PART II
CHAPTER I
ARABS, TURKS, AND GERMANS
The interval between my escape from Germany, June 8th, 1917 and March 1918, when I had been for a couple of months in command of a squadron of bombing aeroplanes on the Palestine front, had been taken up with matters of great personal interest, of which I can give here only the barest outline. Things move so fast in modern war that after a year's absence I was as much out of date as Rip Van Winkle after his hundred years' sleep. There were new organizations, new tactics, new theories, and in my own department, new types of aeroplanes, of power and capabilities of which we had only dreamed in 1916. I had to learn to fly once more, and went through a course of artillery observation, for I had every reason to hope that I should be given command of an artillery squadron in France. However, this was forbidden. The powers that be decreed that no escaped prisoner might return to the same front from which he had been captured. This ruling was afterwards altered, but not before I had been captured by the Turks.
After some months spent in teaching flying in England and in Egypt at Aboukir, I was sent up to Palestine early in the year in command of a bombing squadron. I hated bombing, and knew nothing about it; and, though I was very pleased with my command, the fact that I had to deal in bombs and not wireless rather took the gilt off the gingerbread. However, after the experiences of a German prison, the spring weather of Palestine, the comparative peacefulness of our warfare, and an almost independent command were very, very pleasant.
The story opens on March 19th, 1918 with a flight of aeroplanes flying eastward on a cloudy day, at a height of some 4000 feet, over the Dead Sea. Our objective was the station of Kutrani, on the Hedjaz Railway. There were five or six single-seater aeroplanes, in one of which I was flying, escorted by a couple of Bristol fighters. It was a very unpleasant day for formation flying, for not only was it very bumpy as we came over the mountains, which border the Dead Sea, but the very numerous patches of cloud made it both difficult and dangerous to keep at the right distance from one's neighbor. We lost our way once, but eventually found the station which was our objective. A train was just leaving. So I came down rather low and let off two of my bombs unsuccessfully at it, and in doing so lost the rest of the formation. Close by the station there was a German plane standing on an aerodrome which I had a shot at, and I then unloaded the rest of the cargo on the station itself without, as far as I could see, doing much damage. By this time I was far below the clouds, and could see no signs of the rest of the squadron. After cruising about for a few minutes I headed for home, keeping just below the clouds, and very soon caught a glimpse of a Bristol fighter. He saw me at the same time, and for the next twenty minutes we flew side by side. The country below us was of a greeny-brown color in the sunlight, and had the appearance of a great plain bounded on the west by the mountains of the Dead Sea, which we had to cross. In reality it was far from flat, as could be guessed from the occasional zigzags in the white tracks which connected the widely scattered villages. Here and there were small brown patches which represented plough land, and black mounds, which were the tents of the desert Arabs.
I hated these long bomb raids, for the fear of recapture was always on me whilst I was over enemy territory. My nerves had suffered from the events of the previous three years, and it had been only by a great effort of will that I had forced myself to take part in expeditions far over the lines. Perhaps the majority of men are more afraid of being afraid than of anything else—and it may have been partly for this reason, but mainly for another more weighty reason, that I found myself alone in an aeroplane on the wrong side of the Dead Sea. However, in ten minutes we would cross the mountains and the Dead Sea, and be over comparatively friendly territory. I say "comparatively," because it was always a matter of some uncertainty whether the temptation to murder you and steal your kit would overstrain the good wishes of our noble allies. Through the clouds on my left I had just caught a glimpse of the ancient city of El Karak, when my engine sputtered badly, picked up again, and then banged and sputtered once more and half stopped. Owing to the clouds we were flying rather low, and would not cross the hills ahead by more than 1000 feet or so. I checked the instruments and pressure, closed and then slowly opened the throttle, dived with the throttle opened; but all to no purpose, for the engine banged and backfired, and we lost height and revolutions in an alarming way. It was an airlock or water in the petrol, and must be given time to clear itself. How I longed for a little more height. It seemed that the engine might pick up again at any moment, because, for a few seconds, it would give full power and then cut out again completely. Then I found myself a few feet from the ground, and had to land willy-nilly. The place was a ploughed field, almost flat and comparatively free from boulders. We did not sink in very much, but unfortunately the wheels came to rest in a little ditch a few inches deep.