1918 We will remember them

by Griiff Hosker

  I kept descending slowly. I wanted them below Freddie and his flight. As soon as I saw the six Camels ahead I levelled out but maintained my course. The leading pilot fired early. I saw Jack begin to move his bus from side to side. It would take a lucky shot at distance to hit him. More importantly it distracted him from the line of six Camels which were diving towards him. I pulled my nose up sharply and banked to port. My flight followed immediately and the move took the Germans by surprise.

  I kept banking so that I could bring my flight into the centre of the German formation. With Freddie’s flight cutting off their escape east we had our best chance to make a killing. The third Fokker in the line was desperately pulling his nose around to align his sights on me. I managed my turn first and I gave a short burst. I hit one of his wings. His turn took him from my sights but directly into the sights of Lieutenant Jenkin who riddled the Fokker with a burst. It began to smoke and turned east. George followed him.

  We had practised this and I knew that Lieutenant Fox, my new pilot, would tuck in behind me. There would be a gap but I knew I would have support. I kept my turn going and saw the tail of the second Fokker hove into view. I fired and hit his tail. He twisted to port. I had expected that, for port would take him east. I continued my turn. He was better at turning and I only hit him with a handful of bullets but he was hit. As we came around I saw Freddie’s flight swarming all over the last two Fokkers. They had hit one for I saw it plummeting to earth. The leader had had enough and was heading home. My target twisted and turned. I kept hitting him but I failed to do enough damage to bring him down. I checked my fuel gauge and saw that I was down to a quarter of a tank. I turned for home. Two Fokkers escaped but the rest found a grave in No Man’s Land.

  “Well done, sir. That was brilliant the way you took the Germans towards the captain.”

  “It made sense Mr Fox. Six to six might have meant we shot down fewer and we may have lost a couple ourselves. Two to one is better if you can manage it.”

  The young lieutenant looked disappointed. “I thought the war in the air was supposed to be noble.”

  I stared at him, remembering the fiery death that Charlie Sharp had suffered, “There is nothing noble about this war! Get that idea out of your head now! Our job is to shoot down as many Germans as we can manage and to survive the war! Understood?”

  He recoiled in the face of my anger, “Yes sir.”

  As I strode towards the office I noticed Jack walk towards him. He would explain my venom. There had been a time when I might have been gentler. I had lost too many friends for gentleness now. I wanted all of my young men to survive.

  “So the intelligence was correct for once. They have fitted out their Jastas with triplanes.”

  “Yes. We were just lucky that it was a small patrol. I don’t think we will be as lucky the next time.”

  Archie nodded, “Still four Fokkers destroyed in one action is pretty good going. Well done, Bill.”

  “It wasn’t me who got them it was Freddie and my flight.”

  “You are the leader. If you weren’t up there then they might have had less success.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe that for a moment.”

  The next day Bates handed me the flask of soup. “Here you are sir. Piping hot soup.”

  “What kind is it?”

  “Best not to ask, sir. Probably the leftovers from a few days ago. Still it is hot.”

  We had the same patrol area. As we climbed into the skies over No Man’s Land the burnt out Fokkers were a stark reminder of how close death and destruction lay.

  I kept a wary eye east but saw nothing and I was beginning to think that it would be a dull day when I saw Freddie’s flight coming towards us. Behind him, some half a mile distant, were six Fokkers. I began to climb. As I did so my eyes were drawn to the cloud cover which was a little lower than it had been the previous day. I caught a brief glimpse of an undercarriage and a wing. It had to be Germans. I increased my angle of ascent and my speed. There was no signal I could give to warn Freddie to the danger he was in. I only had one option. I opened fire. Waggling my wings I signalled for my flight to return home. I waited until they began to peel off. I knew that they would think that Major Harsker had finally cracked but I knew the Germans. When they laid a trap it was usually lethal.

  Suddenly eighteen Fokkers descended like a flock of vengeful Valkyrie. I saw that five of the Fokkers had joined those chasing Johnny and were swooping down on him. He would have no chance. I banked to starboard and did the only thing possible: I flew into the heart of the formation. My hope was that I would disrupt them. I did not think they would be able to fire at me for fear of hitting their comrades and the biggest danger would be a collision. I had to pray that my reactions were quick enough.

  I opened fire at a hundred yards and, as I swept in from their flank, kept firing. Hopefully I would hit something. I felt the wind from the Fokker, which had to pull its nose up to avoid a collision with me. I was so close I could see where the painter had missed a bit. The pilot then had to swerve to avoid a head on collision with a colleague.

  I heard the sound of multiple Spandaus. Looking to my right I saw Johnny swerving from side to side as he tried to throw off the aim of the two triplanes which were on his tail. I banked to starboard and fired as I did so. I hit one in the tail and it banked to port. As my nose came around the tail of the Fokker appeared just feet before me. I pulled the trigger and braced myself for the impact of the crash. I was so close that I severed the tail and the nose heavy Fokker fell. Johnny waved and banked to port.

  The sense of relief I had was short lived as I felt the judder of parabellums in my tail. I tried to bank to starboard but the controls were sluggish. From my left came a double judder and bullets poured into my engine. I dipped the nose. I had to get down as quickly as possible. As I looked in my mirror I saw five Fokkers lining up to hit me. I tried to jink from side to side and up and down but I was so sluggish that I was hit more than missed. As the propeller stopped smoke began to pour from my engine. I fought to keep her level but it was hard. The ground was racing towards me and still my Camel took the punishment from the Fokkers. I was paying the price for spoiling their party.

  As I raced towards the British lines I found that the Camel wanted to turn right. Ahead of me I saw a burnt out farmhouse and a half shredded barn with the remnants of a hedgerow between. I was so close to the ground that the Germans were forced to pull up and the deadly punishment ceased. I had almost no control but I knew that if I let go of the stick then I was dead and I had to hang on as long as possible. I saw the barn looming up and knew that I was going to hit it. I braced myself. Perhaps the Camel tried to save me for, at the last minute it veered to port a little and I hit what had been the door. The wings were torn off and then the undercarriage hit something and I was flung into the air. My seat belt had given way. I thudded into the far wall of the barn and then all went black.

  Chapter 17

  When I came to I could smell burning. I saw that the Camel was smouldering. I tried to struggle to my feet but my left leg would not bear the weight. Suddenly a sheet of flame leapt up as something inflammable caught fire. I dived and rolled out of the opening my bus had made. The ground fell away sharply and that saved my life as my Camel and the barn erupted in a huge sheet of fire. The concussion of the explosion made it hard to breathe. I rolled further down the bank and found myself nestling in a ditch close to some shredded bushes. The pall of smoke from the fire rose high in the sky. I daresay pilots on both sides would be reporting my death- again!

  I forced myself into an upright position and took stock. I always kept certain items in the flying coat: whisky flask, compass, three bandages, spare ammunition for the Luger and the Webley, a spare pipe and some tobacco. Thanks to Bates I also had a flask of soup. Miraculously it had survived. My first task was to ascertain my wound. I rolled my left trouser leg up. It was easy as it was split along its length. I saw blood oozing from the woun
d which was there. The fact that it was oozing and not spurting told me it was not an artery. There was some rain water in the bottom of the ditch. I fished some out in my goggles and then soaked my scarf. I sponged away the blood. I was intrigued as to what I would find beneath the blood. A long, thick splinter of wood from the barn wall had been forced into my shin, calf muscle and, from the pain, into my knee. As I sponged away the blood I felt shivers of pain in my left knee each time I touched it. It did not fill me with confidence.

  I started to pull the splinter out. I nearly passed out with the pain. That was no good. I took out my jack knife and poured a little whisky on the blade to sterilise it. I also took a mouthful of the whisky; I felt I had earned it. The warming malt made me feel better. I took the knife, which Bates kept sharp for me, and I slowly cut up the skin which covered the splinter. Luckily it was not in too deep and I did not have to cut very far. When I reached the top of the calf I stopped. There was little point in hamstringing myself. I tried to pull the splinter out again. It was less painful but the offending piece of wood was reluctant to come out. I was about to give up when one last tug brought it free. The blood began to flow freely and I jammed the soaked scarf next to it to stem the flow.

  I put the splinter to one side and had another sip of whisky. I wiped the wound with the scarf and then dripped the whisky over the wound. The pain was excruciating but I gritted my teeth. I had to clean the wound. Holding the flask in my teeth I bandaged myself. I had three such dressings and I knew that I would have to replace it some time.

  That done I put the top back in the flask and slipped it into my pocket. I drank half of the soup and felt better. I also felt sleepy and knew that was the last thing I should do. I was in No Man’s Land. My best chance of reaching the British lines was to do so in daylight. At night twitchy sentries would be more likely to shoot first and ask questions later. The barn was still burning. I picked up the splinter. It was a sizeable piece of wood but when I looked at it I saw that the end had broken off. I still had a piece of wood in my leg. I touched my knee and it was tender to the touch. I now knew where the broken splinter resided.

  I fished out the compass and worked out where our lines were. That done, I checked that both my pistols were loaded and in working order. I jammed my goggles and my helmet in one of the pockets in my coat. Using the stumps of the trees I pulled myself up. I tried to put weight on my left leg and I nearly passed out with the pain. I rested against the broken hedge and looked around. The Camel had burnt and I could not see anything which I could use as a crutch or a stick. I saw that, not ten yards away was a brown uniform. It was a body. I hoped along the ditch until I reached it. I held on to the hedge with my right hand while I pulled up the body by the webbing. It came away really easily and I saw, to my horror that it was just the top half of a body. I laid it gently on the bank. It was a young soldier. He only looked about eighteen although his body was decomposing and it was hard to tell. I saw that, in the water at the bottom of the ditch, there was his rifle. I prayed that it was whole. I reached down to pull it out. I caught my left knee and I was convulsed with paroxysms of pain. I persevered and pulled out the rifle. It was whole. I ejected the bullet that was in the spout. I was in enough trouble without shooting my own foot off.

  I put the rifle, barrel down and tried to take my weight on it. The muddy bank made it sink a little but it held. I was about to start to move west when I stopped. I turned to the young dead soldier and removed his identity tags as carefully as I could. If I made it home then here would be one soldier who would not be missing in action. I saw that he was Private John Lane of the 1st Battalion 6th Gordon Highlanders. I remembered that they had taken part in the Battle of Cambrai. He and Bert might have died on the same day. Pocketing the tags I began to limp west.

  The ditch was too wet and I forced myself to climb the bank. It was not easy and I was bathed in sweat when I reached the top. The fierce fire had almost burned out but the smoke hid me from the Germans. They had not come to investigate. The conflagration must have convinced them that I was dead.

  I prayed that the soldiers ahead would not be trigger happy. I saw that there were lines of barbed wire before me but I also knew that they would not be continuous. The men who laid them left gaps so that they could make forays at night. It was another reason why I had to move in daylight. I needed to see where the gaps where. I began to move down one line of wire. After sixty yards I found a small gap and slipped through. It was now a lottery. I chose left. Thirty yards later I found another gap and so it went. I could see the British lines or at least sandbags which indicated a defended position. It was more than three hundred yards away. I glanced at the sun. I had less than two hours daylight left. It had taken me an hour to move fifty yards to the west. I had travelled more than two hundred yards but that was up and down the wire. I had travelled further north and south than west.

  An hour later and I stopped. I was exhausted and my leg was in agony. I took out my flask and drank some. I could feel blood dripping down my leg but I dare not stop to repair the dressing. Darkness was falling and I dreaded being shot by my own men. I realised that I had walked over a hundred yards and found no gap. Perhaps there were no more gaps. How would I get across?

  Suddenly I heard, “Halt or I fire. Put up your hands! Hands Hoch, Fritz!”

  I held up my right arm.

  “Both of them or I will shoot.”

  “I am Major William Harsker of the Royal Flying Corps and I need my left hand to hold the rifle I am using as a crutch.”

  There was silence. Then another voice said, “Stay there and don’t move.”

  Four heads peered over the top of the trench and the four soldiers ran towards me. They halted just ten yards away and I saw then that there was a removable piece of barbed wire.

  One of the soldiers said, “It is him sarge I recognise him.” The young soldier grinned at me. “You are Bert’s brother. I met you in Amiens.”

  “Right Radcliffe let’s leave the pleasantries until we get the officer back. Give him a hand.”

  One took the rifle and the soldier called Radcliffe put his arm around my back and took the weight off my injured leg. Another soldier did the same on the right. It was such a relief when I did not have to move myself.

  “How is Bert? I haven’t seen him since I transferred.”

  “He was killed at Cambrai.”

  “I am sorry. He was a good bloke.”

  They lowered me into the trench and the sergeant shouted, “Stretcher bearer!” He offered me a cigarette but I shook my head. “Were you in that aeroplane that crashed?” I nodded, “We thought you were a goner. You were bloody lucky, sir.”

  “I know. Believe me, sergeant, I know.”

  I filled my pipe as we waited for the stretcher bearers. Two cheerful young men arrived. They looked at me in surprise. “Blooming heck! A flier!” He looked to the heavens. “Did you just drop from the skies sir?”

  The sergeant shook his head, “This is what we are down to sir. Dozy buggers like this. Get this wounded officer to the first aid station and be bloody quick about it. He is wounded.” He nodded to me, “And in case you hadn’t noticed he has a VC so this a hero.” The sergeant saluted, “Proud to have been able to help sir.”

  I nodded, “Thank your lads for me eh, Sarn’t.” As they began to lift me I remembered the identity tags. “I found these on a soldier out there. His family should know.”

  “Thank you, sir. You can leave them safely with me.”

  The two young men were strong and they jogged down the trenches. I saw why it had taken them so long. They twisted and turned every few yards. Finally we reached a dugout where a white coated doctor waited for me.

  “Now then Major, what have we done?”

  I pointed to my knee which now hurt far worse than when I had been hobbling. I could see that it was swelling, almost while I watched. “I had a splinter in my leg. I got it out and bandaged it but...”

  He frowned and rolled
up my trouser leg. He cut away the bandage and sniffed. He chuckled, “Good use of antiseptic Major. I take it you took some internally too?”

  I nodded, “It seemed to help.”

  He quickly swabbed my leg and then applied a bandage far tighter than I had done I winced with the pain. “You need a major hospital for this. I do not intend to go poking around in the trenches. I could do more harm than good. Orderlies.”The two soldiers reappeared. “Get this officer to the base hospital at Amiens and be quick about it.” He looked at me as they loaded me on the stretcher. “I have a feeling, major, that your war is over now.”

  My heart sank. I had to be there at the end. Who would lead my boys if I were not there?

  The doctor had given me a draught to drink. As the ambulance headed west I slowly drifted off into sleep. When I awoke I was in a bed with clean sheets and a smiling nurse peering over me. “Ah you are awake, Major Harsker.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Well at the moment you are in Amiens but within the hour we shall whisk you off to Blighty.” She smiled. “I think your war is over.”

  “My leg?”

  “Oh it is still there,” I noticed she had a Scottish burr, “but the doctors here are a wee bit concerned about a possible infection. They got out the wee piece of nasty wood that was causing you trouble but the kneecap is giving them some concern. Don’t you worry Major, for an officer with a VC and an MC you have no need to worry. You have done your duty already