Winter weather frequently grounded the aircraft on both sides of the lines. Although Manfred detested inactivity, it was obviously balm for his troubled body and mind. Describing his feelings after a fight, he said, ‘I am in very low spirits. But that is no doubt an after effect of my head wound’. When he landed he went to his room and did not want to be disturbed by anybody for any reason. He said he pondered on the war as it really was; not, as the public imagined, a matter of triumphant cheering and jubilation. ‘It is very serious and very grim.’
In early December he went to Berlin for ten days, during which he tested the prototype Pfalz Triplane. It was a disappointment, its performance worse than the Fokker’s.
In a letter to his mother dated 11 December 1917, he said that little was happening at the front, so life was rather dull. He intended to spend Christmas with his squadron, which of course included Lothar, and their father. Major von Richthofen was a familiar and popular figure in the mess, where he greatly enjoyed listening to the flying talk which is and always has been the main topic among pilots and air crew. Manfred also mentioned that his batman had posted a parcel for Bolko and he hoped its contents would appeal to his tastes.
In Russia, the Communist revolution in December resulted in an armistice on the Eastern Front. A peace conference was to be held at Brest-Litovsk after Christmas. Invited by Prince Leopold of Bavaria, who commanded the German forces in the east, Manfred and Lothar set off for Brest-Litovsk to attend the peace conference and to shoot big game. Manfred deplored the fact that the herds of ‘bison’ that had numbered a good 700 head before the war had diminished to an estimated 150. Hungry soldiers were to blame. Consequently, not wishing to reduce the survivors by more than a couple of head, the brothers contented themselves with one stag apiece.
On 15 January 1918 Manfred wrote to their mother to explain why she had not heard from him for some time. ‘The stay in the quiet forest has done us both a great deal of good. I am often in Berlin and shall be there for a fortnight from the 20th and hope I shall see you.’
There had been strikes in the munition factories, so during his stay in the capital one of his duties was to visit them and tell the workers how important their contribution was to the war effort. He and other experienced fighter pilots also flight tested several prototype aircraft and decided which to abandon and which to develop. He was an innovator in this by ensuring that the trials were not left to factory pilots or others who had not seen action.
At the end of the month he flew from Berlin to Schweidnitz, overflying Wahlstatt, where his youngest brother was a cadet. The boys happened to be on parade, so he succumbed to temptation and performed a loop over the square. When Manfred left Schweidnitz, Lothar, who had been suffering from ear trouble, stayed behind and Manfred urged their mother to ensure that he did not return to his squadron until the end of the month. On the flight back he ‘buzzed’ the cadet school, which brought its inmates out to collect the boxes of chocolates he threw out.
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The latest batch of Fokker Triplanes appeared safer than the earlier ones, as the wings had not been breaking; until, on 2 February, part of a top wing did collapse and the pilot concerned was lucky to get away with his life in a forced landing. Another worry was the engine; a rotary, it did not give enough power. Manfred complained that not only was an in-line engine, preferably a supercharged one, more efficient, but also the synthetic oil used in rotaries was of poor quality.
His almost four months of varied activities, travel and no fighting ended on 12 March 1918 when, accompanied by Lothar and Leutnant Steinhäuser, he met eight Bristol Fighters that were patrolling between Cambrai and Cautry. Lothar quickly shot down two, one in flames; Steinhäuser got one; and Manfred forced down a fourth, whose crew were taken prisoner, after fifteen minutes’ fighting in which he shot off half the observer’s left arm.
Next day, Manfred led three Staffeln in one of which Lothar was flying, in an attack on twelve DH4 bombers that had an escort of eleven Bristol Fighters and twelve Camels. Early in the battle Lothar’s top mainplane was destroyed and his rudder damaged. Unable to maintain altitude or steer, he withdrew from the mêlée and was lucky that the Camel pilot did not follow and shoot him down. He was less lucky when he had descended to within a few feet of the ground: a high tension cable barred his path, his machine decelerated abruptly and fell straight down. He suffered a broken nose, cracked jaw, a gash near his eye and burst blood vessels in both legs. The injuries could not have come at a worse time; the war was again entering a period of abundant air activity, during which he should have been able to augment his successes; but it was equally likely that he would have been shot down and killed before he had added even one. The standard of flying, marksmanship and courage in the British squadrons was at least as high as in the German; and in the last six months of the war the RAF’s aircraft were better than the Luftstreitkräfte’s.
Five days passed before Manfred had another success. His conduct was a paradox of maturity and immaturity. Frequently visiting flying training schools to learn who were the most promising pupils, and always aware of the progress of any pilot who began to distinguish himself in action, he sought to recruit the most promising for his Jadgeschwader. Ernst Udet, who had by now destroyed twenty-five British and French aircraft, was one such. Learning that his squadron was now in the vicinity, Manfred went to see him and invited him to transfer to JG1; which Udet accepted. Germany was preparing an offensive that would strike at two sectors on the British front and one on the French. As part of his thorough preparation for this, Manfred had even dealt with the detail of nominating his successor, should he be killed, wounded or captured. These were the concerns of a first-rate, adult-minded commander. Yet, when he shot down a Camel on 18 March, his sixty-fifth success, he was so determined to secure his usual souvenir that he followed it down, landed near it and cut out a piece of fabric from the fuselage that bore the serial number: an astonishingly puerile act and all the more surprising because he had ample fuel and ammunition to stay aloft and take part in the fighting or observe the actions of his pilots, on which it was his habit to comment at debriefing.
On 23 March he wrote to tell his mother that he visited Lothar every day and his injuries were healing.
CHAPTER 16 - FOOTPRINTS ON THE SANDS OF TIME
A Psalm of Life — Longfellow
Germany had planned what was intended to be the final assault that would lead to total victory over the Allies. The 17th, 2nd and 18th Armies, comprising seventy-three divisions, would attack the forty-three-mile long Arras—St-Quentin—La Fère Front. The main force was to be exerted north of the Somme. After the 17th and 2nd Armies broke through, they were to wheel north-west and push the British towards the coast, while the Somme river and 18th Army protected the flank.
For some months JG1 had been under the 2nd Army, whose area of air operations was now divided into two zones, of which Manfred was in command of the northern one. For this great battle Jastas 5 and 46 were added to his strength.
The attack began at 4.30 a.m. on 21 March with a bombardment by 4,000 guns. The thrust broke through south of the Somme but was held up near Arras. Manfred was supposed to lead Jasta 11 into the air at 9 a.m., but there was a thick mist that, although helpful to the foot soldiers, did not allow any take-offs until 12.30 p.m. Although 52 sorties were flown, no aeroplanes and only two observation balloons were destroyed.
On 24 March, leading a 25-strong formation against ten SE5As, Manfred increased his victories to sixty-seven. Next day he scored another, on the following day two more, on the day after that another three, and on the 28 March his seventy-fourth.
The early success of the German armies brought unwelcome visitors to JG1 when three Members of Parliament arrived to dine, make orotund speeches and stay overnight. The bored and embarrassed pilots wreaked their revenge when the visitors were asleep. With blank cartridges, flare pistols and shouts of ‘Air raid’ they roused them, saw them run out of their huts in night clot
hes, and called to them to get back indoors quickly. Early next morning the politicians departed hastily. Manfred enjoyed the comedy as much as anyone.
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On 1 April 1918 the Royal Flying Corps and Royal Naval Air Service were combined to form the Royal Air Force. There was no change in uniform but the naval officers were given the equivalent Army ranks e.g. lieutenants became captains and lieutenant-commanders became majors. A year later a new nomenclature was applied, introducing the ranks of pilot officer, flying officer, flight lieutenant (equal to a captain), squadron-leader (major) etc.
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The British and Germans were both doing a lot of ground strafing, so combat between aircraft was being carried out at low, as well as medium and high altitudes. Manfred’s seventy-fifth victim was an RE8 on 2 April, his seventy-sixth a more worthy Camel on the 6th that had been shooting-up the trenches. His next two were an SE5A at 17,000 ft and a Camel within thirty-five minutes on the following day. Variable weather interfered with both sides’ flying programmes on several days, so he had to wait until the twentieth day of the month to get his seventy-ninth, a Camel again. Three minutes later he shot down yet another Camel, his eightieth and last. This was the greatest number of successes achieved in the war. Next came René Fonck with seventy-five and Edward ‘Mick’ Mannock with seventy-three.
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On Sunday 21 April, euphoric with his impressive round-figure total and no doubt looking forward to adding the twenty more that would raise it to three figures, he had to wait for a morning fog to disperse before he could set about it. Soon after half past ten he and four others were airborne with the intention of intercepting enemy aircraft that had been reported coming their way. Another formation of five took off close behind.
Instead of the tail wind from the west that prevailed for most of the year and gave the Germans the advantage, the wind that day was blowing strongly from the east. Presently the JG1 pilots saw two flights of five Camels, one higher than the other. There were also five aircraft of Jasta 5 in the area, which a third flight of 209 Squadron Camels attacked, while others went for the Triplanes.
Leutnant Hans Joachim Wolff, in Manfred’s flight, saw his leader shoot at a Camel that spun out and dived away under control. Before he had to turn his attention to defending himself against an attack from astern that took him by surprise while he was watching Manfred, he saw him still chasing the Camel until both were very low and over the British lines. That was the last that anyone in JG1 saw of their Commanding Officer.
All the circumstances of Manfred’s death created a conundrum of which several solutions have been put forward and, although the most recent one seems to be supported by the best evidence, it is unlikely to remain unchallenged; and perhaps the truth will never be known.
It was accepted that he had been killed by one bullet. The first attribution of the fatal shot was to a Canadian fighter pilot, Lieutenant Roy Brown of 209 Squadron, which flew Camels, who was immediately seen as the most likely man to have fired it. The sequence of events was that in the general dogfight another Canadian pilot in Brown’s flight, who was on his first operational patrol, Second Lieutenant W.R. May, fired such long bursts at various fleeting targets that his guns jammed and he could not clear them; hence his spin away from the brawl. As soon as he levelled out he came under fire from a red Fokker Triplane astern and was so much a novice that he did not recognise it as the dreaded Red Baron’s. He was flying so ham-fistedly that Manfred must have been unable to predict his movements and therefore could not get in a crippling shot. The Fokker’s maximum speed was 115 mph at sea level and the Camel’s was 115 mph at 6,500 ft; so Manfred had a slight advantage.
German ground troops had been firing at May as he and Manfred flew over their trenches. Now, at between sixty and 100 ft over British territory, machine-gun and rifle fire continued, but was aimed at May’s pursuer. At last, when May followed a bend in the river and Manfred took a short cut by nipping over a low hill, May realised that he was a sitting duck with his adversary tightly on his tail. But in the next instant Manfred spun into the ground. May saw a Camel close behind his, so formated on it and they flew home together.
This aeroplane was flown by Brown, who had been firing at Manfred and believed that he had shot him down.
There were other claimants. A sergeant gave Manfred a seven-second burst from a Vickers gun as he flashed past and saw him wobble as though hit — so did other witnesses. May and Manfred flew past an Australian artillery battery’s position that was guarded against low-flying aeroplanes by two Vickers gunners, R. Buie and W. Evans, who opened up at the Fokker; an Australian rifle platoon also took shots at it and cannot be lightly dismissed. Rifle fire has brought aircraft down on many occasions. The last was when the pilot of an RAF Hunter, a fighter capable of 515 mph, was killed in that way in Yemen during the 1960s when making a ground attack.
Manfred had been seen to move his head and torso suddenly as though he had been hit or were looking round, surprised by coming under fire from astern. He had also been seen to bank. These happenings further confused the argument about who had killed him. Shifting his position could account for the entry point of his fatal wound a second or two later, or it could indicate that he was reacting to sudden pain at the moment of being hit. No post mortem was done, but he was given a hurried medical examination that morning and again twenty-four hours later. The Army and RAF doctors said he had been hit by only one bullet that entered one side of his body and emerged on the other. Even about this there are two versions. According to one, the bullet entered his chest in front near the right shoulder and came out near his left nipple. The other declares that he was hit in the back, near the right shoulder but agrees about the bullet’s point of exit. The theory behind both is that it was deflected by the spine on its way through his torso. Whether it penetrated from front or back, Manfred could have been twisting in his seat to look round or banking at that moment.
It is difficult to reconcile one bullet wound with machine-gun fire; and to make deduction even more difficult, later statements by men who viewed the body claimed that they thought they had seen other wounds as well. The argument therefore lies between a machine-gun, either on the ground or in Brown’s aeroplane, and a rifle. The mention of several wounds was belated and dubious. A rifle shot that found its mark with or without first ricocheting, or one machine-gun bullet in a burst fired from the ground and deflected into his body by some part of his aeroplane, seem to be the most tenable theories. ‘Not proven’ suggests itself as the wisest verdict.
The immediate official decision was that it was Brown who had killed Manfred von Richthofen. This was not pronounced by a doctor or doctors but by General Sir Henry Rawlinson, commanding 4th Army, based on the report of medical and other officers who had viewed the body and the crash site and come to this conclusion.
On the next day Manfred was buried with full military honours in the cemetery at the village of Bertangles. The RAF dropped a message to inform his comrades officially of his death and burial. After the war his body was re-interred in a war graves cemetery. In 1925 it was exhumed again and buried with great ceremony in Berlin.
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Lothar, who had sworn to avenge his brother, rejoined Jasta 11 as Commanding Officer on 19 July. He was shot down and wounded again on 13 August, by when he had 40 victories to his name. He was invalided out of the Service and died as a passenger in a civilian aeroplane accident in 1922.
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footsteps on the sands of time.
Rittmeister Manfred Freiherr von Richthofen exemplified Longfellow’s lines. Of the many forms of human greatness, his might not be admitted by pacifists or those who have suffered, or whose families and friends have, from Germany’s precipitation of their countries into two great wars within a period of twenty-five years. He was, however, a great patriot, a great leader of men, a great inspir
ation not only to his fellow airmen but also to the ground troops who saw and admired his bravery. He had the highest possible standard of conduct, integrity in all matters and sense of duty, and was thus a great example to the youth of his country: even though, lamentably, his generation and the next were preternaturally imbued with a belligerent ambition to dominate Europe and, if they could, the world. He was a great professional airman who, although he entered the air war too late to be the greatest innovator, did make a valuable contribution to the development of fighter operations.
His legacy of experience and wisdom was the Air Combat Operations Manual he wrote. Its opening words acknowledge his indebtedness to his mentor, Oswald Boelcke: ‘Boelcke divided his twelve pilots into two flights’. Manfred went on to explain that each consisted of five or six aircraft and up to six or seven are best led, watched and manoeuvred by their leader.
He dealt first with operations in Geschwader strength. ‘When the British operate in big formations, or in smaller ones equipped with better aeroplanes than ours, it is necessary to meet them with an appropriately sized force. I favour thirty or forty machines with the leader in front and two squadrons on either side, their leaders 150 metres ahead of them. The two squadrons immediately behind the wing commander fly fifty metres higher than he, with the second two another fifty metres above those.’
A formation of this size should operate only in good weather, aiming to position itself above the enemy and between them and their front line.
A clear briefing on the course to be flown and all other relevant details are essential and as important as the de-briefing on return.
The wing commander’s aircraft must be very conspicuously painted and while the squadrons are taking off and forming up he must fly slowly. Each pilot must have a specific position in his flight. The whole formation is to be so disposed that there is room to turn in any direction and the wing leader’s movements are to be followed immediately (i.e. a dive, climb or turn). Unnecessary about-turns must be avoided because it takes so long to resume formation.
Von Richthofen: The Legend Evaluated Page 14