1915 Fokker Scourge (British Ace Book 2) (28 page)

“I must say sir, I was quite worried about them before I joined. “ I must have given him a quizzical look for he shrugged.  “We were a little bit
protected and cosseted at boarding schools. The local lads frightened me.  They seemed so big and tough.  They used to spit, swear and fight a lot. I expected that from the enlisted men.”

That had been me growing up.  It was just the way we were.  You learned how to spit and you learned how to defend yourself. It was as simple as that. “I am pleased that your eyes have been opened.”

The mess was a little more formal than ours but I was pleased that they did not expect our dress uniforms; we had not brought them. A French Captain sat on one side of me and a young Lieutenant on the other. I was dreading the conversation.  In the end it proved fairly simple.  I was able to point at things and either Guy, the Captain, or Pierre, the Lieutenant, would say the French word.  I was more comfortable around food and drink rather than around tactics and flying.  Any difficult words were translated by either Holt, or more usually, Carrick.

They were both fascinated by our Gunbuses.  They used tractor aeroplanes and thought that our
pusher engine aeroplanes looked ungainly.

“Wait and see.”

They discovered how many Fokkers I had destroyed from a slip of the tongue from Carrick who looked abashed. They asked me if that was all me or my gunner and me. When I told them it was all me they were even more impressed.

When they opened up about their experiences I could tell it had been a nightmare. Their pilots lasted hours not days and they could not get
replacements fast enough. It seemed that the only hope was the new fighter which was almost ready to be shipped to them.  Now I understood our presence.  We were the boy with the finger in the dyke.  We were the stopgap. If we could buy them a few days then it might make all the difference.  The Germans, it appeared, were close to breaking through at Verdun and unless this squadron could spot for the artillery they would break through very quickly.  Our three aeroplanes were all that stood between survival and disaster.

I made sure we had little to drink, even though there was plenty on offer, and that we had an early night.  The next day promised to be lively.

As we completed our last minute checks Sergeant Sharp said, “They are rum buggers these French sir.  They can’t half drink.  The food is a bit good though. We had something called cock oh van.  Tasty, mind.”

“The language wasn’t a problem?”

“No, sir and I am learning a little.  If we are here any length of time it might be handy.”

I took Holt and Carrick to one side. “God knows what we can expect today.  We may have to be adaptable but I couldn’t be happier with you two as my wingmen. I have the best in the squadron.” They smiled at the praise.  “We will use our arrow formation.  They don’t know us and will not be expecting that.  If there are large numbers then we might have to split up.  Watch for my signal.  If things get hairy do not be afraid to get back to the field.  It is our first day and I would like us to be here for a second.”

“What about the French sir?”

“
Don’t worry about the French, Freddy.  If they want to have a go at someone then my shoulders are broad enough. One more thing; the Germans in this sector may not know about the pilot’s Lewis.  Let your gunner fire and when he reloads then you can fire.  It might give them a surprise. You both have good gunners and Sergeant Sharp is the best.  I am not worried.” And, as we taxied, I realised that I was not.

There were three Nieuports flying that day.  I discovered they were the last three. The colonel himself was flying.  He had confided to me the night before that he could not, in all conscience, send young pilots to be slaughtered by these Fokkers.
We let them take off first.  I then took my flight and climbed to five hundred feet above them. The French artillery was silent.  They were waiting for the signal lamps of the spotters. Below I saw the blue uniforms of the French in the trenches and, ahead, the grey of the Germans.  The German battalions were advancing already.  They still had to run the gauntlet of the machine guns but there were no French 75s hurling shrapnel at them.

The three aeroplanes began to flash their lamps and I took us a little higher. The first of the shells began to
explode in the air.  They were firing short. I had no further opportunity to observe the battle for Sharp shouted, “Three Fokkers sir!

I saw him cock his gun and, in the distance, the three Germans in line astern. “Right
, Sharp, let’s go.”

We had the advantage of height and speed.  I used both.  I co
cked my Lewis as we swooped down towards the first Fokker. Sharp fired at the same time as the Fokker.  Neither did much damage.  I suddenly realised that this pilot was going to do the turn, I had learned the previous night was called, the Immelmann Turn.

“Charlie, he is going to try that turn.  Get on the rear Lewis.”

Sharp was more agile than Lumpy and he spun around and cocked the gun.  The Eindecker was barely ten feet above us when Charlie began to fire.  He emptied the magazine and I saw flames from the German’s engine as he spiralled to the ground.  Even as he had been firing the second Fokker had been closing.  He opened fire.  The gunners of my two wingmen opened fire too and he was caught in crossfire. I felt a sharp kick on my leg.  It was the sort of sensation you got as a kid playing football when you were kicked in the shin.  It stung but I carried on.  The last Fokker was hurtling towards us. 

“Sharp, duck!”

As Sharp ducked I pulled my trigger and I kept firing until I heard the click of an empty chamber. I actually saw the bullets as they tore through his propeller and turned his face into a piece of raw meat.  He too spiralled down to the ground.

“Any more out there?”

“Not that I can see sir.”

“Right, reload both Lewis guns.” I waved to the other two to take line astern.  That way we were ready to protect each other. I saw that the French guns were now cutting the Germans down as though they were using a scythe. Even as we watched the attack stalled and we saw the
Germans begin to pull back.

“Sir, the French are leaving.”

I looked down and saw the three spotter aeroplanes heading west. I began a lazy turn to fetch up on the stern of the last aeroplane.  We would shepherd them to safety.

From our reception, when we landed, you would have thought that the war had just ended.  Two of the pilots and the three observers mobbed us and pumped our hands.  Whatever they said it was far too fast for me.  Colonel Berthier lit a cigar and waited until they had left me to congratulate my bemused lieutenants.

He shook my hand and nodded, “I now see why you have such success.  You and your gunner are fearless.  How does a man stand on a cockpit like that and fire?” I laughed and he said, seriously, “No, I mean it
, how does he do it? It looks impossible to me.”

“It is not easy.”

“You have done this?”

“I was a Sergeant Gunner before I became a pilot.  You need to have trust between a pilot and the man standing on the cockpit.  Sergeant Sharp knew that I would keep flying straight and level.”

“Even with them firing at you?” He walked to the front of the Gunbus.  The others were examining it too. There were at least fifty bullet holes in it.  They must have hit when Sharp was standing and shooting down his Fokker.  He had been lucky.

Suddenly Freddy shouted, “Sir, your leg! It is bleeding.  You have been hit!”

I looked down and there was blood seeping from my leg.  I remembered the hit on my shin. It must have been a spent round. “It isn’t serious.  When the lorry gets here see if they can repair the front of the bus.”

The colonel shook his head.  “And you my friend will get to the hospital.  Such courage. Now I see why they gave you a medal.  I begin to believe that we will beat these Boche!”

The bullet, although spent, had hit my shin and made a small tear in my skin. If my youthful days of football were anything to go by it would be stiff in the morning.  Holt and Carrick were like my shadows and they waited for me.

“The lorry is here sir with the spares.”

“Good.” I was relieved.  We had been lucky and the worst damage had been to the cockpit but I knew that worse awaited us on the morrow. I limped back to my new quarters.

“Tomorrow, we will not have it so easy.”

They both looked at me in surprise.  “But sir, we shot down three Fokkers.”

“They only sent three aeroplanes because they knew they had the beating
of the French. Why waste fuel, ammunition and wear and tear on precious aeroplanes if you do not need to?” The looks on their faces told me that they had not thought it through. “I expect at least nine aeroplanes tomorrow, maybe more. You will be on your own I think.  We can use our arrow formation to blast through their line but if we are to protect their spotters then we will have to split up.”

“You make it sound as though we might lose, sir.”

I laughed; we had just reached the barrack’s door. “That is precisely what I am saying. We can fire at two aeroplanes at once.  We did that today but we cannot fire at three. Think on that.  You will both have to use everything you have learned and more just to survive.” They looked depressed.  “We have already done what was asked of us.  They stopped the German advance today and their new fighters are one day closer. If we buy them more time tomorrow then they halt the attack again and the fighters are another day closer. We are fighting in inches gentlemen.  Do not get carried away.”

My words might as well have been spoken in Urdu for the welcome we received in the mess would have turned anyone’s head. We were feted, we were honoured and we were cheered. We had question after question
hurled at us.  The colonel even sat next to me so that he could translate the questions for me. They had found Champagne from somewhere and it was all I could do to prevent them bathing me in the stuff. When most of the officers became too inebriated to pester me any more I sat, with the colonel smoking; he, his cigar and me my pipe.

“You are a most interesting character, Englishman.  You rise from a gunner and a sergeant to an officer and a pilot.  You have such coolness under fire and yet you are so young.  How did you learn what to do when you fight in the air?”

I scraped out the burnt ash and relit my pipe. “I began as a horseman.  I was in the cavalry. I loved horses and I found that I could ride without thinking. I learned to just react.  I watched what was happening around me and I just did what I felt was right.  It was the same when I learned how to fly.  When I was a gunner the pilot tried to loop.”

The colonel’s cigar almost dropped from his mouth. “In that aeroplane?” I nodded.  “Why are you not dead?”

I laughed, “I hung on.  The point is when I became a pilot I approached it as I had when I was a horseman.  What would happen if I did one thing as opposed to another?  I also learned to have as many weapons as I could.” I laughed, “One of my sergeants destroyed a Fokker with a hand grenade.”

The colonel laughed so loudly that some of the drunks turned around briefly to stare at him. “Really?”

“Really.  I have a rifle and a Luger in the cockpit.  If I run out of bullets I shoot those.  If they fail I will throw the damned things at the Germans.”

“You do not give in.” I nodded.  “A hundred years ago we had an Emperor called Napoleon who seems to me to be much like this German Emperor. He
came up against men like you; the Redcoats, your famous Foot Guards.  They should have known they were beaten but no one told them and they won.  You are just such a man but…”

“But tomorrow they will send more Fokkers and we will be outnumbered.  In all likelihood we will be shot down and die.”

He laughed and threw away the stub of his cigar. “Good, you are a thinker too and you do not believe you are immortal. I do not think that you will die tomorrow but I agree.  They will, as you English say, throw the kitchen sink at you.”

“And you
too. However, colonel, we will buy you time to get your guns on target.  That I promise you.”

“And I believe you.  Thank you, my friend.”

When I awoke the next day my leg was indeed stiff.  Although bandaged I could see the bruising higher up the shin. The leg, however, appeared to function satisfactorily.  It was just painful and I limped towards the airfield after a breakfast of bread, butter, jam and coffee.

Sergeant Sharp and the mechanics led by Sergeant Johnson had worked wonders.  The nose was repaired
with more canvas and the bullet proofing cans and cardboard were back in place.  “I’ll tell you what sir.  These Froggies know how to party. They helped us fix up the bus and then they opened bottle after bottle of all sorts of stuff.”

I gave him a sharp look, “Are you fit to fly?”

“Of course sir, me and the lads took it steady.  We know we are going to get a pasting today. There’s no point in giving the Hun a helping hand is there?”

“Good man.  Right, have we plenty of magazines?”

“Yes sir and I even have a couple of Mills bombs.  We call it the Lumpy Secret Weapon.”

I noticed the colonel loading a rifle into his cockpit. He saw me looking and shrugged. I waved. He was a fine officer and I hoped he would survive the firestorm we were about to endure.
We took off and I climbed higher than I had the previous day.  I assumed that they had spotters who would have reported our height and our position.  I needed the Fokkers to waste fuel climbing to reach us. I had told my wingmen of my new plan. When we had attacked them we would climb and go into line astern. By spiralling up we would be able to allow our gunners to fire at the climbing Fokkers; there would always be one gunner with a shot. It would be like a climbing version of the Gay Gordons. With luck they would all try to get us and leave the spotters alone.  It wasn’t much of a plan but it was the best I could come up with.