shells were supposed to clear a path but it only seemed to make it even more entangled. Until they had some way to walk over wire then the machine gunners would be able to slaughter the advancing infantry with ease. The other noticeable feature was the number of abandoned farms and small villages. I wondered how on earth the owners would be able to move back once the war was over. I knew that many soldiers lay just a few feet from the surface buried in a sea of mud. This part of the front had not seen a major offensive yet but once it did then the war would seed the land with fresh corpses. Farmers in the future would have a grim harvest.
The Germans were waiting. We knew in our hearts that they would, inevitably, react to our daily sortie. This time it was they who held the advantage of height and they came down in waves of five aeroplanes. At least our Camels were a little higher and we did not have to climb steeply to counter the threat but the climb would eat into our fuel and shorten the time we could spend in the air.
It was not the Circus. Each time we went up I looked for the dreaded triplanes. When I did not see them then I knew we had some chance of success. They were the Fokker D. IV. I suspected they were the same ones we had met before for the livery on the aeroplanes looked the same. There were more of them which led me to believe that this was a Jasta.
The twin Spandau of two Fokkers converged on me. They had fired early but were trying to get me in a cone of fire. I lifted my nose and, as I dipped it again quickly, began to bank to starboard. I felt their bullets tear into my port lower wing but Lieutenant Clayson had a shot at them from the side. I saw a black cross appear as my nose swung around to the last aeroplane in the line and I fired at the cross. Miraculously I hit the cross. I did not think there would be much damage but the Fokker began to yaw. I realised that I must have hit his controls.
I banked to port. It was pure instinct which made me do so. The space I had occupied was filled with steel jacketed parabellums as the Fokker from above dived down. I turned my bank into a climb and passed the German pilot. My move took me up above the dogfight but, when I looked in my mirror, I saw that I had lost my wingman. My Camels were engaged in deadly duels with the Fokkers. It was not a fair fight as we were outnumbered. I brought my Camel around and lined up on the two who were chasing Jack Fall. He was twisting, turning and attempting to loop. It made him a small target but each time they fired at him they were hitting his bus. It would only be a matter of time before they made a critical hit.
The height I had gained gave me more speed over the already slow Fokkers. I waited until I was less than fifty yards from the rearmost German and gave him a steady burst. My speed took the bullets along his fuselage and into the cockpit. I held the finger on the trigger as his aeroplane disappeared from my sights and was replaced by the next Fokker. As soon as my bullets hit his rudder I saw him jerk his head around and then he began to bank. I managed to hit him again before he flew from my sights.
Jack was in a bad way. His Camel was oozing smoke and his wings looked like a piece of Swiss cheese. I waved for him to get home.
“Jack Fall is heading back, Sergeant Kenny. His bus is badly shot up. Over.”
It was the first time I had used the word ‘ Over ’ in such a way and it felt weird. Sergeant Kenny had asked me to use it when I had finished a transmission to let him or another operator know that the message was complete.
I looked around the sky and saw that most of my pilots were following Jack home. I was still high enough to be able to look down on them. I began a slow descent; I did not want to waste fuel and I followed the three Fokkers who were trying to pick off the injured birds. I fired at a range of over three hundred yards as I closed with them. I wanted
The Germans were waiting. We knew in our hearts that they would, inevitably, react to our daily sortie. This time it was they who held the advantage of height and they came down in waves of five aeroplanes. At least our Camels were a little higher and we did not have to climb steeply to counter the threat but the climb would eat into our fuel and shorten the time we could spend in the air.
It was not the Circus. Each time we went up I looked for the dreaded triplanes. When I did not see them then I knew we had some chance of success. They were the Fokker D. IV. I suspected they were the same ones we had met before for the livery on the aeroplanes looked the same. There were more of them which led me to believe that this was a Jasta.
The twin Spandau of two Fokkers converged on me. They had fired early but were trying to get me in a cone of fire. I lifted my nose and, as I dipped it again quickly, began to bank to starboard. I felt their bullets tear into my port lower wing but Lieutenant Clayson had a shot at them from the side. I saw a black cross appear as my nose swung around to the last aeroplane in the line and I fired at the cross. Miraculously I hit the cross. I did not think there would be much damage but the Fokker began to yaw. I realised that I must have hit his controls.
I banked to port. It was pure instinct which made me do so. The space I had occupied was filled with steel jacketed parabellums as the Fokker from above dived down. I turned my bank into a climb and passed the German pilot. My move took me up above the dogfight but, when I looked in my mirror, I saw that I had lost my wingman. My Camels were engaged in deadly duels with the Fokkers. It was not a fair fight as we were outnumbered. I brought my Camel around and lined up on the two who were chasing Jack Fall. He was twisting, turning and attempting to loop. It made him a small target but each time they fired at him they were hitting his bus. It would only be a matter of time before they made a critical hit.
The height I had gained gave me more speed over the already slow Fokkers. I waited until I was less than fifty yards from the rearmost German and gave him a steady burst. My speed took the bullets along his fuselage and into the cockpit. I held the finger on the trigger as his aeroplane disappeared from my sights and was replaced by the next Fokker. As soon as my bullets hit his rudder I saw him jerk his head around and then he began to bank. I managed to hit him again before he flew from my sights.
Jack was in a bad way. His Camel was oozing smoke and his wings looked like a piece of Swiss cheese. I waved for him to get home.
“Jack Fall is heading back, Sergeant Kenny. His bus is badly shot up. Over.”
It was the first time I had used the word ‘ Over ’ in such a way and it felt weird. Sergeant Kenny had asked me to use it when I had finished a transmission to let him or another operator know that the message was complete.
I looked around the sky and saw that most of my pilots were following Jack home. I was still high enough to be able to look down on them. I began a slow descent; I did not want to waste fuel and I followed the three Fokkers who were trying to pick off the injured birds. I fired at a range of over three hundred yards as I closed with them. I wanted
Similar Books
