by Alan Clark
You will find the rudder control in every case of spinning or swinging tail will become very stiff, and you may not be able to get it very central but you should aim (without putting on sufficient pressure to break anything) to do this.
With the engine off the thing to avoid is gliding too slowly. At 65 m.p.h. or below, when gliding, the machine suddenly loses speed. This is particularly the case when making a turn to enter the aerodrome as the extra resistance caused by the rudder is sufficient to bring down the pace.…
One more point as regards losing speed. Observers must be cautioned that when an aeroplane is gliding down from work over the lines they must not stand up in order to look over the pilot’s shoulder for the fun of the thing, as the extra head resistance caused may lead to the aeroplane falling below its critical gliding speed, and so bring about an accident.
It was bad enough in routine flying, but in combat the RE 8 was a death trap. Not untypical was the experience of 59 Squadron, newly equipped in April of 1917, which sent out six of its RE 8s at 8.15 a.m. to photograph the Drocourt-Quéant switch line; caught by Jasta 11 over Vietrie. All six were shot down and ten of the pilots and observers were killed.
That winter then, the British Air Staff were faced with a threefold problem. In addition to reviving the flagging morale of the squadron in the field, they had to evolve and produce a single-seat fighter with speed, manœuvrability and armament superior to the enemy; and they had to ensure that the impact that this machine would make on its first arrival should not be wasted by unskilled or incompetent pilots.
The previous year the first of a new and technically highly advanced engine had been delivered to the RFC. This was the Hispano-Suiza 8A. A V8 with aluminium monobloc castings and threaded steel liners that gave 140 h.p. at 1,400 r.p.m., yet weighed only 330 lbs. One was installed experimentally in a BE 2C, transforming the speed and rate of climb of that sleepy aircraft. But the aerodynamic characteristics of the BE 2 made it completely unsuitable for dog-fighting no matter how much power the engine developed and it was plain that the airframe would have to be radically modified. At first drawings (designated FE 10) were for a ‘pusher’ aircraft like the BE 9 but this was plainly obsolete before it reached even the prototype stage.
A second design, designated SE 5, was more promising. It was for a rakish, square-rigged, single-seater, neither as streamlined nor as aesthetically pleasing as the Albatros, but light and rugged-looking, offering an excellent pilot view. The ‘new’ design was still recognizably from the lineage of the BE 2 and the RE 8, lacking the instant agility of the Sopwith single-seaters. But O’Gorman’s design staff were inspired by a different design philosophy claiming that stability which they had formerly offered as being essential for observation would now pay dividends in making the new design a steady ‘gun platform’.
Under constant pressure from the RFC staff, the design, development and production stages merged dangerously close. On 20 November 1916 the prototype was submitted for final inspection and the approved note was issued at 21.30 hours that evening. Detail developments and intermittent flight trials continued at Farnborough for the next three weeks and on Christmas Eve the test pilot. Major F.W. Goodden, took the second prototype across to France where it was tried by selected pilots from the Nieuport and Spad squadrons of the RFC.
Goodden brought the aeroplane back to England on 4 January and made one more flight on the twenty-sixth. That Sunday he turned up at 11 a.m. for a ‘joy ride’ and took off from the still frosty runway at 11.10 a.m. Eight minutes later, having made two circuits, when he was approaching to land from the southeast, the aircraft broke up in the air and Goodden lost his life. An official inquiry blamed the airscrew and these findings were published. But investigation of the wreckage continued while the production examples were being built and it emerged that the airscrew was not to blame, but that the drawing had left out the web elements for the wing so that after a certain flying time, the struts pulled out of the wing surface.
In March, the first of the production series SE 5 arrived at Martlesham for service testing. The report was pessimistic:
Lateral control insufficient, especially poor at low speeds. The machine manœuvred poorly, and was almost uncontrollable below 70 m.p.h. in gusts, causing a crash on take-off on 29.3.17. The windscreen, unnecessarily large, hindered the pilot’s landing view.
These comments, together with data for turning time and other manœuvrability factors, did not augur well for the SE 5’s first encounter with the enemy. None the less, the plan and the aircraft itself had gone too far for any drawing back. In March of 1917, the whole of the RFC had been combed for its most skilful, most experienced and most aggressive pilots, to form the nucleus of a new RFC fighter arm built round the new fighter. Some, like Albert Ball, were taken off Nieuports. Others, like Cecil Lewis, off Moranes and others like Rhys-Davids, off the Spad. All were recalled to England and constituted as a new squadron, No. 56, stationed at London Colney. Here they were confined for six weeks to familiarize themselves with each other, their individual flying skills and tactics, and their new aeroplane.
To begin with it was unpopular. All agreed that the cumbersome ‘greenhouse’ – a multi-sided windscreen of celluloid and metal frame – obstructed the pilot’s view and quickly became scratched and covered in oil. The Lewis gun mounted on the upper plane was virtually impossible to reload owing to gravitational pull and wind resistance. Ball was particularly outspoken:
The SE 5 has turned out a dud. Its speed is only about half Nieuport speed and it is not so fast in getting up. It is a great shame, for everybody thinks they are so good and expects such a lot from them. Well, I am making the best of a bad job. I am taking one gun off in order to take off weight. Also I am lowering the windscreen in order to take off resistance. A great many things I am taking off in the hopes that I shall get a little better control and speed. But it is a rotten machine …
Had the pilots of 56 Squadron remained in France, it is probable that all would have been killed in that spring. The average life of the fighter pilot had been reduced to less than a fortnight and, between March and May, 1,270 aeroplanes from RFC squadrons were destroyed.
As the terrible weeks of ‘Bloody April’ went by, the individual pilots at London Colney gradually came to terms with the new aircraft in the immunity of the Kentish sky. Each got his fitter to modify his own aeroplane as it suited him. Some removed the ‘greenhouse’ altogether. Ball, always obsessed with speed, removed not only the ‘greenhouse’, but also the top Lewis gun and lowered his seating position by eight inches.
Every day there was at least four hours flying practice. Formation, diving, basic combat manœuvres and follow-my-leader. The maximum speed of the SE 5 was 120 m.p.h. at 6,500 feet, falling below 100 m.p.h. at 15,000 feet. (Ball was wrong – the SE 5 was faster than his Nieuport 17 by nearly 15 m.p.h.) The pilots found that the aircraft could climb to 6,500 feet in eight minutes and to 10,000 feet in under fifteen minutes (both these figures were superior to the Albatros although, naturally, this was not known at the time). Furthermore, the SE 5 had an endurance of two and a half hours -nearly one hour more than the Albatros, so that 56 Squadron would have time to wait at maximum altitude for their enemy to appear below them. They found, too, that the stability of the aeroplane had several advantages, particularly in these last critical seconds when the enemy was in your gunsight. Confidence spread and with it an impatience to return to France. While they waited, the pilots would amuse themselves with evermore hair-raising aerobatics – a favourite trick was to roll the wheels on the sloping roof of number 3 hangar on the run-in in order to get a smoother landing.
On 7 April, at 11 a.m., the Squadron were ranged in line on the turf of London Colney warming up their engines. The night before, a farewell party had been staged in the Black Swan at Radlett and, on the way back, Captain Foot, the leader, had crashed in a Métallurgique car and broken three ribs so the flight to their aerodrome at Vergaland was to be led by Cecil Lew
is, the MC and former Moräne pilot, who had celebrated his nineteenth birthday a month before.
There was a small group of parents and friends, and a few of the girls who had been at the Black Swan to wave them goodbye. Lewis taxied across to the eastern corner of the airfield with the other ten following behind him in single file. Turning into the wind, they took-off, banked and roared back over the sheds for a last wave at the little group on the tarmac. Then, climbing into V-formation, 56 Squadron headed for the channel coast. The day of the great encounter with Richthofen’s Circus was but four weeks away.
Chapter Seven
Squadrons
I hope he roasted the whole way down.
Mick Mannock on hearing of Richthofen’s death
While the Royal Flying Corps suffered under the flail of the Albatros Circuses in the early part of 1917, there was one sector where the Germans hesitated to venture. In the far north of Flanders the naval squadrons equipped with the Sopwith Triplane dominated the skies. The various administrative and design disputes that lay behind the immense superiority in equipment which the Navy held over the RFC have been mentioned. But in the spring of 1917, the paradox had resulted that the airspace over the quietest sector of the front was dominated by the English while that over the most active was the province of the German Circuses.
Finally, the slaughter of the regular RFC had become so serious that after much departmental obstruction a single squadron of Triplanes, ‘Naval Ten’, was moved on 4 June and put under No. 11 Wing RFC, being stationed at Droglandt. On their first day they were in action, shooting down two Albatri. Further encounters followed on 5th, 6th, 14th, 15th, 17th and 18th and in every one of them the Triplanes had the measure of their opponents.
‘Naval Ten’s’ career was short and spectacular. Its core was the five Canadian Pilots, Raymond Collishaw, W.M. Alexander, G.E. Nash, E.V. Reid and J.E. Sharman who formed the ‘Black Flight’, painting their engine cowlings, metal fuselage panels and wheel covers in black gloss and carrying the name emblazoned in white, Black Maria, Black Prince, Black Roger, Black Sheep and Black Death.
Word had spread rapidly among the German pilots of these extraordinary little aeroplanes with their freakish head-on silhouette and their unnatural ability to climb and weave. A disturbing rumour arose that the Triplane could not be engaged by the normal tail approach – to do so was certain death for it could out-manœuvre any other plane in level flight, sliding round to sit on its adversary’s rudder as if attached by a tow-line. But surely there was one unit that could cow these insolent new-comers? The all-red aeroplanes of Richthofen’s Jasta 11 were given priority orders to seek out the ‘Black Flight’.
For five days the Circus ranged up and down across the Ypres salient searching for their enemy. All the German antiaircraft crews had been alerted to scan for the Triplanes and contact Jasta 11 by telephone, but identification from the ground was difficult as in plane view the silhouette was much like that of the Sopwith Pup. Finally on 25 June, the two teams met over Quesnoy. On this patrol Jasta 11 was commanded by Karl Allmenröder, Richthofen’s twenty-two-year-old deputy who had been awarded the ‘Blue Max’ only ten days before. His Albatros was identified by his white engine cowl and spinner and white painted elevators. The encounter that followed was brief. The Jasta found that everything they had heard about the Triplane was true. Only Allmenröder himself scored a victory, shooting down Black Sheep (Nash) and then leading the Jasta away in a long dive which could outstrip the slower Triplanes.
For two days the German pilots anxiously discussed tactics. Allmenröder decided to split the Jasta in two, flying one half at maximum altitude, the other lower than was normal in order to draw the Triplanes down. If the timing was right, the upper formation should be able to choose their own targets in the ensuing dive and rescue their comrades before the Triplanes ‘locked on’. The matter was put to the test on 27 June, two days later. But something went wrong for the upper formation did not spot the attacking Triplanes until too late. ‘Black Flight’, again led by Collishaw, made one pass at the lower Jasta and then disappeared to the east. Observers on the ground saw the Albatri regain formation and start climbing with the exception of one aircraft with a white spinner and cowl which was gliding slowly westwards. Gradually the glide steepened and the Albatros fell into a vertical and uncontrollable dive. Jasta 11 had lost its deputy. On the same day the ‘Black Flight’ claimed three more victims, two of them going down under the guns of Collishaw’s Black Maria; and for the first three weeks in July it continued to wreak havoc among the now thoroughly disconcerted Circuses.
On 6 July 1917 Richthofen attacked a combined squadron of FE 2s and RE 8s escorted by the ‘Black Flight’. Collishaw got one of the Albatri. Richthofen himself broke through the escort and attacked a ‘Fee’ head-on, crewed by Captain D.C. Cunnell (killed a few days later) with gunner Lieutenant A.E. Woodbridge. Woodbridge kept his nerve and filled the Albatros engine with lead. Richthofen, temporarily blinded, just managed to put the aeroplane down right side up and then fainted with a head wound, remaining in hospital for a month.
But no five men, however brave, could stand up indefinitely to the full weight of the angry Jastas. Black Death was set on fire on 22 July and Sharman was killed. Black Roger went down with Reid on 28th. On 30th, Black Maria was also shot down although Collishaw had already been recalled to England to serve for a period as instructor (he ended the war with sixty-three victims), and the gallant little company was disbanded. By this time the first of the Sopwith Camels (in essence a more powerful and robust Pup) were being delivered to the naval squadrons and the Triplane, with its critical servicing problems was being phased out. The brief and brilliant career of the ‘Tripehound’ did leave one ironic legacy however. When the Germans had developed their own Triplane, the Fokker Dr I (both Richthofen and Hoeppner had gone on record with the belief that the Sopwith Triplane was the best English fighter of the war), many RFC crews recognized (as they believed) its friendly silhouette, withheld their fire and allowed the enemy to close the range until too late to save their lives.…
It soon became apparent that the Sopwith Camel,1 although very difficult for a novice to fly, could be mastered by any of the more experienced pilots, and was so agile and quick in combat that it had to be ordered in quantity for the RFC as an alternative to the SE 5. However, during the summer of 1917, Camel deliveries were slow and the only hope of dealing with the Albatros Circuses was the SE 5.
On 7 April 56 Squadron had arrived at their base at Vertgaland and spent two weeks on navigation flights, gunnery testing and tuning their machines. Professionalism was now at its peak and combat tactics a formidable synthesis of individual flair and group discipline. On this subject James McCudden, coolest of all the British aces, wrote:
I consider it a patrol leader’s work to pay more attention to the main points affecting the fight than to do all the fighting himself. The main points are: (1) arrival of more EA who have tactical advantage, i.e. height; (2) patrol drifting too far east; (3) patrol getting below bulk of enemy formation. As soon as any of these circumstances occur, it is time to take advantage of the SE’s superior speed over EA scouts and break off the fight, rally behind leader and climb west of EA until you are above them before attacking them again.
On 22 April the Squadron flew their first offensive sortie on a trail that was to bring them to their quarry, and disaster, within less than three weeks.
The first encounter was highly successful. Albert Ball shot down two Albatri and other members of the Squadron got two more. For the rest of April and the first week in May, 56
Squadron cut a fine swath in the German Air Service. As the pilots’ confidence grew, they became accustomed to attacking against odds of up to three-to-one. Ball was indefatigable, he still kept his old Nieuport and would sortie alone in this when the SE 5 was being serviced, being over four hours a day in the air. At fighting altitudes the SE 5 was still outclimbed by the Albatros, but the very high quality of t
he pilots and the consternation which they created among their enemy, who had been enjoying such total superiority up to that time, gave them an advantage. They must have clashed several times with Jasta 11 for mention of ‘all red scouts’ can be traced many times in the Squadron log, but they never found Richthofen himself at full strength until their second patrol on 7 May.
It was a still evening, but the sky was heavy with threatening masses of cumulus cloud towering from four to twelve thousand feet; 56 Squadron flew at full strength – eleven machines in formation, two fours and a three, and found their enemy at 18,000 feet behind the German lines.
How far this was a deliberately contrived ambush, how far an accident arising from the Squadron’s over-confidence, will never be known. The fact remains that McCudden took the whole Squadron into a dive after six Albatri of a different Jasta that were flying east, 3,000 feet below. But Richthofen himself and two Jastas of JG I were flying at the same altitude some one-to-three miles distant and followed 56 Squadron down. The battle broke up into individual contests and within minutes each of the highly skilled pilots of 56 Squadron was fighting for his life, turning ever tighter and more desperately, losing altitude, separated from his fellows. For over an hour the Squadron struggled to save itself, fighting down from 15,000 feet to 600 before, in fading light, the survivors ducked and weaved their way individually back to Vertgaland. Of the eleven SE 5s that had gone out on that evening patrol on 7 May, only five returned. Ball himself, the indestructible,2 was missing with his score standing at forty-three – by far the highest at that time, of any pilot in the RFC.
There is a strange irony in that 56 Squadron, forged as the head of the lance which was to break the power of the Albatros Jasta and, in particular, to kill Richthofen, should have been the instrument that eliminated Richthofen’s closest rival.