Among the possessions of one of the naval squadrons co-operating with the Army-that-Flies along the front is a foolscap manuscript notebook bearing the superscription Notes on Aerial Fighting. The youthful author of these notes will never handle either pen or “joy-stick” again, but he has left behind him a document that is, in its way, one of the epics of war literature. It has since been printed (in expurgated form), and has doubtless found its way into textbooks and treatises on the subject. But to be appreciated to the full it should be read in the original round, rather boyish handwriting, within hearing of the continuous murmur of the British guns and the drone of a scouting fighter passing overhead.
It contains ten commandments, which, for a variety of reasons, need not be recapitulated here. But the introduction epitomises the spirit of them all:
“The man who gets most Huns in his lifetime is the man who observes these commandments and fights with his head. The others either get killed or get nerves in a very short time and the country does not get the full benefit of having trained them.”
The commandments conclude with the following exhortation: “A very pleasant (sic) help in time of trouble is to put yourself in the enemy’s place and view the situation from his point of view. If you feel frightened before an attack, just think how frightened he must be!”
The Navy-that-Floats possesses for its “pleasant help” an awesome volume of some 946 pages (not counting Addenda), entitled The King’s Regulations and Admiralty Instructions. Yet in all its pages there is not one clause which can compare with this brave sentence: for this is youth speaking to youth, for the guidance and comfort of his soul.
Now in one of the squadrons of the Navy-that-Flies there are three flight leaders, and the sum total of their ages is fifty-nine. The youngest, whatever his birth certificate may testify, looks something under sixteen. Of him it is related that in his early youth, having brought down a hostile machine within the British lines and captured the two occupants (with Iron Crosses complete), he approached a certain general, demanding transport for his prisoners—covering them the while with an automatic pistol.
“Transport?” said the general. “Where d’you want to take them?”
“To my squadron headquarters,” was the grave reply. “I’d like to keep ’em for a bit. I’d like the others to see ’em.”
“Damn it,” replied the General, “they ain’t canaries. Certainly not. Send ’em to the cages with the rest of the prisoners.”
The victor flew sorrowfully homewards, and on arrival gave it as his opinion that professional jealousy was the ruination of the Junior Service....