Princ.i.p.ally our work consists of keeping German airmen away from our lines, and in attacking them when opportunity offers. We traverse the brown band and enter enemy territory to the accompaniment of an anti-aircraft cannonade. Most of the shots are wild, however, and we pay little attention to them. When the shrapnel comes uncomfortably close, one shifts position slightly to evade the range. One glances up to see if there is another machine higher than one"s own. Low, and far within the German lines, are several enemy planes, a dull white in appearance, resembling sandflies against the mottled earth. High above them one glimpses the mosquito-like forms of two Fokkers. Away off to one side white shrapnel puffs are vaguely visible, perhaps directed against a German crossing the lines. We approach the enemy machines ahead, only to find them slanting at a rapid rate into their own country. High above them lurks a protection plane.
The man doing the "ceiling work," as it is called, will look after him for us.
Getting started is the hardest part of an attack. Once you have begun diving you"re all right. The pilot just ahead turns tail up like a trout dropping back to water, and swoops down in irregular curves and circles. You follow at an angle so steep your feet seem to be holding you back in your seat. Now the black Maltese crosses on the German"s wings stand out clearly. You think of him as some sort of a big bug. Then you hear the rapid tut-tut-tut of his machine-gun. The man that dived ahead of you becomes mixed up with the topmost German. He is so close it looks as if he had hit the enemy machine. You hear the staccato barking of his mitrailleuse and see him pa.s.s from under the German"s tail.
The rattle of the gun that is aimed at you leaves you undisturbed. Only when the bullets pierce the wings a few feet off do you become uncomfortable. You see the gunner crouched down behind his weapon, but you aim at where the pilot ought to be--there are two men aboard the German craft--and press on the release hard. Your mitrailleuse hammers out a stream of bullets as you pa.s.s over and dive, nose down, to get out of range. Then, hopefully, you redress and look back at the foe. He ought to be dropping earthward at several miles a minute. As a matter of fact, however, he is sailing serenely on. They have an annoying habit of doing that, these Boches.
Zeppelins as well as the stationary kite balloons and the swiftly flying airplanes often tempted the fighting aviators to attack. One of the most successful of the British champions of the air, though his own life was ended in the second year of the war, was sub-Lieutenant R. A. J. Warneford, of the British Flying Corps. In his brief period of service Warneford won more laurels than any of the British aviators of the time. He was absolutely fearless, with a marvelous control of the fast Vickers scout which he employed, and fertile in every resource of the chase and of the flight. In an interview widely printed at the time, Lieutenant Warneford thus told the story of his casual meeting of a German Zeppelin high in air between Ghent and Brussels and his prompt and systematic destruction of the great balloon. The story as told in his own language reads like the recountal of an everyday event. That to meet an enemy more than a mile above the earth and demolish him was anything extraordinary does not seem to have occurred to the aviator.
I proceeded on my journey at an increased height [he says]. It was just three o"clock in the morning when all of a sudden I perceived on the horizon about midway between Ghent and Brussels a Zeppelin flying fast at an alt.i.tude of about six thousand feet.
I immediately flew toward it and when I was almost over the monster I descended about fifteen metres, and flung six bombs at it. The sixth struck the envelope of the ship fair and square in the middle. There was instantly a terrible explosion. The displacement of the air round about me was so great that a tornado seemed to have been produced. My machine tossed upward and then flung absolutely upside down, I was forced to loop the loop in spite of myself. I thought for a moment that the end of everything had come. In the whirl I had the pleasure of seeing my victim falling to the earth in a cloud of flames and smoke. Then by some miracle my machine righted herself and I came to earth in the enemy"s country. I was not long on the ground you may be sure. I speedily put myself and my machine into working order again; then I set my engine going.
This time the fortunate aviator returned safely to his own territory. He had then served only four months, had attained the age of twenty-three, and even in so brief a service had received the Cross of the Legion of Honour from France and the Victoria Cross from the British. Only one week after this courageous exploit he was killed while on a pleasure flight and with him a young American journalist, Henry Beach Needham, to whom he was showing the battlefield.
During the early years of the war all of the governments were peculiarly secretive concerning all matters relative to their aviation services. This was probably due to the fact that the flying corps was a brand new branch of the service. No nation was adequately equipped with flyers. Each was afraid to let its enemies know how insufficient were its air guards, or what measures were being taken to bring the aerial fleet up to the necessary point of efficiency. Investigators were frowned upon and the aviators themselves were discouraged from much conversation about their work.
About the beginning of 1916 the British suddenly awoke to the fact that even in war publicity has its value. It was necessary to arouse the enthusiastic support of the people for recruiting or for the conscription which ultimately was ordered. To do this graphic descriptions of what was doing at the front in the various branches of the service seemed necessary. The best writers in England were mobilized for this work. Kipling wrote of the submarines, Conan Doyle of the fighting on the fields of France. The Royal Flying Corps gave out a detailed story the authorship of which was not stated, but which describes most picturesquely the day of a flying man.
In the United States it appeared in the _Sun_, of New York, and sections of it are reprinted here:
"The following bombing will be carried out by No.--Squadron at night (10 P.M., 12 midnight, and 2 A.M.). At each of these times three machines, each carrying eight twenty-pound bombs, will bomb respectively P----, C----, H----."
Thus the operation order read one evening in France. Just an ordinary order too, for bombing is carried out day and night incessantly. Bombing by night is usually carried out on towns and villages known to be resting places of the German troops, and it is part of the work of the Royal Flying Corps to see that the Hun never rests.
Fritz after a hard spell in the trenches is withdrawn to some sh.e.l.l torn village behind his lines to rest. He enters the ruined house, that forms his billet, and with a sigh of contentment at reaching such luxury after the miseries of trench life prepares to sleep in peace. He dreams of home, and then out of the night comes the terror of the air.
A bomb falls in his billet, exploding with a terrific report and doing more damage to the already ruined walls. Possibly a few of his comrades are wounded or killed. Other explosions take place close by and the whole village is in turmoil.
Fritz does not sleep again. His nerves are jangled and all possibility of sleep is gone. The next day he is in a worse condition than after a night in the trenches. This continues night after night. The damage to German morale is enormous.
From the aerial point of view things are different. A pilot warned for night flying takes it as he takes everything else, with apparent unconcern. He realizes that he will have an uninteresting ride in the dark; the danger from "Archie" will be small, for an airplane is a difficult target to keep under observation with a searchlight, and the danger from hostile aircraft will be smaller still.
Over the trenches the star sh.e.l.ls of the infantry may be seen, occasionally the flash of a badly concealed gun glints in the darkness or the exploding bombs of a trench raiding party cause tiny sparks to glimmer far below. Probably the enemy, hearing the sound of engines, will turn on his searchlights and sweep the sky with long pencils of light. The pilot may be picked up for a second, and a trifle later the angry bang, bang, bang of "Archie"
may be heard, firing excitedly at the place where the aeroplane ought to be but is not--the pilot has probably dipped and changed his course since he was in the rays of the searchlight. He may be caught again for an instant and the performance is repeated.
Before long the vicinity of the target is reached and he prepares to drop his bombs, usually eight in number. A little before he is over the spot the first bombs will be released, for the trajectory of the bomb follows the course of the machine if the latter keeps on a straight course and when it explodes the airplane is still overhead. Down far below will be seen a tiny burst of flame; possibly a large fire blazes up and the pilot knows that his work is good. He then turns and repeats his performance until all his bombs are exhausted, when he turns for home.
Bombs are usually dropped from a low alt.i.tude at night in order to be surer of getting the target. If during the performance any local searchlights are turned on "Archie" gets busy and a merry game of hide and seek in and out the beams takes place. If the airplane is very low, and bombs are sometimes dropped from a height of only a few hundred feet, it is highly probable that the bursting sh.e.l.ls do more damage than the airplane"s bombs, and it is almost impossible to wing an airplane by night.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Photo by Press Ill.u.s.trating Service.
_A French Scout Airplane._]
Over the lines the pilot probably meets more searchlights, dodges them, and gradually descends. Below him he sees the aerodromes of the surrounding squadrons lighted up for landing purposes. Should he be in doubt as to which is his own he fires a certain combination of signal lights and is answered from below. He then lands, hands his machine over to the mechanics, and turns in.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Photo by International Film Service.
"_Showing Off._"
_A Nieuport performing aerial acrobatics around a heavier bombing machine._]
So much for night bombing. By day it is different. Though at night it is the billets which usually form the target, by day bombing is carried out for the purpose of damaging specific objects. Railroads, dumps of stores and ammunition, and enemy aerodromes are the favourite targets.
The raiding machines fly in formation and are surrounded by other machines used solely for protective purposes. Generally a raid is carried out by machines from two squadrons, the bomb carriers belonging to a corps wing and the escorting machines to an army wing.
All the machines meet at a prearranged rendezvous well on our side of the line at a certain time and a given alt.i.tude. There they manoeuvre into their correct formation. A flight commander leads the raid and his machine is distinguished by streamers tied to it.
Once over the target the fighters scatter and patrol the neighbourhood while the bombers discharge their missiles on the objective. Usually, unless anti-aircraft fire is very heavy, they descend a few thousand feet to make surer of the target, and when their work is completed rise again to the level of the escort.
Results can usually be fairly judged by day. An ammunition dump quickly shows if it is. .h.i.t and stores soon burst into flame.
Railway stations or junctions show clearly damage to buildings or overturned trucks, but the damage to the track itself is hard to estimate. Aerodromes may be bombed for the purpose of destroying enemy machines in their hangars or merely in order to spoil the landing by blowing holes all over the place. It is with great delight that a pilot remarks in his report that a hostile machine, surrounded by mechanics, was about to ascend, but that instead he had descended to within a few hundred feet and obtained a direct hit, with the result that the enemy machine, including the surrounding men, seemed to be severely damaged.
One officer on a bomb raid saw his chance in this way, descended to four hundred feet under intense rifle fire, successfully bombed the enemy machine, which was just emerging from its hangar, and then tried to make off. Unfortunately at this moment his engine petered out, possibly on account of the enemy"s fire, and he had to descend.
By skillful planing he managed to descend about three quarters of a mile away, in full view of the enemy. Instead of giving up the ghost and at once firing his machine, this officer jumped out and, utterly unperturbed by the German fire or by the Huns making across country to take him prisoner, commenced to inspect the engine. Luckily he found the cause of the trouble at once, put it right,--it was only a trifling mishap,--adjusted the controls, and swung the propeller.
The engine started, he jumped in, with the nearest Hun only a hundred yards off, and opening the throttle raced over the ground and into the air pursued by a futile fusillade of bullets. His engine held out and he safely regained his aerodrome, after having been reported missing by his comrades. For this escapade he received the Military Cross--a well-earned reward.
When all the bombs have been dropped and the formation resumed the machines head for home. It is on the homeward journey that events may be expected, for time enough has elapsed for the Hun to detail a squadron to intercept our returning machines and pick off any stragglers that may fall behind.
It is a favourite Boche manoeuvre to detail some of his slow machines to entice our fighters away from the main body, and when this has been accomplished, to attack the remainder with Fokkers, which dive from aloft onto the bombing machines. This trick is now well-known and the fighters rarely leave their charges until the latter are in comparative safety.
Sometimes a Hun of more sporting character than his brothers will wait alone for the returning convoy, hiding himself thousands of feet up in the clouds until he sees his moment. Then singling out a machine he will dive at it, pouring out a stream of bullets as he falls. Sometimes he achieves his object and a British machine falls to earth, but whatever the result, the Hun does not alter his tactics. He dives clean through the whole block of machines, down many thousands of feet, only flattening out when close to the ground.
The whole affair is so swift--just one lightning dive--that long before a fighter can reach the Hun the latter is away thousands of feet below and heading for home and safety. Every Fokker pilot knows that once his surprise dive is over he has no chance against another machine--the build of the Fokker only allows this one method of attack--and he does not stop to argue about it. His offensive dive becomes a defensive one--that is the sole difference.
Sometimes a large squadron of German machines, composed of various types of airplanes, intercepts a returning formation. If it attacks a grand aerial battle ensues. The British fighting machines spread out in a screen to allow the bombing machines a chance of escape and then attack the Huns as they arrive. In one place one British airplane will be defending itself from two or three German machines; close by two or three of our busses will be occupied in sending a Hun to his death; elsewhere more equal combats rage and the whole sky becomes an aerial battlefield, where machines perform marvellous evolutions, putting the best trick flying of pre-war days very much in the shade. No sooner has a pilot accounted for his foe, by killing him, forcing him to descend, or making him think discretion the better part of valour, than he turns to the help of a hard-pressed brother, surprising the enemy by an attack from the rear or otherwise creating a diversion.
A single shot in the petrol tank proves fatal; loss of pressure ensues, the engine fails, and the pilot is forced to descend. He can usually land safely, but should he be in enemy territory he must fire his machine and prepare for a holiday in Germany.
Should he be fortunate enough to plane over our lines little damage is done; the tank can be repaired and the machine made serviceable again. But for the time being he is out of the fight.
Sometimes the escaping petrol may ignite and the pilot and observer perish in the flames--the most terrible fate of all.
The aerial battle ends in one of two ways: one side is outmanoeuvred, outnumbered, and has lost several machines and flies to safety, or, the more usual ending, both sides exhaust their ammunition, only a limited quant.i.ty perforce being carried, and the fight is of necessity broken off. Meanwhile the bombing machines have probably crossed the line in safety, and their duty is finished. Should they be attacked by a stray machine they are armed and quite capable of guarding themselves against any attack except one in force.
During these bomb raids photographs of the target are frequently obtained or should the staff require any district crossed on the journey and taken they are generally secured by bombing machines.
It is wonderful what minute details may be seen in a photograph taken at a height of from eight to twelve thousand feet, and our prints, which are far superior to those taken by the Hun, have revealed many useful points which would otherwise have remained unknown.
When it is remembered that a single machine crossing the line is heavily sh.e.l.led it may be conceived what an immense concentration of "Archies" is made on the raiders on their return. It is remarkable what feeble results are obtained considering the intensity of the bombardment, but rarely is a machine brought down, though casualties naturally occur occasionally.
Lieutenant C., in company with other machines, had successfully bombed his target and had meanwhile been heavily sh.e.l.led, with the result that his engine was not giving its full number of revolutions and he lagged a little behind the rest of the formation. No hostile aircraft appeared and all went well until he was about to cross the lines, when a terrific bombardment was opened on him.
He dodged and turned to the best of his ability, but a well-aimed sh.e.l.l burst just above him and a piece of the "Archie" hit him on the head, not seriously wounding him, but knocking him unconscious. The machine, deprived of the guiding hand, immediately got into a dive and commenced a rapid descent from ten thousand feet, carrying the unconscious pilot with it, to be dashed to pieces on the ground.
Whether the rush of air, the sudden increase of pressure, or the pa.s.sing off of the effect of the blow caused the disabled man to come to his senses is not known, but when the machine was only a few hundred feet from the ground, Lieutenant C. recovered his senses sufficiently to realize his position and managed to pull the machine up and make a landing. He then lapsed into unconsciousness again. Had he remained in his state of collapse half a minute longer, he would inevitably have been killed.
Another curious case of wounding was that of Lieutenant H., who was also returning from a bomb raid. When pa.s.sing through the heavily sh.e.l.led zone his machine was. .h.i.t by a sh.e.l.l, which pa.s.sed through the floor by the pilot"s seat and out at the top without exploding. Lieutenant H. thought it must have been very close to his leg, but he was so fully occupied with manoeuvring to dodge other sh.e.l.ls that he had no time to think of it.
He crossed the line and began to plane down when he was aware of a feeling of faintness, but pulling himself together he landed his machine, taxied up to the sheds, and attempted to get out. It was only then that he realized that his leg was shot almost completely off above the knee; the lower part was merely hanging by a piece of skin.