Lords of the Sky: Fighter Pilots and Air Combat, From the Red Baron to the F-16 by Dan Hampton Page A
Authors: Dan Hampton
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roll rate compared to the Albatros. Unlike other Allied single-seat fighters, it mounted two .303 Lewis guns; one gun was fuselage-mounted to the left of the cockpit and synchronized with the prop, and the other was on an upper-wing Foster mount.
The synchronization gear, such as the Constantinescu-Colley (CC), actually permits a gun to fire by passing sonic impulses, through fluid, to the firing pin. A pilot engages the system by pulling a handle in the cockpit that raises or lowers the cam follower onto the cam disk. In the case of the CC gear in the SE-5, this was done with oil through a series of reservoirs using high pressure from the engine. By employing hydraulic pressure, which could be constantly maintained once the engine was started, gun firing was independent of the engine revolutions. Higher sustained rates of fire were possible, and the gun could be “tuned” to shoot more accurately, thus saving ammunition.
This obviously wasn’t the case with interrupter systems. When the throttle was back, the engine was revolving slower, so the gun had a lower rate of fire—certainly not ideal in a dogfight. The interrupter gear was also functioning whenever the engine was turning, so it wore out more quickly than a synchronization system, which the pilot could engage or disengage.
As with any hydraulic system, however, with the CC there were more moving parts that needed to be maintained and repaired—and which could malfunction in flight. The CC gear was susceptible to high-altitude flight limitations and extreme cold.
But the SE-5 had two guns, and that alone was a great improvement. The pilot also sat aft of the wings and had good all-around visibility. When combined with a powerful (albeit finicky) engine, you had a stable gun platform that could outrun and outmaneuver most of its opponents. Then it just came down to fate and the pilot—the Brits again had a fighting chance.
Albert Ball had begun flying in France in 1916 and had started his combat career in 13 Squadron with the old BE-2. Called a “Quirk,” it was heavy, slow, and, worst of all for him, had an observer. Back then each squadron had a few single-seat scouts attached, and Ball flew them as much as possible. Always an individualist, he continually chafed under rules and discipline. As Ball saw it, he was there to kill Huns for God and Country, not to have room inspections and fill out paperwork. Eventually his commanding officer sent him over to No. 11 Squadron with a note that read: “This young man can be entrusted with the best single-seater on the front. Please give him something to do.” Smack in the middle of the Somme battles of July 1916, Alfred Ball did army cooperation work, trench attacks, and air-to-air combat whenever he could pick a fight.
As his skills developed he was often at odds with conventional air combat wisdom. When every other pilot was preaching that “height was life,” meaning always attack from above, Ball preferred just the opposite. He’d either attack from below or dive under a formation, then pull up to fire into the enemy’s belly at close range. * His specialty was slashing into large German formations, sometimes at twelve-to-one odds, then picking off the surprised survivors. And he was known for the captured red nose spinner that one of his mechanics had fitted to the propeller hub of his Nieuport.
He continued his furious, impetuous solo attacks until October 1916, when he was suddenly sent back to England. It seemed by now that the RFC and the government had begun to realize the propaganda value of pilots such as Albert Ball, and they sent him on a lecture tour. “Of all the fool’s games,” he complained. “I shall pass away if I don’t get a different job soon. Why must they be such fools?”
Eventually he found himself back in France as a flight commander, fighting a war very different from the one he’d left in 1916. The Germans had recaptured air superiority with the dominating Albatros,
The synchronization gear, such as the Constantinescu-Colley (CC), actually permits a gun to fire by passing sonic impulses, through fluid, to the firing pin. A pilot engages the system by pulling a handle in the cockpit that raises or lowers the cam follower onto the cam disk. In the case of the CC gear in the SE-5, this was done with oil through a series of reservoirs using high pressure from the engine. By employing hydraulic pressure, which could be constantly maintained once the engine was started, gun firing was independent of the engine revolutions. Higher sustained rates of fire were possible, and the gun could be “tuned” to shoot more accurately, thus saving ammunition.
This obviously wasn’t the case with interrupter systems. When the throttle was back, the engine was revolving slower, so the gun had a lower rate of fire—certainly not ideal in a dogfight. The interrupter gear was also functioning whenever the engine was turning, so it wore out more quickly than a synchronization system, which the pilot could engage or disengage.
As with any hydraulic system, however, with the CC there were more moving parts that needed to be maintained and repaired—and which could malfunction in flight. The CC gear was susceptible to high-altitude flight limitations and extreme cold.
But the SE-5 had two guns, and that alone was a great improvement. The pilot also sat aft of the wings and had good all-around visibility. When combined with a powerful (albeit finicky) engine, you had a stable gun platform that could outrun and outmaneuver most of its opponents. Then it just came down to fate and the pilot—the Brits again had a fighting chance.
Albert Ball had begun flying in France in 1916 and had started his combat career in 13 Squadron with the old BE-2. Called a “Quirk,” it was heavy, slow, and, worst of all for him, had an observer. Back then each squadron had a few single-seat scouts attached, and Ball flew them as much as possible. Always an individualist, he continually chafed under rules and discipline. As Ball saw it, he was there to kill Huns for God and Country, not to have room inspections and fill out paperwork. Eventually his commanding officer sent him over to No. 11 Squadron with a note that read: “This young man can be entrusted with the best single-seater on the front. Please give him something to do.” Smack in the middle of the Somme battles of July 1916, Alfred Ball did army cooperation work, trench attacks, and air-to-air combat whenever he could pick a fight.
As his skills developed he was often at odds with conventional air combat wisdom. When every other pilot was preaching that “height was life,” meaning always attack from above, Ball preferred just the opposite. He’d either attack from below or dive under a formation, then pull up to fire into the enemy’s belly at close range. * His specialty was slashing into large German formations, sometimes at twelve-to-one odds, then picking off the surprised survivors. And he was known for the captured red nose spinner that one of his mechanics had fitted to the propeller hub of his Nieuport.
He continued his furious, impetuous solo attacks until October 1916, when he was suddenly sent back to England. It seemed by now that the RFC and the government had begun to realize the propaganda value of pilots such as Albert Ball, and they sent him on a lecture tour. “Of all the fool’s games,” he complained. “I shall pass away if I don’t get a different job soon. Why must they be such fools?”
Eventually he found himself back in France as a flight commander, fighting a war very different from the one he’d left in 1916. The Germans had recaptured air superiority with the dominating Albatros,
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