There was confusion in the German formation. As the Fokker D III fell to its death I saw that the second rank was made up of the Albatros D III. They all had a twin Spandau but they were almost twenty miles an hour slower than I was. I opened fire at two hundred yards and then dived so that the Camels behind me could have a shot at the green Albatros with the wavy red line as it tried to adjust its flight to attack me. I was so quick that I was gone before he could fire his guns. I immediately brought my nose up. The third line was made up of the Albatros D II and Fokker D II. These only had one machine and were much slower. However, more importantly, the radiator was so high that it could obscure their view at the front. I had had a similar problem when I changed from the Gunbus to the Camel. They didn’t see me and I came up under the yellow painted Fokker. He seemed so slow after the triplanes that it appeared to be stationary. I gave a short burst as I zoomed up at a hundred and ten miles an hour. My last bullets ripped into him from less than twenty yards and I had to adjust my Camel to avoid smashing into him. He too tumbled to earth.
I saw in my mirror that I only had my Camels with me. Our climb had been too fast for the Bristols but the Bristols were now finishing off the front two lines of German fighters. The slower ones we now faced turned and ran. There was no order to their flight. It was every man for himself. I took snap shots at them as they departed and was gratified with a few hits but no more were shot down.
As we banked to return home I saw that none of our aeroplanes had been hit but there were at least six aeroplanes either burning on the ground or tumbling from the sky. The losses of the last week had been avenged.
There was an exuberant atmosphere in the mess that night. Although we were not overly competitive my young pilots were delighted to have shot down more German aeroplanes than the rest of the squadron. It did them no harm and I knew that their confidence would be up. More importantly was the time in the air they had spent fighting German fighters. They might not have been the best German fighters but they had done well to sweep them so imperiously from the skies.
We must have frightened them for they never ventured across our lines for the rest of the week. From captured Germans in other sectors we discovered that our squadron was seen as a British version of the Flying Circus. It was a compliment but I knew the dangers. They would send their best to shoot us down.
The rest of the squadron arrived back on the 19th of October. They came back bubbling with excitement. Leave did that for you. They had only been away for a week but I know that it would have felt like a month. It was a party in the mess as everyone shared the news of a fortnight spent apart.
Next day we were brought back to reality when we were ordered into the air. We would be used to spot for the artillery. While we had been on leave Freddie’s bus had been fitted with a radio so that the four flights could each go to a different sector and direct artillery fire. It was a trial of the new technology as well as an attempt to deceive the Germans. We were directing the fire to the south of the intended offensive at Cambrai. For once someone at Headquarters was actually thinking. We would find any problems with the radio communication and the Hun might move his troops to face a phantom attack which would never materialise.
We took off on the twenty first and headed for Le Catelet. The sector had been quiet and we each only had a battery of six guns to direct but it seemed a good idea to me. The batteries had been given our frequencies but to ensure that it worked Sergeant Kenny and his magicians had been sent to the batteries to assist the operators. It had been one reason for the delay in the barrage.
“A Flight on station. Over.”
While the rest of my flight climbed above me to provide cover I flew over the German lines. I had a map in front of me with grids marked on. I had been told where they would shell first and I would direct them once I had seen the fall of shot.
The first shells all screamed over. They were closer to each other than I would have expected but they were short of the trenches by a hundred yards. It was just some barbed wire which had been hit.
“A Flight. One hundred yards short. Repeat one hundred yards short. Over.”
I had to admit this was faster than flashing with an Aldis lamp but it would be much easier for Ted and Gordy for they could watch the skies and just fly. I had to do both. As I waited for the next fall of shot I glanced up to see that my umbrella was still in place. Each of the flights was sufficiently far away from each other that there would be no confusion with the fall of shot.
The next salvo was much better. Two of the shells struck the trench and the other four straddled it. The chap from the artillery who had briefed us had told us to send back the word ‘straddle’ when that happened.
“A Flight. Straddle. Over!”
The next shots had five hits.
“A Flight. On target. Over.”
This was where it would become more complicated. I flew up and down in a small loop as I watched the fall of shot. When a section of the trench was destroyed then it would be my call to change the target. It only took six salvoes and the trench looked like one huge shell hole.
“A Flight target destroyed. Over.”
I saw that there were command and secondary trenches just fifty yards further east. I deduced that the artillery would find it easier to hit a target further away rather than adjusting to left and right.
“A Flight. New target. One hundred yards east. Over.”
I had no idea how the artillery could hit something they could not see but when the next shells came over three of them hit and three straddled.
“A Flight. Straddle. Over!”
It took another four salvoes to begin to destroy it but I heard the sound of the Vickers and glanced up to see my flight being attacked by ten Fokker D III.
“A Flight. Under attack. Aborting. Over!”
We had been told to break off if we were in danger. This was a trial and there was little point in risking valuable aeroplanes and pilots. I began to climb. The Germans were after me, as the spotter. I would not be the pigeon for these hawks. I saw that Jack Fall was leading the line well and the five aeroplanes kept a tight formation. He must have seen me climbing for he began to turn and lead the flight west. They started to drop so that I could join them. I saw that Owen Davies’ bus had been damaged but the rest looked intact.
Two Fokkers came screaming down at me. I fired a short burst and rolled the Camel away from them and then pulled it into a steep climb. They were past me in a flash and I had clear sky. I banked to starboard and dived after them. I was so fast that I soon caught them. I fired at two hundred yards. I hit the tail plane of one of them and they diverged. My fuel gauge told me to get the hell out of there before I ran out and I climbed to join the rest of the flight who were busily seeing off the enemy. Anything but a Fokker triplane or the D V was no match for us. We headed home, unmolested.
The patrol the following day was two miles south east of Le Catelet. It proved to be as easy a target. Nor did we have the problem of fighters curtailing our task. We had just finished when they appeared. We headed safely home; I daresay the German pilots were frustrated to have missed us.
Headquarters gave us two days off and then began again. I could see what they intended. The Germans would see a pattern and assume that we were trying to disguise our point of attack. As this was happening over a fifty mile front it would be hard for them to pinpoint the precise location of the offensive. That we were going on the offensive was no secret. I had no doubt that they had agents in Amiens and other large towns. They would be sending back reports of the influx of new troops. Eventually they would go on the offensive but the methodical Teutonic mind liked to work things out.
We were over Le Catelet again but this time we flew above the support trenches. I knew from my own visits to the trenches that these contained supplies and provided shelter for troops moving to the forward areas. If we destroyed them then it would leave the front line a little weaker for a while. Our problem would be that the Ger
man fighters would be closer. However the fact that only four of our aeroplanes were spotting while the rest provided protection gave me hope that we might emerge unscathed again.
The problem was that the Germans had fitted out a squadron with the Albatros D.V. Although not the fastest of buses it had twin Spandau and they were fast. We had only seen them in ones and twos. That day we saw eighteen of them as they descended to discourage my spotting efforts. I told the artillery I was breaking off and I climbed to meet them. I had not fought them often enough to be confident about predicting their performance. It certainly looked like a neat aerodynamic aeroplane.
Jack and the others either didn’t see them in time or they were flying a leg which took them away from the fighters. Either way eight of the aeroplanes screamed down towards me. I did not panic. I cocked my Vickers and aimed my bus at the third fighter from the right. It minimised the number of guns which could be brought to bear on me and it took me towards my flight. As I closed I feinted to port and then jerked my nose around to starboard. I fired a burst at relatively long range and then began to climb. The Camel is a small aeroplane and it is fast. The three Albatros I was facing tried to emulate me. That was the day we discovered why there were not many of these new aeroplanes in service; they were new and they were dangerous to fly.
As I looped I saw in my mirror that one of them tried the loop. I saw something which I had never seen before. His lower wing began to sheer away. It was too flimsy. The poor pilot could do nothing about it and he plummeted to his death.
I continued my loop and swept into the Albatros. The disaster of the broken wing must have unnerved them. I flew through them, firing my guns without a bullet in reply. I threw the Camel around in a shallow bank and opened fire on them again. This time they began to stream east. It was ridiculous. I was a single Camel and I had out flown eight Albatros. My flight screamed through the others and I saw four downed before the whole Hun squadron fled east. We could have pursued them had we not been so low on fuel.
My young pilots were positively bouncing when we landed. Four of them could claim a kill and one a probable. I was astounded. When I told Randolph he did not seem surprised. “I didn’t know it was an Albatros but we had reports of new fighters falling apart in the air. We thought it was sabotage.”
“No, they are just a poorly made aeroplane. Thank God they don’t have many Fokker Triplanes.”
We moved down the line again the next day and did not run into any Germans. It was when we returned that we discovered the reason. The whole of the Red Baron’s Jasta had been on patrol. He had four Jasta under his command, 4, 6, 10 and 11, the Flying Circus. Although only Jasta 11 had the triplane the rest were all equipped with the Fokker D.IV and the Albatros D.IV. They had knocked two squadrons out of the air. Although they were flying SE 5 and DH 4 aeroplanes they were no match for the German formation. Our comrades had paid the price for our success. It was a sombre message to pass along to our young pilots. The Red Baron was back and that meant pilots would die.
Poor weather grounded us until the twenty seventh of October. I had been pleased to see that our young pilots spent their spare time with their mechanics and riggers around the aeroplane. Their encounter with the poorly made Albatros showed them what a fine bus we had. We had learned it was hard to get to know its idiosyncrasies but once you did then it was the best aeroplane in a dogfight. None wanted the faster SE 5. They had learned that our small size and superb aerodynamics more than compensated for the speed.
Randolph waved us over just before dinner. Archie looked down. “Bad news chaps. The Tsar has just been overthrown. The Bolsheviks have taken over the country.”
Gordy asked, “How does that affect us?”
“A number of ways. Remember the French mutiny? Some British units also had a low key rebellion of sorts. This kind of thing can spread. We even heard that some of the Kaiser’s sailors refused to fight, but the real problem is that it means Russia will be out of the war. The Kaiser can move those Divisions to the Western front. The American Army is still coming over and will be nowhere near as big as the army the Russians could field. I am afraid this has lengthened the war by years.”
Everyone was as depressed as I had ever seen them. I struggled for something positive. “I know that it means there will be the Eastern aeroplanes coming over but what do we know about them?”
Randolph brightened, “From what my chum said they have inferior aeroplanes on the Eastern front and yet they still manage to defeat the Russians and in terms of numbers then it will not add many to their Jasta.”
“There you are, the war might go on longer than it should but we have the same problem. How do we defeat the Red Baron and his menace?”
Ted laughed, “Well only you have the answer to that. No one else has given him a run for his money yet.”
I began to fill my pipe. I looked at Archie when it was going. “Then sir, you need to call in all the favours you have and have the Bristols replaced with Camels. If everyone wants the new SE 5 then they might let us have the older Camel.”
“You have that much confidence in it?”
“Yes sir. With Senior Flight Sergeant Lowery’s modifications we are a better aeroplane than the triplane and with our greater endurance we can make sure that Fritz breaks off the fight before we do and if we chase him back to his fields we have more chance of shooting them down.”
Ted shook his head, “You said yourself that they were a bugger to learn how to fly.”
“If these young lads can manage then I don’t think an old goat like you should have any problem.”
Archie nodded, “I will get on to General Henderson. Don’t get your hopes up. I think we will need to get this offensive over first. They will need the Bristols to bomb the German lines.”
Randolph began to write out the request. Archie might well telephone or visit the General but the RFC liked its paperwork. “Let’s hope then, that by January 1918 we are a Camel squadron!”
Chapter 12
A mixture of bad weather and luck meant that we escaped the carnage of some of the other squadrons in the lead up to the Battle of Cambrai. We had a full squadron and, more than that, an experienced squadron. The two days before the battle we pored over the maps and the detailed orders we would have to follow. Sergeant Kenny and his team left on the eighteenth to join the artillery batteries. Ted and Gordy would be responsible for directing the artillery fire as General Henderson had found a spare Camel for Archie. He would be with the Camels and our job was close support. We were told to stay over the battlefield and snuff out any attempt to destroy the tanks. It sounded easy. It was not.
The battle began, well before dawn at six a.m. with a creeping barrage. Perhaps if we had been able to support them earlier on then things might have gone differently; I am not sure. As it was we took off before dawn to join the battle.
The two British Corps, III Corps and IV Corps were supported by four hundred tanks. I had seen them before, of course, but not in such numbers. There were the males with two six pounders and the females which were armed with Lewis guns. It was a strange feeling, knowing that Bert was in one of those metallic leviathans. We flew high. I kept silent as the radio operators only needed to hear the voices of the two observers in the Bristols.
The tanks were not moving quickly; about the pace of a man marching quickly but they were relentlessly eating up the ground. They just tolled over the barbed wire as though it was not there. I could hear the bullets of the German machine guns as they pinged off the thick armour. The danger to the tanks lay in a lucky shell hit. Soon the artillery was raining down on their gun positions. I saw groups of Germans emerge from the trenches and run purposefully towards one of the males. I swooped down and machine gunned them before they could get within grenade or flamethrower range. One of these contained my brother.
As I zoomed up to rejoin my flight I saw the German fighters as they appeared from the east. I knew that our night bombers had done some damage to their fields
which explained their tardy arrival. We did not have the advantage of height but we did have the advantage of speed. I signalled for line abreast and we swept towards them. Shells were exploding all around us but, for once, there was no ground fire. The tanks were the centre of attention. I fixed a Fokker in my sights; they were trying to get to the Bristols and I had a free shot. I remembered the effect of a pair of Vickers machine guns at less than thirty yards and when I fired I almost cut the Fokker in two. I felt something strike my lower wing and saw a line of bullet holes. I pulled up my nose and began to bank at the same time. As I edged to port I saw an inviting tail appear with a perfect cross on the fuselage. I fired. I must have hit some controls because it began to waver up and down. I fired again and it descended. The pilot was trying to land. I admired his optimism. There was not an inch of flat ground beneath us. I rolled to starboard and saw some smaller German artillery pieces. I knew that they could damage the tanks and I flew as low as I dared. I was so low I saw one German officer with a wonderful Franz Joseph moustache. Then I let rip. Had I had bombs, even a Mills bomb, I could have put all six of them out of action. As it was I did not leave one crewmember without a wound to remember me by. It would take some time to bring that battery back into action.
The tanks were crossing the support trenches. I saw a couple of the crew leap out and hurl fascines of wood into the trenches to make the passage easier. Someone had thought this through. And still the tanks rolled on. I banked to starboard to clear a path for them. To my amazement a head popped out from the hatch of a male. I was just fifty feet above him and I saw that it was Bert. I noticed that the tank had a union flag tied to an improvised jack staff. It made my task even more important and I waited until I was almost on the machine gun position before I opened fire. The gun was thrown into the air and the crew destroyed. The six pounder, on our Bert’s tank, flashed as it fired and I saw another machine gun disappear in a shower of H.E.
1918 We will remember them Page 12