Fighting the Flying Circus

by Captain Eddie V. Rickenbacker

  The two diving Spads opened fire on their downward course when at only three thousand feet above ground. Their aim was not good, however, and neither of the attacked machines received a vital hit. Then the scene of action became one churning mass of revolving and looping airplanes. The leading Fokkers had reversed directions and were attacking the Spads. These latter did not keep together, but each was carrying on a separate free-lance combat, occasionally pouring out streams of bullets at any enemy machine that crossed its path.

  For a good five minutes or longer the aerial action continued, without any further results than giving us spectators below a most beautiful exhibition of contortions and airmanship. I was full of admiration for the two aviators who, I was now almost certain, must be Americans and must belong to our group. At any rate they were brave fellows to stick so long against such odds. Then we saw two machines coming our way out of control. They were some distance away, but since they were headed toward Germany and were not being pursued it was very evident that they were Fokkers. The two Spads had been victorious.

  Soon both wounded Fokkers were passing directly above us. Engines cut off and steadily losing height, one was absolutely certain to crash near us, while the other seemed still to be under control. They were Fokkers sure enough! As we looked back to the scene of the recent combat we saw the Spads streaking it homeward with the balance of the Fokkers strung out behind them in a useless pursuit. No Fokker can overtake a good Spad unless he has sufficient advantage in elevation to increase his speed by diving. The victorious Spads lost themselves in the distant clouds; and the Fokkers, after re-forming their depleted numbers, returned to their lines some distance to the east of us.

  The last we saw of the two victims, one had crashed nose down at less than a mile from where we stood. The other had succeeded in gliding almost two miles further, finally crashing, as we ascertained next day, in No Man's Land just north of Montfaucon.

  The day was getting late and our progress home would be slow owing to the enormous traffic on the roads, so we did not take time to visit the spot of the nearest Fokker's fall. Thus we returned joyfully homeward after a most exciting and successful day, with our captured two-seater Hanover safely following along behind. And at mess that night, to crown our day, we learned that the two victorious Spad operators who had that afternoon added two more victories to the score of 94 Squadron were sitting opposite us, grinning with complacency. They were Lieutenant Jeffers and Lieutenant Kaye.

  The following morning we received explicit orders to bring down an enemy balloon that was hanging above the enemy town of Maroq, about four miles inside their lines. Lieutenants Coolidge and Cook armed their guns with special ammunition and, accompanied by six other planes as a protective escort, we set off early in the morning and attained a good position behind the balloon. Coolidge started a first attack, with Cook following him in case he was unsuccessful. But Coolidge was not unsuccessful. His first burst set fire to the target and Cookie was obliged to make a sudden bank to avoid its flames. Without further hate, other than the usual Archie fire, we returned to our aerodrome without having seen a single enemy airplane in the sky. It had been the simplest balloon-strafing party in which we had ever been engaged.

  No further victories came to our squadron, owing to the continuous bad weather, until October 9, when at about five in the afternoon I had my machine pushed out into the mud of the aerodrome and got away through the clouds for a short survey of the lines. No enemy machines were out, but I discovered a balloon watching our front from a point just back of Dun-sur-Meuse. Making a wide detour to evade their sight, I came back at Dun from the rear, just as it was getting so dark that it would be difficult for them to distinguish my machine from any distance.

  But it was also too dark for me to do any observing of balloons and the Boches had hauled their Drachen down for the night. I passed the spot twice before I could make out the outline of the sleek gas bag from my low height of only two hundred feet above ground. Then taking a fresh start I made two attacks at it in its nest before I succeeded in setting it afire. It finally caught with sufficient glow to light up the whole countryside, including several machine-gun pits and Archie batteries which I discovered were frantically firing at me. Their aim was bad, however, and I flew safely back to the hangars and landed to receive the information that the result of my patrol had been witnessed by our balloon posts south of Dun and confirmation already had been telephoned in.

  It was my sixteenth official victory.

  CHAPTER XXXII

  A Regular Dogfight

  On the afternoon of October 10 the 94th Squadron received orders to destroy two very bothersome enemy balloons, one of which was located at Dun-sur-Meuse, the other at Aincreville. The time for this attack was fixed for us at 3:50 P.M. sharp. A formation of defending planes from 147 Squadron was directed to cover our left wing while a similar formation from the 27th was given the same position on our right. I was placed in command of the expedition and was to arrange all details.

  Selecting Lieutenants Coolidge and Chambers to act as the balloon executioners, I sent orders to all the pilots who were to accompany our secret raid to assemble their formation at three thousand feet above Montfaucon at 3:40 o'clock precisely. Then with Coolidge and Chambers ahead of us, the united force would proceed first to the Dun balloon, where we would protect the two strafers against Hun airplanes while they went in to attack their objective. Then, after destroying the first, if circumstances permitted, we should proceed on to Aincreville, destroy that balloon and beat a retreat straight for home. If Coolidge and Chambers encountered any hostile aircraft they were instructed to avoid fighting, but retire immediately to the protection of our formation.

  A clear afternoon made it certain that the Boche machines would be thick about us. According to our secret intelligence reports the enemy had here concentrated the heaviest air force against the Americans that had ever been gathered together since the war began. Both the Richthofen Circus and the Loerzer Circus were now opposed to us and we had almost daily seen the well-known red noses of the one and the yellow-bellied fuselages of the other. Also we had distinguished the Checker-Board design of the No. 3 Jag-staffel and the new scout machines which the Huns had but lately sent to the front—the Siemens-Schuckard, which was driven by a four-bladed propeller and which had a much faster climb than had the Spad. Further reports which came to us stated that the new Fokkers now arriving at the front had four instead of two guns mounted forward, two as of yore fastened along the engine top and two others attached to the top wing. Personally I have never seen one of these “Roman candle” affairs which so startled several pilots who reported having fights with them. They may have been in use along our front, of course, but I have never met one nor seen a pilot who was certain that he had met one. It was said that when all four guns began firing their tracer bullets at an enemy machine, the exhibition resembled the setting off of Fourth of July Roman candles.

  This heavy concentration of enemy aircraft along our front was necessary to the Germans for two reasons. The retreating Hun infantry must hold the Meuse front until they had time to withdraw their troops from Belgium and the north or the latter would be cut off; secondly, the Allied bombing squadrons which were now terrifying the Rhine towns were all located along this front and must be prevented from destroying those Prussian cities so dear to the heart of the Hun. General Trenchard of the British Independent Air Force proved he was right when he demonstrated that his bombing of enemy cities would withdraw from the battle front much of the enemy's air strength to defend those helpless cities against such attacks.

  So it is not necessarily true that Germany was actually in such fright over the appearance of the American airmen that she straightway sent all her best aviators to the Verdun region to oppose us. She really had quite other objects in view. But such a move nevertheless resulted in filling the skies opposite us with the best fighting airmen in the German service. It promised to be a busy month for us.


  Fourteen of my Spads then left the ground on October 10th at 3:30 in the afternoon, with eight of 147's machines and seven of those from 27 Squadron taking their places on the right and left of us as arranged. I pushed my Spad No. 1 up several thousand feet above the flotilla to watch their progress over the lines from a commanding altitude. The enormous formation below me resembled a huge crawling beetle, Coolidge and Chambers flying in exact position ahead of them to form the stingers. Thus arranged we proceeded northwest in the direction of Dun-sur-Meuse.

  We arrived over the lines to be welcomed by an outlandish exhibition of Archie's fury, but despite the large target we made no damage was received and none of our Spads turned back. Reaching a quieter region inside German territory I looked about me. There indeed was our Dun balloon floating tranquilly in the sunshine. It was 3:40 by my watch. We had ten minutes to maneuver for position and reach our objective. I looked down at my convoy and found that 147's formation on the left had separated themselves somewhat from the others. Then studying the distant horizon I detected a number of specks in the sky, which soon turned into a group of eleven Fokkers flying in beautiful formation and evidently had just taken off from their aerodrome at Stenay, a dozen miles beyond Dun. They were approaching from the west and must reach the detached formation of 147's pilots before the rest of my flight could reach them, unless they immediately closed up. I dived down to dip them a signal.

  The American Front at the time of the Armistice

  On my way down I glanced around me and saw approaching us from Metz in quite the opposite direction another formation of eight Fokkers. Certainly the Huns had wonderful methods of information which enabled them to bring to a threatened point this speedy relief. While I debated an instant as to which danger was the most pressing I looked below and discovered that the enemy balloon men were already engaged in pulling down their observation balloon, which was the object of our attack back of Dun-sur-Meuse. So they suspected the purpose of our little expedition! It lacked yet a minute or two of the time set for our dash at the balloon and as I viewed the situation it would not be wise for Coolidge and Chambers to start their attack until we had disposed of the advancing Fokkers from the west. Accordingly I kept my altitude and set my machine toward the rear of the Stenay Fokkers, which I next observed wore the red noses of the von Richthofen Circus. They were heading in at the 147 formation which was still separated almost a mile away from our other Spads. Lieutenant Wilbur White of New York was leading No. 147's pilots. He would have to bear the brunt of the Fokker attack.

  Evidently the Fokker leader scorned to take notice of us, as his scouts passed under me and plunged ahead toward White's formation. I let them pass, dipped over sharply and with accumulated speed bore down upon the tail of the last man in the Fokker formation. It was an easy shot and I could not have missed. I was agreeably surprised, however, to see that my first burst had set fire to the Hun's fuel tank and that the machine was doomed. I was almost equally gratified the next second to see the German pilot level off his blazing machine and with a sudden leap overboard into space let the Fokker slide safely away without him. Attached to his back and sides was a rope which immediately pulled a dainty parachute from the bottom of his seat. The umbrella opened within a fifty foot drop and lowered him gradually to earth within his own lines.

  I was sorry I had no time to watch his spectacular descent. I truly wished him all the luck in the world. It is not a pleasure to see a burning airplane descending to earth bearing with it a human being. Not unmixed with my relief in witnessing his safe jump was the wonder as to why the Huns had all these humane contrivances and why our own country could not at least copy them to save American pilots from being burned to a crisp!

  I turned from this extraordinary spectacle in mid-air to witness another which in all my life at the front I have never seen equaled in horror and awfulness. The picture of it has haunted my dreams during many nights since.

  Seeing that my man was hit I immediately nosed up to retain my height over the other Huns. Now as I came about and saw the German pilot leap overboard with his parachute I saw that a general fight was on between the remaining ten Fokkers and the eight Spads of 147 Squadron. The Fokker leader had taken on the rear Spad in White's formation when White turned and saw him coming. Like a flash White zoomed up into a half turn, executed a renverse-ment and came back at the Hun leader to protect his pilot from attack. White was one of the finest pilots and best air fighters in our group. He had won seven victories in combat. His pilots loved him and considered him a great leader, which he most assuredly was. White's maneuver occupied but an instant. He came out of his swoop and made a direct plunge for the enemy machine, which was just getting in line on the rear Spad's tail. Without firing a shot the heroic White rammed the Fokker head on while the two machines were approaching each other at the rate of two hundred and fifty miles per hour!

  It was a horrible yet thrilling sight. The two machines actually telescoped each other, so violent was the impact. Wings went through wings and at first glance both the Fokker and Spad seemed to disintegrate. Fragments filled the air for a moment, then the two broken fusleages, bound together by the terrific collision fell swiftly and landed in one heap on the bank of the Meuse!

  For sheer nerve and bravery I believe this heroic feat has never been surpassed. No national honor too great could compensate the family of Lieutenant White for this sacrifice for his comrade and his unparalleled example of heroism to his squadron. The most pitiable feature of Lieutenant White's self-sacrifice was the fact that this was his last flight over the lines before he was to leave for the United States on a visit to his wife and two small children. Not many pilots enter the service with loved ones so close to them!

  This extraordinary disaster ended the day's fighting for the Hun airmen. No doubt they valued their own leader as much as we did Lieutenant White, or perhaps they got a severe attack of “wind-up” at witnessing the new method of American attack. At any rate they withdrew and we immediately turned our attention to the fight which was now in progress between the Spads of 27 Squadron at our right and the Hun formation from Metz. It looked like a famous dogfight.

  As I came about and headed for the mixup I glanced below at Dun and was amazed to see one of our Spads diving upon the nested balloon through a hurricane of flaming projectiles. A “flaming onion” had pierced his wings and they were now ablaze. To add to his predicament, a Hun machine was behind his tail, firing as he dived. I diverted my course and started down to his rescue, but it was too late. The fire in his wings was fanned by the wind and made such progress that he was compelled to land in German territory, not far from the site of the balloon. In the meantime other things were happening so rapidly that I had little opportunity to look about me. For even as I started down to help this balloon strafer I saw another Spad passing me with two Fokkers on his tail, filling his fuselage with tracer bullets. A first glance had identified the occupant of the Spad as my old protege—the famous Jimmy Meissner! For the third time since we had been flying together Providence had sent me along just in the nick of time to get Jimmy out of trouble. Twice before on the old Nieuports Jimmy had torn off his wing fabric in too sudden a flip and his antagonists had been about to murder him as he wobbled along, when I happened by. Now, after a four months' interlude Jimmy comes sailing by again, smiling and good-natured as ever, with two ugly brutes on his tail trying their best to execute him.

  I quickly tacked onto the procession, setting my sights on the rear machine and letting go a long burst as I came within range. The Hun fell off and dropped out of control, the other Fokker immediately pulling away and diving steeply for home and safety.

  Two other Fokkers fell in that dogfight, neither of which I happened to see. Both Coolidge and Chambers, though they had been cheated of their balloon, brought down a Fokker apiece, which victories were later confirmed. The Spad which had fallen into German hands after being set afire by the flaming onions, belonged to Lieutenant Brotherton, like White
and Meissner, a member of the 147th Squadron.

  Four more victories were thus added to 94's score by this afternoon's work. We did not get the balloons but we had done the best we could. I was never in favor of attacking observation ballons in full daylight and this day's experience—the aroused suspicions of the observers, the pulling down of the balloon as strong airplane assistance at the same time arrived, and the fate of Lieutenant Brotherton, who tried unsuccessfully to dive through the defensive barrage—is a fair illustration of the difficulties attending such daylight strafings. Just at dawn or just at dusk is the ideal time for surprising the Drachen.

  Our captured Hanover machine, it will be recalled, had been brought back to our aerodrome and by now had been put into condition to fly. We left the Hun Maltese cross and all their markings exactly as we found them and after telephoning about to the various American aerodromes in our vicinity that they must not practice target shooting at a certain Hanover airplane that they might encounter while wandering over our part of the country, we took the machine up to see how it flew. The Hanover was a stanch heavy craft and had a speed of about one hundred miles an hour when two men (a pilot and an observer) were carried. She handled well and was able to slow down to a very comfortable speed at landing. Many of us took her up for a short flip and landed again without accident.

  Then it became a popular custom to let some pilot get aloft in her and as he began to clear the ground half a dozen of us in Spads would rise after him and practice diving down as if in an attack. The Hanover pilot would twist and turn and endeavor to do his best to outmaneuver the encircling Spads. Of course, the lighter fighting machines always had the better of these mock battles, but the experience was good for all of us, both in estimating the extent of the maneuverability of the enemy two-seaters and in the testing of our relative speeds and climbs.