly in war is still more uncomfortable. Some excited,
high-spirited fellow wanted to play a joke and fired a shot. Before long
there was general firing in the tunnel. It was surprising that no one
was hurt. It has never been found out how the general shooting was
brought about.
At Busendorf we had to get out of the train. The heat was so great that
our horses almost collapsed. On the following day we marched unceasingly
northward in the direction of Luxemburg. In the meantime, I had
discovered that my brother had ridden in the same direction with a
cavalry division a week before. I discovered his spoor once more, but I
didn't see him until a year later.
Arrived in Luxemburg no one knew what were our relations with the people
of that little State. When I saw a Luxemburg prisoner, he told me that
he would complain about me to the German Emperor if I did not set him
free immediately. I thought there was reason in what he said. So I let
him go. We passed through the town of Luxemburg and through Esch and we
approached the first fortified towns of Belgium.
While advancing our infantry, and indeed, our whole division, manoeuvred
exactly as in peace time. All were extremely excited. It was a good
thing that we had to act exactly as we had done at manoeuvres, otherwise
we should certainly have done some wild things. To the right and to the
left of us, before and behind us, on every road, marched troops
belonging to different army corps. One had the feeling that everything
was in a great disorder. Suddenly, this unspeakable cuddle-muddle was
dissolved and became a most wonderfully arranged evolution.
I was entirely ignorant about the activities of our flying men, and I
got tremendously excited whenever I saw an aviator. Of course I had not
the slightest idea whether it was a German airman, or an enemy. I had at
that time not even the knowledge that the German machines were marked
with crosses and the enemy machines with circles. The consequence was
that every aeroplane we saw was fired upon. Our old pilots are still
telling of their painful feelings while being shot at by friend and
enemy with perfect impartiality.
We marched and marched, sending patrols far ahead, until we arrived at
Arlon. I had an uneasy feeling when crossing, for a second time, an
enemy frontier. Obscure reports of francs-tireurs, had already come to
my ears.
I had been ordered to work in connection with my cavalry division,
acting as a connecting link. On that day I had ridden no less than
sixty-six miles[2] with my men. Not a horse failed us. That was a
splendid achievement. At Arlon I climbed the steeple in accordance with
the tactical principles which we had been taught in peace time. Of
course, I saw nothing, for the wicked enemy was still far away.
At that time we were very harmless. For instance, I had my men outside
the town and had ridden alone on bicycle right through the town to the
church tower and ascended it. When I came down again I was surrounded by
a crowd of angry young men who made hostile eyes and who talked
threateningly in undertones. My bicycle had, of course, been punctured
and I had to go on foot for half an hour. This incident amused me. I
should have been delighted had it come to a fight. I felt absolutely
sure of myself with a pistol in my hand.
Later on I heard that several days previously, the inhabitants had
behaved very seditiously towards our cavalry, and later on towards our
hospitals. It had therefore been found necessary to place quite a number
of these gentlemen against the wall.
In the afternoon I reached the station to which I had been ordered, and
learned that close to Arlon my only cousin Richthofen had been killed
three days before. During the rest of the day I stayed with the Cavalry
Division. During the night a causeless alarm took place, and late at
night I reached my own regiment.
That was a beautiful time. We cavalry men who had already been in touch
with the enemy and had seen something of war, were envied by the men of
the other armies. For me it was the most beautiful time during the whole
of the war. I would much like to pass again through the beginning of the
war.
_I Hear the Whistling of the First
Bullets. (21-22nd August, 1914)_
I HAD been ordered to find out the strength of the enemy occupying the
large forest near Virton. I started with fifteen Uhlans and said to
myself: "To-day I shall have the first fight with the enemy." But my
task was not easy. In so big a forest there may be lots of things hidden
which one can not see.
I went to the top of a little hill. A few hundred paces in front of me
was a huge forest extending over many thousands of acres. It was a
beautiful August morning. The forest seemed so peaceful and still that I
almost forgot all my war-like ideas.
We approached the margin of the forest. As we could not discover
anything suspicious with our field glasses we had to go near and find
out whether we should be fired upon. The men in front were swallowed up
by a forest lane. I followed and at my side was one of my best Uhlans.
At the entrance to the forest was a lonely forester's cottage. We rode
past it.
The soil indicated that a short time previously considerable numbers of
hostile cavalry must have passed. I stopped my men, encouraged them by
addressing a few words to them, and felt sure that I could absolutely
rely upon everyone of my soldiers. Of course no one thought of anything
except of attacking the enemy. It lies in the instinct of every German
to rush at the enemy wherever he meets him, particularly if he meets
hostile cavalry. In my mind's eye I saw myself at the head of my little
troop sabering a hostile squadron, and was quite intoxicated with joyful
expectation. The eyes of my Uhlans sparkled. Thus we followed the spoor
at a rapid trot. After a sharp ride of an hour through the most
beautiful mountaindale the wood became thinner. We approached the exit.
I felt convinced that there we should meet the enemy. Therefore,
caution! To the right of our narrow path was a steep rocky wall many
yards high. To the left, was a narrow rivulet and at the further side a
meadow, fifty yards wide, surrounded by barbed wire. Suddenly, the trace
of horses' hooves disappeared over a bridge into the bushes. My leading
men stopped because the exit from the forest was blocked by a barricade.
Immediately I recognized that I had fallen into a trap. I saw a movement
among the bushes behind the meadow at my left and noticed dismounted
hostile cavalry. I estimated that there were fully one hundred rifles.
In that direction nothing could be done. My path right ahead was cut by
the barricade. To the right were steep rocks. To the left the barbed
wire surrounded the meadow and prevented me attacking as I had intended.
Nothing was to be done except to go back. I knew that my dear Uhlans
would be willing to do everything except to run away from the enemy.
That spoilt our fun, for a second later we heard the first shot which
was followed by very intensive rifle fire from the wood. The distance
was from fifty to one hundred yards. I had told my men that they should
join me immediately when they saw me lifting up my hand. I felt sure we
had to go back. So I lifted my arm and beckoned my men to follow.
Possibly, they misunderstood my gesture. The cavalrymen who were
following me believed me in danger, and they came rushing along at a
great speed to help me to get away. As we were on a narrow forest path
one can imagine the confusion which followed. The horses of the two men
ahead rushed away in a panic because the noise of every shot was
increased tenfold by the narrowness of the hollow way. The last I saw
of them was as they leaped the barricade. I never heard anything of them
again. They were no doubt made prisoners. I myself turned my horse and
gave him the spurs, probably for the first time during his life. I had
the greatest difficulty to make the Uhlans who rushed towards me
understand that they should not advance any further, that we were to
turn round and get away. My orderly rode at my side. Suddenly his horse
was hit and fell. I jumped over them and horses were rolling all around
me. In short, it was a wild disorder. The last I saw of my servant, he
was lying under his horse, apparently not wounded, but pinned down by
the weight of the animal. The enemy had beautifully surprised us. He had
probably observed us from the very beginning and had intended to trap us
and to catch us unawares as is the character of the French.
I was delighted when, two days later, I saw my servant standing before
me. He wore only one boot for he had left the other one under the body
of his horse. He told me how he had escaped. At least two squadrons of
French cuirassiers had issued from the forest in order to plunder the
fallen horses and the brave Uhlans. Not being wounded, he had jumped up,
climbed the rocks and had fallen down exhausted among the bushes. About
two hours later, when the enemy had again hidden himself, he had
continued his flight. So he had joined me after some days, but he could
tell me little about the fate of his comrades who had been left behind.
_A Ride With Loen_
THE battle of Virton was proceeding. My comrade Loen and I had once more
to ascertain what had become of the enemy. We rode after the enemy
during the whole of the day, reached him at last and were able to write
a very decent report. In the evening, the great question was: Shall we
go on riding, throughout the night in order to join our troops, or shall
we economize our strength and take a rest so that we shall be fresh the
next day? The splendid thing about cavalrymen on patrol is that they
are given complete liberty of action.
We resolved to pass the night near the enemy and to ride on the next
morning. According to our strategical notions, the enemy was retiring
and we were following him. Consequently, we could pass the night with
fair security.
Not far from the enemy there was a wonderful monastery with large
stables. So both Loen and I had quarters for ourselves and our men. Of
course, in the evening, when we entered our new domicile, the enemy was
so near that he could have shot us through the windows.
The monks were extremely amiable. They gave us as much to eat and to
drink as we cared to have and we had a very good time. The saddles were
taken off the horses and they were very happy when for the first time in
three days and three nights, a dead weight of nearly three hundred
pounds was taken from their backs. We settled down as if we were on
manoeuvres and as if we were in the house of a delightful host and
friend. At the same time, it should be observed that three days later,
we hanged several of our hosts to the lanterns because they could not
overcome their desire to take a hand in the war. But that evening they
were really extremely amiable. We got into our nightshirts, jumped into
bed, posted a sentinel, and let the Lord look after us.
In the middle of the night somebody suddenly flung open the door and
shouted: "Sir, the French are there!" I was too sleepy and too heavy to
be able to reply. Loen, who was similarly incapacitated, gave the most
intelligent answer: "How many are they?" The soldier stammered, full of
excitement, "We have shot dead two, but we cannot say how many there are
for it is pitch dark." I heard Loen reply, in a sleepy tone: "All right.
When more arrive call me again." Half a minute later both of us were
snoring again.
The sun was already high in the horizon when we woke up from a
refreshing sleep the next morning. We took an ample breakfast and then
continued our journey.
As a matter of fact, the French had passed by our castle during the
night and our sentinels had fired on them. As it was a very dark night
nothing further followed.
Soon we passed through a pretty valley. We rode over the old battlefield
of our Division and discovered, to our surprise, that it was peopled not
with German soldiers, but with French Red Cross men. Here and there were
French soldiers. They looked as surprised at seeing us as we did at
seeing them. Nobody thought of shooting. We cleared out as rapidly as
possible and gradually it dawned upon us that our troops, instead of
advancing, had retired. Fortunately, the enemy had retired at the same
time in the opposite direction. Otherwise I should now be somewhere in
captivity.
We passed through the village of Robelmont where, on the previous day,
we had seen our Infantry in occupation. We encountered one of the
inhabitants and asked him what had become of our soldiers. He looked
very happy and assured me that the Germans had departed.
Late in the afternoon I reached my regiment and was quite satisfied with
the course of events during the last twenty-four hours.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Russian priest.
[2] This seems to be a translator's mistake for kilometres, which would
mean a little over 40 miles--in itself a sufficiently fine performance.
III
_Boredom Before Verdun_
I AM a restless spirit. Consequently my activity in front of Verdun can
only be described as boresome. At the beginning I was in the trenches at
a spot where nothing happened. Then I became a dispatch-bearer and hoped
to have some adventures. But there I was mistaken. The fighting men
immediately degraded me and considered me a Base-hog. I was not really
at the Base but I was not allowed to advance further than within 1500
yards behind the front trenches. There, below the ground, I had a
bomb-proof, heated habitation. Now and then I had to go to the front
trenches. That meant great physical exertion, for one had to trudge
uphill and downhill, criss-cross, through an unending number of
trenches and mire-holes until at last one arrived at a place where men
were firing. After having paid a short visit to the fighting men, my
position seemed to me a very stupid one.
At that time the digging business was beginning. It had not yet become
clear to us what it means to dig approaches and endless trenches. Of
course, we knew the names of the various ditches and holes through the
lessons which we had received at the War Academy. However, the digging
was considered to be the business of the military engineers. Other
troops were supposed not to take a hand in it. Here, near Combres,
everyone was digging industriously. Every soldier had a spade and a pick
and took all imaginable trouble in order to get as deeply into the
ground as possible. It was very strange that in many places the French
were only five yards ahead of us. One could hear them speak and see them
smoke cigarettes and now and then they threw us a piece of paper. We
conversed with them, but nevertheless, we tried to annoy them in every
possible way, especially with hand grenades.
Five hundreds yards in front of us and five hundred yards behind the
trenches the dense forest of the Côte Lorraine had been cut down by the
vast number of shells and bullets which were fired unceasingly. It
seemed unbelievable that in front men could live. Nevertheless, the men
in the front trenches were not in as bad a position as the men at the
Base.
After a morning visit to the front trenches, which usually took place at
the earliest hours of the day, the more tedious business began. I had to
attend to the telephone.
On days when I was off duty I indulged in my favorite pastime, game
shooting. The forest of La Chaussee gave me ample opportunities. When
going for a ride I had noticed that there were wild pigs about and I
tried to find out where I could shoot them at night. Beautiful nights,
with a full moon and snow, came to my aid. With the assistance of my
servant I built a shelter seat in a tree, at a spot where the pigs
passed, and waited there at night. Thus I passed many a night sitting on
the branch of a tree and on the next morning found that I had become an
icicle. However, I got my reward. There was a sow which was particularly
interesting. Every night she swam across the lake, broke into a potato
field, always at the same spot, and then she swam back again. Of course
I very much wished to improve my acquaintance with the animal. So I took
a seat on the other shore of the lake. In accordance with our previous
arrangement, Auntie Pig appeared at midnight for her supper. I shot her
while she was still swimming and she would have been drowned had I not
succeeded at the last moment in seizing her by the leg.
At another time, I was riding with my servant along a narrow path.
Suddenly I saw several wild pigs crossing it. Immediately I jumped from
the horse, grasped my servant's carbine and rushed several hundred yards
ahead. At the end of the procession came a mighty boar. I had never yet
seen such a beast and was surprised at its gigantic size. Now it
ornaments my room and reminds me of my encounter.
In this manner I passed several months when, one fine day, our division
became busy. We intended a small attack. I was delighted, for now at
last I should be able to do something as a connecting link! But there
came another disappointment! I was given quite a different job and now I
had enough of it. I sent a letter to my Commanding General and evil
tongues report that I told him: "My dear Excellency! I have not gone to
war in order to collect cheese and eggs, but for another purpose." At
first, the people above wanted to snarl at me. But then they fulfilled
my wish. Thus I joined the Flying Service at the end of May, 1915. My
greatest wish was fulfilled.
IV
_In the Air_
THE next morning at seven o'clock I was to fly for the first time as an
observer!--I was naturally very excited, for I had no idea what it would
be like. Everyone whom I had asked about his feelings told me a
different tale. The night before, I went to bed earlier than usual in
order to be thoroughly refreshed the next morning. We drove over to the
flying ground, and I got into a flying machine for the first time. The
draught from the propeller was a beastly nuisance. I found it quite
impossible to make myself understood by the pilot. Everything was
carried away by the wind. If I took up a piece of paper it disappeared.
My safety helmet slid off. My muffler dropped off. My jacket was not
sufficiently buttoned. In short, I felt very uncomfortable. Before I
knew what was happening, the pilot went ahead at full speed and the
machine started rolling. We went faster and faster. I clutched the sides
of the car. Suddenly, the shaking was over, the machine was in the air
and the earth dropped away from under me.
I had been told the name of the place to which we were to fly. I was to
direct my pilot. At first we flew right ahead, then my pilot turned to
the right, then to the left, but I had lost all sense of direction above
our own aerodrome. I had not the slightest notion where I was! I began
very cautiously to look over the side at the country. The men looked
ridiculously small. The houses seemed to come out of a child's toy box.
Everything seemed pretty. Cologne was in the background. The cathedral
looked like a little toy. It was a glorious feeling to be so high above
the earth, to be master of the air. I didn't care a bit where I was and
I felt extremely sad when my pilot thought it was time to go down
again.
I should have liked best to start immediately on another flight. I have
never had any trouble in the air such as vertigo. The celebrated
American swings are to me disgusting. One does not feel secure in them,
but in a flying machine one possesses a feeling of complete security.
One sits in an aeroplane as in an easy chair. Vertigo is impossible. No
man exists who has been turned giddy by flying. At the same time, flying
affects one's nerves. When one races full speed through the air, and
particularly when one goes down again, when the aeroplane suddenly dips,
when the engine stops running, and when the tremendous noise is followed
by an equally tremendous silence, then I would frantically clutch the
sides and think that I was sure to fall to the ground. However,
everything happened in such a matter-of-fact and natural way, and the
landing, when we again touched terra firma was so simple, that I could
not have such a feeling as fear. I was full of enthusiasm and should
have liked to remain in an aeroplane all day long. I counted the hours
to the time when we should start out again.
_As an Observer with Mackensen_
ON the 10th of June, 1915 I came to Grossenhain. Thence I was to be sent
to the front. I was anxious to go forward as quickly as possible. I
feared that I might come too late, that the world-war might be over. I
should have had to spend three months to become a pilot. By the time the
three months had gone by, peace might have been concluded. Therefore, it
never occurred to me to become a pilot. I imagined that, owing to my
training as a cavalryman, I might do well as an observer. I was very
happy when, after a fortnight's flying experience, I was sent out,
especially as I was sent to the only spot where there was still a chance
of a war of movement. I was sent to Russia.
Mackensen was advancing gloriously. He had broken through the Russian
position at Gorlice and I joined his army when we were taking Rawa
Ruska. I spent a day at the aviation base and then I was sent to the
celebrated 69th Squadron. Being quite a beginner I felt very foolish. My
pilot was a big gun, First Lieutenant Zeumer. He is now a cripple. Of
the other men of the Section, I am the only survivor.
Now came my most beautiful time. Life in the Flying Corps is very much
like life in the cavalry. Every day, morning and afternoon, I had to fly
and to reconnoiter, and I have brought back valuable information many a
time.
_With Holck in Russia. (Summer, 1915)_
DURING June, July and August, 1915, I remained with the Flying Squadron
which participated in Mackensen's advance from Gorlice to Brest-Litovsk.
I had joined it as quite a juvenile observer and had not the slightest
idea of anything.
As a cavalryman my business had consisted in reconnoitering. So the
Aeroplane Service as an observer was in my line and it amused me vastly
to take part in the gigantic reconnoitering flights which we undertook
nearly every day.
For an observer it is important to find a pilot with a strong character.
One fine day we were told, "Count Holck will join us." Immediately I
thought, "That is the man I want."
Holck made his appearance, not as one would imagine, in a 60 h. p.
Mercedes or in a first-class sleeping car. He came on foot. After
traveling by railway for days and days he had arrived in the vicinity of
Jaroslav. Here he got out of the train for there was once more an
unending stoppage. He told his servant to travel on with the luggage
while he would go on foot. He marched along and after an hour's walking
looked back, but the train did not follow him. So he walked and walked
and walked without being overtaken by the train until, after a
thirty-mile walk, he arrived in Rawa Ruska, his objective. Twenty-four
hours later his orderly appeared with the luggage. His thirty-mile walk
proved no difficulty to that sportsman. His body was so well trained
that he did not feel the tramp he had undertaken.
Count Holck was not only a sportsman on land. Flying also was to him a
sport which gave him the greatest pleasure. He was a pilot of rare
talent and particularity, and that is, after all, the principal thing. He
towered head and shoulders above the enemy.
We went on many a beautiful reconnoitering flight--I do not know how
far--into Russia. Although Holck was so young I had never a feeling of
insecurity with him. On the contrary he was always a support to me in
critical moments. When I looked around and saw his determined face I had
always twice as much courage as I had had before.
My last flight with him nearly led to trouble. We had not had definite
orders to fly. The glorious thing in the flying service is that one
feels that one is a perfectly free man and one's own master as soon as
one is up in the air.
[Illustration: THE FAMOUS RICHTHOFEN "CIRCUS"]
We had to change our flying base and we were not quite certain in which
meadow we were to land. In order not to expose our machine to too much
risk in landing we flew in the direction of Brest-Litovsk. The Russians
were retiring everywhere. The whole countryside was burning. It was a
terribly beautiful picture. We intended to ascertain the direction of
the enemy columns, and in doing so flew over the burning town of
Wicznice. A gigantic smoke cloud, which went up to about 6,000 feet,
prevented us continuing our flight because we flew at an altitude of
only 4,500 feet in order to see better. For a moment Holck reflected. I
asked him what he intended to do and advised him to fly around the smoke
cloud which would have involved a round-about way of five minutes. Holck
did not intend to do this. On the contrary. The greater the danger was
the more the thing attracted him. Therefore straight through! I enjoyed
it, too, to be together with such a daring fellow. Our venturesomeness
nearly cost us dear. As soon as the tail-end of the machine had
disappeared in the smoke the aeroplane began to reel. I could not see a
thing for the smoke made my eyes water. The air was much warmer and
beneath me I saw nothing but a huge sea of fire. Suddenly the machine
lost its balance and fell, turning round and round. I managed to grasp a
stay and hung on to it. Otherwise I should have been thrown out of the
machine. The first thing I did was to look at Holck and immediately I
regained my courage for his face showed an iron confidence. The only
thought which I had was: "It is stupid, after all, to die so
unnecessarily a hero's death."
Later on, I asked Holck what had been his thoughts at the moment. He
told me he had never experienced so unpleasant a feeling.
We fell down to an altitude of 1500 feet above the burning town. Either
through the skill of my pilot or by a Higher Will, perhaps by both, we
suddenly dropped out of the smoke cloud. Our good Albatros found itself
again and once more flew straight ahead as if nothing had happened.
We had now had enough of it and instead of going to a new base intended
to return to our old quarter as quickly as possible. After all, we were
still above the Russians and only at an altitude of 1500 feet. Five
minutes later I heard Holck, behind me, exclaiming: "The motor is giving
out."
I must add that Holck had not as much knowledge of motors as he had of
horseflesh and I had not the slightest idea of mechanics. The only thing
which I knew was that we should have to land among the Russians if the
motor went on strike. So one peril had followed the other.
I convinced myself that the Russians beneath us were still marching with
energy. I could see them quite clearly from our low altitude. Besides it
was not necessary to look, for the Russians shot at us with machine-guns
with the utmost diligence. The firing sounded like chestnuts roasting
near a fire.
Presently the motor stopped running altogether, for it had been hit. So
we went lower and lower. We just managed to glide over a forest and
landed at last in an abandoned artillery position which, the evening
before, had still been occupied by Russians, as I had reported.
I told Holck my impressions. We jumped out of our box and tried to rush
into the forest nearby, where we might have defended ourselves. I had
with me a pistol and six cartridges. Holck had nothing.
When we had reached the wood we stopped and I saw with my glasses that a
soldier was running towards our aeroplane. I was horrified to see that
he wore not a spiked helmet but a cap. So I felt sure that it was a
Russian. When the man came nearer Holck shouted with joy, for he was a
Grenadier of the Prussian Guards.
Our troops had once more stormed the position at the break of day and
had broken through into the enemy batteries.
On that occasion Holck lost his little favorite, his doggie. He took the
little animal with him in every flight. The dog would lie always quietly
on Holck's fur in the fusilage. He was still with us when we were in the
forest. Soon after, when we had talked with the Guardsman, German troops
passed us. They were the staffs of the Guards and Prince Eitel Friedrich
with his Adjutants and his Orderly Officers. The Prince supplied us
with horses so that we two cavalrymen were sitting once more on
oat-driven motors. Unfortunately doggie was lost while we were riding.
Probably he followed other troops by mistake.
Later in the evening we arrived in our old flying base on a cart. The
machine was smashed.
_Russia--Ostend (From the Two-Seater
to the Twin-Engined Fighter)_
THE German enterprise in Russia came gradually to a stop and suddenly I
was transferred to a large battle-plane at Ostend on the twenty-first of
August, 1915. There I met an old acquaintance, friend Zeumer. Besides I
was attracted by the tempting name "Large Battle-plane."[3]
I had a very good time during this part of my service. I saw little of
the war but my experiences were invaluable to me, for I passed my
apprenticeship as a battle-flier. We flew a great deal, we had rarely a
fight in the air and we had no successes. We had seized a hotel on the
Ostend shore, and there we bathed every afternoon. Unfortunately the
only frequenters of the watering-place were soldiers. Wrapped up in our
many-colored bathing gowns we sat on the terraces of Ostend and drank
our coffee in the afternoon.
One fine day we were sitting as usual on the shore drinking coffee.
Suddenly we heard bugles. We were told that an English squadron was
approaching. Of course we did not allow ourselves to be alarmed and to
be disturbed, but continued drinking our coffee. Suddenly somebody
called out: "There they are!" Indeed we could see on the horizon, though
not very distinctly, some smoking chimneys and later on could make out
ships. Immediately we fetched our telescopes and observed them. There
was indeed quite an imposing number of vessels. It was not quite clear
to us what they intended to do, but soon we were to know better. We
went up to the roof whence we could see more. Suddenly we heard a
whistling in the air; then there came a big bang and a shell hit that
part of the beach where a little before we had been bathing. I have
never rushed as rapidly into the hero's cellar as I did at that moment.
The English squadron shot perhaps three or four times at us and then it
began bombarding the harbor and railway station. Of course they hit
nothing but they gave a terrible fright to the Belgians. One shell fell
right in the beautiful Palace Hotel on the shore. That was the only
damage that was done. Happily they destroyed only English capital, for
it belonged to Englishmen.
In the evening we flew again with energy. On one of our flights we had
gone very far across the sea with our battle-plane. It had two motors
and we were experimenting with a new steering gear which, we were told,
would enable us to fly in a straight line with only a single motor
working.[4] When we were fairly far out I saw beneath us, not on the
water but below the surface, a ship. It is a funny thing. If the sea is
quiet, one can look down from above to the bottom of the sea. Of course
it is not possible where the sea is twenty-five miles deep but one can
see clearly through several hundred yards of water. I had not made a
mistake in believing that the ship was traveling not on the surface but
below the surface. Yet it seemed at first that it was traveling above
water. I drew Zeumer's attention to my discovery and we went lower in
order to see more clearly. I am too little of a naval expert to say what
it was but it was clear to me that it was bound to be a submarine. But
of what nationality? That is a difficult question which in my opinion
can be solved only by a naval expert, and not always by him. One can
scarcely distinguish colors under water and there is no flag. Besides a
submarine does not carry such things. We had with us a couple of bombs
and I debated with myself whether I should throw them or not. The
submarine had not seen us for it was partly submerged. We might have
flown above it without danger and we might have waited until they found
it necessary to come to the surface for air. Then we could have dropped
our eggs. Herein lies, no doubt, a very critical point for our sister
arm.
When we had fooled around the apparition beneath us for quite a while I
suddenly noticed that the water was gradually disappearing from our
cooling apparatus. I did not like that and I drew my colleague's
attention to the fact. He pulled a long face and hastened to get home.
However, we were approximately twelve miles from the shore and they had
to be flown over. The motor began running more slowly and I was quietly
preparing myself for a sudden cold immersion. But lo! and behold! we got
through! Our giant apple-barge[5] barged along with a single motor and
the new steering apparatus and we reached the shore and managed to land
in the harbor without any special difficulty.
It is a good thing to be lucky. Had we not tried the new steering
apparatus on that day there would not have been any hope for us. We
should certainly have been drowned.
_A Drop of Blood for the Fatherland_
I HAVE never been really wounded. At the critical moment I have probably
bent my head or pulled in my chest. Often I have been surprised that
they did not hit me. Once a bullet went through both my furlined boots.
Another time a bullet went through my muffler. Another time one went
along my arm through the fur and the leather jacket; but I have never
been touched.
One fine day we started with our large battle-plane in order to delight
the English with our bombs. We reached our object. The first bomb fell.
It is very interesting to ascertain the effect of a bomb. At least one
always likes to see it exploding. Unfortunately my large battle-plane,
which was well qualified for carrying bombs, had a stupid peculiarity
which prevented me from seeing the effect of a bomb-throw, for
immediately after the throw the machine came between my eye and the
object and covered it completely with its planes. This always made me
wild because one does not like to be deprived of one's amusement. If you
hear a bang down below and see the delightful grayish-whitish cloud of
the explosion in the neighborhood of the object aimed at, you are always
very pleased. Therefore I waved to friend Zeumer that he should bend a
little to the side. While waving to him I forgot that the infamous
object on which I was traveling, my apple-barge, had two propellers
which turned to the right and left of my observer-seat.[6] I meant to
show him where approximately the bomb had hit and bang! my finger was
caught! I was somewhat surprised when I discovered that my little
finger had been damaged. Zeumer did not notice anything.
Having been hit on the hand I did not care to throw any more bombs. I
quickly got rid of the lot and we hurried home. My love for the large
battle-plane, which after all had not been very great, suffered
seriously in consequence of my experience. I had to sit quiet for seven
days and was debarred from flying. Only my beauty was slightly damaged,
but after all, I can say with pride that I also have been wounded in the
war.
_My First Fight in the
Air. (1st Sept., 1915)_
ZEUMER and I were very anxious to have a fight in the air. Of course we
flew our large battle-plane. The title of our barge alone gave us so
much courage that we thought it impossible for any opponent to escape
us.
We flew every day from five to six hours without ever seeing an
Englishman. I became quite discouraged, but one fine morning we again
went out to hunt. Suddenly I discovered a Farman aeroplane which was
reconnoitering without taking notice of us. My heart beat furiously when
Zeumer flew towards it. I was curious to see what was going to happen. I
had never witnessed a fight in the air and had about as vague an idea of
it as it was possible to have.
Before I knew what was happening both the Englishman and I rushed by one
another. I had fired four shots at most while the Englishman was
suddenly in our rear firing into us like anything. I must say I never
had any sense of danger because I had no idea how the final result of
such a fight would come about. We turned and turned around one another
until at last, to our great surprise the Englishman turned away from us
and flew off. I was greatly disappointed and so was my pilot.
Both of us were in very bad spirits when we reached home. He reproached
me for having shot badly and I reproached him for not having enabled me
to shoot well. In short our aeroplanic relations, which previously had
been faultless, suffered severely.
We looked at our machine and discovered that it had received quite a
respectable number of hits.
On the same day we went on the chase for a second time but again we had
no success. I felt very sad. I had imagined that things would be very
different in a battle squadron. I had always believed that one shot
would cause the enemy to fall, but soon I became convinced that a flying
machine can stand a great deal of punishment. Finally I felt assured
that I should never bring down a hostile aeroplane, however much
shooting I did.
We did not lack courage. Zeumer was a wonderful flier and I was quite a
good shot. We stood before a riddle. We were not the only ones to be
puzzled. Many are nowadays in the same position in which we were then.
After all the flying business must really be thoroughly understood.
_In the Champagne Battle_
OUR pleasant days at Ostend were soon past, for the Champagne battle
began and we flew to the front in order to take part in it in our large
battle-plane. Soon we discovered that our packing-case[7] was a
capacious aeroplane but that it could never be turned into a good
battle-plane.
I flew once with Osteroth who had a smaller flier than the apple-barge.
About three miles behind the front we encountered a Farman Two-seater.
He allowed us to approach him and for the first time in my life I saw an
aerial opponent from quite close by. Osteroth flew with great skill side
by side with the enemy so that I could easily fire at him. Our opponent
probably did not notice us, for only when I had trouble with my gun did
he begin to shoot at us. When I had exhausted my supply of one hundred
bullets I thought I could not trust my eyes when I suddenly noticed that
my opponent was going down in curious spirals. I followed him with my
eyes and tapped Osteroth's head to draw his attention. Our opponent fell
and fell and dropped at last into a large crater. There he was, his
machine standing on its head, the tail pointing towards the sky.
According to the map he had fallen three miles behind the front. We had
therefore brought him down on enemy ground.[8] Otherwise I should have
one more victory to my credit. I was very proud of my success. After
all, the chief thing is to bring a fellow down. It does not matter at
all whether one is credited for it or not.
_How I Met Boelcke_
FRIEND Zeumer got a Fokker Monoplane. Therefore I had to sail through
the world alone. The Champagne battle was raging. The French flying men
were coming to the fore. We were to be combined in a battle squadron and
took train on the first of October, 1915.
In the dining car, at the table next to me, was sitting a young and
insignificant-looking lieutenant. There was no reason to take any note
of him except for the fact that he was the only man who had succeeded
in shooting down a hostile flying man not once but four times. His name
had been mentioned in the dispatches. I thought a great deal of him
because of his experience. Although I had taken the greatest trouble, I
had not brought an enemy down up to that time. At least I had not been
credited with a success.
I would have liked so much to find out how Lieutenant Boelcke managed
his business. So I asked him: "Tell me, how do you manage it?" He seemed
very amused and laughed, although I had asked him quite seriously. Then
he replied: "Well it is quite simple. I fly close to my man, aim well
and then of course he falls down." I shook my head and told him that I
did the same thing but my opponents unfortunately did not come down. The
difference between him and me was that he flew a Fokker and I a large
battle-plane.
I took great trouble to get more closely acquainted with that nice
modest fellow whom I badly wanted to teach me his business. We often
played cards together, went for walks and I asked him questions. At last
I formed a resolution that I also would learn to fly a Fokker. Perhaps
then my chances would improve.
My whole aim and ambition became now concentrated upon learning how to
manipulate the sticks myself. Hitherto I had been nothing but an
observer. Happily I soon found an opportunity to learn piloting on an
old machine in the Champagne. I threw myself into the work with body and
soul and after twenty-five training flights I stood before the
examination in flying alone.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] The Grossflugzeug, or "G" class of German aeroplane, later given up
as a flying machine owing to its slow speed and clumsiness in manoeuvre
and used in its later developments for night-bombing only.
[4] This apparently refers to an auto-lock arrangement on the rudder-bar
to save the pilot from having the rudder against the engine all the
time.
[5] A literal translation of the German slang, analogous more or less to
the British term box-kite.
[6] From this disposition of the air-screws, and from the date of the
occurrence, one assumes that this was one of the very earliest
twin-engined Gothas, of the type which the R. F. C. nicknamed
"Wong-wong," because of the curious noise made by the engines or
air-screws when they ran out of step.
[7] Still another example of slang, indicative of the clumsiness of the
Grossflugzeug in the air.
[8] It was also the British custom to ignore--as part of the score--all
machines brought down in enemy territory. Later it became permissible to
count such victims if their destruction was verified by independent
witnesses.
V
_My First Solo-Flight. (10th October, 1915)_
THERE are some moments in one's life which tickle one's nerves
particularly and the first solo-flight is among them.
One fine evening my teacher, Zeumer, told me: "Now go and fly by
yourself." I must say I felt like replying "I am afraid." But this is a
word which should never be used by a man who defends his country.
Therefore, whether I liked it or not, I had to make the best of it and
get into my machine.
Zeumer explained to me once more every movement in theory. I scarcely
listened to his explanations for I was firmly convinced that I should
forget half of what he was telling me.
I started the machine. The aeroplane went at the prescribed speed and I
could not help noticing that I was actually flying. After all I did not
feel timorous but rather elated. I did not care for anything. I should
not have been frightened no matter what happened. With contempt of death
I made a large curve to the left, stopped the machine near a tree,
exactly where I had been ordered to, and looked forward to see what
would happen. Now came the most difficult thing, the landing. I
remembered exactly what movements I had to make. I acted mechanically
and the machine moved quite differently from what I had expected. I lost
my balance, made some wrong movements, stood on my head and I succeeded
in converting my aeroplane into a battered school 'bus. I was very sad,
looked at the damage which I had done to the machine, which after all
was not very great, and had to suffer from other people's jokes.
Two days later I went with passion at the flying and suddenly I could
handle the apparatus.
A fortnight later I had to take my first examination. Herr von T---- was
my examiner. I described the figure eight several times, exactly as I
had been told to do, landed several times with success, in accordance
with orders received and felt very proud of my achievements. However, to
my great surprise I was told that I had not passed. There was nothing to
be done but to try once more to pass the initial examination.
_My Training Time at Döberitz_
IN order to pass my examinations I had to go to Berlin. I made use of
the opportunity to go to Berlin as observer in a giant plane.[9] I was
ordered to go by aeroplane to Döberitz near Berlin on the fifteenth of
November, 1915. In the beginning I took a great interest in the
giant-plane. But funnily enough the gigantic machine made it clear to me
that only the smallest aeroplane would be of any use for me in battle. A
big aerial barge is too clumsy for fighting. Agility is needed and,
after all, fighting is my business.
The difference between a large battle-plane and a giant-plane is that a
giant-plane is considerably larger than a large battle-plane and that it
is more suitable for use as a bomb-carrier than as a fighter.
I went through my examinations in Döberitz together with a dear fellow,
First Lieutenant von Lyncker. We got on very well with one another, had
the same inclinations and the same ideas as to our future activity. Our
aim was to fly Fokkers and to be included in a battle squadron on the
Western front. A year later we succeeded in working together for a short
time. A deadly bullet hit my dear friend when bringing down his third
aeroplane.
We passed many merry hours in Döberitz. One of the things which we had
to do was to land in strange quarters. I used the opportunity to combine
the necessary with the agreeable. My favorable landing place outside of
our aerodrome was the Buchow Estate where I was well known. I was there
invited to shoot wild pigs. The matter could be combined only with
difficulty with the service, for on fine evenings I wished both to fly
and to shoot pigs. So I arranged for a place of landing in the
neighborhood of Buchow whence I could easily reach my friends.
I took with me a second pilot, who served as an observer, and sent him
back in the evening. During the night I shot pigs and on the next
morning was fetched by my pilot.
If I had not been fetched with the aeroplane I should have been in a
hole for I should have had to march on foot a distance of about six
miles. So I required a man who would fetch me in any weather. It is not
easy to find a man who will fetch you under any circumstances.
Once, when I had passed the night trying to shoot pigs, a tremendous
snowfall set in. One could not see fifty yards ahead. My pilot was to
fetch me at eight sharp. I hoped that for once he would not come. But
suddenly I heard a humming noise--one could not see a thing--and five
minutes later my beloved bird was squatting before me on the ground.
Unfortunately some of his bones had got bent.
_I Become a Pilot_
ON Christmas Day, 1915, I passed my third examination. In connection
with it I flew to Schwerin, where the Fokker works are situated, and had
a look at them. As observer I took with me my mechanic, and from
Schwerin I flew with him to Breslau, from Breslau to Schweidnitz, from
thence to Luben and then returned to Berlin. During my tour I landed in
lots of different places in between, visiting relatives and friends.
Being a trained observer, I did not find it difficult to find my way.
In March, 1916, I joined the Second Battle Squadron before Verdun and
learned air-fighting as a pilot. I learned how to handle a fighting
aeroplane. I flew then a two-seater.
In the official communiqué of the twenty-sixth of April, 1916, I am
referred to for the first time, although my name is not mentioned. Only
my deeds appear in it. I had had built into my machine a machine gun,
which I had arranged very much in the way in which it is done in the
Nieuport machines.[10] I was very proud of my idea. People laughed at
the way I had fitted it up because the whole thing looked very
primitive. Of course I swore by my new arrangement and very soon I had
an opportunity of ascertaining its practical value.
I encountered a hostile Nieuport machine which was apparently guided by
a man who also was a beginner, for he acted extremely foolishly. When I
flew towards him he ran away. Apparently he had trouble with his gun. I
had no idea of fighting him but thought: "What will happen if I now
start shooting?" I flew after him, approached him as closely as possible
and then began firing a short series of well-aimed shots with my machine
gun. The Nieuport reared up in the air and turned over and over.
At first both my observer and I believed that this was one of the
numerous tricks which French fliers habitually indulge in. However, his
tricks did not cease. Turning over and over, the machine went lower and
lower. At last my observer patted me on the head and called out to me:
"I congratulate you. He is falling." As a matter of fact he fell into a
forest behind Fort Douaumont and disappeared among the trees. It became
clear to me that I had shot him down, but on the other side of the
Front. I flew home and reported merely: "I had an aerial fight and have
shot down a Nieuport." The next day I read of my action in the official
communiqué. Of course I was very proud of my success, but that Nieuport
does not figure among the fifty-two aeroplanes which I have brought
down.[11]
The communiqué of the 26th of April stated: "Two hostile flying machines
have been shot down by aerial fighting above Fleury, south and west of
Douaumont."
_Holck's Death. (30th of April, 1916)_
AS a young pilot I once flew over Fort Douaumont at a moment when it was
exposed to a violent drum-fire. I noticed that a German Fokker was
attacking three Caudron machines. It was my misfortune that a strong
west wind was blowing. That was not favorable to me. The Fokker was
driven over the town of Verdun in the course of the fight. I drew the
attention of my observer to the struggle. He thought that the German
fighting man must be a very smart fellow. We wondered whether it could
be Boelcke and intended to inquire when we came down. Suddenly, I saw to
my horror that the German machine, which previously had attacked, had
fallen back upon the defensive. The strength of the French fighting men
had been increased to at least ten and their combined assaults forced
the German machine to go lower and lower.
I could not fly to the German's aid. I was too far away from the battle.
Besides, my heavy machine could not overcome the strong wind against
me. The Fokker fought with despair. His opponents had rushed him down to
an altitude of only about eighteen hundred feet. Suddenly, he was once
more attacked by his opponents and he disappeared, plunging into a small
cloud. I breathed more easily, for in my opinion the cloud had saved
him.
When I arrived at the aerodrome, I reported what I had seen and was told
that the Fokker man was Count Holck, my old comrade in the Eastern
Theater of war.
Count Holck had dropped straight down, shot through the head. His death
deeply affected me for he was my model. I tried to imitate his energy
and he was a man among men also as a character.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Possibly a very early example of the Riesenflugzeug type, which is
the next biggest thing to the Grossflugzeug type, which includes the
Gothas, A. E. G.'s, Friedrichshafens, and other of the twin-engined
types.
[10] It is not clear whether this refers to a gun pointing upwards, as
guns at that time were commonly fitted on the upper plane of the
Nieuport, or whether the gun fired through the air-screw. Probably the
latter fitting is meant. Later on one reads that he was then flying an
Albatros, so it may have been a top gun.
[11] Note.--This book was written after Captain von Richthofen had
brought down fifty-two aeroplanes. At the time of his death he was
officially credited with eighty victories.
VI
_I Fly In a Thunderstorm_
OUR activity before Verdun was disturbed in the summer of 1916 by
frequent thunderstorms. Nothing is more disagreeable for flying men than
to have to go through a thunderstorm. In the Battle of the Somme a whole
English flying squadron came down behind our lines and became prisoners
of war because they had been surprised by a thunderstorm.[12]
I had never yet made an attempt to get through thunder clouds but I
could not suppress my desire to make the experiment. During the whole
day thunder was in the air. From my base at Mont I had flown over to
the fortress of Metz, nearby, in order to look after various things.
During my return journey I had an adventure.
I was at the aerodrome of Metz and intended to return to my own
quarters. When I pulled my machine out of the hangar the first signs of
an approaching thunderstorm became noticeable. Clouds which looked like
a gigantic pitch-black wall approached from the north. Old experienced
pilots urged me not to fly. However, I had promised to return and I
should have considered myself a coward if I had failed to come back
because of a silly thunderstorm. Therefore I meant to try.
When I started the rain began falling. I had to throw away my goggles,
otherwise I should not have seen anything. The trouble was that I had to
travel over the mountains of the Moselle where the thunderstorm was just
raging. I said to myself that probably I should be lucky and get through
and rapidly approached the black cloud which reached down to the earth.
I flew at the lowest possible altitude. I was compelled absolutely to
leap over houses and trees with my machine. Very soon I knew no longer
where I was. The gale seized my machine as if it were a piece of paper
and drove it along. My heart sank within me. I could not land among the
hills. I was compelled to go on.
I was surrounded by an inky blackness. Beneath me the trees bent down in
the gale. Suddenly I saw right in front of me a wooded height. I could
not avoid it. My Albatros managed to take it. I was able to fly only in
a straight line. Therefore I had to take every obstacle that I
encountered. My flight became a jumping competition purely and simply. I
had to jump over trees, villages, spires and steeples, for I had to keep
within a few yards of the ground, otherwise I should have seen nothing
at all. The lightning was playing around me. At that time I did not yet
know that lightning cannot touch flying machines. I felt certain of my
death for it seemed to me inevitable that the gale would throw me at
any moment into a village or a forest. Had the motor stopped working I
should have been done for.
Suddenly I saw that on the horizon the darkness had become less thick.
Over there the thunderstorm had passed. I would be saved if I were able
to get so far. Concentrating all my energy I steered towards the light.
Suddenly I got out of the thunder-cloud. The rain was still falling in
torrents. Still, I felt saved.
In pouring rain I landed at my aerodrome. Everyone was waiting for me,
for Metz had reported my start and had told them that I had been
swallowed up by a thunder cloud.
I shall never again fly through a thunderstorm unless the Fatherland
should demand this.
Now, when I look back, I realize that it was all very beautiful.
Notwithstanding the danger during my flight, I experienced glorious
moments which I would not care to have missed.
_My First Time In a Fokker_
FROM the beginning of my career as a pilot I had only a single ambition,
the ambition to fly in a single-seater battle-plane. After worrying my
commander for a long time I at last obtained permission to mount a
Fokker. The revolving motor was a novelty to me. Besides, it was a
strange feeling to be quite alone during the flight.
The Fokker belonged jointly to a friend of mine who has died long ago
and to myself. I flew in the morning and he in the afternoon. Both he
and I were afraid that the other fellow would smash the box. On the
second day we flew towards the enemy. When I flew in the morning no
Frenchman was to be seen. In the afternoon it was his turn. He started
but did not return. There was no news from him.
Late in the evening the infantry reported an aerial battle between a
Nieuport and a German Fokker, in the course of which the German machine
had apparently landed at the Mort Homme. Evidently the occupant was
friend Reimann for all the other flying men had returned. We regretted
the fate of our brave comrade. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, we
heard over the telephone that a German flying officer had made an
unexpected appearance in the front trenches at the Mort Homme. It
appeared that this was Reimann. His motor had been smashed by a shot. He
had been forced to land. As he was not able to reach our own lines he
had come to the ground in No Man's Land. He had rapidly set fire to the
machine and had then quickly hidden himself in a mine crater. During the
night he had slunk into our trenches. Thus ended our joint enterprise
with a Fokker.
A few days later I was given another Fokker. This time I felt under a
moral obligation to attend to its destruction myself. I was flying for
the third time. When starting, the motor suddenly stopped working. I had
to land right away in a field and in a moment the beautiful machine was
converted into a mass of scrap metal. It was a miracle that I was not
hurt.
FOOTNOTE:
[12] Probably this means a patrol of one or two flights--of four
machines each. One does not recall a whole squadron disappearing at
once, though one or two squadrons had their whole personnel renewed one
or two at a time in the course of a month or so.
VII
_Bombing In Russia_
IN June we were suddenly ordered to entrain. No one knew where we were
going, but we had an idea and we were not over much surprised when our
Commander told us that we were going to Russia. We had traveled through
the whole of Germany with our perambulating hotel which consisted of
dining and sleeping cars, and arrived at last at Kovel. There we
remained in our railway cars. There are many advantages in dwelling in a
train. One is always ready to travel on and need not change one's
quarters.[13]
In the heat of the Russian summer a sleeping car is the most horrible
instrument of martyrdom imaginable. Therefore, I agreed with some
friends of mine, Gerstenberg and Scheele, to take quarters in the
forest near by. We erected a tent and lived like gypsies. We had a
lovely time.
In Russia our battle squadron did a great deal of bomb throwing. Our
occupation consisted of annoying the Russians. We dropped our eggs on
their finest railway establishments. One day our whole squadron went out
to bomb a very important railway station. The place was called
Manjewicze and was situated about twenty miles behind the Front. That
was not very far. The Russians had planned an attack and the station was
absolutely crammed with colossal trains. Trains stood close to one
another. Miles of rails were covered with them. One could easily see
that from above. There was an object for bombing that was worth while.
One can become enthusiastic over anything. For a time I was delighted
with bomb throwing. It gave me a tremendous pleasure to bomb those
fellows from above. Frequently I took part in two expeditions on a
single day.
On the day mentioned our object was Manjewicze. Everything was ready.
The aeroplanes were ready to start. Every pilot tried his motor, for it
is a painful thing to be forced to land against one's will on the wrong
side of the Front line, especially in Russia. The Russians hated the
flyers. If they caught a flying man they would certainly kill him. That
is the only risk one ran in Russia for the Russians had no aviators, or
practically none. If a Russian flying man turned up he was sure to have
bad luck and would be shot down. The anti-aircraft guns used by Russia
were sometimes quite good, but they were too few in number. Compared
with flying in the West, flying in the East is absolutely a holiday.
The aeroplanes rolled heavily to the starting point. They carried bombs
to the very limit of their capacity. Sometimes I dragged three hundred
pounds of bombs with a normal C-machine.[14] Besides, I had with me a
very heavy observer who apparently had not suffered in any way from the
food scarcity.[15] I had also with me a couple of machine guns. I was
never able to make proper use of them in Russia. It is a pity that my
collection of trophies contains not a single Russian.
Flying with a heavy machine which is carrying a great dead weight is no
fun, especially during the mid-day summer heat in Russia. The barges
sway in a very disagreeable manner. Of course, heavily laden though they
are, they do not fall down. The 150 h. p. motors prevent it.[16] At the
same time it is no pleasant sensation to carry such a large quantity of
explosives and benzine.
At last we get into a quiet atmosphere. Now comes the enjoyment of
bombing. It is splendid to be able to fly in a straight line and to
have a definite object and definite orders. After having thrown one's
bombs one has the feeling that he has achieved something, while
frequently, after searching for an enemy to give battle to, one comes
home with a sense of failure at not having brought a hostile machine to
the ground. Then a man is apt to say to himself, "You have acted
stupidly."
It gave me a good deal of pleasure to throw bombs. After a while my
observer learned how to fly perpendicularly over the objects to be
bombed and to make use of the right moment for laying his egg with the
assistance of his aiming telescope.
The run to Manjewicze is very pleasant and I have made it repeatedly. We
passed over gigantic forests which were probably inhabited by elks and
lynxes. But the villages looked miserable. The only substantial village
in the whole neighborhood was Manjewicze. It was surrounded by
innumerable tents, and countless barracks had been run up near the
railway station. We could not make out the Red Cross.
Another flying squadron had visited the place before us. That could be
told by the smoking houses and barracks. They had not done badly. The
exit of the station had obviously been blocked by a lucky hit. The
engine was still steaming. The engine driver had probably dived into a
shelter. On the other side of the station an engine was just coming out.
Of course I felt tempted to hit it. We flew towards the engine and
dropped a bomb a few hundred yards in front of it. We had the desired
result. The engine stopped. We turned and continued throwing bomb after
bomb on the station, carefully taking aim through our aiming telescope.
We had plenty of time for nobody interfered with us. It is true that an
enemy aerodrome was in the neighborhood but there was no trace of
hostile pilots. A few anti-aircraft guns were busy, but they shot not in
our direction but in another one. We reserved a bomb hoping to make
particularly good use of it on our way home.
Suddenly we noticed an enemy flying machine starting from its hangar.
The question was whether it would attack us. I did not believe in an
attack. It was more likely that the flying man was seeking security in
the air, for when bombing machines are about, the air is the safest
place.
We went home by roundabout ways and looked for camps. It was
particularly amusing to pepper the gentlemen down below with machine
guns. Half savage tribes from Asia are even more startled when fired at
from above than are cultured Englishmen. It is particularly interesting
to shoot at hostile cavalry. An aerial attack upsets them completely.
Suddenly the lot of them rush away in all directions of the compass. I
should not like to be the Commander of a Squadron of Cossacks which has
been fired at with machine guns from aeroplanes.[17]
By and by we could recognize the German lines. We had to dispose of our
last bomb and we resolved to make a present of it to a Russian
observation balloon, to the only observation balloon they possessed. We
could quite comfortably descend to within a few hundred yards of the
ground in order to attack it. At first the Russians began to haul it in
very rapidly. When the bomb had been dropped the hauling stopped. I did
not believe that I had hit it. I rather imagined that the Russians had
left their chief in the air and had run away. At last we reached our
front and our trenches and were surprised to find when we got home that
we had been shot at from below. At least one of the planes had a hole in
it.
Another time and in the same neighborhood we were ordered to meet an
attack of the Russians who intended to cross the river Stokhod. We came
to the danger spot laden with bombs and carrying a large number of
cartridges for our machine guns. On arrival at the Stokhod, we were
surprised to see that hostile cavalry was already crossing. They were
passing over a single bridge. Immediately it was clear to us that one
might do a tremendous lot of harm to the enemy by hitting the bridge.
Dense masses of men were crossing. We went as low as possible and could
clearly see the hostile cavalry crossing by way of the bridge with great
rapidity. The first bomb fell near the bridge. The second and third
followed immediately. They created a tremendous disorder. The bridge had
not been hit. Nevertheless traffic across it had completely ceased. Men
and animals were rushing away in all directions. We had thrown only
three bombs but the success had been excellent. Besides, a whole
squadron of aeroplanes was following us. Lastly, we could do other
things. My observer fired energetically into the crowd down below with
his machine gun and we enjoyed it tremendously. Of course, I cannot say
what real success we had. The Russians have not told us. Still I
imagined that I alone had caused the Russian attack to fail. Perhaps
the official account of the Russian War Office will give me details
after the war.
_At Last!_
THE August sun was almost unbearably hot on the sandy flying ground at
Kovel. While we were chatting among ourselves one of my comrades said:
"To-day the great Boelcke arrives on a visit to us, or rather to his
brother!" In the evening the great man came to hand. He was vastly
admired by all and he told us many interesting things about his journey
to Turkey. He was just returning from Turkey and was on the way to
Headquarters. He imagined that he would go to the Somme to continue his
work. He was to organize a fighting squadron. He was empowered to select
from the flying corps those men who seemed to him particularly qualified
for his purpose.
I did not dare to ask him to be taken on. I did not feel bored by the
fighting in Russia. On the contrary, we made extensive and interesting
flights. We bombed the Russians at their stations. Still, the idea of
fighting again on the Western Front attracted me. There is nothing
finer for a young cavalry officer than the chase of the air.
The next morning Boelcke was to leave us. Quite early somebody knocked
at my door and before me stood the great man with the _Ordre pour le
Mérite_. I knew him, as I have previously mentioned, but still I had
never imagined that he came to look me up in order to ask me to become
his pupil. I almost fell upon his neck when he inquired whether I cared
to go with him to the Somme.
Three days later I sat in the railway train and traveled through the
whole of Germany straight away to the new field of my activity. At last
my greatest wish was fulfilled. From now onwards began the finest time
of my life.
At that time I did not dare to hope that I should be as successful as I
have been. When I left my quarters in the East a good friend of mine
called out after me: "See that you do not come back without the _Ordre
pour le Mérite_."
FOOTNOTES:
[13] This is the first reference to the regular "Traveling Circus" idea,
in which the whole squadron works as a self-contained unit, with a
special train to move its material, stores, spares, and mechanics, from
place to place, and also provides living accommodations for the pilots.
[14] The German C-type machines are the two-seater reconnaissance types.
The D-type are the single-seater fighters or "chaser" machines. The
G-type are the big three-seater bombers.
[15] It is interesting to find a German joking about food scarcity in
1916, exactly as people in England joke about it in 1918. One is able
thus to form some idea of the comparative states of the two countries,
and to judge how Germany would have fared if the British blockage had
been rigidly enforced at the beginning of the war.
[16] It was 150 horsepower in 1916. By the beginning of 1918 all modern
German C-type machines had 260 h.p., and by April, 1918, German biplanes
with 500 h.p. in one engine were beginning to appear. In consequence the
extreme height (or "ceiling") of a C-type machine had risen from 12,000
feet to 20,000 feet.
[17] Attacks on troops on roads by low-flying aeroplanes were not
regularly organized acts of war in those days, though such attacks had
been made by R. N. A. S. pilots in Belgium in 1914. It is curious that
despite the observed effects of the R. N. A. S. attacks, and the
experiences of such men as von Richthofen, neither the British nor the
German aeronautical authorities ever took the trouble to devote
attention to this new method of war. The racial similarity of the two
belligerents is marked in this as in other matters.
VIII
_My First English Victim. (17th September, 1915)_[18]
WE were all at the Butts trying our machine guns. On the previous day we
had received our new aeroplanes and the next morning Boelcke was to fly
with us. We were all beginners. None of us had had a success so far.
Consequently everything that Boelcke told us was to us gospel truth.
Every day, during the last few days, he had, as he said, shot one or two
Englishmen for breakfast.
The next morning, the seventeenth of September, was a gloriously fine
day. It was therefore only to be expected that the English would be very
active. Before we started Boelcke repeated to us his instructions and
for the first time we flew as a squadron commanded by the great man whom
we followed blindly.
We had just arrived at the Front when we recognized a hostile flying
squadron that was proceeding in the direction of Cambrai. Boelcke was of
course the first to see it, for he saw a great deal more than ordinary
mortals. Soon we understood the position and everyone of us strove to
follow Boelcke closely. It was clear to all of us that we should pass
our first examination under the eyes of our beloved leader.
Slowly we approached the hostile squadron. It could not escape us. We
had intercepted it, for we were between the Front and our opponents. If
they wished to go back they had to pass us. We counted the hostile
machines. They were seven in number. We were only five. All the
Englishmen flew large bomb-carrying two-seaters. In a few seconds the
dance would begin.
Boelcke had come very near the first English machine but he did not yet
shoot. I followed. Close to me were my comrades. The Englishman nearest
to me was traveling in a large boat painted with dark colors. I did not
reflect very long but took my aim and shot. He also fired and so did I,
and both of us missed our aim. A struggle began and the great point for
me was to get to the rear of the fellow because I could only shoot
forward with my gun. He was differently placed for his machine gun was
movable. It could fire in all directions.
Apparently he was no beginner, for he knew exactly that his last hour
had arrived at the moment when I got at the back of him. At that time I
had not yet the conviction "He must fall!" which I have now on such
occasions, but on the contrary, I was curious to see whether he would
fall. There is a great difference between the two feelings. When one has
shot down one's first, second or third opponent, then one begins to find
out how the trick is done.
My Englishman twisted and turned, going criss-cross. I did not think for
a moment that the hostile squadron contained other Englishmen who
conceivably might come to the aid of their comrade. I was animated by a
single thought: "The man in front of me must come down, whatever
happens." At last a favorable moment arrived. My opponent had apparently
lost sight of me. Instead of twisting and turning he flew straight
along. In a fraction of a second I was at his back with my excellent
machine. I give a short series of shots with my machine gun. I had gone
so close that I was afraid I might dash into the Englishman. Suddenly, I
nearly yelled with joy for the propeller of the enemy machine had
stopped turning. I had shot his engine to pieces; the enemy was
compelled to land, for it was impossible for him to reach his own lines.
The English machine was curiously swinging to and fro. Probably
something had happened to the pilot. The observer was no longer visible.
His machine gun was apparently deserted. Obviously I had hit the
observer and he had fallen from his seat.
The Englishman landed close to the flying ground of one of our
squadrons. I was so excited that I landed also and my eagerness was so
great that I nearly smashed up my machine. The English flying machine
and my own stood close together. I rushed to the English machine and saw
that a lot of soldiers were running towards my enemy. When I arrived I
discovered that my assumption had been correct. I had shot the engine to
pieces and both the pilot and observer were severely wounded. The
observer died at once and the pilot while being transported to the
nearest dressing station. I honored the fallen enemy by placing a stone
on his beautiful grave.
When I came home Boelcke and my other comrades were already at
breakfast. They were surprised that I had not turned up. I reported
proudly that I had shot down an Englishman. All were full of joy for I
was not the only victor. As usual, Boelcke had shot down an opponent for
breakfast and every one of the other men also had downed an enemy for
the first time.
I would mention that since that time no English squadron ventured as far
as Cambrai as long as Boelcke's squadron was there.[19]
_The Battle of the Somme_
DURING my whole life I have not found a happier hunting ground than in
the course of the Somme Battle. In the morning, as soon as I had got up,
the first Englishmen arrived, and the last did not disappear until long
after sunset. Boelcke once said that this was the El Dorado of the
flying men.
There was a time when, within two months, Boelcke's bag of machines
increased from twenty to forty. We beginners had not at that time the
experience of our master and we were quite satisfied when we did not get
a hiding. It was an exciting period. Every time we went up we had a
fight. Frequently we fought really big battles in the air. There were
sometimes from forty to sixty English machines, but unfortunately the
Germans were often in the minority. With them quality was more important
than quantity.
Still the Englishman is a smart fellow. That we must allow. Sometimes
the English came down to a very low altitude and visited Boelcke in his
quarters, upon which they threw their bombs. They absolutely challenged
us to battle and never refused fighting.
We had a delightful time with our chasing squadron. The spirit of our
leader animated all his pupils. We trusted him blindly. There was no
possibility that one of us would be left behind. Such a thought was
incomprehensible to us. Animated by that spirit we gaily diminished the
number of our enemies.
On the day when Boelcke fell the squadron had brought down forty
opponents. By now the number has been increased by more than a hundred.
Boelcke's spirit lives still among his capable successors.
_Boelcke's Death. (28th October, 1916)_
ONE day we were flying, once more guided by Boelcke against the enemy.
We always had a wonderful feeling of security when he was with us. After
all he was the one and only. The weather was very gusty and there were
many clouds. There were no aeroplanes about except fighting ones.
From a long distance we saw two impertinent Englishmen in the air who
actually seemed to enjoy the terrible weather. We were six and they were
two. If they had been twenty and if Boelcke had given us the signal to
attack we should not have been at all surprised.
The struggle began in the usual way. Boelcke tackled the one and I the
other. I had to let go because one of the German machines got in my way.
I looked around and noticed Boelcke settling his victim about two
hundred yards away from me.
It was the usual thing. Boelcke would shoot down his opponent and I had
to look on. Close to Boelcke flew a good friend of his. It was an
interesting struggle. Both men were shooting. It was probable that the
Englishman would fall at any moment. Suddenly I noticed an unnatural
movement of the two German flying machines. Immediately I thought:
Collision. I had not yet seen a collision in the air. I had imagined
that it would look quite different. In reality, what happened was not a
collision. The two machines merely touched one another. However, if two
machines go at the tremendous pace of flying machines, the slightest
contact has the effect of a violent concussion.
Boelcke drew away from his victim and descended in large curves. He did
not seem to be falling, but when I saw him descending below me I noticed
that part of his planes had broken off. I could not see what happened
afterwards, but in the clouds he lost an entire plane. Now his machine
was no longer steerable. It fell accompanied all the time by Boelcke's
faithful friend.
When we reached home we found the report "Boelcke is dead!" had already
arrived. We could scarcely realize it.
The greatest pain was, of course, felt by the man who had the misfortune
to be involved in the accident.
It is a strange thing that everybody who met Boelcke imagined that he
alone was his true friend. I have made the acquaintance of about forty
men, each of whom imagined that he alone was Boelcke's intimate. Each
imagined that he had the monopoly of Boelcke's affections. Men whose
names were unknown to Boelcke believed that he was particularly fond of
them. This is a curious phenomenon which I have never noticed in anyone
else. Boelcke had not a personal enemy. He was equally polite to
everybody, making no differences.
The only one who was perhaps more intimate with him than the others was
the very man who had the misfortune to be in the accident which caused
his death.
Nothing happens without God's will. That is the only consolation which
any of us can put to our souls during this war.
_My Eighth Victim_
IN Boelcke's time eight was quite a respectable number. Those who hear
nowadays of the colossal bags made by certain aviators must feel
convinced that it has become easier to shoot down a machine. I can
assure those who hold that opinion that the flying business is becoming
more difficult from month to month and even from week to week. Of
course, with the increasing number of aeroplanes one gains increased
opportunities for shooting down one's enemies, but at the same time, the
possibility of being shot down one's self increases. The armament of our
enemies is steadily improving and their number is increasing.[20] When
Immelmann shot down his first victim he had the good fortune to find an
opponent who carried not even a machine gun. Such little innocents one
finds nowadays only at the training ground for beginners.
On the ninth of November, 1916, I flew towards the enemy with my little
comrade Immelmann,[21] who then was eighteen years old. We both were in
Boelcke's squadron of chasing aeroplanes. We had previously met one
another and had got on very well. Comradeship is a most important thing.
We went to work. I had already bagged seven enemies and Immelmann five.
At that time this was quite a lot.
Soon after our arrival at the front we saw a squadron of bombing
aeroplanes. They were coming along with impertinent assurance. They
arrived in enormous numbers as was usual during the Somme Battle. I
think there were about forty or fifty machines approaching. I cannot
give the exact number. They had selected an object for their bombs not
far from our aerodrome. I reached them when they had almost attained
their objective. I approached the last machine. My first few shots
incapacitated the hostile machine gunner. Possibly they had tickled the
pilot, too. At any rate he resolved to land with his bombs. I fired a
few more shots to accelerate his progress downwards. He fell close to
our flying ground at Lagnicourt.
While I was fighting my opponent, Immelmann had tackled another
Englishman and had brought him down in the same locality. Both of us
flew quickly home in order to have a look at the machines we had downed.
We jumped into a motor car, drove in the direction where our victims lay
and had to run along a distance through the fields. It was very hot,
therefore I unbuttoned all my garments even the collar and the shirt. I
took off my jacket, left my cap in the car but took with me a big stick.
My boots were miry up to the knees. I looked like a tramp. I arrived in
the vicinity of my victim. In the meantime, a lot of people had of
course gathered around.
At one spot there was a group of officers. I approached them, greeted
them, and asked the first one whom I met whether he could tell me
anything about the aspect of the aerial battle. It is always
interesting to find out how a fight in the air looks to the people down
below. I was told that the English machines had thrown bombs and that
the aeroplane that had come down was still carrying its bombs.
The officer who gave me this information took my arm, went with me to
the other officers, asked my name and introduced me to them. I did not
like it, for my attire was rather disarranged. On the other hand, all
the officers looked as spic and span as on parade. I was introduced to a
personage who impressed me rather strangely. I noticed a General's
trousers, an Order at the neck, an unusually youthful face and
undefinable epaulettes. In short, the personage seemed extraordinary to
me. During our conversation I buttoned my trousers and collar and
adopted a somewhat military attitude.
I had no idea who the officer was. I took my leave and went home again.
In the evening the telephone rang and I was told that the undefinable
somebody with whom I had been talking had been His Royal Highness, the
Grand-Duke of Saxe-Coburg Gotha.
I was ordered to go to him. It was known that the English had intended
to throw bombs on his headquarters. Apparently I had helped to keep the
aggressors away from him. Therefore I was given the Saxe-Coburg Gotha
medal for bravery.
I always enjoy this adventure when I look at the medal.
_Major Hawker_
I WAS extremely proud when, one fine day, I was informed that the airman
whom I had brought down on the twenty-third of November, 1916, was the
English Immelmann.
In view of the character of our fight it was clear to me that I had been
tackling a flying champion.
One day I was blithely flying to give chase when I noticed three
Englishmen who also had apparently gone a-hunting. I noticed that they
were ogling me and as I felt much inclination to have a fight I did not
want to disappoint them.
I was flying at a lower altitude. Consequently I had to wait until one
of my English friends tried to drop on me. After a short while on the
three came sailing along and attempted to tackle me in the rear. After
firing five shots he had to stop for I had swerved in a sharp curve.
The Englishman tried to catch me up in the rear while I tried to get
behind him. So we circled round and round like madmen after one another
at an altitude of about 10,000 feet.
First we circled twenty times to the left, and then thirty times to the
right. Each tried to get behind and above the other.
Soon I discovered that I was not meeting a beginner. He had not the
slightest intention of breaking off the fight. He was traveling in a
machine which turned beautifully.[22] However, my own was better at
rising than his, and I succeeded at last in getting above and beyond my
English waltzing partner.
When we had got down to about 6,000 feet without having achieved
anything in particular, my opponent ought to have discovered that it was
time for him to take his leave. The wind was favorable to me for it
drove us more and more towards the German position. At last we were
above Bapaume, about half a mile behind the German front. The
impertinent fellow was full of cheek and when we had got down to about
3,000 feet he merrily waved to me as if he would say, "Well, how do you
do?"
The circles which we made around one another were so narrow that their
diameter was probably no more than 250 or 300 feet. I had time to take a
good look at my opponent. I looked down into his carriage and could see
every movement of his head. If he had not had his cap on I would have
noticed what kind of a face he was making.
My Englishman was a good sportsman, but by and by the thing became a
little too hot for him. He had to decide whether he would land on German
ground or whether he would fly back to the English lines. Of course he
tried the latter, after having endeavored in vain to escape me by
loopings and such like tricks. At that time his first bullets were
flying around me, for hitherto neither of us had been able to do any
shooting.
When he had come down to about three hundred feet he tried to escape by
flying in a zig-zag course during which, as is well known, it is
difficult for an observer to shoot. That was my most favorable moment. I
followed him at an altitude of from two hundred and fifty feet to one
hundred and fifty feet, firing all the time. The Englishman could not
help falling. But the jamming of my gun nearly robbed me of my success.
My opponent fell, shot through the head, one hundred and fifty feet
behind our line. His machine gun was dug out of the ground and it
ornaments the entrance of my dwelling.[23]
FOOTNOTES:
[18] This locates almost exactly the date of the formation of the first
Boelcke Circus.
[19] Cambrai at that time was a long way behind the front, and Bapaume
was a more important mark for the British squadrons. So it may not have
been worth while for squadrons to go so far afield as Cambrai. Single
machines on long reconnaissance visited Cambrai regularly.
[20] This testimony to the improvement in the aerial equipment of the
British Army is well worthy of note.
[21] This is evidently a junior Immelmann of Boelcke's squadron, and not
the famous Immelmann, who was already dead before the Boelcke squadron
came into existence.
[22] Major Hawker was flying a de Havilland II with a 100 h.p.
Monosoupape Gnome engine, a species of "box-kite" single-seater biplane,
albeit very fast and handy.
[23] One gathers that this account is substantially correct. The other
two British machines who were with Major Hawker became involved with von
Richthofen's four followers and with five other German chasers which
came into the fight from a higher altitude. These two, after a busy
time, fought their way out, while Major Hawker was fighting von
Richthofen. The only flaw in the story is that in fact one of the upper
German machines dived onto Major Hawker, who, apparently, in avoiding
it, came into action with von Richthofen.
IX
_I Get the Ordre Pour le Mérite_
I HAD brought down my sixteenth victim, and I had come to the head of
the list of all the flying chasers. I had obtained the aim which I had
set myself. In the previous year my friend Lynker, with whom I was
training, had asked me: "What is your object? What will you obtain by
flying?" I replied, jokingly, "I would like to be the first of the
chasers. That must be very fine." That I should succeed in this I did
not believe myself. Other people also did not expect my success. Boelcke
is supposed to have said, not to me personally--I have only heard the
report--when asked: "Which of the fellows is likely to become a good
chaser?"--"That is the man!" pointing his finger in my direction.
[Illustration: THE FORTIETH RICHTHOFEN VICTIM]
Boelcke and Immelmann were given the _Ordre pour le Mérite_ when they
had brought down their eighth aeroplane. I had downed twice that number.
The question was, what would happen to me? I was very curious. It was
rumored that I was to be given command of a chasing squadron.
One fine day a telegram arrived, which stated: "Lieutenant von
Richthofen is appointed Commander of the Eleventh Chasing Squadron."
I must say I was annoyed. I had learnt to work so well with my comrades
of Boelcke's Squadron and now I had to begin all over again working hand
in hand with different people. It was a beastly nuisance. Besides I
should have preferred the _Ordre pour le Mérite_.
Two days later, when we were sitting sociably together, we men of
Boelcke's Squadron, celebrating my departure, a telegram from
Headquarters arrived. It stated that His Majesty had graciously
condescended to give me the _Ordre pour le Mérite_. Of course my joy was
tremendous.
I had never imagined that it would be so delightful to command a chasing
squadron. Even in my dreams I had not imagined that there would ever be
a Richthofen's squadron of aeroplanes.
_Le Petit Rouge_
IT occurred to me to have my packing case painted all over in staring
red. The result was that everyone got to know my red bird. My opponents
also seemed to have heard of the color transformation.
During a fight on quite a different section of the Front I had the good
fortune to shoot into a Vickers' two-seater which peacefully
photographed the German artillery position. My friend, the photographer,
had not the time to defend himself. He had to make haste to get down
upon firm ground for his machine began to give suspicious indications of
fire. When we airmen notice that phenomenon in an enemy plane, we say:
"He stinks!" As it turned out it was really so. When the machine was
coming to earth it burst into flames.
I felt some human pity for my opponent and had resolved not to cause him
to fall down but merely to compel him to land. I did so particularly
because I had the impression that my opponent was wounded for he did not
fire a single shot.
When I had got down to an altitude of about fifteen hundred feet engine
trouble compelled me to land without making any curves. The result was
very comical. My enemy with his burning machine landed smoothly while I,
his victor, came down next to him in the barbed wire of our trenches and
my machine overturned.[24]
The two Englishmen who were not a little surprised at my collapse,
greeted me like sportsmen. As mentioned before, they had not fired a
shot and they could not understand why I had landed so clumsily. They
were the first two Englishmen whom I had brought down alive.
Consequently, it gave me particular pleasure to talk to them. I asked
them whether they had previously seen my machine in the air, and one of
them replied, "Oh, yes. I know your machine very well. We call it 'Le
Petit Rouge'."
_English and French Flying.
(February, 1917)_
I WAS trying to compete with Boelcke's squadron. Every evening we
compared our bags. However, Boelcke's pupils are smart rascals. I cannot
get ahead of them. The utmost one can do is to draw level with them. The
Boelcke section has an advantage over my squadron of one hundred
aeroplanes downed. I must allow them to retain it. Everything depends on
whether we have for opponents those French tricksters or those daring
rascals, the English. I prefer the English. Frequently their daring can
only be described as stupidity. In their eyes it may be pluck and
daring.
The great thing in air fighting is that the decisive factor does not lie
in trick flying but solely in the personal ability and energy of the
aviator. A flying man may be able to loop and do all the stunts
imaginable and yet he may not succeed in shooting down a single enemy.
In my opinion the aggressive spirit is everything and that spirit is
very strong in us Germans. Hence we shall always retain the domination
of the air.[25]
The French have a different character. They like to put traps and to
attack their opponents unawares. That cannot easily be done in the air.
Only a beginner can be caught and one cannot set traps because an
aeroplane cannot hide itself. The invisible aeroplane has not yet been
discovered. Sometimes, however, the Gaelic blood asserts itself. The
Frenchmen will then attack. But the French attacking spirit is like
bottled lemonade. It lacks tenacity.
The Englishmen, on the other hand, one notices that they are of Germanic
blood. Sportsmen easily take to flying, and Englishmen see in flying
nothing but a sport. They take a perfect delight in looping the loop,
flying on their back, and indulging in other stunts for the benefit of
our soldiers in the trenches. All these tricks may impress people who
attend a Sports Meeting, but the public at the battle-front is not as
appreciative of these things. It demands higher qualifications than
trick flying. Therefore, the blood of English pilots will have to flow
in streams.
_I Am Shot Down.
(Middle of March, 1917)_
I HAVE had an experience which might perhaps be described as being shot
down. At the same time, I call shot down only when one falls down.
To-day I got into trouble but I escaped with a whole skin.
I was flying with the squadron and noticed an opponent who also was
flying in a squadron. It happened above the German artillery position in
the neighborhood of Lens. I had to fly quite a distance to get there. It
tickles ones nerves to fly towards the enemy, especially when one can
see him from a long distance and when several minutes must elapse
before one can start fighting. I imagine that at such a moment my face
turns a little pale, but unfortunately I have never had a mirror with
me. I like that feeling for it is a wonderful nerve stimulant. One
observes the enemy from afar. One has recognized that his squadron is
really an enemy formation. One counts the number of the hostile machines
and considers whether the conditions are favorable or unfavorable. A
factor of enormous importance is whether the wind forces me away from or
towards our Front. For instance, I once shot down an Englishman. I fired
the fatal shot above the English position. However, the wind was so
strong that his machine came down close to the German captive balloons.
We Germans had five machines. Our opponents were three times as
numerous. The English flew about like midges. It is not easy to disperse
a swarm of machines which fly together in good order. It is impossible
for a single machine to do it. It is extremely difficult for several
aeroplanes, particularly if the difference in number is as great as it
was in this case. However, one feels such a superiority over the enemy
that one does not doubt of success for a moment.
The aggressive spirit, the offensive, is the chief thing everywhere in
war, and the air is no exception. However, the enemy had the same idea.
I noticed that at once. As soon as they observed us they turned round
and attacked us. Now we five had to look sharp. If one of them should
fall there might be a lot of trouble for all of us. We went closer
together and allowed the foreign gentlemen to approach us.
I watched whether one of the fellows would hurriedly take leave of his
colleagues. There! One of them is stupid enough to depart alone. I can
reach him and I say to myself, "That man is lost." Shouting aloud, I am
after him. I have come up to him or at least am getting very near him.
He starts shooting prematurely, which shows that he is nervous. So I say
to myself, "Go on shooting. You won't hit me." He shot with a kind of
ammunition which ignites. So I could see his shots passing me. I felt as
if I were sitting in front of a gigantic watering pot. The sensation
was not pleasant. Still, the English usually shoot with their beastly
stuff, and so we must try and get accustomed to it.[26] One can get
accustomed to anything. At the moment I think I laughed aloud. But soon
I got a lesson. When I had approached the Englishman quite closely, when
I had come to a distance of about three hundred feet, I got ready for
firing, aimed and gave a few trial shots. The machine guns were in
order. The decision would be there before long. In my mind's eye I saw
my enemy dropping.
My former excitement was gone. In such a position one thinks quite
calmly and collectedly and weighs the probabilities of hitting and of
being hit. Altogether the fight itself is the least exciting part of the
business as a rule. He who gets excited in fighting is sure to make
mistakes. He will never get his enemy down. Besides calmness is, after
all, a matter of habit. At any rate in this case I did not make a
mistake. I approached my man up to fifty yards. Then I fired some well
aimed shots and thought that I was bound to be successful. That was my
idea. But suddenly I heard a tremendous bang, when I had scarcely fired
ten cartridges. Presently again something hit my machine. It became
clear to me that I had been hit or rather my machine. At the same time I
noticed a fearful benzine stench and I observed that the motor was
running slack. The Englishman noticed it, too, for he started shooting
with redoubled energy while I had to stop it.
I went right down. Instinctively I switched off the engine and indeed it
was high time to do this. When a pilot's benzine tank has been
perforated, and when the infernal liquid is squirting around his legs,
the danger of fire is very great. In front is an explosion engine of
more than 150 h. p. which is red hot. If a single drop of benzine
should fall on it the whole machine would be in flames.[27]
I left in the air a thin white cloud. I knew its meaning from my
enemies. Its appearance is the first sign of a coming explosion. I was
at an altitude of nine thousand feet and had to travel a long distance
to get down. By the kindness of Providence my engine stopped running. I
have no idea with what rapidity I went downward. At any rate the speed
was so great that I could not put my head out of the machine without
being pressed back by the rush of air.
Soon I lost sight of my enemy. I had only time to see what my four
comrades were doing while I was dropping to the ground. They were still
fighting. Their machine-guns and those of their opponents could be
heard. Suddenly I notice a rocket. Is it a signal of the enemy? No, it
cannot be. The light is too great for a rocket. Evidently a machine is
on fire. What machine? The burning machine looks exactly as if it were
one of our own. No! Praise the Lord, it is one of the enemy's! Who can
have shot him down? Immediately afterwards a second machine drops out
and falls perpendicularly to the ground, turning, turning, turning
exactly as I did, but suddenly it recovers its balance. It flies
straight towards me. It also is an Albatros. No doubt it had the same
experience as I had.
I had fallen to an altitude of perhaps one thousand feet and had to look
out for a landing. Now such a sudden landing usually leads to breakages
and as these are occasionally serious it was time to look out. I found a
meadow. It was not very large but it just sufficed if I used due
caution. Besides it was favorably situated on the high road near
Hénin-Liétard. There I meant to land.
Everything went as desired and my first thought was, "What has become of
the other fellow." He landed a few kilometers from the spot where I had
come to the ground.
I had ample time to inspect the damage. My machine had been hit a number
of times. The shot which caused me to give up the fight had gone through
both benzine tanks. I had not a drop of benzine left and the engine
itself had also been damaged by shots. It was a pity for it had worked
so well.
I let my legs dangle out of the machine and probably made a very silly
face. In a moment I was surrounded by a large crowd of soldiers. Then
came an officer. He was quite out of breath. He was terribly excited! No
doubt something fearful had happened to him. He rushed towards me,
gasped for air and asked: "I hope that nothing has happened to you. I
have followed the whole affair and am terribly excited! Good Lord, it
looked awful!" I assured him that I felt quite well, jumped down from
the side of my machine and introduced myself to him. Of course he did
not understand a particle of my name. However, he invited me to go in
his motor car to Hénin-Liétard where he was quartered. He was an
Engineer Officer.
We were sitting in the motor and were commencing our ride. My host was
still extraordinarily excited. Suddenly he jumped up and asked: "Good
Lord, but where is your chauffeur?" At first I did not quite understand
what he meant. Probably I looked puzzled. Then it dawned upon me that he
thought that I was the observer of a two-seater and that he asked after
the fate of my pilot. I pulled myself together and said in the dryest
tones: "I always drive myself." Of course the word "drive" is absolutely
taboo among the flying men.
An aviator does not drive, he flies. In the eyes of the kind gentleman I
had obviously lost caste when he discovered that I "drove" my own
aeroplane. The conversation began to slacken.
We arrived in his quarters. I was still dressed in my dirty and oily
leather jacket and had round my neck a thick wrap. On our journey he had
of course asked me a tremendous number of questions. Altogether he was
far more excited than I was.
When we got to his diggings he forced me to lie down on the sofa, or at
least he tried to force me because, he argued, I was bound to be
terribly done up through my fight. I assured him that this was not my
first aerial battle but he did not, apparently, give me much credence.
Probably I did not look very martial.
After we had been talking for some time he asked me of course the
celebrated question: "Have you ever brought down a machine?" As I said
before he had probably not understood my name. So I answered
nonchalantly: "Oh, yes! I have done so now and then." He replied:
"Indeed! Perhaps you have shot down two?" I answered: "No. Not two but
twenty-four." He smiled, repeated his question and gave me to understand
that, when he was speaking about shooting down an aeroplane, he meant
not shooting _at_ an aeroplane but shooting _into_ an aeroplane in such
a manner that it would fall to the ground and remain there. I
immediately assured him that I entirely shared his conception of the
meaning of the words "shooting down."
Now I had completely lost caste with him. He was convinced that I was a
fearful liar. He left me sitting where I was and told me that a meal
would be served in an hour. If I liked I could join in. I accepted his
invitation and slept soundly for an hour. Then we went to the Officers'
Club. Arrived at the club I was glad to find that I was wearing the
_Ordre pour le Mérite_.
Unfortunately I had no uniform jacket underneath my greasy leather coat
but only a waistcoat. I apologized for being so badly dressed. Suddenly
my good chief discovered on me the _Ordre pour le Mérite_. He was
speechless with surprise and assured me that he did not know my name. I
gave him my name once more. Now it seemed to dawn upon him that he had
heard my name before. He feasted me with oysters and champagne and I did
gloriously until at last my orderly arrived and fetched me with my car.
I learned from him that comrade Lubbert had once more justified his
nickname. He was generally called "The bullet-catcher" for his machine
suffered badly in every fight. Once it was hit sixty-four times. Yet he
had not been wounded. This time he had received a glancing shot on the
chest and he was by this time in hospital. I flew his machine to port.
Unfortunately this excellent officer, who promised to become another
Boelcke, died a few weeks later--a hero's death for the Fatherland.
In the evening I could assure my kind host of Hénin-Liétard that I had
increased my "bag" to twenty-five.
FOOTNOTES:
[24] This incident confirms the impression that the small Albatros
biplanes are difficult to land except in a properly prepared aerodrome.
[25] Except when faced by pilots in approximately equal numbers and
equally mounted. It is interesting here to recall the dictum of General
von Hoppner, the chief of the German Flying Service, who said that the
English are dangerous opponents and show by their fighting spirit that
they are of Germanic race. It will be noticed that von Richthofen
repeats the sentiment later on.
[26] The reference is to what are called "tracer" bullets. The hind end
of the bullet contains a phosphorous mixture which leaves a trail of
smoke and so indicates to the gunner where his bullets are going. If
such a bullet penetrates a petrol tank or passes through escaping
petrol--due to a perforated tank or a cut petrol-pipe--it sets the
petrol on fire, but the prime reason is to trace the course of the shot.
The Germans use similar bullets as largely as do the Allies.
[27] This is a mistaken idea, common to many pilots who are not motor
engineers. Fire in such cases is caused by petrol or petrol vapor being
set alight by a spark from the magneto, which because the air-screw is
still revolving continues to generate sparks internally even when
switched off. A mere red-hot pipe in an engine would not cause petrol
fire.
X
_A Flying-Man's Adventure. (End of March, 1917)_
THE name "Siegfried position" is probably known to every young man in
Germany. During the time when we withdrew towards the Siegfried line the
activity in the air was of course very great. We allowed our enemies to
occupy the territory which we had evacuated but we did not allow them to
occupy the air as well. The chaser squadron which Boelcke had trained
looked after the English flying men. The English had hitherto fought a
war of position in the air and they ventured to abandon it for a war of
movement only with the utmost caution.
That was the time when Prince Frederick Charles gave his life for the
Fatherland.
In the course of a hunting expedition of the Boelcke Chaser Squadron,
Lieutenant Voss[28] had defeated an Englishman in an aerial duel. He was
forced to go down to the ground and landed in neutral territory between
the lines, in No Man's Land. In this particular case we had abandoned a
stretch of territory but the enemy had not yet occupied it. Only English
and German patrols were about in the unoccupied zone. The English flying
machine was standing between the two lines. Our good Englishman probably
believed that the ground was already in English possession and he was
justified in thinking so.
Lieutenant Voss was of a different opinion. Without a moment's
hesitation he landed close to his victim. With great rapidity he
transferred the Englishman's machine-guns and other useful things to
his own aeroplane, took a match and in a few minutes the English machine
stood in flames. Then he waved smilingly from his victorious aeroplane
to the English who were rushing along from all sides and was off.
_My First Double Event_
THE second of April, 1917, was a very warm day for my Squadron. From my
quarters I could clearly hear the drum-fire of the guns which was again
particularly violent.
I was still in bed when my orderly rushed into the room and exclaimed:
"Sir, the English are here!" Sleepy as I was, I looked out of the window
and, really, there were my dear friends circling over the flying ground.
I jumped out of my bed and into my clothes in a jiffy. My Red Bird had
been pulled out and was ready for starting. My mechanics knew that I
should probably not allow such a favorable moment to go by unutilized.
Everything was ready. I snatched up my furs and then went off.
I was the last to start. My comrades were much nearer to the enemy. I
feared that my prey would escape me, that I should have to look on from
a distance while the others were fighting. Suddenly one of the
impertinent fellows tried to drop down upon me. I allowed him to come
near and then we started a merry quadrille. Sometimes my opponent flew
on his back and sometimes he did other tricks. He had a double-seated
chaser. I was his master and very soon I recognized that he could not
escape me.
During an interval in the fighting I convinced myself that we were
alone. It followed that the victory would accrue to him who was calmest,
who shot best and who had the clearest brain in a moment of danger.
After a short time I got him beneath me without seriously hurting him
with my gun. We were at least two kilometers from the front. I thought
he intended to land but there I had made a mistake. Suddenly, when he
was only a few yards above the ground, he once more went off on a
straight course. He tried to escape me. That was too bad. I attacked
him again and I went so low that I feared I should touch the roofs of
the houses of the village beneath me. The Englishman defended himself up
to the last moment. At the very end I felt that my engine had been hit.
Still I did not let go. He had to fall. He rushed at full speed right
into a block of houses.
There was little left to be done. This was once more a case of splendid
daring. He defended himself to the last. However, in my opinion he
showed more foolhardiness than courage. This was one of the cases where
one must differentiate between energy and idiocy. He had to come down in
any case but he paid for his stupidity with his life.
I was delighted with the performance of my red machine during its
morning work and returned to our quarters. My comrades were still in the
air and they were very surprised, when, as we met at breakfast, I told
them that I had scored my thirty-second machine.
A very young Lieutenant had "bagged" his first aeroplane. We were all
very merry and prepared everything for further battles.
I then went and groomed myself. I had not had time to do it previously.
I was visited by a dear friend, Lieutenant Voss of Boelcke's Squadron.
We chatted. Voss had downed on the previous day his twenty-third
machine. He was next to me on the list and is at present my most
redoubtable competitor.
When he started to fly home I offered to accompany him part of the way.
We went on a roundabout way over the Fronts. The weather had turned so
bad that we could not hope to find any more game.
Beneath us there were dense clouds. Voss did not know the country and he
began to feel uncomfortable. When we passed above Arras I met my brother
who also is in my squadron and who had lost his way. He joined us. Of
course he recognized me at once by the color of my machine.
Suddenly we saw a squadron approaching from the other side. Immediately
the thought occurred to me: "Now comes number thirty-three." Although
there were nine Englishmen and although they were on their own
territory they preferred to avoid battle. I thought that perhaps it
would be better for me to re-paint my machine. Nevertheless we caught
them up. The important thing in aeroplanes is that they are speedy.
I was nearest to the enemy and attacked the man to the rear. To my
greatest delight I noticed that he accepted battle and my pleasure was
increased when I discovered that his comrades deserted him. So I had
once more a single fight.
It was a fight similar to the one which I had had in the morning. My
opponent did not make matters easy for me. He knew the fighting business
and it was particularly awkward for me that he was a good shot. To my
great regret that was quite clear to me.
A favorable wind came to my aid. It drove both of us into the German
lines.[29] My opponent discovered that the matter was not so simple as
he had imagined. So he plunged and disappeared in a cloud. He had nearly
saved himself.
I plunged after him and dropped out of the cloud and, as luck would have
it, found myself close behind him. I fired and he fired without any
tangible result. At last I hit him. I noticed a ribbon of white benzine
vapor. He had to land for his engine had come to a stop.
He was a stubborn fellow. He was bound to recognize that he had lost the
game. If he continued shooting I could kill him, for meanwhile we had
dropped to an altitude of about nine hundred feet. However, the
Englishman defended himself exactly as did his countryman in the
morning. He fought until he landed. When he had come to the ground I
flew over him at an altitude of about thirty feet in order to ascertain
whether I had killed him or not. What did the rascal do? He took his
machine-gun and shot holes into my machine.
Afterwards Voss told me if that had happened to him he would have shot
the airman on the ground. As a matter of fact I ought to have done so
for he had not surrendered. He was one of the few fortunate fellows who
escaped with their lives.
I felt very merry, flew home and celebrated my thirty-third aeroplane.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] Voss was afterwards shot in a fight by the late Lieut. Rhys-Davids,
D. C. O., M. C. In this fight, which is said to have been one of the
most gallant actions in the war, Voss was flying a Fokker triplane with
a French le Rhone engine, taken out of a captured machine. He was
attacked by six British S. E.'s, all faster than he was. His solitary
companion, on an Albatros, was shot down at the first onset, but Voss,
instead of getting away, as he could have done, stayed and fought the
crowd. His manoeuvering and shooting are said to have been wonderful.
Every British machine was hit, but none was brought down, and Voss
himself finally fell to a direct attack by Rhys-Davids.
[29] It is well to note how often von Richthofen refers to the wind
being in his favor. A west wind means that while the machines are
fighting they are driven steadily over the German lines. Then, if the
British machine happens to be inferior in speed or manoeuverability to
the German, and is forced down low, the pilot has the choice only of
fighting to a finish and being killed, or of landing and being made
prisoner. The prevalence of west winds has, for this reason, cost the R.
F. C. a very great number of casualties in killed and missing, who, if
the fight had occurred over territory held by the British, would merely
have landed till the attacking machine had taken itself off. For similar
reasons, the fact that the R. F. C. has always been on the offensive,
and so has always been flying over the German lines has caused many
casualties. Under all the circumstances it is surprising that the R. F.
C. casualties have not been a great deal heavier.
XI
_My Record-Day_
THE weather was glorious. We were ready for starting. I had as a visitor
a gentleman who had never seen a fight in the air or anything resembling
it and he had just assured me that it would tremendously interest him to
witness an aerial battle.
We climbed into our machines and laughed heartily at our visitor's
eagerness. Friend Schäfer[30] thought that we might give him some fun.
We placed him before a telescope and off we went.
The day began well. We had scarcely flown to an altitude of six thousand
feet when an English squadron of five machines was seen coming our way.
We attacked them by a rush as if we were cavalry and the hostile
squadron lay destroyed on the ground. None of our men was even wounded.
Of our enemies three had plunged to the ground and two had come down in
flames.
The good fellow down below was not a little surprised. He had imagined
that the affair would look quite different, that it would be far more
dramatic. He thought the whole encounter had looked quite harmless until
suddenly some machines came falling down looking like rockets. I have
gradually become accustomed to seeing machines falling down, but I must
say it impressed me very deeply when I saw the first Englishman fall and
I have often seen the event again in my dreams.
As the day had begun so propitiously we sat down and had a decent
breakfast. All of us were as hungry as wolves. In the meantime our
machines were again made ready for starting. Fresh cartridges were got
and then we went off again.
In the evening we could send off the proud report: "Six German machines
have destroyed thirteen hostile aeroplanes."[31]
Boelcke's Squadron had only once been able to make a similar report. At
that time we had shot down eight machines. To-day one of us had brought
low four of his opponents. The hero was a Lieutenant Wolff, a
delicate-looking little fellow in whom nobody could have suspected a
redoubtable hero. My brother had destroyed two, Schäfer two, Festner two
and I three.
We went to bed in the evening tremendously proud but also terribly
tired. On the following day we read with noisy approval about our deeds
of the previous day in the official communiqué. On the next day we
downed eight hostile machines.
A very amusing thing occurred. One of the Englishmen whom we had shot
down and whom we had made a prisoner was talking with us. Of course he
inquired after the Red Aeroplane. It is not unknown even among the
troops in the trenches and is called by them "le diable rouge." In the
Squadron to which he belonged there was a rumor that the Red Machine was
occupied by a girl, by a kind of Jeanne d'Arc. He was intensely
surprised when I assured him that the supposed girl was standing in
front of him. He did not intend to make a joke. He was actually
convinced that only a girl could sit in the extravagantly painted
machine.
_"Moritz"_
THE most beautiful being in all creation is the genuine Danish hound, my
little lap-dog, my Moritz. I bought him in Ostend from a brave Belgian
for five marks. His mother was a beautiful animal and one of his fathers
also was pure-bred. I am convinced of that. I could select one of the
litter and I chose the prettiest. Zeumer took another puppy and called
it Max.
Max came to a sudden end. He was run over by a motor car. Moritz
flourished exceedingly. He slept with me in my bed and received a most
excellent education. He never left me while I was in Ostend and obtained
my entire affection. Month by month Moritz grew, and gradually my tender
little lap-dog became a colossal, big beast.
Once I even took him with me. He was my first observer. He behaved very
sensibly. He seemed much interested in everything and looked at the
world from above. Only my mechanics were dissatisfied when they had to
clean the machine. Afterwards Moritz was very merry.
Moritz is more than a year old and he is still as child-like as if he
were still in his teens. He is very fond of playing billiards. In doing
this he has destroyed many billiard balls and particularly many a
billiard cloth. He has a great passion for the chase. My mechanics are
highly satisfied with his sporting inclinations for he has caught for
them many a nice hare. I do not much approve of his hunting
proclivities. Consequently he gets a whacking if I catch him at it.
He has a silly peculiarity. He likes to accompany the flying machines
at the start. Frequently the normal death of a flying-man's dog is death
from the propeller. One day he rushed in front of a flying-machine which
had been started. The aeroplane caught him up and a beautiful propeller
was smashed to bits. Moritz howled terribly and a measure which I had
hitherto omitted was taken. I had always refused to have his ears cut.
One of his ears was cut off by the propeller. A long ear and a short ear
do not go well together.
Moritz has taken a very sensible view of the world-war and of our
enemies. When in the summer of 1916 he saw for the first time Russian
natives--the train had stopped and Moritz was being taken for a walk--he
chased the Russian crowd with loud barking. He has no great opinion of
Frenchmen although he is, after all, a Belgian. Once, when I had settled
in new quarters, I ordered the people to clean the house. When I came
back in the evening nothing had been done. I got angry and asked the
Frenchman to come and see me. When he opened the door Moritz greeted him
rather brusquely. Immediately I understood why no cleaning had been
done.
_The English Attack Our Aerodrome_
NIGHTS in which the full moon is shining are most suitable for night
flying.
During the full moon nights of the month of April our English friends
were particularly industrious. This was during the Battle of Arras.
Probably they had found out that we had comfortably installed ourselves
on a beautiful large flying ground at Douai.
One night when we were in the Officers' Mess the telephone started
ringing and we were told: "The English are coming." There was a great
hullabaloo. We had bomb-proof shelters. They had been got ready by our
excellent Simon. Simon is our architect, surveyor and builder.
We dived down into shelter and we heard actually, at first a very gentle
humming and then the noise of engines. The searchlights had apparently
got notice at the same time as we, for they started getting ready.
The nearest enemy was still too far away to be attacked. We were
colossally merry. The only thing we feared was that the English would
not succeed in finding our aerodrome. To find some fixed spot at night
is by no means easy. It was particularly difficult to find us because
our aerodrome was not situated on an important highway or near water or
a railway, by which one can be guided during one's flight at night.[32]
The Englishmen were apparently flying at a great altitude. At first they
circled around our entire establishment. We began to think that they had
given up and were looking for another objective. Suddenly we noticed
that the nearest one had switched off his engine. So he was coming
lower. Wolff said: "Now the matter is becoming serious."
We had two carbines and began shooting at the Englishman. We could not
see him. Still the noise of our shooting was a sedative to our nerves.
Suddenly he was taken up by the searchlights. There was shouting all
over the flying ground. Our friend was sitting in a prehistoric packing
case.[33] We could clearly recognize the type. He was half a mile away
from us and was flying straight towards us.
He went lower and lower. At last he had come down to an altitude of
about three hundred feet. Then he started his engine again and came
straight towards the spot where we were standing.
Wolff thought that he took an interest in the other side of our
establishment and before long the first bomb fell and it was followed by
a number of other missiles.
Our friend amused us with very pretty fireworks. They could have
frightened only a coward. Broadly speaking, I find that bomb-throwing
at night has only a moral effect. Those who are easily frightened are
strongly affected when bombs fall at night. The others don't care.
We were much amused at the Englishman's performance and thought the
English would come quite often on a visit. The flying piano dropped its
bombs at last from an altitude of one hundred and fifty feet. That was
rather impertinent for in a moonlit night I think I can hit a wild pig
at one hundred and fifty feet with a rifle. Why then should I not
succeed in hitting the Englishman? It would have been a novelty to down
an English airman from the ground.
From above I had already had the honor of downing a number of
Englishmen, but I had never tried to tackle an aviator from below.
When the Englishman had gone we went back to mess and discussed among
ourselves how we should receive the English should they pay us another
visit on the following night. In the course of the next day our
orderlies and other fellows were made to work with great energy. They
had to ram into the ground piles which were to be used as a foundation
for machine guns during the coming night.
We went to the butts and tried the English machine guns which we had
taken from the enemy, arranged the sights for night shooting and were
very curious as to what was going to happen. I will not betray the
number of our machine guns. Anyhow, they were to be sufficient for the
purpose. Every one of my officers was armed with one.
We were again sitting at mess. Of course we were discussing the problem
of night fliers. Suddenly an orderly rushed in shouting: "They are
there! They are there!" and disappeared in the next bomb-proof in his
scanty attire. We all rushed to our machine guns. Some of the men who
were known to be good shots, had also been given a machine gun. All the
rest were provided with carbines. The whole squadron was armed to the
teeth to give a warm reception to our kindly visitors.
The first Englishman arrived, exactly as on the previous evening, at a
very great altitude. He went then down to one hundred and fifty feet and
to our greatest joy began making for the place where our barracks were.
He got into the glare of the searchlight.
When he was only three hundred yards away someone fired the first shot
and all the rest of us joined in. A rush of cavalry or of storming
troops could not have been met more efficiently than the attack of that
single impertinent individual flying at one hundred and fifty feet.
Quick firing from many guns received him. Of course he could not hear
the noise of the machine guns. The roar of his motor prevented that.
However, he must have seen the flashes of our guns. Therefore I thought
it tremendously plucky that our man did not swerve, but continued going
straight ahead in accordance with his plan.[34]
At the moment he was perpendicularly above us we jumped quickly into our
bomb-proof. It would have been too silly for flying men to die by a
rotten bomb.
As soon as he had passed over our heads we rushed out again and fired
after him with our machine guns and rifles.
Friend Schäfer asserted that he had hit the man. Schäfer is quite a good
shot. Still, in this case I did not believe him. Besides, everyone of us
had as good a chance at making a hit as he had.
We had achieved something, for the enemy had dropped his bombs rather
aimlessly owing to our shooting. One of them, it is true, had exploded
only a few yards from the "petit rouge," but had not hurt him.
During the night the fun recommenced several times. I was already in
bed, fast asleep, when I heard in a dream anti-aircraft firing. I woke
up and discovered that the dream was reality. One of the Englishmen flew
at so low an altitude over my habitation that in my fright I pulled the
blanket over my head. The next moment I heard an incredible bang just
outside my window. The panes had fallen a victim to the bomb. I rushed
out of my room in my shirt in order to fire a few shots after him. They
were firing from everywhere. Unfortunately, I had overslept my
opportunity.
The next morning we were extremely surprised and delighted to discover
that we had shot down from the ground no fewer than three Englishmen.
They had landed not far from our aerodrome and had been made prisoners.
As a rule we had hit the engines and had forced the airmen to come down
on our side of the Front. After all, Schäfer was possibly right in his
assertion. At any rate, we were very well satisfied with our success.
The English were distinctly less satisfied for they preferred avoiding
our base. It was a pity that they gave us a wide berth, for they gave us
lots of fun. Let us hope that they come back to us next month.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] Schäfer was also shot by Lieut. Rhys-Davids, R. F. C., later in
1917.
[31] It is possible that the figures are correct. Early in 1917, before
the advent of the British fighters and de Havillands in quantities, the
R. F. C. was having a very bad time. On April 7, for example, it was
reported in the G. H. Q. Communiqué that twenty-eight English machines
were missing.
[32] This might be a useful hint to some people who like to build repair
depots, or big bombing aerodromes, right alongside the sea a few miles
behind the firing line, so that they may be easily located after the
shortest possible flight by the most inexperienced bombing pilot.
[33] One assumes that the reference is to the ancient F. E. 2b. "pusher"
biplane, which, though produced in 1915, was still used for night
bombing up till well on in 1918.
[34] This description is typical of what these extraordinary
night-flying pilots do with their ancient "flying pianos" night after
night, when the weather is reasonable. Von Richthofen's generous
admiration is thoroughly well deserved.
XII
_Schäfer Lands Between the Lines_
WE went on a shooting expedition on the twentieth of April. We came home
very late and lost Schäfer on the way.
Of course everyone hoped that he would come to hand before dark. It
struck nine, it struck ten, but no Schäfer was visible. His benzine
could not last so long. Consequently, he had landed somewhere, for no
one was willing to admit that he had been shot down. No one dared to
mention the possibility. Still, everyone was afraid for him.
The ubiquitous telephone was set in motion in order to find out whether
a flying man had come down anywhere. Nobody could give us information.
No Division and no Brigade had seen anything of him. We felt very
uncomfortable. At last we went to bed. All of us were perfectly
convinced that he would turn up in the end.
At two o'clock, after midnight, I was suddenly awakened. The telephone
orderly, beaming with pleasure, reported to me: "Schäfer is in the
Village of Y. and would like to be fetched home."
The next morning when we were sitting at breakfast the door opened and
my dear pilot stood before me. His clothes were as filthy as those of an
infantryman who has fought at Arras for a fortnight. He was greeted with
a general Hurrah! Schäfer was tremendously happy and elated and
tremendously excited about his adventure. When he had finished his
breakfast he told us the following tale:
"I was flying along the front intending to return home. Suddenly I
noticed far below me something that looked like an infantry flier. I
attacked him, shot him down, and meant to fly back. However, the English
in the trenches did not mean me to get away and started peppering me
like anything. My salvation lay in the rapidity of my machine, for
those rascals, of course, would forget that they had to aim far in front
of me if they wished to hit me.
"I was at an altitude of perhaps six hundred feet. Suddenly, I heard a
smash and my engine stopped running. There was nothing to do but to
land. I asked myself whether I should be able to get away from the
English position. It seemed very questionable. The English noticed my
predicament and started shooting like mad.
"As my engine was no longer running I could hear every single shot. The
position became awkward. I came down and landed. Before my machine had
come to a standstill they squirted upon me heaps of bullets from machine
guns in the hedge of the village of Monchy near Arras. My machine became
splashed with bullets.
"I jumped out of it and down into the first shell hole. Squatting there
I reflected and tried to realize exactly where I was. Gradually it
became clear to me that I had landed outside the English lines, but
cursedly near them. Happily it was rather late in the evening and that
was my salvation.
"Before long the first shell came along. Of course they were gas shells
and I had no mask with me. My eyes started watering like anything.
Before darkness set in the English ascertained the distance of the spot
where I had landed with machine guns. Part of them aimed at my machine
and part at my shell crater. The bullets constantly hit its rim.
"In order to quiet my nerves I lit a cigarette. Then I took off my heavy
fur coat and prepared everything for a leap and a run. Every minute
seemed to me an hour.
"Gradually it became dark, but only very gradually. Around me I heard
partridges giving a concert. As an experienced shot I recognized from
their voices that they felt quite happy and contented, that there was no
danger of my being surprised in my hiding place.
"At last it became quite dark. Suddenly and quite close to me a couple
of partridges flew up. A second couple followed. It was obvious that
danger was approaching. No doubt a patrol was on the way to wish me a
happy evening.
"I had no time to lose. Now or never. First I crept very cautiously on
my chest from shell hole to shell hole. After creeping industriously for
about an hour and a half I noticed I was nearing humans. Were they
English or were they Germans? They came nearer and I could almost have
fallen round their necks, when I discovered our own musketeers. They
were a German patrol who were nosing about in No Man's Land.
"One of the men conducted me to the Commander of his Company. I was told
that in the evening I had landed about fifty yards in front of the enemy
lines and that our infantry had given me up for lost. I had a good
supper and then I started on my way home. Behind me there was far more
shooting than in front of me. Every path, every trench, every bush,
every hollow, was under enemy fire. The English attacked on the next
morning, and consequently, they had to begin their artillery preparation
the evening before. So I had chosen an unfavorable day for my
enterprise. I reached the first telephone only at two o'clock in the
morning when I 'phoned to the Squadron."
We were all very happy to have our Schäfer again with us. He went to
bed. Any other man would have taken a rest from flying for twenty-four
hours. But on the afternoon of this very day friend Schäfer attacked a
low flying B. E. above Monchy.
_The Anti-Richthofen Squadron_
THE English had hit upon a splendid joke. They intended to catch me or
to bring me down. For that purpose they had actually organized a special
squadron which flew about in that part which we frequented as a rule. We
discovered its particular aim by the fact that its aggressive activity
was principally directed against our red machines.
I would say that all the machines of the squadron had been painted red
because our English friends had by-and-by perceived that I was sitting
in a blood-red band-box. Suddenly there were quite a lot of red
machines and the English opened their eyes wide when one fine day they
saw a dozen red barges steaming along instead of a single one. Our new
trick did not prevent them from making an attempt at attacking us. I
preferred their new tactics. It is better that one's customers come to
one's shop than to have to look for them abroad.
We flew to the front hoping to find our enemy. After about twenty
minutes the first arrived and attacked us. That had not happened to us
for a long time. The English had abandoned their celebrated offensive
tactics to some extent. They had found them somewhat too expensive.
Our aggressors were three Spad one-seater machines. Their occupants
thought themselves very superior to us because of the excellence of
their apparatus. Wolff, my brother and I, were flying together. We were
three against three. That was as it ought to be.
Immediately at the beginning of the encounter the aggressive became a
defensive. Our superiority became clear. I tackled my opponent and
could see how my brother and Wolff handled each his own enemy. The usual
waltzing began. We were circling around one another. A favorable wind
came to our aid. It drove us, fighting, away from the front in the
direction of Germany.
My man was the first who fell down. I suppose I had smashed up his
engine. At any rate, he made up his mind to land. I no longer gave
pardon to him. Therefore, I attacked him a second time and the
consequence was that his whole machine went to pieces. His planes
dropped off like pieces of paper and the body of the machine fell like a
stone, burning fiercely. It dropped into a morass. It was impossible to
dig it out and I have never discovered the name of my opponent. He had
disappeared. Only the end of the tail was visible and marked the place
where he had dug his own grave.
Simultaneously with me, Wolff and my brother had attacked their
opponents and had forced them to land not far from my victim.
We were very happy and flew home and hoped that the anti-Richthofen
Squadron would often return to the fray.[35]
_We Are Visited By My Father_
MY father had announced that he would visit his two sons on the
twenty-ninth of April. My father is commander of a little town in the
vicinity of Lille. Therefore he does not live very far away from us. I
have occasionally seen him on my flights.
He intended to arrive by train at nine o'clock. At half past nine he
came to our aerodrome. We just happened to have returned from an
expedition. My brother was the first to climb out of his machine, and he
greeted the old gentleman with the words: "Good day, Father. I have just
shot down an Englishman." Immediately after, I also climbed out of my
machine and greeted him "Good day, Father, I have just shot down an
Englishman." The old gentleman felt very happy and he was delighted.
That was obvious. He is not one of those fathers who are afraid for
their sons. I think he would like best to get into a machine himself and
help us shoot. We breakfasted with him and then we went flying again.
In the meantime, an aerial fight took place above our aerodrome. My
father looked on and was greatly interested. We did not take a hand in
the fight for we were standing on the ground and looked on ourselves.
An English squadron had broken through and was being attacked above our
aerodrome by some of our own reconnoitering aeroplanes. Suddenly one of
the machines started turning over and over. Then it recovered itself and
came gliding down normally. We saw, with regret this time, that it was a
German machine.
The Englishman flew on. The German aeroplane had apparently been
damaged. It was quite correctly handled. It came down and tried to land
on our flying ground. The room was rather narrow for the large machine.
Besides, the ground was unfamiliar to the pilot. Hence, the landing was
not quite smooth. We ran towards the aeroplane and discovered with
regret that one of the occupants of the machine, the machine gunner, had
been killed. The spectacle was new to my father. It made him serious.
The day promised to be a favorable one for us. The weather was
wonderfully clear. The anti-aircraft guns were constantly audible.
Obviously, there was much aircraft about.
Towards mid-day we flew once more. This time, I was again lucky and shot
down my second Englishman of the day. The Governor recovered his good
spirits.
After the mid-day dinner I slept a little. I was again quite fresh.
Wolff had fought the enemy in the meantime with his group of machines
and had himself bagged an enemy. Schäfer also had eaten one. In the
afternoon my brother and I accompanied by Schäfer, Festner and
Allmenröder flew twice more.
The first afternoon flight was a failure. The second was all the better.
Soon after we had come to the front a hostile squadron met us.
Unfortunately they occupied a higher altitude so we could not do
anything. We tried to climb to their level but did not succeed. We had
to let them go.[36]
We flew along the front. My brother was next to me, in front of the
others. Suddenly I noticed two hostile artillery fliers approaching our
front in the most impertinent and provocative manner. I waved to my
brother and he understood my meaning. We flew side by side increasing
our speed. Each of us felt certain that he was superior to the enemy. It
was a great thing that we could absolutely rely on one another and that
was the principal thing. One has to know one's flying partner.
My brother was the first to approach his enemy. He attacked the first
and I took care of the second. At the last moment I quickly looked round
in order to feel sure that there was no third aeroplane about. We were
alone and could see eye to eye. Soon I had got on the favorable side of
my opponent. A short spell of quick firing and the enemy machine went to
pieces. I never had a more rapid success.
While I was still looking where my enemy's fragments were falling, I
noticed my brother. He was scarcely five hundred yards away from me and
was still fighting his opponent.
I had time to study the struggle and must say that I myself could not
have done any better than he did. He had rushed his man and both were
turning around one another. Suddenly, the enemy machine reared. That is
a certain indication of a hit. Probably the pilot was shot in the head.
The machine fell and the planes of the enemy apparatus went to pieces.
They fell quite close to my victim. I flew towards my brother and we
congratulated one another by waving. We were highly satisfied with our
performance and flew off. It is a splendid thing when one can fly
together with one's brother and do so well.
In the meantime, the other fellows of the squadron had drawn near and
were watching the spectacle of the fight of the two brothers. Of course
they could not help us, for only one man can shoot down an opponent. If
one airman has tackled his enemy the others cannot assist. They can only
look on and protect his back. Otherwise, he might be attacked in the
rear.
We flew on and went to a higher altitude, for there was apparently a
meeting somewhere in the air for the members of the Anti-Richthofen
Club. They could recognize us from far away. In the powerful sunlight,
the beautiful red color of our machines could be seen at a long
distance.
We closed our ranks for we knew that our English friends pursued the
same business as we. Unfortunately, they were again too high. So we had
to wait for their attack. The celebrated triplanes and Spads were
perfectly new machines. However, the quality of the box matters little.
Success depends upon the man who sits in it. The English airmen played a
cautious game but would not bite. We offered to fight them, either on
one side of the front or on the other. But they said: No, thank you.
What is the good of bringing out a squadron against us and then turning
tail?[37]
At last, one of the men plucked up courage and dropped down upon our
rear machine. Naturally battle was accepted although our position was
unfavorable. If you wish to do business you must, after all, adapt
yourself to the desires of your customers. Therefore we all turned
round. The Englishman noticed what was going on and got away. The battle
had begun.
Another Englishman tried a similar trick on me and I greeted him at once
with quick fire from my two machine guns. He tried to escape me by
dropping down. That was fatal to him. When he got beneath me I remained
on top of him. Everything in the air that is beneath me, especially if
it is a one-seater, a chaser, is lost, for it cannot shoot to the rear.
My opponent had a very good and very fast machine. However, he did not
succeed in reaching the English lines. I began to fire at him when we
were above Lens. I started shooting when I was much too far away. That
was merely a trick of mine. I did not mean so much to hit him as to
frighten him, and I succeeded in catching him. He began flying curves
and this enabled me to draw near. I tried the same manoeuver a second
and a third time. Everytime my foolish friend started making his curves
I gradually edged quite close to him.
I approached him almost to touching distance. I aimed very carefully. I
waited a moment and when I was at most at a distance of fifty yards from
him I started with both the machine guns at the same time. I heard a
slight hissing noise, a certain sign that the benzine tanks had been
hit. Then I saw a bright flame and my lord disappeared below.
This was the fourth victim of the day. My brother had bagged two.
Apparently, we had invited our father to a treat. His joy was
wonderful.
I had invited several gentlemen for the evening. Among these was my dear
Wedel who happened to be in the neighborhood. We had a great treat. The
two brothers had bagged six Englishmen in a single day. That is a whole
flying squadron.[38]
I believe the English cease to feel any sympathy for us.[39]
_I Fly Home_
I HAD shot down fifty aeroplanes. That was a good number but I would
have preferred fifty-two. So I went up one day and had another two,
although it was against orders.
As a matter of fact I had been allowed to bag only forty-one. Anyone
will be able to guess why the number was fixed at forty-one. Just for
that reason I wanted to avoid that figure. I am not out for breaking
records. Besides, generally speaking, we of the Flying Corps do not
think of records at all. We merely think of our duty. Boelcke might have
shot down a hundred aeroplanes but for his accident, and many others of
our dear dead comrades might have vastly increased their bag but for
their sudden death. Still, it is some fun to have downed half a hundred
aeroplanes. After all, I had succeeded in obtaining permission to bring
down fifty machines before going on leave.
I hope that I may live to celebrate a second lot of fifty.
In the evening of that particular day the telephone bell was ringing.
Headquarters wished to speak to me. It seemed to me the height of fun to
be connected with the holy of holies.
Over the wire they gave me the cheerful news that His Majesty had
expressed the wish to make my personal acquaintance and had fixed the
date for me. I had to make an appearance on the second of May. The
notification reached me on the thirtieth of April at nine o'clock in the
evening. I should not have been able to fulfil the wish of our
All-Highest War-Lord by taking the train. I therefore thought I would
travel by air, especially as that mode of locomotion is far pleasanter.
I started the next morning, not in my single-seater "le petit rouge" but
in a big fat double-seater.
I took a seat at the rear, not at the sticks. The man who had to do the
flying was Lieut. Krefft, one of the officers of my squadron. He was
just going on furlough to recover his strength, so that it suited him
admirably to act as my pilot. He reached home more quickly traveling by
air and he preferred the trip by aeroplane.
I started on the journey rather hastily. The only luggage which I took
with me was my tooth-brush. Therefore, I had to dress for the journey in
the clothes in which I was to appear at Headquarters. Now, a soldier
does not carry with him many beautiful uniforms when he goes to war and
the scarcity of nice clothes is particularly great in the case of such
a poor front hog as myself.
My brother undertook the command of the aeroplane squadron in my
absence. I took leave with a few words for I hoped soon to recommence my
work among those dear fellows.
The flight went via Namur, Liège, Aix la Chapelle and Cologne. It was
lovely for once to sail through the air without any thoughts of war. The
weather was wonderful. We had rarely had such a perfect time. Probably
the men at the front would be extremely busy.
Soon our own captive balloons were lost to sight. The thunder of the
Battle of Arras was only heard in the distance. Beneath us all was
peace. We saw steamers on the rivers and fast trains on the railways. We
easily overtook everything below. The wind was in our favor. The earth
seemed as flat as a threshing floor. The beautiful mountains of the
Meuse were not recognizable as mountains. One could not even trace them
by their shadows, for the sun was right above us. We only knew that
they were there and with a little imagination we could hide ourselves in
the cool glades of that delightful country.
It had become late. Clouds were gathering below and hid from us the
earth. We flew on, taking our direction by means of the sun and the
compass. The vicinity of Holland was disagreeable to us. We decided to
go lower in order to find out where we were. We went beneath the cloud
and discovered that we were above Namur.
We then went on to Aix la Chapelle. We left that town to our left and
about mid-day we reached Cologne. We both were in high spirits. We had
before us a long leave of absence. The weather was beautiful. We had
succeeded in all our undertakings. We had reached Cologne. We could be
certain to get to Headquarters in time, whatever might happen.
Our coming had been announced in Cologne by telegram. People were
looking out for us. On the previous day the newspapers had reported my
fifty-second aerial victory. One can imagine what kind of a reception
they had prepared for us.
Having been flying for three hours I had a slight headache. Therefore, I
thought I would take forty winks, before going to Headquarters. From
Cologne we flew along the Rhine for some distance. I knew the country
well. I had often journeyed that way by steamer, by motor car, and by
railway, and now I was traveling by aeroplane. It is difficult to say
which of these is the most pleasant form of locomotion. Of course, one
can see the details of the landscape better from the steamer. However,
the commanding view one gets from an aeroplane has also its attractions.
The Rhine is a very beautiful river, from above as well as from any
other viewpoint.
We flew rather low in order not to lose the sensation that we were
traveling among mountains, for after all the most beautiful part of the
Rhine are the tree clad hills and castles. Of course we could not make
out individual houses. It is a pity that one cannot fly slowly and
quickly. If it had been possible I would have flown quite slowly.
The beautiful views which we saw vanished only too quickly.
Nevertheless, when one flies high in the air one never has the sensation
that one is proceeding at a fast pace. If you are sitting in a motor car
or in a fast train you have the impression of tremendous speed. On the
other hand, you seem to be advancing slowly when you fly in an aeroplane
at a considerable speed. You notice the celerity of your progress only
when you have not looked out of your machine for four or five minutes
and then try to find out where you are. Then the aspect of the country
appears suddenly completely changed. The terrain which you passed over a
little while ago looks quite different under a different angle, and you
do not recognize the scenery you have passed. Herein lies the reason
that an airman can easily lose his way if he forgets for a moment to
examine the territory.
In the afternoon we arrived at Headquarters and were cordially received
by some comrades with whom I was acquainted and who worked at the
holiest of holies. I absolutely pitied those poor ink-spillers. They get
only half the fun in war.
First of all I went to the General commanding the Air Forces.
On the next morning came the great moment when I was to meet Hindenburg
and Ludendorf. I had to wait for quite a while.
I should find it difficult to describe my encounter with these Generals.
I saw Hindenburg first and then Ludendorf.
It is a weird feeling to be in the room where the fate of the world is
decided. I was quite glad when I was again outside the holiest of holies
and when I had been commanded to lunch with His Majesty. The day was the
day of my birth and somebody had apparently told His Majesty. He
congratulated me in the first place on my success, and in the second, on
my twenty-fifth birthday. At the same time he handed me a small birthday
present.
Formerly I would never have believed it possible that on my twenty-fifth
birthday I would be sitting at the right of General Field Marshal von
Hindenburg and that I would be mentioned by him in a speech.
On the day following I was to take mid-day dinner with Her Majesty. And
so I went to Homburg. Her Majesty also gave me a birthday present and I
had the great pleasure to show her how to start an aeroplane. In the
evening I was again invited by General Field Marshal von Hindenburg. The
day following I flew to Freiburg to do some shooting. At Freiburg I made
use of the flying machine which was going to Berlin by air. In Nuremberg
I replenished my tanks with benzine. A thunderstorm was coming on. I was
in a great hurry to get to Berlin. Various more or less interesting
things awaited me there. So I flew on, the thunderstorm notwithstanding.
I enjoyed the clouds and the beastly weather. The rain fell in streams.
Sometimes it hailed. Afterwards the propeller had the most extraordinary
aspect. The hail stones had damaged it considerably. The blades looked
like saws.
Unfortunately I enjoyed the bad weather so much that I quite forgot to
look about me. When I remembered that one has to look out it was too
late. I had no longer any idea where I was. That was a nice position to
be in! I had lost my way in my own country! My people at home would
laugh when they knew it! However, there it was and couldn't be helped. I
had no idea where I was. Owing to a powerful wind I had been driven out
of my course and off my map. Guided by sun and compass I tried to get
the direction of Berlin.
Towns, villages, hills and forests were slipping away below me. I did
not recognize a thing. I tried in vain to compare the picture beneath my
map. Everything was different. I found it impossible to recognize the
country. Later on I discovered the impossibility of finding my way for I
was flying about sixty miles outside my map.
After having flown for a couple of hours my guide and I resolved to land
somewhere in the open. That is always unpleasant. One cannot tell how
the surface of the ground is in reality. If one of the wheels gets into
a hole one's box is converted into matchwood.
[Illustration: LIEUT. SCHÄFER SPEAKING WITH ANOTHER MEMBER OF THE
SQUADRON]
[Illustration: CAPTAIN RICHTHOFEN WITH HIS MASCOT DOG "MORITZ"]
We tried to read the name written upon a station, but of course that was
impossible, it was too small. So we had to land. We did it with a heavy
heart for nothing else could be done. We looked for a meadow which
appeared suitable from above and tried our luck. Close inspection
unfortunately showed that the meadow was not as pleasant as it seemed.
The fact was obviously proved by the slightly bent frame of our machine.
We had made ourselves gloriously ridiculous. We had first lost our way
and then smashed the machine. So we had to continue our journey with the
commonplace conveyance, by railway train. Slowly but surely, we reached
Berlin. We had landed in the neighborhood of Leipzig. If we had not
landed so stupidly, we would certainly have reached Berlin. But
sometimes you make a mistake whatever you do.
Some days later I arrived in Schweidnitz, my own town. Although I got
there at seven o'clock in the morning, there was a large crowd at
the station. I was very cordially received. In the afternoon various
demonstrations took place to honor me, among others, one of the local
Boy Scouts.
It became clear to me that the people at home took a vivid interest in
their fighting soldiers after all.
FOOTNOTES:
[35] One can find no trace of any deliberate attempt to organize an
anti-Richthofen Circus in the R. F. C., and therefore one assumes that
these were merely three gallant lads on new type Spads who went out
deliberately on their own account to look for trouble, and found more
than they expected.
[36] This appears to be the first admission that the newer British
machines could out-climb the famous Albatros chasers.
[37] The probability is that the British machines being high up, and
watching the sky all round, did not notice the little red machines
against the dark ground below them for some time.
[38] A whole squadron is eighteen machines, divided into three "flights"
of six machines each. The word squadron does not, apparently, translate
exactly into German.
[39] Nevertheless, some months after this, a young British pilot was
being entertained one evening by his squadron in celebration of his
having been awarded the D. S. O., and when called upon for a speech
proposed the health of von Richthofen. And the squadron duly honored the
toast.
XIII
_My Brother_
I HAD not yet passed eight days of my leave when I received the
telegram: "Lothar is wounded but not mortally." That was all. Inquiries
showed that he had been very rash. He flew against the enemy, together
with Allmenröder. Beneath him and a good distance on the other side of
the front, he saw in the air a lonely Englishman crawling about. He was
one of those hostile infantry fliers who make themselves particularly
disagreeable to our troops. We molest them a great deal. Whether they
really achieve anything in crawling along the ground is very
problematical.[40]
My brother was at an altitude of about six thousand feet, while the
Englishman was at about three thousand feet. He quietly approached the
Englishman, prepared to plunge and in a few seconds was upon him. The
Englishman thought he would avoid a duel and he disappeared likewise by
a plunge. My brother, without hesitation, plunged after. He didn't care
at all whether he was on one side of the front or the other. He was
animated by a single thought: I must down that fellow. That is, of
course, the correct way of managing things. Now and then I myself have
acted that way. However, if my brother does not have at least one
success on every flight he gets tired of the whole thing.
Only a little above the ground my brother obtained a favorable position
towards the English flier and could shoot into his shop windows. The
Englishman fell. There was nothing more to be done.
After such a struggle, especially at a low altitude, in the course of
which one has so often been twisting and turning, and circling to the
right and to the left, the average mortal has no longer the slightest
notion of his position. On that day it happened that the air was
somewhat misty. The weather was particularly unfavorable. My brother
quickly took his bearings and discovered only then that he was a long
distance behind the front. He was behind the ridge of Vimy. The top of
that hill is about three hundred feet higher than the country around. My
brother, so the observers on the ground reported, had disappeared behind
the Vimy height.
It is not a particularly pleasant feeling to fly home over enemy
country. One is shot at and cannot shoot back. It is true, however, that
a hit is rare. My brother approached the line. At a low altitude one can
hear every shot that is fired, and firing sounds then very much like the
noise made by chestnuts which are being roasted. Suddenly, he felt that
he had been hit. That was queer to him.
My brother is one of those men who cannot see their own blood. If
somebody else was bleeding it would not impress him very greatly, but
the sight of his own blood upsets him. He felt his blood running down
his right leg in a warm stream. At the same time, he noticed a pain in
his hip. Below the shooting continued. It followed that he was still
over hostile ground.
At last the firing gradually ceased. He had crossed the front. Now he
must be nimble for his strength was rapidly ebbing away. He saw a wood
and next to the wood a meadow. Straight for the meadow he flew and
mechanically, almost unconsciously, he switched off the engine. At the
same moment he lost consciousness.
My brother was in a single-seater. No one could help him. It is a
miracle that he came to the ground, for no flying machine lands or
starts automatically. There is a rumor that they have at Cologne an old
Taube which will start by itself as soon as the pilot takes his seat,
which makes the regulation curve and which lands again after exactly
five minutes.[41] Many men pretend to have seen that miraculous machine.
I have not seen it. But still I am convinced that the tale is true.
Now, my brother was not in such a miraculous automatic machine.
Nevertheless he had not hurt himself in landing. He recovered
consciousness only in hospital, and was sent to Douai.
It is a curious feeling to see one's brother fighting with an
Englishman. Once I saw that Lothar, who was lagging behind the squadron,
was being attacked by an English aviator. It would have been easy for
him to avoid battle. He need only plunge. But he would not do that. That
would not even occur to him. He does not know how to run away. Happily I
had observed what was going on and was looking for my chance.
I noticed that the Englishman went for my brother and shot at him. My
brother tried to reach the Englishman's altitude disregarding the shots.
Suddenly his machine turned a somersault and plunged perpendicularly,
turning round and round. It was not an intended plunge, but a regular
fall. That is not a nice thing to look at, especially if the falling
airman is one's own brother. Gradually I had to accustom myself to that
sight for it was one of my brother's tricks. As soon as he felt sure
that the Englishman was his superior he acted as if he had been shot.
The Englishman rushed after him. My brother recovered his balance and in
a moment had got above his enemy. The hostile aeroplane could not
equally quickly get ready for what was to come. My brother caught it at
a favorable angle and a few seconds after it went down in flames. When a
machine is burning all is lost for it falls to the ground burning.
Once I was on the ground next to a benzine tank. It contained one
hundred litres of benzine which exploded and burnt. The heat was so
great that I could not bear to be within ten yards of it. One can
therefore imagine what it means if a tank containing a large quantity of
this devilish liquid explodes a few inches in front of one while the
blast from the propeller blows the flame into one's face. I believe a
man must lose consciousness at the very first moment.
Sometimes miracles do happen. For instance, I once saw an English
aeroplane falling down in flames. The flames burst out only at an
altitude of fifteen hundred feet. The whole machine was burning. When we
had flown home we were told that one of the occupants of the machine had
jumped from an altitude of one hundred and fifty feet. It was the
observer. One hundred and fifty feet is the height of a good sized
steeple. Supposing somebody should jump from its top to the ground, what
would be his condition? Most men would break their bones in jumping from
a first floor window. At any rate, this good fellow jumped from a
burning machine at an altitude of one hundred and fifty feet, from a
machine which had been burning for over a minute, and nothing happened
to him except a simple fracture of the leg. Soon after his adventure he
made a statement from which it appears that his nerve had not
suffered.[42]
Another time, I shot down an Englishman. The pilot had been fatally
wounded in the head. The machine fell perpendicularly to earth from an
altitude of nine thousand feet. Some time later I came gliding down and
saw on the ground nothing but a heap of twisted debris. To my surprise I
was told that the observer had only damaged his skull and that his
condition was not dangerous. Some people have luck indeed.
Once upon a time, Boelcke shot down a Nieuport machine. I was present.
The aeroplane fell like a stone. When we inspected it we found that it
had been driven up to the middle into the loamy soil. The occupant had
been shot in the abdomen and had lost consciousness and had wrenched his
arm out of its socket on striking the ground. He did not die of his
fall.
On the other hand, it has happened that a good friend of mine in landing
had a slight accident. One of the wheels of his machine got into a
rabbit hole. The aeroplane was traveling at no speed and quite slowly
went on its head. It seemed to reflect whether it should fall to the one
side or to the other, turned over and the poor fellow's back was
broken.
My brother Lothar is Lieutenant in the 4th Dragoons. Before the war he
was at the War Academy. He was made an officer at the outbreak and began
the war as a cavalry man exactly as I did. I know nothing about his
actions for he never speaks of himself. However, I have been told the
following story:
In the winter of 1914 Lothar's regiment was on the Warthe. The Russians
were on the other side of the river. Nobody knew whether they intended
to stay there or to go back. The water was frozen partly along the
shore. So it was difficult to ride through the river. There were, of
course, no bridges, for the Russians had destroyed them. So my brother
swam across, ascertained the position of the Russians and swam back
again. He did that during a severe Russian winter when the thermometer
was very low. After a few minutes his clothes were frozen solid. Yet he
asserted that he had felt quite warm notwithstanding. He kept on his
horse all day long until he got to his quarters in the evening, yet he
did not catch a chill.
In winter, 1915, he followed my urgent advice and went into the flying
service. He also became an observer and became a pilot only a year
later. Acting as an observer is certainly not a bad training,
particularly for a chasing airman. In March, 1917, he passed his third
examination and came at once to my squadron.
When he arrived he was a very young and innocent pilot who never thought
of looping and such like tricks. He was quite satisfied if he succeeded
in starting his machine and in landing successfully. A fortnight later I
took him with me against the enemy for the first time. I asked him to
fly close behind me in order that he might see exactly how the fighting
was done.
After the third flight with him I suddenly noticed he parted company
with me. He rushed at an Englishman and killed him. My heart leapt with
joy when I saw it. The event proved once more that there is no art in
shooting down an aeroplane. The thing is done by the personality or by
the fighting determination of the airman.[43] I am not a Pegoud and I do
not wish to be a Pegoud. I am only a soldier who does his duty.
Four weeks later my brother had shot down a total of twenty Englishmen.
His record as a flier is probably unique. It has probably not happened
in any other case that a pilot, a fortnight after his third examination,
has shot down his first enemy and that he has shot down twenty during
the first four weeks of his fighting life.
My brother's twenty-second opponent was the celebrated Captain Ball. He
was by far the best English flier. Major Hawker, who in his time was as
renowned as Captain Ball, I had pressed to my bosom some months
previously. It was a particular pleasure to me that it fell to my
brother to settle England's second flying champion.
Captain Ball flew a triplane and encountered my brother flying by
himself at the Front. Each tried to catch the other. Neither gave his
opponent a chance. Every encounter was a short one. They were constantly
dashing at one another. Neither succeeded in getting behind the other.
Suddenly both resolved to fire a few well aimed shots during the few
moments of the encounter. Both rushed at one another, and fired. Both
had before them their engine. The probability of a hit was very small
for their speed was twice as great as normally. It was improbable that
either should succeed. My brother, who was a little lower, had pulled
his machine around too hard and the result was that it overturned. For a
moment his aeroplane became unsteerable. But presently he recovered
control and found out that his opponent had smashed both his benzine
tanks. Therefore, he had to stop the engine and land quickly. Otherwise,
his machine might burst into flames.
His next idea was: What has become of my opponent? At the moment when
his machine turned its somersault he had seen that the enemy's machine
was rearing up in the air and had also turned a somersault. He therefore
could not be very far. His whole thought was: Is he above me or beneath
me? He was not above but he saw the triplane falling down in a series of
somersaults. It fell, fell, fell until it came to the ground where it
was smashed to pieces. This happened on German territory. Both opponents
had hit one another with their machine guns. My brother's machine had
had both benzine tanks smashed and at the same moment Captain Ball had
been shot through the head. He carried with him some photographs and
cuttings from the newspapers of his town where he had been greatly
feted. In Boelcke's time Captain Ball destroyed thirty-six German
machines. He, too, had found his master. Was it by chance that a
prominent man such as he also should die an ordinary soldier's
death?[44]
Captain Ball was certainly the commander of the Anti-Richthofen
Squadron. I believe that the Englishmen will now give up their attempt
to catch me. I should regret it, for in that case, I should miss many
opportunities to make myself beloved by them.
Had my brother not been wounded on the fifth of May he would probably on
my return from furlough, also have been given a leave of absence with
fifty-two hostile machines to his credit.
My father discriminates between a sportsman and a butcher. The former
shoots for fun. When I have shot down an Englishman my hunting passion
is satisfied for a quarter of an hour. Therefore I do not succeed in
shooting two Englishmen in succession. If one of them comes down I have
the feeling of complete satisfaction. Only much, much later I have
overcome my instinct and have become a butcher.
My brother is differently constituted. I had an opportunity of observing
him when he was shooting down his fourth and fifth opponents. We were
attacking in a squadron. I started the dance. I had settled my opponent
very quickly. When I looked around I noticed my brother rushing after an
English machine which was bursting into flames, and exploded. Next to it
was another Englishman. My brother, though following number one,
immediately directed his machine gun against number two, although his
first opponent was still in the air and had not yet fallen. His second
victim also fell after a short struggle.
When we met at home he asked me proudly, "How many have you shot down?"
I said quite modestly, "One." He turned his back upon me and said, "I
did two." Thereupon I sent him forward to make inquiries. He was to find
out the names of his victims, etc. He returned late in the afternoon
having been able to find only a single Englishman.
He had looked carelessly, as is usual amongst such butchers. Only on the
following day I received a report as to the place where the second had
come down.
We all had seen his fall.
_I Shoot a Bison_
WHEN visiting Headquarters I met the Prince von Pless. He permitted me
to shoot a bison on his estate. The bison has died out. On the whole
earth there are only two spots where bisons may be found. These are the
Pless Estate and in the Bialowicz estate of the ex-Czar. The Bialowicz
forest has, of course, suffered terribly through the war. Many a
magnificent bison which ought to have been shot either by the Czar or by
some other monarch has been eaten by German musketeers.
Through the kindness of the Prince I was permitted to shoot so rare an
animal. In a few decades none will be left.
I arrived at Pless on the afternoon of the twenty-sixth of May and had
to start immediately from the station if I wished to kill a bull the
same evening. We drove along the celebrated road, through the giant
preserves of the Prince, which has been frequented by many crowned
heads. After about an hour, we got out and had to walk half an hour to
come to the shooting place. The drivers had already been placed in
position. The signal was given to them and they began the drive.
I stood at an elevated spot which had been occupied, according to the
head forester, by His Majesty, who from thence had shot many a bison. We
waited some considerable time. Suddenly I saw among the timber a
gigantic black monster, rolling along. It came straight in my direction.
I noticed it before the head forester had. I got ready for firing and
must say that I felt somewhat feverish.
It was a mighty bull. When he was at a distance of two hundred yards
there was still some hope for him. I thought it was too far for a shot.
Of course I could have hit the monster because it was impossible to miss
such a huge beast. However, it would have been unpleasant to search for
him. Besides it would have been ridiculous had I missed him, so I
thought I would wait until he came nearer.
Probably he noticed the drivers for he suddenly turned and came rushing
towards me at a sharp angle and at a speed which seemed to me
incredible. It was a bad position for a shot, and in a moment he
disappeared behind a group of stout trees.
I heard him snorting and stamping. I lost sight of him. I have no idea
whether he smelt me or not. At any rate, he had disappeared. I caught
another glimpse of him at a long distance and he was gone.
I do not know whether it was the unaccustomed aspect of the animal or
whether something else affected me. At any rate, at the moment when the
bull came near I had the same feeling, the same feverishness which
seizes me when I am sitting in my aeroplane and notice an Englishman at
so great a distance that I have to fly perhaps five minutes in order to
get near him. The only difference is that the Englishman defends
himself. Possibly, different feelings would have moved me had I been
standing on level ground and not on an elevated position.
Before long, a second bison came near. He was also a huge fellow. He
made it easier for me to fire my shot. At a distance of eighty yards I
fired at him but I had missed my opportunity to shoot him in the
shoulder. A month before, Hindenburg had told me when talking of bison:
"You must take a lot of cartridges with you. I have spent on such a
fellow half a dozen for he does not die easily. His heart lies so deep
that one misses it as a rule." That was really so. Although I knew
exactly where the bison's heart was I had missed it. I fired a second
shot and a third. Hit for the third time the bull stopped perhaps fifty
yards from me.
Five minutes later the beast was dead. The shooting was finished. All
three bullets had hit him close above the heart.
We drove now, past the beautiful hunting box of the Prince through the
forest, in which the guests of Prince Pless shoot every year, deer, and
other animals. Then we looked at the interior of the house in Promnitz.
It is situated on a peninsula. It commands beautiful views and for
three miles around there is no human being. One has no longer the
feeling that one is in a preserve of the ordinary kind when one visits
the estate of Prince Pless, for the preserve extends to a million acres.
It contains glorious stags which have never been seen by man. No
forester knows them. Occasionally they are shot. One can tramp about for
weeks without seeing a bison. During certain times of the year it is
impossible to find one. They like quietude and they can hide themselves
in the gigantic forests and tangled woods. We saw many beautiful deer.
After about two hours we arrived at Pless, just before it became dark.
_Infantry Fliers, Artillery Fliers
and Reconnoitering Machines_
HAD I not become a professional chaser I should have turned an infantry
flier. After all, it must be a very satisfactory feeling to be able to
aid those troops whose work is hardest. The infantry flier can do a
great deal to assist the man on foot. For that reason his is a very
grateful task.[45]
In the course of the Battle of Arras I observed many of these splendid
fellows. They flew in any weather and at any time at a low altitude over
the enemy and tried to act as connecting links with our hard-pressed
troops. I can understand that one can fight with enthusiasm when one is
given such a task. I dare say many an airman has shouted Hurrah! when,
after an assault he saw the hostile masses stream back or when our smart
infantry leaped from the trenches and fought the aggressors eye to eye.
Many a time, after a chasing expedition, I have fired my remaining
cartridges into the enemy trenches. Although I may have done little
practical good, such firing affects the enemy's morale.
I have also been an artillery flier. In my time it was a novelty to
regulate the firing of one's own artillery by wireless telegraphy. To do
this well an airman requires special talent. I could not do the work for
long. I prefer fighting. Very likely, artillery officers make the best
artillery fliers. At least, they have the necessary knowledge of the arm
which they serve.
I have done a lot of reconnoitering by aeroplane, particularly in Russia
during the war of movement. Then I acted once more as a cavalryman. The
only difference was that I rode a Pegasus made of steel. My days spent
with friend Holck among the Russians were among the finest in my life.
In the Western theater the eye of the reconnaissance flier sees things
which are very different from those to which the cavalrymen get
accustomed. Villages and towns, railways and roads seem lifeless and
dead. Yet there is a colossal traffic going on all the time, but it is
hidden from the flying men with great skill. Only a wonderfully trained
practised and observant eye can see anything definite when one is
traveling at a great height and at a terrific speed. I have excellent
eyes but it seems doubtful to me whether there is anyone who can see
anything definite when he looks down upon a road from an altitude of
fifteen thousand feet. As the eye is an imperfect object for observation
one replaces it by the photographic apparatus. Everything that seems
important to one must be photographed. Besides, one must photograph
those things which one is told to photograph. If one comes home and if
the plates have gone wrong, the whole flight has been for nothing.
It often happens to flying men who do reconnoitering that they get
involved in a fight. However, their task is more important than
fighting. Frequently a photographic plate is more valuable than the
shooting down of a squadron. Hence the flying photographer should, as a
rule, not take a hand in fighting.
Nowadays it is a difficult task to reconnoiter efficiently in the
West.[46]
_The German Flying Machines_
IN the course of the War the German flying machines have experienced
great changes. That is probably generally known. There is a colossal
difference between a giant plane and a chaser plane.
The chaser plane is small, fast, quick at turning. It carries nothing
apart from the pilot except machine guns and cartridges.
The giant plane is a colossus. Its only duty is to carry as much weight
as possible and it is able to do this owing to the huge surface of its
planes. It is worth while to look at the gigantic English plane which
landed smoothly on the German side of the front.[47] The giant plane can
carry an unbelievable weight. It will easily fly away dragging from
three to five tons. Its benzine tanks look as large as railroad cars. In
going about in such a colossus one has no longer the sensation that one
is flying. One is driving. In going about in a giant plane the direction
depends no longer on one's instinct but on the technical instruments
which one carries.
A giant plane has a huge number of horse powers. I do not know exactly
how many, but they are many thousand. The greater the horse power is,
the better. It seems not impossible that the day may come when a whole
division will be transported in such a thing. In its body one can go for
a walk. In one of its corners there is an indescribable something. It
contains an apparatus for wireless telephony by means of which one can
converse with the people down below. In another corner are hanging the
most attractive liver sausages which one can imagine. They are the
famous bombs which cause such a fright to the good people down below. At
every corner is a gun. The whole thing is a flying fortress, and the
planes with their stays and supports look like arcades. I have never
been able to feel enthusiasm for these giant barges. I find them
horrible, unsportsmanlike, boring and clumsy. I rather like a machine of
the type of "le petit rouge."
If one is in a small chaser-plane it is quite immaterial whether one
flies on one's back, whether one flies up or down, stands on one's head,
etc. One can play any tricks one likes, for in such a machine one can
fly like a bird. The only difference is that one does not fly with
wings, as does the bird albatros. The thing is, after all, merely a
flying engine. I think things will come to this, that we shall be able
to buy a flying suit for half-a-crown. One gets into it. On the one end
there is a little engine, and a little propeller. You stick your arms
into planes and your legs into the tail. Then you will do a few leaps in
order to start and away you will go up into the air like a bird.
My dear reader, I hear you laughing at my story. But we do not know yet
whether our children will laugh at it. Everyone would have laughed fifty
years ago if somebody had spoken about flying above Berlin. I remember
the sensation which was caused, when, in 1910, Zeppelin came for the
first time to Berlin. Now no Berlin street man looks up into the air
when an airship is coming along.
Besides giant planes and little chaser-planes, there are innumerable
other types of flying machines and they are of all sizes. Inventiveness
has not yet come to an end. Who can tell what machine we shall employ a
year hence in order to perforate the atmosphere?
THE END
FOOTNOTES:
[40] Probably the fighting to the east of Amiens in March and April,
1918, has demonstrated to the German Army at large that quite a great
deal is achieved by this "crawling along the ground." The use of
aeroplanes against infantry and cavalry has been developed very greatly
since von Richthofen wrote his notes in 1917.
[41] Curiously enough there is a very similar legend concerning an aged
school machine at one of the British flying schools.
[42] On two or three occasions pilots have gallantly stuck to their
controls and have managed to land safely in blazing machines from fully
1,000 feet. There is a general opinion that it is possible to fit a
parachute so that in the event of an aeroplane catching fire the pilot
and passenger can quit it at once and descend safely.
[43] This may be the propagandist editor at work, or it may be a
deliberate attempt to mislead, because, as a matter of fact, a man
cannot survive long as a fighting pilot unless he is a perfect master of
his machine.
[44] There is some curious error here, for Captain Ball was not flying a
triplane at the time of his death. It seems probable that someone else
shot Captain Ball on the same day, and that, as the younger von
Richthofen was disabled, and so could not go and identify the wreckage
of Captain Ball's machine, the credit was given to von Richthofen in
default of anyone else making a claim.
[45] This was evidently written some time after von Richthofen's
previous disparaging note on Infantry Contact fliers.
[46] This is really a high testimony to the effective work of the R. F.
C.
[47] A Handley Page which landed near Laon early in 1917.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Text uses both giant plane and giant-plane. This was retained.
Frequently, the commas in the original text were moved up half-way to
land at the middle of the line instead of the bottom of the line. These
were all moved down.
Page v, "SHAFER" changed to "SCHÄFER". Word "the" also added to match
actual title of chapter. (SCHÄFER LANDS BETWEEN THE LINES)
Page vii, "SHAFER" changed to "SCHÄFER" (LIEUT. SCHÄFER SPEAKING WITH)
Page 5, "Feldfliegartruppen" changed to "Feldfliegertruppen" (the German
Feldfliegertruppen)
Page 8, extra single quotation mark removed from the front of
("Wong-wong,")
Page 12, "Richtofen" changed to "Richthofen" (fighting, von Richthofen
should)
Page 19, comma added (first Richthofen, his cousin)
Page 20, "Shickfuss" changed to "Schickfuss" (great-grandfather
Schickfuss fell)
Page 28, period changed to a comma (the breakage, I rode)
Page 37, "communique" changed to "communiqué" (first official
communiqué.)
Page 38, "prisoner. He told" changed to "prisoner, he told".
Page 42, the text for the sub-chapter has 1915 in the date. As two
chapters away he is in June 1915, this "21-22nd August, 1915" has been
changed to "21-22nd August, 1914".
Page 58, repeated word "a" removed from text. Original read (like a a
little toy)
Page 63, "particulary" changed to "particularity" (talent and particularity)
Page 68, repeated line "gradually to a stop and suddenly I was" was
deleted. The original read:
THE German enterprise in Russia came
gradually to a stop and suddenly I was
gradually to a stop and suddenly I was
transferred to a large battle-plane at Ostend
Page 68, footnote, "Grossfleugzeug" changed to "Grossflugzeug" (The
Grossflugzeug, or "G" class)
Page 69, "siezed" changed to "seized" (seized a hotel on the)
Page 70-71, a line from page 45 "imagine the confusion which followed.
The" was placed at the bottom of page 70. It was removed. The original
read:
only a single motor working.[A] When we
imagine the confusion which followed. The
were fairly far out I saw beneath us, not
Page 72, "we" changed to "they" (waited until they found it)
Page 73, footnote, "analagous" changed to "analogous" (German slang,
analogous more)
Page 79, footnote, "Grossfleugzeug" changed to "Grossflugzeug" (the
Grossflugzeug in the air)
Page 84, footnote, "Riesenfleugzeug" changed to "Riesenflugzeug"
(example of the Riesenflugzeug)
Page 84, footnote, "Grossfleugzeug" changed to "Grossflugzeug" (to the
Grossflugzeug type)
Page 85, "Doberitz" changed to "Döberitz" (my examinations in Döberitz)
Page 87, "communique" changed to "communiqué" (official communiqué of)
Page 100, footnote, "reconnaisance" changed to "reconnaissance" (the
two-seater reconnaissance)
Page 101, "communique" changed to "communiqué" (communiqué. Of course)
Page 113, "everyone" changed to "every one" (and every one of the)
Page 114, footnote, "reconnaisance" changed to "reconnaissance" (on long
reconnaissance)
Page 127, chapter title, "Merite" changed to "Mérite" (Pour le Mérite)
Page 128, "Immelman" changed to "Immelmann" (Boelcke and Immelmann were
given)
Page 135, "wont" changed to "won't" (You won't hit me)
Page 140, "Henin-Lietard" changed to "Hénin-Liétard" (road near
Hénin-Liétard)
Page 140, "Henin-Lietard" changed to "Hénin-Liétard" (motor car to
Hénin-Liétard)
Page 146, footnote, "cut" changed to "but" (was hit, but none was)
Page 147, footote, "Schafer" changed to "Schäfer" (Schäfer was also shot
by)
Page 154, word "air" added to text after comparison to a different
edition of the same book (a fight in the air)
Page 156, "communique" changed to "communiqué" (official communiqué. On)
Page 156, footnote, "Havilands" changed to "Havillands" (fighters and de
Havillands)
Page 156, footnote, "Communique" changed to "Communiqué" (the G. H. Q.
Communiqué)
Page 159, four lines of repeated text were removed. Original read:
which had been started. The aeroplane
caught him up and a beautiful propeller
was smashed to bits. Moritz howled
terribly and a measure which I had hitherto
omitted was taken. I had always
The aeroplane caught him up and a beautiful
propeller was smashed to bits. Moritz
howled terribly and a measure which I had
hitherto omitted was taken. I had always
refused to have his ears cut. One of his
Page 164, "Everyone" changed to "Every one" (Every one of my officers)
Page 167, "Schafer" changed to "Schäfer" (After all, Schäfer was)
Page 168, chapter title, "Schafer" changed to "Schäfer" (Schäfer Lands
Between the Lines)
Page 195, illustration caption, "SCHAFER" changed to "SCHÄFER" (LIEUT.
SCHÄFER SPEAKING WITH)
Page 209, "latter" changed to "former" (The former shoots for)
Page 213, "Englihman" changed to "Englishman" (notice an Englishman).
Page 216, "Reconnoitring" changed to "Reconnoitering" (and Reconnoitering Machines)
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Red Battle Flyer, by
Capt. Manfred Freiherr von Richthofen
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