With the French Flying Corps

by Carroll Dana Winslow

The "Réserve Générale de l'Aviation," "R.G.A.," or, as it is more commonly known, the "Groupe d'Entrainement," is situated northeast of Paris, on the plains of Valois. It was there that General Maunoury, in September, 1914, launched his turning movement against the German right flank under General von Kluck, and helped save France in the great battle of the Marne. The country in this section is ideal for aviation, for the hills are low and rolling, and there are very few "obstacles." In a large forest—an "obstacle"—the village of Ermenonville lies. Here we were billeted, while the commanding officer of the reserve made his headquarters in the château of the Prince Radzivill, the "patron" of the neighborhood.

The organization of the reserve is stupendous. There are four separate camps, one for each branch of aviation, and there are over one hundred machines in each camp. We were practically our own masters, and could make flights whenever and wherever we wished. The idea is that the pilots here have an opportunity of perfecting themselves and that, if they do not fly, why, then it is their own loss. Acrobatics and all sorts of feats are encouraged. Accidents occur every day, but we were here on "active service" and our time was far too taken up with our work for any one to pay much attention to the unlucky ones. That, at the front, is a duty reserved for the medical corps.

Now that we were all gathered in one great camp, I had the opportunity of noticing more than before the different types of men that are to be found in the French Flying Corps. Unlike the conscript "poilu" of the army, every aviator is a volunteer. Aviation is far more dangerous than fighting in the trenches, yet there are many who have preferred the extra risk of being in the Aviation Corps to the tedium of remaining in the narrow-walled trenches. I believe there is at present a waiting list of over six thousand men who have applied for service in the Flying Corps, but for whom there are still no vacancies. A pilot may resign his commission at any time and return to his regiment at the front, but the majority of the "vacancies" are caused by casualties. Curiously enough, there are many men who have been rendered unfit by wounds for service in the infantry, who have volunteered for the air service. A people with such patriots surely can never be defeated.

The French army understands that flying calls for the most intense kind of concentration, mental as well as physical. Every effort is therefore made to absolve the aviators from all work except that of running the machines and seeing that they are well cared for. My old football trainer in college used to say that his principle was to wrap the men in cotton-wool when they were off the field and drive them for all they were worth when they were in the field. The French seem to have the same theory about aviation. No one who has not tried it can appreciate the tremendous strain of flying. After a few hours in the air I find that I am more exhausted than I used to be after a hard football match.

While the matter of personal habits is left to the aviator's judgment, he is usually cautioned about drinking, smoking, and even overeating. You need all the strength there is in you when in the air. The French, as every one knows, drink wine as we drink tea and coffee. Yet I have noticed that French aviators, when they are at work at the front, merely color their water with the wine. Many of them smoke cigarettes only in moderation.

The democracy existing in the French army since the outbreak of hostilities has aroused the enthusiasm of every observer and has caused much surprise to incredulous pacifists. The Aviation Corps I found even more democratic among themselves than the other branches of the service. I suppose one of the reasons for this total absence of distinction between officers and men is because they all have passed through the same schools, through the same courses of training, and have run the same risks. Among the pilots, however, one may notice three classes. The first and predominating class is that composed of "gentlemen." By gentlemen I mean gentlemen in the English sense—men who in private life have the leisure time to be sportsmen, and who in war have chosen aviation because it is a more sporting proposition than fighting in the trenches. The second class comprises those who before the war were professional pilots or aviation mechanics. In the third class one finds men who were mechanics or chauffeurs by trade and who were accepted because their knowledge of machinery would ultimately help them to become pilots.

The best pilots are obtained from men between the ages of twenty and thirty. Under twenty a boy is too impetuous, and over thirty a man is apt to be too cautious. Of course, there are exceptions, but these limits express the preferences of the instructors at the schools.

At the "R.G.A." there is also a course for the training of young artillery officers who have volunteered as observers for the aviation. Our duty as pilots was to take one of these officers up with us every time we made a flight, so as to give him "air sense." We would make imaginary reconnoissances all over the country, regulate supposed batteries, and go on photographic missions. The observer would send off his reports by wireless and direct us by his maps, while we would do our best to throw him off his guard and make him lose his bearings. In this way observer and pilot work together and help each other with observations and advice. During my stay at the "R.G.A." my partner was a young artillery officer who had just been promoted from the ranks. He was very clever and full of enthusiasm for his work, and we derived much pleasure from our association.

"Réglage," or fire-control, was a course that involved practice, constant practice, and still more practice, in developing a faculty for reading distances. We would go up and try to estimate just where the puffs of smoke, representing the explosion of shells, went off. The corrections then had to be wirelessed to the battery, so that the next shots might get "home." In real observation work the observer does all this. The pilot merely flies the machine. It is thought best, however, for the pilot to have the same training and technic as the observer, so that he may help the latter.

While stationed at the Réserve I made some most interesting trips around the country, up and down the valley of the Marne, over the forest of Compiègne, and even over Paris. In fact, I was at liberty to go anywhere, except in a northeasterly direction, for there there was always a danger of getting across the lines. Two or three machines disappeared in the course of a year, and it is thought that the pilots must have committed an "indiscretion" and fallen into the hands of the Germans for their pains.