1918 We will remember them

by Griiff Hosker

  He stiffened to attention and said, with a smile on his face, “Yes sir!”

  The French began their own advance in the south and soon, they too, along with the Americans were driving the Germans back to the Hindenburg line. Their Spring Offensive had backfired. They had lost all the ground they had gained and far more troops than we had. Their army was bleeding to death and there was no one to staunch the wound.

  We, too, were suffering. Two flights a day took it out of the pilots and the Camels. Even the new pilots were exhausted whilst those who had not had a leave since February looked like walking skeletons. There were many petty arguments and we were in great danger of losing our esprit de corps.

  Archie called his flight commanders into his office on the evening of the twenty fourth of August. “Look laddies, we have to go up again tomorrow. Arras this time. We need to lift the men’s spirits. Any ideas?”

  “Sir, when we stand down again how about a party. If we tell the chaps now it will give them something to look forward to.”

  “Good idea, Freddie.”

  “I will get Bates to go into Amiens and get some decent wine and some cheese. Make it special.”

  “That’s the spirit Bill. I have seen this before. The lads are like a piece of steel it is tough but one more bit of pressure and it could snap. I thought that when the Fox thing was sorted out that everything would be hunky dory but I was wrong.”

  Randolph tapped out his pipe on the ashtray. “They are exhausted sir and exhausted men bite too easily. Perhaps if we were less snappy in the mess…”

  Archie glared at Randolph, “Do you mean me, Captain?”

  No one said a word but we all remembered the way he had dealt with Lieutenant Fox. Archie was a good man at heart and I saw him gradually subside as he realised that what we were saying was true. “Aye it might be true. I wonder if the fact that this war seems to be drawing to a close is making me demob happy. You might be right. Aye well, I shall be a happy chappie in the mess from now on. I might even wear my kilt!”

  Ted shook his head, “No need to go so far sir. A smile will do! I am not certain I could cope with your bare legs!”

  As we moved east to clear the skies of the Germans again we noticed the heavy ordnance being moved forward. There was purpose on the ground below us. We had been briefed to press as far to the east as our fuel would safely take us. It was a provocative move intended to make the Germans come from their fields to attack us. What we had seen was the lack of ground fire. Perhaps Intelligence was right and the Germans were not just running out of fuel but also ammunition. We all began to believe that there was a chance that this war might be over by 1919. I might see my child before he started walking.

  German fighters were summoned when we neared Cambrai. We saw stiffened defences around this town which guarded the approaches to the railway which was so vital to the Germans. We had no doubt that it had been repaired since our raid. The proximity of the aeroplanes and the guns which ringed the town were testament to that.

  Having flown so far we only had a short time over the town and so we were profligate with our bullets. We could afford to fire at range. We had the luxury of plentiful fuel; the Germans did not. We still had yet to see vast numbers of the new German aeroplanes and we faced the usual eclectic mix of fighters. I fired at a hundred yards range and I flew directly at the Albatros I chose to attack. He was conserving his bullets and he held his fire until he was much closer. Wally’s bullets poured into him before he had fired a couple of rounds. He peeled off with a smoking engine. I banked to starboard and gave a long burst at the old Fokker D.II. The .303 tore through his struts and into the fuselage. Something must have been damaged for it began to fall to earth as the pilot struggled to control it.

  We were not getting all our own way however and I saw Lieutenant Garrington tumble to the ground. It looked like he would land but he would be a prisoner. I emptied my guns at the last Albatros in the line and he took flight east. He must have realised that there were ten other Vickers machine guns coming his way.

  After two more days of such fighting the ground forces were almost at the Hindenburg line and we had time for a party as we were stood down. The Germans were reeling from attacks which had begun at the start of August. Now as August drew to a close we had regained all the land we had lost in the Spring Offensive and more. More importantly we had barely lost either men on the ground or aeroplanes in the air. Every day, as we returned to our field we saw lines of prisoners being led west.

  The mess sergeants enjoyed organising the food for the party. It was something different and they knew that there would always be a surplus for them. As Bates laid out my dress uniform he commented, “This was a good idea, Major. I had noticed many of the young gentlemen having a hangdog look of late. This will reinvigorate them.”

  Bates was the most wonderful observer of human behaviour. He was like the squadron barometer and I had learned to listen to him whenever possible.

  He coughed discreetly and asked, “Has Lieutenant Fox’s dilemma been solved, sir?”

  “Dilemma?” I cocked an eyebrow.

  Bates looked a little embarrassed, “Sir, it is no secret that he married and his young lady was taken away from him. Everyone saw the change in him. Why I even heard that he and Lieutenant Fall had an exchange of views.”

  I smiled at the euphemism, “Yes Bates, the dilemma has been temporarily solved.” I knew that he would receive a letter from my mother soon and then the cat would truly be out of the bag. “If you must know Lieutenant Fox’s wife is staying at the cottage in Burscough with my wife and mother so you can put your mind to rest. She will be well looked after.”

  He beamed, “Oh sir, you are like Solomon. You can solve the most difficult of problems!”

  I shook my head and left for the party. I was not in the mood for a party and I stayed on the sidelines so to speak and observed them all. Part of it was sadness. The last party we had held had been some time ago and Charlie had still been alive. He had been the life and soul of the party entertaining all with his ribald music hall songs. I had even sung one myself when testing the radio with Sergeant Kenny. Would I have the spectre of Charlie’s memory hanging over me each time we had a party? Would it spoil the chance of silly fun in the future? As the young officers, some of whom I did not know yet, horsed around I saw the other pilots whom I had flown with; the ones who would fly no more. They had been full of life and they had partied like there was no tomorrow; for many there had been no tomorrow. I sipped my whisky, smoked my pipe and I remembered them.

  I did not notice Archie sidle up to me. “What’s the matter Bill? You were all for this and it is a great success.”

  “Just thinking of Charlie and the ones who are dead sir.”

  He nodded and began to fill his pipe. “I have been in uniform since before the South African wars. Not always in the Corps you understand but I was like you once. I had young friends who died. Then when I became a more senior officer I led those men and ordered many to their deaths. I know what is going through your mind. You have to resolve to get through it and honour them in peacetime by being better than you were when you came into the war. You will have to live your life for your dead comrades who cannot. It is a great burden and a great responsibility.”

  He lit his pipe and I sipped my whisky, “But worth it.”

  “Oh yes, Bill, worth it.” He tapped his head, “Every friend and officer I left live in here with me. I use them to judge my actions.”

  “Thank you, sir. I have a clear mind now.”

  “And you shall need it, Bill. Tomorrow we begin to push Fritz back to Germany and I do not think he will go quietly. Keep your young pilots on their toes for they will need to be sharper tomorrow than in the weeks leading up to this.”

  The orders were clear. We were to clear the skies around Cambrai. As we headed east and north we saw the columns of brown heading to the support trenches and the supplies being laid in for the next assault. It seemed to me w
e were playing leapfrog. One Corps attacked and held while another prepared for the next assault. It was wearing the Germans down.

  Flying high I realised that this was the fifth September of the war. I had been barely more than a boy when I had ridden across Flanders on the back of my mount, Caesar. What a change had been wrought. I wondered how many remained of the ones who had gone to war in September 1914 so full of hope. It terrified me that I could barely remember their names. I wondered about their undone years. Would they have gone to war with their caps set at such a jaunty angle if they had known the result? I suspect so. That was the calibre of the men who went to war all those years ago.

  My reverie was cut short when I saw the twenty Fokkers flying in fingers of five and heading for us. The party was over and the war had come knocking once again.

  They were the D.VII and a new bus we later learned was the SSW D.IV. A smaller aeroplane than the Fokker, this would be our first encounter with it. I was in the middle and I headed for the pilot of the purple Fokker. I checked in my mirror that Wally was in position. He had flown with me long enough to be able to react to my moves and to anticipate what I might do. I knew that I still surprised him from time to time but that day I made what was for Wally, a predictable move. I dipped my nose and, as the German snap fired brought up my nose to fire at the Fokker. Knowing my move Wally fired at the same time as I did and we hit both the propeller and the engine. I continued my climb and rose to meet the smaller aeroplane we later discovered was the SSW. It, too, had the twin Spandau and I felt the bullets rip into my top wing. I held my fire and suffered even more hits. I fired at thirty feet, just before we would have crashed had not my bullets torn into the side of the cockpit and he plunged to earth.

  His wing man began to climb away. I found, to my great relief, that the SSW had a poor rate of climb and I began to catch him. I fired at twenty yards and hit his tail. He twisted and turned as he descended. They were a very agile bus and it kept twisting from my sights. I followed him as long as I could and kept hitting him with bursts from my Vickers but the SSW was a difficult bus to bring down and my fuel gauge told me to head on home.

  I saw a Camel being pursued towards me by two Fokkers. He was under fire and his engine was smoking. As we closed I saw that it was one of my flight, Roger Stuart. He had grown into a competent pilot but two Fokkers would be too much for him. I did not know how much ammunition I had left. I would need to be careful. I flew directly for Roger and hoped that he would know my moves. As we closed with each other I dipped my nose slightly. He knew what I was about and he dipped his so that, when I rose I had the closest Fokker just forty feet from me. I gave a short burst from my Vickers. I had taken the Hun by surprise and I saw smoke from his engine. The second Fokker opened fire and I felt the bullets as they hit my struts. Knowing I had few bullets left I flew directly at him. He blinked first and as he climbed I riddled his undercarriage with the last of my .303. He rolled away east.

  I glanced over the side of my Camel and saw Roger heading along the ground. He was smoking heavily and I was not certain he would be able to make Doyle Field. I did not have enough fuel to watch over him and I waved as I left him.

  Flying on fumes I landed my damaged bus. I was the last to return. “Mr Stuart will need some assistance when he lands Flight. He was badly shot up.”

  “Sir.” Sergeant Lowery put his fist through one of the holes in my wing. “A bit like you eh sir?”

  The office was like a funeral parlour. After I had made my report I soon learned that two officers had been killed, Wood and Newton. “How about you Bill?”

  “Just waiting for Stuart. He was badly shot up. He might have to crash land.”

  Randolph nodded as Archie pushed over the whisky. “It has been a black day all over. The SE 5s lost five today. The Germans have brought new buses to the front and they are faster than what we have.”

  “How many did we get?”

  “It looks like three kills and five damaged.” He looked at me. “You say you damaged two of the D.VII when you helped Stuart?” I nodded, “Then that makes seven damaged.”

  We spent some time talking about the new SSW and the telephone rang. Randolph looked up. “That was the Australians. Roger Stuart was killed by ground fire. They recovered his body but he was already dead. Sorry Bill.”

  Every loss was a bad one but my flight had been together for some time and I had had the foolish dream that we would all survive the war. I stood, “I’ll go and tell the lads.”

  My flight were in the mess happily miming their actions and talking of their successes. My face must have warned them for they all watched me intently and in silence. “Roger Stuart was shot down today by ground fire. He is dead.”

  Their euphoria evaporated like a morning mist; they looked like a deflated barrage balloon.

  “Listen lads we have to watch out for each other. I found Roger all alone and being chased by two Fokkers. There are four of you left. Jack you watch Ralph’s back and David you watch Wally’s. Stick like glue to each other.”

  Jack said, quietly, “And what about you sir? Who will watch your back?”

  I shook my head and said, “Every pilot who has ever flown with me and is now in the great mess in the sky. I have dozens to watch over me.”

  Chapter 29

  That first day was a foretaste of what would come. It became known as Black September. More pilots and crews died that month than any other month in the war. Even Bloody April in 1915 was not as bad. The squadron came within a whisker of a breakdown. That was a couple of weeks down the road. We put the bad day down to bad luck and when we heard that the French had begun to advance in the south, and an air of optimism returned. We even had a day without seeing a German aeroplane. We saw a steady trickle of German prisoners heading west. We watched our front line creeping slowly forward as the pressure mounted.

  September the third saw us to the south of Cambrai. The French were advancing and we were asked to support the American fighters operating in that region. We were without the SE 5s. We had become used to seeing them on our wing. That may have been an omen.

  Freddie was the only one of us with a full flight and he took the lead. I was slightly astern of him. As we approached our patrol area we saw a formation of Fokkers attacking some SPADs of the 27th American Squadron. This was a large formation of Germans. It looked like the old Jasta I. The Red Baron might have gone but his influence still remained. Freddie led us down towards the dogfight. I lined my Camel up on the bright yellow and red triplane. I was surprised they hadn’t changed to the D.VII but I knew that if he was in Jasta I he would be a good pilot.

  He was firing at a SPAD which was twisting and turning to evade the deadly bullets. I noticed the American squadron had an eagle insignia. It seemed it was just the Royal Air Force which liked a plain livery. I could not afford to wait too long to fire as the German was scoring too many hits. The SPAD was a robust aeroplane but there was a limit to the damage it could take.

  I fired at a hundred yards and I banked right as soon as I had scored my first hits. I knew that Wally would cover a move to port. I was lucky. He banked and climbed to starboard and flew directly into my gun sights. I hit his wing and then the cockpit. He spiralled to earth. I saw a hand waved from the American as he too headed home. Wally and Lieutenant Dundas had headed to port. I sighed with relief. They were heeding my orders and flying as a pair. It left me alone.

  I looked for another German and saw a D.VII. This one was firing at Gordy. Gordy knew how to fly and he was banking, climbing and diving in an attempt to shake off his pursuer. I dived to catch them. Gordy’s manoeuvres made it hard for me to get the German into my sights. I had to be patient. I checked my mirror and saw that I was still alone. No one was trying a sneak attack on me. Suddenly Gordy made a mistake. He banked to port and tried to climb at the same time. Normally that would have worked but the Fokker was also banking to port. Gordy had flown port then starboard and then port too many times. The German antic
ipated the move. I saw the bullets thump into the cockpit and Gordy juddered. I had waited too long.

  The German’s move had given me a sight of his tail and I fired. I was lucky and I hit it. I saw him looking around for the danger. He banked to port and I watched Gordy as he recovered enough to head west. He was alive. I banked to port too. The German bus was slightly faster in the dive than I was. As I came around I fired again and, again, hit his tail. Even before he did I began to climb and bank to starboard. It is what I would have done in his situation. His tail was suffering too much. He would still be able to turn but it would be sluggish. As I corrected my turn his fuselage came into view and I gave a long burst. I was less than one hundred feet from him and the bullets hit both his struts and his fuselage. I saw that we were under a thousand feet above the earth. It sounds a lot but when you are flying at over a hundred and twenty miles an hour it is not.

  He pulled his nose up. He rose but it was slower than he would have liked. I maintained my dive to gain speed and then I pulled up my nose when I was less than two hundred feet from the ground. I arrowed my Camel towards the underside of his Fokker. He was like a giant cross above me. I knew that he could not see me. He would be looking desperately for me in his mirror. I had the luxury of being able to wait until I could not miss. I fired at a point where the wings met the fuselage. It would be close to his cockpit and his tank. I hit both and the Fokker exploded throwing my Camel to starboard and the ground. I had to fight my aeroplane. My knee was aching from the use of the ailerons and I wondered if the tip of my wing would catch the ground. Someone was watching over me for the Camel righted herself and I was flying level. I scanned the skies and saw that I was alone. I turned west and headed home. That had been as close to a fatal crash as I come since I had crashed near to Cambrai.

  The field showed that we had been hurt. If I was the last to return then we had lost another Camel. The skies behind me had been empty as I had headed home. I saw that Gordy’s bus had landed but it looked a mess. When I came to a halt Ted ran over to me.