When one seasoned fighter pilot says that about another, he confirms the good sense of Fonck’s principles.
These sentiments were an endorsement of Manfred’s declaration that a pilot who chased an adversary deep into enemy territory or in any other way took unnecessary risks was likely to be killed early in his career. He was less useful to his country than a prudent pilot who, although he fought boldly, knew when to abandon a fight and would live to shoot down many more of the enemy.
*
Maggiore Francesco Baracca, with thirty-six victories the leading ace of Italy’s Aeronautica Militare, was twenty-three when Italy entered the war on the Allied side. He was a regular officer who had transferred from the cavalry in 1912. With several other Italian officers he did his pilot training at the Reims flying school, where his instructor reported, ‘He has sensibility, sharp sight, control over the nerves. He is undoubtedly a first-class pupil, the best of the Italian party.’ Two days before Italy declared war, he and five other pilots were sent to France for instruction on the Nieuport-Macchi (Nieuport 10 manufactured under licence by Macchi). On 19 July 1915 he joined No 1 Fighter Squadron. During the next four months he was in action three times; unsuccessfully, because his gun jammed during each fight. This was not its only defect, as his diary shows: ‘My machine-gun is a new weapon. We do not know it well and the fault is to some extent ours. It is badly placed in the aeroplane and to shoot is a very acrobatic business, and I lost faith in being able to do anything.’
By the end of March 1916 the Italian air force strength was seven Caproni bomber squadrons, two Voisin and eight Farman reconnaissance squadrons, five Caudron and two Farman artillery observation squadrons, one seaplane squadron and five fighter squadrons. This was meagre in comparison with Britain, France and Germany. The official history informs us, with Latin embellishment, ‘The fighters were born in the spring of 1916. They were given their baptism of glory by Captain Francesco Baracca, who initiated his series of victories by bringing down two aeroplanes adorned with the enemy’s insignia of the black cross, in the sky above Medeuzza.’
Italian aircraft bore red, white and green roundels; the Austrian, a black cross and broad red-white-red stripes on the wingtips and fuselage.
At first light, 4 a.m., No. 1 Squadron’s fighters took off to intercept enemy bombers that were under anti-aircraft fire and searchlight illumination, climbed to 2,000 metres and dispersed to operate singly. In a letter to his family, Baracca described events. ‘I saw above me the big wings of an Aviatik [BIII, which did not handle well and was known as “the rocking chair”, but had a machine-gun for the observer]. He was going fast [about 70 mph] and I gradually gained on him. When he climbed, I increased speed. Drawing close, I had begun a most difficult manoeuvre to protect me from his shots. I saw the machine-gunner aiming in one direction and I veered in another, then vice versa. This game continued for several minutes until I was positioned fifty metres behind his tail at a height of about 3,000 metres. Then, in an instant, I aimed and fired 45 rounds. A moment later the enemy swerved heavily to one side and was thrown almost vertical.’
The twenty-four-year-old pilot of the Aviatik was wounded in the head, the petrol tank was riddled, the observer had slumped over his gun, screaming and shedding blood, but the pilot made a controlled landing in a field. Baracca landed near him and was hoisted shoulder-high by Italian soldiers.
Baracca scored again on 16 May, 23 August and 16 September. He did not shoot down a fifth and qualify as an ace until 11 February 1917, which shows how small the scale of air fighting on the Italian/Austro-Hungarian Front was compared with France.
His method of attack when he met an enemy formation was to select the aircraft that was worst placed for protection by the others’ guns. He would then make climbing turns until high enough to launch an attack and hold his fire until he had closed the range to between twenty and fifty metres.
Early in June, with thirteen victories to his credit, he took command of No. 91, ‘the aces’ squadron’, flying the Spad. Other future high scorers serving under him were Tenente Flavio Baracchini, who shot down twenty-one, another lieutenant, Prince Rufo di Calabria, whose final total was twenty, and Lieutenant Ranza, who achieved seventeen.
The second-highest Italian scorer was Tenente Silvio Scaroni, with twenty-six, Maggiore Pier Ruggiero Piccio was next with twenty-four.
On 19 June 1918, Baracca was killed while strafing trenches with two other pilots. Piccio was shot down and taken prisoner on 27 October 1918.
A report by the Austrian Second Army obtained by the Italians at the end of the war, says, ‘The superiority of the enemy’s aeroplanes is indisputable, both in numbers and quality. The opinion of our troops and our High Command is that the enemy flyers were bold, reckless and resolute, with a rare offensive spirit.’
In addition to the five most successful fighter pilots, there were two who scored seventeen, one with twelve and two with eleven victories. Six had eight victories, five had seven, ten had six, seven scored five each.
The total number of Austro-Hungarian aircraft shot down in 1915 was six; in 1916, forty-eight. During November and December 1917, four RFC squadrons arrived in Italy: Nos 28, 66 and 45, all flying Camels, and 34 with RE8s. Between 29 November and 31 December they shot down fourteen hostiles out of a total 231. The following year the RFC and Italian air force together brought down 647. Austria-Hungary’s victories were two in 1915, fifteen in 1916, fifty-five in 1917 and thirty-two in 1918.
The outstanding RFC pilot fighting in Italy was Captain (later Major) William Barker VC, DSO, MC, a Canadian in 28 Squadron. He had been a high scorer in France, returned there in June 1918 and ended the war with fifty-three victories.
The Italians did not contribute anything significant to the advancement of fighter tactics, but the enemy’s estimation of them was well merited.
*
Although the United States of America did not enter the Great War until 6 April 1917, American fighter pilots had been serving in L’Aviation Militaire since 1916. Soon after the war began, Norman Prince, a private pilot, had arrived in France to form a volunteer American squadron. With the help of Dr Edmund Gros, who had formed the American Ambulance Service, and the millionaire William Vanderbilt, Americans who had already joined the French Army were recruited. The unit was not formed until 16 April 1916, under a French commanding officer, Capitaine Georges Thénault, and second-in-command, Lieutenant de Laage de Meux, with seven American pilots, one of whom, Bert Hall, was already in L’Aviation Militaire. They were provided with Nieuport 11s and given the number N124. The squadron was originally called L’Escadrille Americaine, but the Germans objected because the USA was neutral, so the name was changed to Lafayette. It fought with distinction but was disbanded on 18 February 1918 and the American pilots were transferred to the United States Air Service.
Some Americans were serving in the RFC or RNAS. The most successful of these were W.C. Lambert, who shot down twenty-four enemy aircraft, S.W. Rosevear with a score of twenty-three and three pilots who each had twenty: J. J. Malone, F. W. Gillette and G.A. Vaughan. None of these transferred to the United States Air Service.
One of the former Lafayette members, Raoul Lufbery, was appointed commander of the 94th Pursuit Squadron. He became the USAS’s third-highest scorer, with seventeen victories. The second highest, who had not flown with the French, was Frank Luke, who scored twenty-one. The top American ace was Edward Rickenbacker, who began learning to fly in January 1918. He shot down twenty-six aeroplanes and balloons between 29 April and the armistice on 11 November that year. It was a remarkable achievement to take out his first enemy aircraft after only four months’ flying experience, when they were much harder to hit than ever. To amass a total twenty-six in a trifle over six months, with less than a year’s flying experience, needed phenomenal natural talent. Rickenbacker had been a champion motor racing driver, which meant that he had excellent reflexes, an essential factor in his temporary occupation of fighter pi
lot.
CHAPTER 13 - A REST, THEN MANFRED RETURNS TO THE FRONT
The honours lavished on Manfred during his leave far surpassed those accorded to the heroes of any other nation. For the British and members of the Empire armed forces, the summit of recognition was an invitation to an investiture at Buckingham Palace, when King George V pinned medals on tunics and uttered brief congratulations, without a handshake. In France and Italy such ceremonies were marked by laudatory speeches and kisses on both cheeks. In Germany the bestowal of decorations was normally as simple as in Britain.
When Manfred went on leave on May Day 1917, it was at his monarch’s orders. Told not to fly himself to Bad Kreuznach, where Supreme Headquarters was situated, he flew as passenger in a two-seater piloted by Leutnant Krefft, who was going on sick leave. Even of this, the Kaiser and his Staff would not have approved: he had been told to travel by train, but time did not allow.
They landed at Cologne for lunch, where a crowd waited to welcome Manfred, and arrived at their destination that evening to another enthusiastic reception. Manfred was taken to meet General von Hoeppner, Commander of the Luftstreitkräfte. He also met the Prince of Pless, who invited him to hunt bison. Next day, his twenty-fifth birthday, he lunched with the Kaiser, who congratulated him on his fifty-two victories and gave him a present, a bronze and marble bust of His Majesty. He also urged him to take care of himself and asked his ADC why Manfred was still flying. The answer was that he was needed not only as an example to others but also for his own prolific contribution to the destruction of enemy aircraft and the men in them. After lunch the Kaiser spent half an hour in conversation with his guest of honour. Next day Krefft and Manfred flew on to Bad Homburg, where the Kaiserin greeted them at the airfield and presented Manfred with a gold cigarette case. In the evening he was guest of honour at a banquet at which Feldmarschall von Hindenburg presided.
On 23 May he had written to his mother, ‘I intend to come home at the beginning of May, but before that I will go pheasant shooting, to which I have been invited and to which I am looking forward eagerly’. On 4 May, he began a shoot in the Black Forest that lasted several days. On 9 May, in a letter to her he confessed, ‘I suppose you will be cross with me for having been in Germany for eight days without writing to you. I am shooting pheasant here and expect to stay until the fourteenth. The sport is excellent. After that I have to go to Berlin for three days to examine some new aeroplanes, after which I shall come to Schweidnitz. From there I’ll go on to the Prince of Pless’s estate to shoot a bison. Then I have to visit other war fronts, which will take three or four weeks’.
The so-called bison was a species of wild ox found only on the Pless estate and in the Czar of Russia’s Bielowicz Forest. His account of his big game hunt said,
I arrived at Pless in the afternoon of 26th May, impatient to kill a bison that evening. An hour’s drive and thirty minutes’ walking took us to the scene of the shoot, where the beaters were ready and now began the drive. Suddenly I saw a monster coming towards me through the trees. I had hunting fever. It was a mighty bull, two hundred and fifty paces away. I was too far to shoot. I might have hit it, for it was so big, but searching for it would have been unpleasant and to miss would be a disgrace. I waited until it came closer. He probably scented the heaters, for he turned towards me at a speed remarkable for so big a beast, but at a bad angle for a shot. He disappeared behind some trees. When he charged towards me I had the same feeling that grips me when I see an English aeroplane. A second bison appeared and I shot it at a hundred paces. I had to hit it twice more before wounding it mortally.
On 4 May Manfred had a telegram telling him that Lothar had been awarded the Pour le Mérite. On 13 May he received another, to inform him that Lothar had been wounded, but not mortally so. He had scored his twenty-fourth victory, another easy one against a BE2. The wound was on his hip and kept him in hospital and on sick leave for five months.
While Manfred was in Berlin a publisher offered him a contract for his memoirs; he was photographed, as all holders of the Blue Max were, for a postcard that would sell in thousands; and he was involved in discussions about rectifying the weakness in the Albatros DIII’s lower mainplane. There was also a new fighter, the Roland DIII, to test. When he finally reached home on 19 May word spread fast and bouquets and presents began arriving at the house. Such attentions were not to his taste but he had to put up with several days of adulatory welcome and speeches in his honour.
His publisher sent a shorthand typist to work with him on his book, which occasioned a display of his sense of humour. They were in the garden, near the front gate, when two women paused on the road to speak to him and satisfy their curiosity about his pretty companion. He mischievously introduced her as his fiancée, to her embarrassment.
On the last day of May two aeroplanes landed on the parade ground outside the town. One was a Halberstadt scout in which Manfred was to set off on his trip to Austria, the Balkans and Turkey, and a two-seater in which the pilot who had flown the Halberstadt would depart as passenger. He told Manfred that there was no need to fasten his seat belt, as the aircraft was so stable. Either he was an idiot or meant this as a jest, exaggerating the single-seater’s handling qualities. It was common practice to trim the Albatros and other types to fly hands-off, but Manfred replied that he always buckled his safety belt. On the way to his first refuelling stop, he did release the joystick, the Halberstadt half-rolled and he would have fallen to his death had he not been strapped into his seat.
On the British front, the Germans held a commanding position on Messines Ridge, a fortified salient from which they could see the trenches and forward batteries. At 3.10 a.m. on 7 June, after weeks of tunnelling, nineteen mines were exploded simultaneously under the ridge and an artillery bombardment began. Soon after, the infantry advanced and within three hours the ridge was in British and New Zealand hands.
During the first week of June the RFC and RNAS fighters had demonstrated such superiority over the Luftstreitkräfte that Manfred was urgently needed at the front. The Germans’ defeat in the Battle of Messines made his return to Jasta 11 all the more imperative. His goodwill tour was cancelled and he was summoned to Supreme HQ, and a banquet with the Kaiser in honour of the Czar of Bulgaria. He broke his journey there in Berlin, to emphasise to the Military Aviation Inspectorate the need to cure the Albatros DV’s lower mainplane weakness and to produce a new and better fighter to replace it. After his stay at Headquarters he visited Lothar, who was convalescing in Hamburg, before resuming command of his squadron, which had moved to Harlebeke, near Courtrai.
On 18 June he recorded his fifty-third victory by destroying an RE8. Five days later he claimed a Spad: although it was allowed, the best authorities are agreed that Allied records do not substantiate this. On 24 June he shot down a reconnaissance DH4, one of a pair escorted by ten scouts.
At Supreme HQ he had been told that the first fighter Geschwader was to be formed. It would consist of four Staffeln, corresponding more or less to a French Groupe and a British Wing. He was to be given command of it, with authority to appoint the Jasta commanders. On 24 June he was confirmed as Geschwader Kommandeur of JG 1, comprising Jasta 4, 6, 10 and 11, each with an establishment of twelve aircraft and twelve pilots. The JGs were intended as mobile tactical units sufficiently strong to obtain dominance in the air over any sector of the front line. JG1 was allotted to the Fourth Army.
Ideally, all the Jastas would share the same airfield. Manfred’s assembled around Courtrai and each had a distinguishing livery: No. 11, at Marckebeke, already had red; No. 10’s, at Marcke, was yellow; No. 6’s, at Bisseghem, black and yellow stripes; No. 4’s, at Marckebeke, a wavy black stripe along each side. An estate owned by Baron Jean de Bethune at Marcke, from which the neighbourhood took its name, Marckebeke, had been requisitioned as JG 1’s Headquarters. In the castle there, Manfred installed the staff officers of both JG 1 and Jasta 11, which he still commanded. In this way a JG differed from a Groupe or
Wing, whose commanders were unfettered by squadron responsibilities. Understandably, the Baron resented having under his roof any specimens of the boches who were ravaging his country. He had the courage to show his animosity by his demeanour and by denying them the use of several rooms. The latter was short-lived; the Freiherr ordered him to unlock those that his staff officers needed.
Manfred now had the first chance to prove his organisational and administrative ability and operational breadth of view. He acquitted himself efficiently when he briefed his squadron commanders on the arrangements he had made. Communications came top of the list: instead of having to wait for reports on enemy aircraft movements to be passed via a central point that supplied this information, sent by spotters at numerous vantage points to several airfields, the reports would be given directly to JG 1’s HQ; and a telephone link now enabled all the squadrons to share simultaneously in calls from him and his staff. He put his squadrons on a roster by which they took it in turns to be at readiness for take-off at set times from dawn to dusk.
To use World War Two military jargon, he also put them in the picture about the RFC’s general air activity over their sector of the line. Ground strafing had been carried on since 1915, when fighters returning from a sortie with all or some of their ammunition left often flew low along the trenches firing their guns. By 1916 the RFC was doing this so often that a German officer wrote about those times. ‘The infantry had no training in defence against very low-flying aeroplanes. Moreover they had no confidence in their ability to shoot these machines down if they were determined to press home their attacks. As a result they were seized with a fear amounting almost to panic; a fear that was fostered by the incessant activity and hostility of enemy aeroplanes.’
Von Richthofen: The Legend Evaluated Page 12