II
INCREASING THE PACE
French Aviator’s Bag.
Only time for a few lines before the post goes. I was flying at a quarter to three o’clock this morning. I was orderly pilot, and a Hun was reported in the neighbourhood. I went to bed after two hours’ flying and was knocked up again, and spent another couple of hours in the air—all this before I had anything to eat or drink. Luckily I was not at all hungry or thirsty. The Hun I was chasing (or rather looking for) on my second patrol was brought down a few miles from our aerodrome by a French aviator. The pilot and observer were killed. Neither my observer nor I saw anything at all of the fight, as we were patrolling further down the line. You bet I was fed up when we landed. The smash was brought to our place and taken away by the French. The machine seemed essentially German—very solid and thick, weight no object. The French aviators were very nice. I had a chat with them. The rumours at the aerodrome were various—one that I was brought down; another that I had brought down a Hun; and a third that a French aviator and I had had a scrap!
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The Enemy in our Midst.
Here is a true story. There was some night flying at one of our aerodromes the other day, and a machine came over and fired a coloured light asking “Can I come down?” The people on the ground fired one in reply meaning “Yes,” and a completely equipped German biplane landed and a guttural German voice was heard shouting for mechanics. He got them all right, but they were R.F.C. and not German mechanics. The coincidence of the signals was extraordinary. The machine—it was an Aviatik—was in perfect order, and has since been flown and tested by the R.F.C. It was wonderfully kind of them to plank their machine down in that aerodrome, and the surprise on both sides must have been extremely comical to watch when the Hun discovered it was an English ’drome, and the mechanics discovered it was a Hun pilot.
I know that this is Sunday, as we have had a lot of work to do. I have just come down from my job. I went up at 12.30 and landed at 3.40. Not a bad flight? I was up and down the lines patrolling most of the time. Our escort lost us soon after leaving the ’drome, but it didn’t matter. I got Archied two or three times, but nothing really annoying. They are very clever with those guns. For instance, when I was a mile and a half or perhaps less on our side of the lines they fired Archie on the French side of me, hoping I would turn away from it and so get within better range. They generally let you cross the lines in peace, so as to entice you over as far as possible, and then let you have it hot and strong all the way back....
I have just been to look at the machine. Apparently one of those Archies got nearer than I thought, for a piece of shrapnel has made a 6-inch hole in the tail plane. The shrapnel must have been spent, because it has only pierced the bottom surface of the tail, and has not penetrated the top. I was rather pleased when I found that, as it is something to say that your machine has been hit by Archie.
The ping-pong set has arrived.
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