M., September 27, 1915
I was casually wandering through the streets; stopped to read the daily bulletins, and there was my name.
It happened the third day of my stay here. As my machines had not yet arrived, the Captain loaned me a Fokker. I was told to be ready at nine o’clock, as the others were to protect the Kaiser, who was breakfasting in a nearby castle. As I wanted to get acquainted with my machine, I went up at a quarter of nine. I was up about three or four minutes when I saw bombs bursting and three or four enemy ’planes flying toward M. I quickly tried to climb to their altitude. This, of course, always takes some time, and by that time the enemy was over M., unloading their bombs on the railroad station. Luckily they hit nothing. After they had all dropped their bombs (there were now ten of them) they turned to go home. I was now about at their altitude, so I started for them. One of the biplanes saw me—it seems they go along to protect the others—and he attacked me from above. Since it is very hard to fire at an opponent who is above you, I let him have a few shots and turned away. That was all the Frenchman wanted, so he turned back. I again attacked the squadron and soon succeeded in getting in range of the lowest of them. I did not fire till I was within a hundred meters, to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. My opponent was frightened and tried to escape. I was right behind him all the while, and kept filling him with well-aimed shots. My only worry was the others, who heard the shots and came to their comrade’s rescue. I had to hurry. I noticed I was having some success, because the Frenchman started to glide to earth. Finally, both of us had dropped from 2,500 meters to 1,200. I kept firing at him from behind, as well as I could. In the meantime, however, two of his friends had arrived and sent me several friendly greetings. That isn’t very comfortable, and to add to it all, I was without a map above a strange territory and did not know where I was any longer. As my opponent kept flying lower and his companions followed, I had to assume I was behind the enemy’s line. Therefore, I ceased my attack and soon, owing to my speed and lack of desire to follow on the part of the French, I left them far behind. Now I had to find my way back. I flew north, and after a time got back to the district around M., which was familiar to me from my days at the officers’ school. When I got back I only knew what I have told, and could report only a battle and not a victory. By aid of a map I found I had been over P. à M. In the afternoon the report came that the infantry on the heights of —— had seen a biplane “flutter” to earth. The artillery positively reported that the biplane I had fired on had fallen behind the enemy’s barbed-wire entanglements. They said the pilot had been dragged to the trenches, dead or severely wounded. Then our artillery had fired at the ’plane and destroyed it. I can only explain the thing this way: I wounded the pilot during the fight; he had tried to glide to earth and land behind his own lines; shortly before landing he lost consciousness or control of his machine; then he “fluttered” to earth; i.e., fell. This was the fourth one.
October 17, 1915
Yesterday, the 16th, I shot down a French Voisin biplane near P.
R., November 2, 1915