Sector——at the Front, Oct. 12, 1917.—It's blowing terrifically, wind and rain. You can't imagine how I picture you people at home, warm, happy and safe. I've been out here a week now. Three days of it has been flying weather. Up 25,000 feet and ten miles into Germany is my record so far and I've actually had one combat with a boche. He was below me, at first, far in the distance. I was supposed to be protecting a bombing expedition of ten machines. I saw this spot, started away from the rest and through excitement, anticipation and the goodness knows what, I climbed, went faster and faster until I had the sun between us and the German below me. Then I dived; he heard me and "banked"; we both looped and then came head on, firing incessantly.
My machine gun was empty and the boche had more, for he got in behind me and "Putt! Putt! Putt!" past my ear he came, so I dove, went into a "vrille" with him on top, came out and squared off, and he let me have it again. All I could do was to maneuver, for I had no shells left and I did not want to beat it, so I stuck. We both came head on again and I said a little prayer, but the next time I looked Mr. Boche was going home. I "peaked" straight down, made my escadrille, accompanied them home and when I got out of my furs I was wringing wet in spite of the fact it was cold as ice where I had done my fighting.
CONSIDERS HIS OWN TACTICS
I looked my machine over and found five holes in it, but nothing serious. Tomorrow is going to be bad and no one will fly unless they call for volunteers, and then I think most of us will go. I'd like to figure out what I did wrong. First of all, I was so excited that I fired all my shots at the German and he maneuvered out of my way and then came at me as I was helpless. My captain gave me "harkey" for staying when out of bullets, so I guess the rest was O.K., but I'd hate to run from any boche.
MEN DIE IN FAULTY PLANES
The machine I've been flying has been condemned, so I expect to be sent back to get another one, a brand new one that has never been on the front. Twenty-five pilots in the last month have been killed by wings dropping off. I've seen twelve go and it surely takes the old pep out of you. I was above one and saw his wing crumple, then fall. A man is so utterly helpless he must merely sit there and wait to be killed, and when you're flying the same type of machine it doesn't help your confidence any. I was glad they condemned mine, for I've put my old "cuckoo" through some awful tests and it's about ready to fall apart.
We expect to change soon and go up to a new offensive in F——. If I get through that I'm going to change over to the American army. They have offered me a commission and I think I'll take it. My fingers are cramped and my feet have long since been numb. Now I'm going to wrap up in my fur leathers and go to bed. This is war.
FIGHTS WITH FLYING CIRCUS
Feb. 1, 1918.—Had a great time this last week, and made six long bombardments. For the first three times we had no trouble getting across whatsoever. Coming out the last three times we got some real competition. It was in the form of the flying circus or "tangoes," which consists of fifteen of the best pilots in Germany, commanded by Baron von Richthofen, who seems a good sort, for when you fight him and you both miss he waves and we wave back. We had been at it consistently for four days, and so they sent these birds down opposite us to stop us. We had been in Germany for some distance and had reached our objective and bombed it. There was a heavy fog below us, so I took a couple of turns to make sure we could see our objective. We dropped our bombs and then I turned to the right to see the damage. I had to take a large turn, for the "archies" were shooting pretty close. I looked for my escadrille, and saw these machines way off in the distance. I started for them and soon caught up with them. Then I swerved and dipped up to them, for I thought them a little strange. I got up closer, and, wow! all three dived at me like a rock and bullets flew by me, cutting my plane, so I pulled up at them, fired, swerved so my gunner could let them have it also and then saw the iron cross flash by, so I knew it was the Huns. I started getting altitude and went up high and then the boches got the sun between them and my plane and came again, but I thought this would happen and "peaked." They went under me and that left me on top, so I gave them about 120 bullets, and one went for home. The other two came by again and I went into a tight spiral so my gunner could pump at them—but nothing doing. They beat it home and so did I, for it had been three to one. When I landed I had five holes in my machine. One of the wires had been shot away and gave me some trouble in landing.
Feb. 10, 1918.—We have been pretty busy and had some exciting times. I almost got mine day before yesterday and feel pretty lucky to be here. We started out on a long trip into Germany and all the way over we had no trouble at all. After we bombed, my observer and I dived down on some villages and used our own guns on them. We got so low that the anti-aircraft guns were popping too close, so we beat it. We soon saw a bunch of hangars below us and we dived down on them and shot at them. In a few minutes a bunch of Huns came up from the hangars after us and we beat it to catch up with the others. We got up with them and looked behind us and there were a number of Germans sneaking down on us.