In September, 1916, Guynemer had tried at the front one of the first two Spads. On the 8th he wrote to M. Bechereau: "Well, the Spad has had her _bapteme du feu_. The others were six: an Aviatik at 2800, an L.V.G. at 2900, and four Rumplers jostling one another with barely 25 meters in between at 3000 meters. When the four saw me coming (at 1800 on the speedometer) they no doubt took me for a meteorite and funked, and when they got over it and back to their shooting (fine popping, though) it was too late. My gun never jammed once." Here he went into technicalities about his new machine-gun, but further on reverted to the Spad: "She loops wonderfully. Her spin is a bit lazy and irregular, but deliciously soft." The letter concludes with many suggestions for minor improvements.
His correspondence with M. Bechereau was entirely devoted to a study of airplanes: he never wandered from the subject. Thus he collaborated with the engineer by constantly communicating to him the results of his experience. His machine-gun was the great difficulty. "Yesterday," he wrote on October 21, 1916, "five Boches, three of them above our lines, came within ten meters of the muzzle of my gun, and impossible to shoot.
Four days ago I had to let two others get away. Sickening.... The weather is wonderful. Perhaps the gun will work now." In fact, a few days later he wrote exultingly, having discovered that the jamming was due to cold and having found an ingenious remedy.
_November 4, 1916._ Day before yesterday I bagged a Fokker one-seater biplane. It was two meters off, but as it tumbled into a group of our Nieuports, the controlling board would not give the victory to anybody. Yesterday got an Aviatik ten meters off; pa.s.senger shot dead by the first bullet; the plane, all in rags, went down in slow spirals and must have been knocked flat somewhere near Berlincourt. Heurtaux, who had seen it beginning to fall, brought one down himself ten minutes later, like a regular ball.
On November 18 next, after going into particulars concerning his engine which he wanted made stronger, he told M. Bechereau of his 21st and 22d victories:
As for the 21st, it was a one-seater I murdered as it twirled in elegant spirals down to its own landing ground. No. 22 was a 220 H.P., one of three above our lines. I came upon it unawares in a somersault. Pa.s.senger stood up, but fell down again in his seat before even setting his gun going. I put some two hundred or two hundred and fifty bullets into him twenty meters away from me. He had taken an invariable angle of 45 on the first volley. When I let him go, Adjutant Bucquet took him in hand--which would have helped if he hadn"t already been as full of holes as a strainer. He kept his angle of 45 till about 500 meters, when he adopted the vertical, and blazed up on crashing to the ground....
The Spad ravished him. It was the heyday of wonderful flights on the Somme. Yet he wanted something even better; but before pestering M.
Bechereau he began with an inspiring narrative.
_December 28, 1916._ I can"t grumble; yet yesterday I missed my camera badly. I had a high-cla.s.s round with an Albatros, a fine, clever fellow, between two and ten meters away from me. We only exchanged fifteen shots, and he snapped my right fore-cable--just a few threads still held--while I shot him in the small of his back.
A fine spill! (No. 25).
Now, to speak of serious things, I must tell you that the Spad 150 H.P. is not much ahead of the Halberstadt. The latter is not faster, I admit, but it climbs so much more quickly that it amounts to the same thing. However, our latest model knocks them all out....
The letter adds only some recommendations as to the necessity for more speed and a better propeller.
But much more important improvements were already filling his mind. He had conceived plans for a magic airplane that would simply annihilate the enemy, and as he would doggedly carry on a fight, so he ruminated, begged, and urged until his idea was realized. But he was forced to practice exhausting perseverance, and on several occasions the lack of comprehension or sympathy which he encountered infuriated him. Yet he never gave up. It was not his way in a workshop, any more than in the air; and when, after some ten months" struggling, trying, and frequent beginning over again, he saw himself at last in possession of the wonderful machine, he rejoiced as a warrior may after forging his own weapons.
In January, 1917, he wrote to M. Bechereau urging him to make all dispatch: "Spring will soon be here, and the Germans are working like n.i.g.g.e.rs. If we go to sleep, it will be "_couic_" for us." Henceforth his correspondence, sometimes rather dictatorial, with the engineer was entirely devoted to the magic airplane,--its size, controls, wing-tips, tank, weight, etc. The margins of his letters were covered with drawings, and every detail was minutely discussed. In February he wrote to his father as if he had been a builder: "My machine surpa.s.ses all expectations, and will soon be at work. In Paris I go to bed early and rise ditto, spending all day at Spad"s. I have no other thought or occupation. It is a fixed idea, and if it goes on I shall become a perfect idiot. When peace is signed, let n.o.body dare to mention a weapon of any kind in my presence for six months."
He thought himself within reach of his goal; but unexpected obstacles would come in his way, and it was not till July 5, 1917--the same day on which he received the _rosette_ of the Legion of Honor from General Franchet d"Esperey at the Aisne Aviation Camp--that he could at last try the long-dreamed-of, long-hoped-for airplane. But in a fight against three D.F.W."s, the splendid new machine got riddled with bullets, he had to land, and everything had to be begun over again. But Guynemer was not afraid of beginning over again, and in fact he was to give the airplane another chance in Flanders, and to see all his expectations fulfilled. The 49th, 50th, 51st and 52d victories of Guynemer were due to the magic airplane.
He managed to impose his will on matter, and on those who adapt it to the warlike conceptions of man, as he imposed it on the enemy. Then, spreading out his wings on high, he might well think himself invincible.
CANTO IV
THE ASCENSION
I. THE BATTLE OF FLANDERS
After the battle on the Aisne Georges Guynemer was ordered to Flanders, but he had to take to his bed as soon as he arrived (July, 1917) and only left the hospital on the 20th. He then repaired to the new aviation camp outside Dunkirk, which at that time consisted of a few rows of tents near the seaside. He was to take part in the contemplated offensive, on his own magic airplane--which he brought from Fismes on the 23d--for the Storks Escadrille had been incorporated into a fighting unit under Major Brocard. No disease could be an obstacle to a Guynemer when an offensive was in preparation. In fact, all the Storks were on the spot: Captain Heurtaux, now recovered from his wound received in Champagne in April, was in command, and Captain Auger (soon to be killed), Lieutenant Raymond, Lieutenant Deullin, Lieutenant Lagache and _sous-lieutenant_ Bucquet were there; while Fonck and Verduraz, newcomers to the squadron but not by any means unknown, Adjutants Guillaumat, Henin, and Pet.i.t-Dariel, Sergeants Gaillard and Moulines, Corporals de Marcy, Dubonnet, and Risacher, completed the staff. As early as June 24 Guynemer had soared again.
In order to realize the importance of this new battle of Flanders which, begun on July 31, was to rage till the following winter, it may not be out of place to quote a German appreciation. In an issue of the _Lokal Anzeiger_, published at the end of September, 1917, after two months"
uninterrupted fighting, Doctor Wegener wrote as follows:
How can anybody talk of anything but this battle of Flanders? Is it possible that some people actually grow hot over the parliamentarization, or the loan, or the cost of b.u.t.ter, or the rumors of peace, while every heart and every eye ought to be fixed on these places where soldiers are doing wonderful deeds! This battle is the most formidable that has yet been fought. It was supposed to be ended, but here it is, blazing afresh and promising a tremendous conflagration. The Englishman goes on with his usual doggedness, and the last bombardment has excelled in horrible intensity all that has been known so far. Even before the signal for storming, the English were drunk with victory, so gigantic was their artillery, so dreadful their guns, so intense their firing....
These lines help us to realize how keen was the anxiety caused in Germany by the new offensive coming so soon after the battles of Champagne in April. But the lyricism of Dr. Wegener stood in the way of his own judgment, and prevented him from seeing that the battle on the Marne which drove the enemy back, the battle on the Yser which brought him to a standstill, and the battle round Verdun which effectually wore him out, were each in succession the greatest of the war. The second battle of Flanders ought rather to be compared to the battle on the Somme, the real consequences of which were not completely visible till the German recoil on the Siegfried line took place in March, 1917. While the first battle of Flanders had closed the gates of Dunkirk and Calais against the Germans, and marked the end of their invasion, the second one drove a wedge at Ypres into the German strength, made formidable by three years" daily efforts, secured the Flemish heights, pushed the enemy back into the bog land, and threatened Bruges. In the first battle, the French under Foch had been supported by the English under Marshal French; this time the English, who were the protagonists, under Plumer (Second Army) and Gough (Fifth Army), were supported by the First French Army under General Anthoine.
It was as late as June that General Anthoine"s soldiers had taken their stand to the left of the British armies, and after the tremendous fights along the Chemin des Dames and Moronvillers in April, it might well be believed that they were tired. They had borne the burden from the very first; they had been on the Marne and the Yser in 1914, at the numberless and costly offensives of 1915 in Artois, Champagne, Lorraine and Alsace; and in 1916, after the Verdun epic, they had had to fight on the Somme. Indeed, they had only ceased repelling the enemy"s attacks in order to attack in their turn. Among the Allies, they represented invincible determination, as well as a perfected military method. Those troops arriving on June 15, on ground they had never seen before, might well have been anxious for a respite; yet on July 31 they were in the fighting line with the British. Two days before the attack they crossed the Yser ca.n.a.l by twenty-nine bridges without losing one man, and showed an intelligence and spirit which added to their ascendancy over the enemy and increased the prestige of the French army. And while Marshal Haig was finding such an exceptional second in General Anthoine, Petain, now commander-in-chief, was aiding the British offensive by attacking the Germans at other points on the front: on August 20 the Second Army under Guillaumat was victorious on the Meuse, near Verdun, while the Sixth Army under Maistre was preparing for the Malmaison offensive which on October 23 secured for the French the whole length of the Chemin des Dames to the river Ailette.
General Anthoine had had less than six weeks in which to see what he could do with the ground, organize the lines of communication, and post his batteries and infantry. But he had no idea of delaying the British offensive, and on the appointed day he was ready. The line of attack for the three armies was some 20 kilometers long, namely, from the Ypres-Menin road to the confluence of the Yperlee and Martje-Vaert, the French holding the section between Drie Grachten and Boesinghe. It had been settled that the offensive should be conducted methodically, that its objective should be limited, and that it might be interrupted and resumed as often as should seem advisable. The troops were engaged on the 31st of July, and the first rush carried the French onward a distance of 3 kilometers, not only to Steenstraete, which was the objective, but further on to Bixchoote and the Korteker Tavern. The British on their side had advanced 1500 yards over heavily fortified or wooded ground, and their new line lay along Pilkem, Saint-Julien, Frezenberg, Hooge, Sanctuary Wood, Hollebeke and Ba.s.se-Ville. Stormy weather on the first of August, and German counter-attacks on Saint-Julien, prevented an immediate continuation of the offensive, but on August 16 a fresh advance took the French as far as Saint-Jansbeck, while they seized the bridge-head of Drie Grachten. General Anthoine had been so careful in his artillery preparation that one of the attacking battalions had not a single casualty, and no soldier was even wounded.
The French then had to wait until the English had advanced in their turn to the range of hillocks between Becelaere and Poelcapelle (September 20 and 26), but the brilliant British successes on those two dates were making another collective operation possible; and this operation took place on October 9, and gave the French possession of the outskirts of Houthulst forest, while the British fought on till they captured the Pa.s.schendaele hills.
Every great battle is now preceded and accompanied by a battle in the air, because if chasing or bombarding squadrons did not police the air before an attack, no photographs of the enemy"s lines could be taken; and if they did not afford protection for the observers while the troops are engaged, the batteries would shoot and the infantry progress blindly. It is not surprising, therefore, that the enemy, who could not be deceived as to the importance of the French and British preparations in Flanders, had as early as mid-June brought additional airplanes and "sausages," and throughout July terrible contests took place in the air.
Sometimes these engagements were duels, oftener they were fought by strong squadrons, and on July 13 units consisting of as many as thirty machines were seen on either side, the Germans losing fifteen airplanes, and sixteen more going home in a more or less damaged condition.
While in hospital, Guynemer had heard of these tremendous encounters, and wondered if the enchanting cruises he used to make by himself or with just one companion must be things of the past. Was he to be involved in the new tactics and to become a mere unit in a group, or a chief with the responsibility of collective maneuvers? The air knight was incredulous; he thought of his magic airplane and could not persuade himself that, whatever the number of his opponents, he could not single one out for his thunder-clap attack.
Meanwhile the artillery preparation had begun, towards the fifteenth of July, and the earth was quaking to the thundering front at a distance of 50 kilometers. These are flat regions, and there would be no beauty in them if the light radiating from the vapors rising from the fields or the sea did not lend brilliance and relief to the yellow stone villages, the straggling woods or copses, the well-to-do farms, the low hedges, or the tall calvaries at the crossroads.
Guynemer was in splendid condition. His indisposition of the previous month had been caused by his refusing to sleep at Dunkirk, as the others did, until their new quarters were ready. He wanted to be near his machine the moment there was light enough to see by, and slept in some unfinished hangar or under canvas in order not to miss any enterprising German who might take advantage of the dusk to sneak over the lines, spy on our preparations, or bombard our rear. He had paid for his imprudence by a severe cold. But now, comfortable-looking wooden houses stood along the sh.o.r.e, and Guynemer was himself again.
On July 27, while patrolling with Lieutenant Deullin, his chum of Somme and of Aisne days--in fact, his friend of much older times--he brought down in flames, between Langemarck and Roulers, a very powerful Albatros, apparently a 220 H.P. of the latest model. This fell far within the enemy lines, but enthusiastic British soldiers witnessed the scene. Guynemer had chosen this Albatros for his victim among eight other machines, and had pulverized it at a distance of a few yards.
This victory was his forty-ninth. He secured his fiftieth the very next day, bringing down a D.F.W. in flames over Westrobeke, the enemy showing fight, for Guynemer"s magic airplane was. .h.i.t in the tail, in one of the longitudinal spars, the exhaust pipe, and the hood, and had to be repaired. This day of glory was also one of mourning for the Storks.
Captain Auger who, trusting his star after seven triumphs, had gone scouting alone, was shot in the head, and, after mustering energy enough to bring his machine back to the landing-ground, died almost immediately.
Fifty machines destroyed! This had been Guynemer"s dream. The apparently inaccessible figure had gradually seemed a possibility. Finally it had become a fact. Fifty machines down, without taking into account those which fell too far from the official observers, or those which had been only disabled, or those which had brought home sometimes a pilot, sometimes a pa.s.senger, dead in their seats. What would Guynemer do now?
Was he not tired of hunting, killing, or destroying in the high regions of the atmosphere? Did he not feel the exhaustion consequent on the nervous strain of unlimited effort? Could he be entirely deaf to voices which advised him to rest, now that he was a captain, an officer in the Legion of Honor, and, at barely twenty-two, could hardly hope for more distinction? On the other hand, he had shown in his unceasing effort towards an absolutely perfect machine a genius for mechanics which might profitably be given play elsewhere. The occasion was not far to seek, for he had to take his damaged airplane back to the works; and what with this interruption and the precarious state of his health--for he had left the hospital too soon--he might reasonably have applied for leave. Nor was this all. The adoption of the new tactics of fighting in numbers might change the nature of his action: he might become the commanding officer of a unit, run less risk, indulge his temerity only once in a while, and yet make himself useful by infusing his own spirit into aspiring pilots.
Slowly all these ideas occurred, if not to him, at all events to his friends. Guynemer has slain his fifty--they must have thought--Guynemer can now rest. What would it matter if some envious people should make remarks? "It is a pleasure worthy of a king," Alexander once said after Antisthenes, "to hear evil spoken of one while one is doing good." But Guynemer never knew this royal enjoyment; he never even suspected that well-wishers were plotting for his safety. He took his machine to the works, supervised the repairs with his customary attention, and by August 15 he was back again at his sport in Flanders.
Meanwhile his comrades had added to their laurels. Auger was dead, it is true; but Captain Derode, Adjutant Fonck--a perfect Aymerillot, the smallest and youngest of these knights-errant, Heurtaux, Deullin (both wounded, and the latter now risen to a captaincy), Lieutenant Gorgeus and Corporal Collins--all had done well. Besides them many, too many, bombarding aviators ought to be mentioned, but we must limit ourselves to those who are now laid low in Flemish graveyards: Lieutenant Mulard, Sergeant Thabaud-Deshoulieres, _sous-lieutenant_ Bailliotz, _sous-lieutenant_ Pelletier, who saved his airplane if he could not save his own life, and was heard saying to himself before expiring: "For France--I am happy...."; finally Lieutenant Ravarra, and Sergeant Delaunay, who had specialized in night attacks and disappeared without ever being heard of again.
Guynemer had reported at the camp on August 15. On the seventeenth, at 9.20 o"clock, he brought down a two-seated Albatros which fell in flames at Wladsloo, and five minutes later a D.F.W. which collapsed, also in flames, south of Dixmude. This double execution avenged the death of Captain Auger and of another Stork, Sergeant Cornet, killed the day before. On the eighteenth, Guynemer poured a broadside, at close quarters, into a two-seated machine above Staden; and on the twentieth, flying this time on his old _Vieux-Charles_, he destroyed a D.F.W. in a quick fight above Poperinghe. This meant three undoubted victories in four days under circ.u.mstances which the number of enemy machines and the high alt.i.tude made more difficult than they had ever been. The weather during this month of August was constantly stormy, and the Germans were taking every precaution to avoid surprise; but Guynemer was quick as lightning, took advantage of the shortest lulls, and baffled German prudence.
The British or Belgian airmen of the neighborhood called on him, and he liked to return their politeness. He loved to talk about his methods, especially his shooting methods, for flying to him was only the means of shooting, and once he defined his airplane as a flying machine-gun.
Captain Galliot, a specialist in gunsmithery, who overheard this remark, also heard him say to the Minister of Aviation, M. Daniel Vincent, who was inspecting the camp at Buc: "It is not by clever flying that you get rid of a Boche, but by hard and sharp shooting."
It is not surprising, therefore, that he began his day"s work by overhauling his machine-gun, cartridges, and visor. He did not mind trusting his mechanicians where his airplane and motor were concerned, but his weapon and ammunition were his own special care. He regarded as an axiom the well-known maxim of big-game hunters, that "it is not enough to hit, but you must shoot down your enemy with lightning rapidity if you do not wish to perish with him...."[26]
[Footnote 26: _Guynemer tireur de combat_ (_Guerre aerienne_ for October 18, 1917, special number consecrated to Guynemer).]
Of his machine itself Guynemer made a terrible weapon, and he soon pa.s.sed his fiftieth victory. On August 20 his record numbered fifty-three, and he was in as good condition as on the Somme. On the 24th he was on his way to Paris, planning not only to have his airplane repaired, but to point out to the Buc engineers an improvement he had just devised.
II. OMENS
"Oh, yes, the dog always manages to get what he wants," Guynemer"s father had once said to him with a sad smile, when Georges, regardless of his two previous failures, insisted at Biarritz upon enlisting.
"The dog? what dog?" Guynemer had answered, not seeing an apologue in his father"s words.
"The dog waiting at the door till somebody lets him in. His one thought is to get in while the people"s minds are not concentrated on keeping him out. So he is sure to succeed in the end."
It is the same thing with our destiny, waiting till we open the door of our life. Vainly do we try to keep the door tightly shut against it: we cannot think of it all the time, and every now and then we fall into trustfulness, and thus its hour inevitably comes, and from the opening door it beckons to us. "What we call fatalism," M. Bergson says, "is only the revenge of nature on man"s will when the mind puts too much strain upon the flesh or acts as if it did not exist. Orpheus, it is true, charmed the rivers, trees and rocks away from their places with his lyre, but the Maenades tore him to pieces in his turn."