Two or three times we crawled out of our hole, only to duck back at the signal of the next coming shell. After six or eight shots the Boche gunners evidently considered their target too small, for they ceased firing long enough for us to make a bolt across the intervening holes and throw ourselves into the waiting automobile. I most fervently wished that I had turned the car around before leaving it, and I shall never forget the frightful length of time it took me to get our car backed around and headed in the right direction. We lost no time in getting down that hill.
Next day was to be an important one for us and for the whole American Army. Officially it was designated as “D” day and the “zero hour,” by the same code, was set for four o'clock in the morning.At that moment the artillery barrage would begin and forty thousand doughboys who were posted along the front-line trenches from the Meuse to the Argonne Forest would go over the top. It was the twenty-sixth day of September, 1918.
Precisely at four o'clock I was awakened by my orderly who informed me that the weather was good. Hastily getting out of doors, I looked over the dark sky, wondering as I did so how many of our boys it would claim before this day's work was done! For we had an important part to play in this day's operations. Headquarters had sent us orders to attack all the enemy observation balloons along that entire front this morning and to continue the attacks until the infantry's operations were completed. Accordingly every fighting squadron had been assigned certain of these ballons for attack and it was our duty to see that they were destroyed. The safety of thousands of our attacking soldiers depended upon our success in eliminating these eyes of the enemy. Incidentally, it was the first balloon strafing party that 94 Squadron had been given since I had been made its leader and I desired to make a good showing on this first expedition.
Just here it may be well to point out the difficulties of balloon strafing, which make this undertaking so unattractive to the new pilot.
German “Archie” is terrifying at first acquaintance. Pilots affect a scorn for it, and indeed at high altitudes the probabilities of a hit are small. But when attacking a balloon which hangs only fifteen hundred feet above the guns (and this altitude is of course known precisely to the antiaircraft gunner) Archie becomes far more dangerous.
So when a pilot begins his first balloon-attacking expeditions, he knows that he faces a gauntlet of fire that may be very deadly. His natural impulse is to make a nervous plunge into the zone of danger, fire his bullets, and get away. Few victories are won with this method of attack.
The experienced balloon strafers, particularly such daring airmen as Coolidge and Luke, do not consider the risks or terrors about them. They proceed in the attack as calmly as though they were sailing through a stormless sky. Regardless of flaming missiles from the ground, they pass through the defensive barrage of fire, and often return again and again, to attack the target, until it finally bursts into flame from their incendiary bullets.
The office charts informed me that day would break this morning at six o'clock. Consequently we must be ready to leave the ground in our machines at 5:20, permitting us thirty minutes in which to reach our objectives, and ten minutes in which to locate our individual balloons. For it is essential to strike at these well defended targets just at the break of dawn. Then the balloons are just starting aloft, and our attacking airplanes are but faintly visible from below. Moreover enemy airplanes are not apt to be about so early in the morning, unless the Hun has some inkling of what is going on.
I routed out five of my best pilots, Lieutenants Cook, Chambers, Taylor, Coolidge, and Palmer; and as we gathered together for an early breakfast, we went over again all the details of our prearranged plans. We had two balloons assigned to our squadron, and three of us were delegated to each balloon. Both lay along the Meuse between Brabant and Dun. Every one of us had noted the exact location of his target on the evening before. It would be difficult perhaps to find them before daylight if they were still in their nests, but we were to hang about the vicinity until we did find them, if it took all day. With every man fully posted on his course and objective, we put on our coats and walked over to the hangars.
I was the last to leave the field, getting off the ground at exactly 5:20. It was still dark and we had to have the ground flares turned on for a moment to see the ground while we took off. As soon as we lifted into the darkness the flares were extinguished. And then I saw the most marvelous sight that my eyes have ever seen.
A terrific barrage of artillery fire was going on ahead of me. Through the darkness the whole western horizon was illumined with one mass of jagged flashes. The big guns were belching out their shells with such rapidity that there appeared to be millions of them shooting at the same time. Looking back I saw the same scene in my rear. From Luneville on the east to Rheims on the west there was not one spot of darkness along the whole front. The French were attacking along both our flanks at the same time, in order to help demoralize the weakening Boche. The picture made me think of a giant switchboard which emitted thousands of electric flashes as invisible hands manipulated the plugs.
So fascinated did I become over this extraordinary fireworks display that I was startled upon peering over the side of my machine to discover the city of Verdun below my wings. Setting my course above the dim outline of the river Meuse I followed its windings downstream, occasionally cutting across little peninsulas which I recognized along the way. Every inch of this route was as familiar to me as was the path around the corner of my old home. I knew exactly the point in the Meuse valley where I would leave the river and turn left to strike the spot where my balloon lay last night. I did not know what course the other pilots had taken. Perhaps they had already….
Just as all this was going through my mind I saw directly ahead of me the long snaky flashes of enemy tracer bullets from the ground piercing the sky. There was the location of my balloon and either Cook or Chambers were already attacking it. The enemy had discovered them and were putting up the usual hail of flaming projectiles around the balloon. But even as the flaming bullets continued streaming upward I saw a gigantic flame burst out in their midst! One of the boys had destroyed his gas bag!
Even before the glare of the first had died I saw our second enemy balloon go up in flames. My pilots had succeeded beyond my fondest expectations. Undoubtedly the enemy would soon be swinging new balloons up in their places, but we must wait awhile for that. I resolved to divert my course and fly further to the north where I knew of the nest of another German observation balloon near Damvillers.
Dawn was just breaking as I headed more to the east and tried to pick out the location of Damvillers. I was piercing the gloom when again—straight in front of my revolving propeller I saw another gush of flame which announced the doom of another enemy balloon—the very one I had determined to attack. While I was still jubilating over the extraordinary good luck that had attended us in this morning's expedition, I glanced off to my right and was almost startled out of my senses to discover that a German Fokker was flying alongside me not a hundred yards away! Not expecting any of the enemy airplanes to be abroad at this early hour, I was disturbed for the moment. The next instant I saw that he had headed for me and was coming straight at my machine. We both began firing at the same time. It was still so dark that our four streams of tracer bullets cut brilliant lines of fire through the sky. For a moment it looked as though our two machines were tied together with four ropes of fire. AH my ammunition was of the incendiary variety for use against gas bags. The Hun's ammunition was part tracer, part incendiary, and part regular chunks of lead.
As we drew nearer and nearer I began to wonder whether this was to be a collision or whether he would get out of my way. He settled the question by tipping down his nose to dive under me. I instantly made a renversement which put me close behind him and in a most favorable position for careful aim. Training my sights into the center of his fuselage I pressed both triggers. With one long burst the fight was over. The Fokker fell over on one win
g and dropped to earth. It was too dark to see the crash, and moreover I had all thoughts of my victory dissipated by a sudden jerk to my engine which immediately developed into a violent vibration. As I turned back toward Verdun, which was the nearest point to our lines, I had recurring visions of crashing down into Germany to find myself a prisoner. This would be a nice ending to our glorious balloon expedition!
Throttling down to reduce the pounding I was able just to maintain headway. If my engine failed completely I was most certainly doomed, for I was less than a thousand feet above ground and could glide but a few hundred yards without power. Providence was again with me, for I cleared the lines and made our Verdun aerodrome where one flight of the 27th Squadron was housed. I landed without damage and hastily climbed out of my machine to investigate the cause of my trouble.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that one blade of my propeller had been shot in two by my late adversary! He had evidently put several holes through it when he made his head-on attack. And utterly unconscious of the damage I had received, I had reversed my direction and shot him down before the weakened blade gave way! The heavy jolting of my engine was now clear to me—only half of the propeller caught the air.
Lieutenant Jerry Vasconcelles of Denver, Colorado, was in charge of the Verdun field on which I had landed. He soon came out and joined me as I was staring at my broken propeller. And then I learned that he had just landed himself from a balloon expedition. A few questions followed and then we shook hands spontaneously. He had shot down the Damvillers balloon himself—the same one for which I had been headed. And as he was returning he had seen me shoot down my Fokker! This was extremely lucky for both of us, for we were able each to verify the other's victory for him, although of course corroboration from ground witnesses was necessary to make these victories official.
His mechanics placed a new propeller on my Spad, and none the worse for its recent rough usage the little 'bus took me rapidly home. I landed at 8:30 on my own field. And there I heard great news. Our Group had that morning shot down ten German balloons! My victory over the Fokker made it eleven victories to be credited us for this hour's work. And we had not lost a single pilot!
As the jubilant and famished pilots crowded into the mess hall one could not hear a word through all the excited chatter. Each one had some strange and fearful adventure to relate about his morning's experiences. But the tale which brought howls of laughter was the droll story told by Lieutenant White of the 147th Squadron.
White had searched long and earnestly for the balloon he was assigned to attack. He thought himself hopelessly lost in the darkness, when off to one side he distinguished the dark outline of what he thought was his balloon. Immediately redressing his machine he nosed down and began plugging furious streams of tracer bullets into his target. He made a miscalculation in his distance and before he could swerve away from the dark mass ahead of him his machine had plunged straight through it!
And then he discovered that he had been diving on a round puff of black smoke that had just been made by a German Archie!
CHAPTER XXVIII
Frank Luke Strafes His Last Balloon
Neither side could afford to leave its lines unsupported by observation balloons any longer than was necessary for replacements. Our onslaught of the early morning had destroyed so many of the Huns' Drachen, however, that it was quite impossible for them to get new balloons up at once, along their entire sector.
That same afternoon I flew along their lines to see what progress they were making in replacements of their observation posts. The only balloon I could discover in our sector was one which lifted its head just behind the town of Sivry-sur-Meuse. I made a note of its position and decided to try to bring it down early next morning.
Accordingly I was up again at the same hour the following day and again found the sky promised clear weather. Leaving the field at 5:30, I again took a course over Verdun in order to pick up the river Meuse there and follow it as a guide.
On this occasion I caught a grand view of No Man's Land as seen from the air by night. It was not yet daylight when I reached the lines and there I caught a panoramic view of the span of ground that separated the two opposing armies. For upon both sides of this span of ground a horizontal line of flashes could be seen spurting from the mouths of rival guns. The German batteries were drawn up along their front scarcely a mile behind their line. And on our side a vastly more crowded line of flashes indicated the overwhelming superiority in numbers of guns that the American artillerymen were using to belabor the already vanquished Huns. As far as my eye could see, this dark space lay outlined between the two lines of living fire. It was a most spectacular sight. I followed its course for a few miles, then turned again to the north and tried to find the river Meuse.
After ten minutes' flight into Germany, I realized I had crossed the river before I began to turn north and that I must be some distance inside the enemy's lines. I dropped down still lower as I saw the outlines of a town in front of me and circling above it I discovered that I had penetrated some twenty-five miles inside Hunland and was now over the village of Stenay. I had overshot Sivry by about twenty miles.
I lost no time in heading about toward France. Opening up the throttle, I first struck west and followed this course until I had the Meuse again under my nose. Then turning up the river, I flew just above the road which follows along its banks. It was now getting light enough to distinguish objects on the ground below.
This river Meuse highway is a lovely drive to take in the daytime, for it passes through a fertile and picturesque country. The little city of Dun-sur-Meuse stands out on a small cliff which juts into a bend of the river, making a most charming picture of what a medieval town should look like. I passed directly down Main Street over Dun-sur-Meuse and again picked up the broad highway that clung to the bank of the river. Occasional vehicles were now abroad below me. Day had broken and the Huns were up and ready for work.
It occurred to me that I might as well fly a bit lower and entertain the passing Huns with a little bullet-dodging as we met each other. My morning's work was spoiled anyway. It was becoming too late to take on a balloon now. Perhaps I might meet a general in his automobile and it would be fun to see him jump for the ditch and throw himself down on his face at the bottom. If I was fortunate enough to get him that would surely be helping along the warl
Ahead of me I saw a truck moving slowly in the same direction I was going. “Here goes for the first one!” I said to myself. I tipped down the nose of my machine and reached for my triggers.
As my nose went down something appeared over my top wing which took away my breath for an instant. There directly in my path was a huge enemy observation balloon! It was swaying in the breeze and the cable which held it to earth ran straight down until it reached the moving truck ahead of me. Then it became clear as daylight to me. The Huns were towing a new balloon up the road to its position for observation! They had just received a replacement from the supply station of Dun-sur-Meuse, and after filling it with gas were now getting it forward as rapidly as possible. It was just the target I had been searching for!
Forgetting the truck and crew, I flattened out instantly and began firing at the swaying monster in the air. So close to it had I come before I saw it that I had only time to fire a burst of fifty rounds when I was forced to make a vertical bank, to avoid crashing through it. I was then but four or five hundred feet above ground.
Just as I began the xArage I heard the rat-tat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire from the truck on the road beneath me. And mingled with this drum fire I heard the sound of an explosion in the fuselage just behind my ear! One of their explosive bullets had come very close to my head and had crashed against a longeron or wire in the tail of the airplane! There was nothing I could do about that however, except to fly along as steadily as possible until I reached a place of safety and could make an investigation of the damage received. I cleared the side of the gas bag and then as I passed I turned and
looked behind me.
The enemy balloon was just at the point of exploding and the observer had already leaped from his basket and was still dropping through air with his parachute not yet opened. It was a very short distance to Mother Earth, and sometimes a parachute needs two or three hundred feet fall in which to fully open and check the speed of the falling body. I wondered whether this poor chap had any chance for his life in that short distance and just what bones he was likely to break when he landed. And then came a great burst of fire, as the whole interior of the big balloon became suddenly ignited. I couldn't resist one shout of exultation at the magnificent display of fireworks I had thus set off, hoping in the meantime that its dull glare would reach the eyes of some of our own balloon observers across the lines who would thus be in a position to give me the confirmation of my eleventh victory.
Again I decided to pay a call at Jerry Vasconcelle's field at Verdun and there get out and ascertain the extent of the damage in the tail of my Spad. Jerry welcomed me with some amusement and wanted to know whether this dropping in on him was to be a daily occurrence. Yesterday it had been a broken prop and today a broken tail. Before answering him I got out, and together we made a minute examination of my machine.
A neat row of bullet holes ran back down the tail of my machine. They were as nicely spaced as if they had been put in by careful measurement. The first hole was about four inches behind the pad on which my head rests when I am in the seat. The others were directly back of it at regular intervals. One, the explosive bullet, had struck the longeron that runs the length of the fuselage, and this had made the sharp explosion that I had heard at the time. The gunners on the truck had done an excellent bit of shooting!
None of the holes was in a vital part of the machine. I took off again after a short inspection and soon covered the fifteen or sixteen miles that lay between the Verdun field and our own.
Fighting the Flying Circus Page 26