Part 34
He proposed to the other officers that if the eight of them would at a given signal jump on the four guards and overpower them, they could, when the train slowed down on approaching a village, leap to the ground and take to flight. But the others turned the plan down on the ground that if they did get free they would be recaptured speedily. O’Brien therefore resolved to make a try on his own account by a leap from a window when the train was in motion. After long self-debate, as they were getting nearer and nearer to their destination he successfully put his resolution into effect.
MAKING HIS ESCAPE
Then began one of the most remarkable series of perils, hardships, struggles and curious adventures that fell to the lot of any individual in the course of the war. With the aid of a map, which he had stolen from a guard’s room at Courtrai, he set out with the distant Holland frontier as his objective. It is a narrative that loses by condensation, for there is hardly an adventure or experience that has not novel interest as O’Brien relates it. To avoid detection and capture he had to secrete himself by day, all his travel being by night. His guide was the Pole Star. “But for it I wouldn’t be here to-day.”
About the ninth night he crossed into Luxemburg, but though the principality was officially neutral it offered no safer haven than Belgium would. Discovery would have been followed by the same consequences as capture in Germany proper. In the nine nights he had traveled perhaps seventy-five miles.
He was nine or ten days getting across Luxemburg, a task that could have been accomplished in two days of normal travel, but swollen feet and knees, aching body and a hunger-griping stomach together with the necessity of stealth to avoid discovery, German guards, workmen and others often having to be widely circled are not conducive to speed. About the eighteenth day after his leap from the train he entered Belgium, and some days later brought up at the Meuse between Namur and Huy, where it was at least half a mile wide. There he came nearest of all to giving up the struggle. But he must get across. There was nothing to do but swim.
There were adventures in Belgium, some amusing, some harrowing, all of them perilous to an English officer escaped from captivity. When, after narrow escapes not a few he reached the Holland frontier, one of the greatest of his herculean tasks presented itself. He had to pass the triple barbed-wire barrier with its electrically charged nine-foot-high fence. With hands and sticks he resolutely set to work to dig under the deadly barrier—hard work and most dangerous. He was forced to stop from time to time to escape detection. At last, on November 19, 1917, the hole was finished. He writhed through and into Holland territory.
A few more difficulties to surmount, then on board train for Rotterdam, a run to London, a presentation to the King, some banquet pleasures in London and, crowning all, home again, “in the little town of Momence, Illinois, on the Kankakee River.”
A TRACK AND TRACKLESS WINNER
Eddie Rickenbacker, Who Won Popularity as an Auto Racer, Snatched Lasting Glory from the Void.
The spirit of adventure had won for Eddie Rickenbacker a wide popularity long before he began plucking laurels from the skies. His performances as an automobile racer had made him the idol of lovers of that perilous sport and taught him the cool judgment and generalship in dealing with velocities which served him to such good purpose when he exchanged automobiles for aeroplanes. When America entered the war Rickenbacker was in England on automobile business, but hastened back to America with the intention of organizing a flying squadron of motor drivers for service in France. His plan was not possible at the time from the government point of view, and Rickenbacker accepted the position of chauffeur to General Pershing and sailed with that officer. It was not long after, however, that the loftier ambition found its channel and at Villeneuve, March 4, 1918, he became a member of Squadron 94, the so-called “Hat-in-the-Ring” squadron of which Major Lufbery was the commander. Lufbery was then America’s top ace, his service of more than three years in the French Air Service and with the Lafayette Escadrille having netted him seventeen Huns, omitting those not officially recorded. A little over two months later, May 19, 1918, Major Lufbery was killed by a leap from his flaming machine. The title of American Ace of Aces passed from Lufbery to Lieutenant Paul Baer, who, with a record of nine victories, had not gotten over his repugnance to shooting down an enemy aviator. Two days later Baer was shot down and captured. Lieutenant Frank Baylies succeeded to the title. He was killed June 12th with 13 victories to his credit. Then David Putnam, with 12 victories, took the lead. He was shot down in flames. Rickenbacker, who in the period between March and July had accounted for seven enemy machines, next was ace of aces for a brief time, but Frank Luke took the title from him in a single day’s stunning exploit, as told in the special story of that amazing young man. In due course, however, the Rickenbacker record grew becomingly and in addition to attaining the highest score on downs he conspicuously distinguished himself in the service as Squadron Commander. Some of his eulogists do not hesitate to give him preëminence as a commander because of the judgment he exercised in protecting himself and guarding the safety of less competent pilots.
Not a few aviators have written books descriptive of their experiences and there is quite a library of these high adventure stories; but it is probable that the uncommonly voluminous book Rickenbacker has contributed to the long list is one of the most valuable because of the great variety of interesting matter it comprises. Indeed _Fighting the Flying Circus_ has historic importance as well as storied interest and is not by any means a glorification of its author. That fact makes it rather difficult to take from the book the material wanted for a personal sketch without including attractive matter that would speedily exceed our limits of space—for example, the complete narrative of the exploit with “Rumpler Number 16”; or the story of Douglas Campbell, America’s first ace; or the story of Jimmy Meissner, who piloted his machine with the canvas gone; and others.
CHAGRIN A SAVING GRACE
Before Rickenbacker scored a victory he suffered many disappointments, and felt the chagrin of seeing his expected quarry escape. There was serviceable virtue in it all nevertheless, as he admits in his account of downing his first Hun. He says:
[Illustration:
© _Underwood and Underwood._
Captain “Eddie” Rickenbacker with His Mother and Sister]
“My preparation for combat fighting in the air was a gradual one. As I look back upon it now, it seems that I had the rare good fortune to experience almost every variety of danger that can beset the war pilot before I ever fired a shot at an enemy from an aeroplane.
“This good fortune is rare, it appears to me. Many a better man than myself has leaped into his stride and begun accumulating victories from his very first flight over the lines. It was a brilliant start for him and his successes brought him instant renown. But he had been living on the cream at the start and was unused to the skim-milk of aviation. One day the cream gave out and the first dose of skim-milk terminated his career.
“So despite the weeks and weeks of disappointment that attended my early fighting career, I appreciated even then the enormous benefit that I would reap later from these experiences. I can now most solemnly affirm that had I won my first victory during my first trips over the lines I believe I would never have survived a dozen combats. Every disappointment that came to me brought with it an enduring lesson that repaid me eventually tenfold. If any one of my antagonists had been through the same school of disappointments that had so annoyed me it is probable that he, instead of me, would now be telling his friends back home about his series of victories over the enemy.”
It was April 29, 1918, that he had his turn of luck. He was in the air with Captain James Norman Hall following a course towards Pont-à-Mousson, as that experienced flyer led the way.
“Whether or not he knew all along that a German craft was in that region I could not tell. But when he began to change his direction and curve up into the sun I followed close behind him knowing that there was a good reason for this maneuver. I looked earnestly about me in every direction.
“Yes! There was a scout coming towards us from north of Pont-à-Mousson. It was at about our altitude. I knew it was a Hun the moment I saw it, for it had the familiar lines of their new Pfalz. Moreover, my confidence in James Norman Hall was such that I knew he couldn’t make a mistake. And he was still climbing into the sun, carefully keeping his position between its glare and the oncoming fighting plane. I clung as closely to Hall as I could. The Hun was steadily approaching us, unconscious of his danger, for we were full in the sun.
“With the first downward dive of Jimmy’s machine I was by his side. We had at least a thousand feet advantage over the enemy and we were two to one numerically. He might outdive our machines, for the Pfalz is a famous diver, while our faster climbing Nieuports had a droll little habit of shedding their fabric when plunged too furiously through the air. The Boche hadn’t a chance to outfly us. His only salvation would be in a dive towards his own lines.
“These thoughts passed through my mind in a flash and I instantly determined upon my tactics. While Hall went in for his attack I would keep my altitude and get a position the other side of the Pfalz, to cut off his retreat.
“No sooner had I altered my line of flight than the German pilot saw me leave the sun’s rays. Hall was already half-way to him when he stuck up his nose and began furiously climbing to the upper ceiling. I let him pass me and found myself on the other side just as Hall began firing. I doubt if the Boche had seen Hall’s Nieuport at all.
“Surprised by discovering this new antagonist, Hall, ahead of him, the Pfalz immediately abandoned all idea of a battle and banking around to the right started for home, just as I had expected him to do. In a trice I was on his tail. Down, down we sped with throttles both full open. Hall was coming on somewhere in my rear. The Boche had no heart for evolutions or maneuvers. He was running like a scared rabbit, as I had run from Campbell. I was gaining upon him every instant and had my sights trained dead upon his seat before I fired my first shot.
WITHOUT A RETURN SHOT
“At 150 yards I pressed my triggers. The tracer bullets cut a streak of living fire into the rear of the Pfalz tail. Raising the nose of my aeroplane slightly the fiery streak lifted itself like a stream of water pouring from a garden hose. Gradually it settled into the pilot’s seat. The swerving of the Pfalz course indicated that its rudder no longer was held by a directing hand. At 2,000 feet above the enemy’s lines I pulled up my headlong dive and watched the enemy machine continuing on its course. Curving slightly to the left the Pfalz circled a little to the south and the next minute crashed onto the ground just at the edge of the woods a mile inside their own lines. I had brought down my first enemy aeroplane and had not been subjected to a single shot!”
So capital a beginning had an appropriate sequence of performances and honors to match, among them, as early as May 15th, the Croix de Guerre. That day, too, Lieutenant Jimmy Meissner, the merriest, most reckless member of the squadron, took to his breast the Croix de Guerre, and much ado the two had to keep their elation within the limits of decorum, which stunt flying for the entertainment of the French officials did not diminish. Rickenbacker says:
“Suddenly Jimmy Meissner stood by my side, grinning his most winsome grin. ‘Rick,’ said he, ‘I feel that “Hate-the-Hun” feeling creeping over me. What do you say to going up and getting a Boche?’
“‘Right!’ I called back over my shoulder. ‘Come along. We’ll take a real ride.’
“As luck would have it, we had hardly left the ground when we saw a Hun two-seater, probably a Rumpler machine, very high above us. The Rumpler has the highest ceiling of any of the German two-seaters and frequently they sail along above us at an elevation quite impossible for the Nieuport to reach. It is maddening to attain one’s maximum height and see the enemy still sailing imperturbably along, taking his photographs and scorning even to fire an occasional burst at one. We climbed at our fastest to overtake this fellow before he could reach his safety spot. Evidently he got ‘wind up,’ for after a few minutes climbing he sheered off towards Germany and disappeared from our view. We completed our patrol of the lines without finding another enemy in the sky and returned to our field, where we landed with the mutual vow that on the morrow we would begin seriously our palm collecting shows until we might dangle our new Croix de Guerre well down below our knees.
“Jimmy looked contemplatively down at my long legs.
“‘Have a heart, Rick!’ he said softly, ‘think of the cost of the red tape!’”
As combats in the air, however varied in the performance, have a great similarity in narrative, it were bootless to follow the captain through the many experiences that earned his distinction. The earlier incidents were when the squadron was confined to the use of Nieuports because more satisfactory machines were not available. He dwells with some pride of possession on the later equipment of Spads. Soon after getting them he had become Flight Commander, and relates an unusual experience to illustrate the extent to which the Flight Leader of a squadron feels himself morally bound to go.
“Six of my Spads were following me in a morning’s patrol over the enemy’s lines in the vicinity of Rheims. We were well along towards the front when we discovered a number of aeroplanes far above us and somewhat behind our side of the lines. While we made a circle or two, all the while steadily climbing for higher altitude, we observed the darting machines above us exchanging shots at one another. Suddenly the fracas developed into a regular free-for-all.
“Reaching a slightly higher altitude at a distance of a mile or two to the east of the mêlée, I collected my formation and headed about for the attack. Just then I noticed that one side had evidently been victorious. Seven aeroplanes remained together in compact formation. The others had streaked it away, each man for himself.
SEVEN TO SEVEN
“As we drew nearer we saw that the seven conquerors were in fact enemy machines. There was no doubt about it. They were Fokkers. Their opponents, whether American, French or British, had been scattered and had fled. The Fokkers had undoubtedly seen our approach and had very wisely decided to keep their formation together rather than separate to pursue their former antagonists. They were climbing to keep my squad ever a little below them, while they decided upon their next move.
“We were seven and they were seven. It was a lovely morning with clear visibility, and all my pilots, I knew, were keen for a fight. I looked over the skies and discovered no reason why we shouldn’t take them on at any terms they might require. Accordingly I set our course a little steeper and continued straight on towards them.
“The Spad is a better climber than the Fokker. Evidently the Boche pilots opposite us knew this fact. Suddenly the last four in their formation left their line of flight and began to draw away in the direction of Soissons—still climbing. The three Fokkers in front continued towards us for another minute or two. When we were separated by less than a quarter of a mile the three Heinies decided that they had done enough for their country, and putting down their noses, they began a steep dive for their lines.
“To follow them was so obvious a thing to do that I began at once to speculate upon what this maneuver meant to them. The four rear Fokkers were well away by now, but the moment we began to dive after the three ahead of us they would doubtless be prompt to turn and select a choice position behind our tails. Very well! We would bank upon this expectation of theirs and make our plans accordingly!
“We were at about 17,000 feet altitude. The lines were almost directly under us. Following the three retreating Fokkers at our original level, we soon saw them disappear well back into Germany. Now for the wily four that were probably still climbing for altitude!
“Arriving over Fismes I altered our course and pointed it towards Soissons, and as we flew we gained an additional thousand feet. Exactly upon the scheduled time we perceived approaching us the four Fokkers who were now satisfied that they had us at a disadvantage and might either attack or escape, as they desired. They were, however, at precisely the same altitude at which we were now flying.
“Wigwagging my wings as a signal for the attack, I sheered slightly to the north of them to cut off their retreat. They either did not see my maneuver or else they thought we were friendly aeroplanes, for they came on dead ahead like a flock of silly geese. At two hundred yards I began firing.
“Not until we were within fifty yards of each other did the Huns show any signs of breaking. I had singled out the flight leader and had him nicely within my sights, when he suddenly piqued downwards, the rest of his formation immediately following him. At the same instant one of my guns—the one having a double feed—hopelessly jammed. And after a burst of twenty shots or so from the other gun it likewise failed me! There was no time to pull away for repairs!
“Both my guns were useless. For an instant I considered the advisability of withdrawing while I tried to free the jam. But the opportunity was too good to lose. The pilots behind me would be thrown into some confusion when I signaled them to carry on without me. And moreover the enemy pilots would quickly discover my trouble and would realize that the flight leader was out of the fight. I made up my mind to go through with the fracas without guns and trust to luck to see the finish. The next instant we were ahead of the quartet and were engaged in a furious dog-fight.
“Every man was for himself. The Huns were excellent pilots and seemed to be experienced fighters. Time and again I darted into a good position behind or below a tempting target, with the sole result of compelling the Fritz to alter his course and get out of his position of supposed danger. If he had known I was unarmed he would have had me at his mercy. As it was I would no sooner get into a favorable position behind him than he would double about and the next moment I found myself compelled to look sharp to my own safety.
“In this manner the whole revolving circus went tumbling across the heavens—always dropping lower and steadily traveling deeper into the German lines. Two of my pilots had abandoned the scrap and turned homewards. Engines or guns had failed them. When at last we had fought down to 3,000 feet and were some four miles behind their lines, I observed two flights of enemy machines coming up from the rear to their rescue. We had none of us secured a single victory—but neither had the Huns. Personally I began to feel a great longing for home. I dashed out ahead of the foremost Spad and frantically wigwagging him to attention I turned my little ’bus towards our lines. With a feeling of great relief I saw that all four were following me and that the enemy reënforcements were not in any position to dispute our progress.
“On the way homeward I struggled with my jammed guns—but to no result. Despite every precaution these weapons will fail a pilot when most needed. I had gone through with a nerve-racking scrap, piquing upon deadly opponents with a harmless machine. My whole safety had depended upon their not knowing it.”
AS SQUADRON COMMANDER
The night of September 24th Rickenbacker received the order promoting him to the command of the 94 Squadron, his pride and pleasure being greater than he could find words to express. He had been with the squadron since the first day at the front; but three of the original members were left—Reed Chambers, Thorn Taylor, and himself. He took counsel for himself that night and formulated rules for himself. He would never ask a pilot to go on a mission he would not undertake himself. He would lead by example as well as by precept. He would accompany the new pilots to watch their errors and give them more confidence by showing their dangers. He would work harder than ever he did as a pilot. Full of enthusiasm to carry out his purpose he started out the next morning on a lone, voluntary patrol and within half an hour returned to the aerodrome with two more victories to his credit—“the first double-header I had so far won.” He discovered a pair of L. V. G. two-seater machines, above which was a formation of five Fokkers. From a position well up in the sun Rickenbacker drove down at the nearest Fokker and sent it crashing with the first volley. The Huns were so surprised by the suddenness of the attack and the drop of one of them that their only thought was of escape. Before they recovered their wits and renewed their formation, one of the L. V. G. two-seaters was shot down in flames, and quite content with his morning’s work Rickenbacker put on gas and piqued for home.
October 30th Rickenbacker won his 25th and 26th victories, the last that were added to his score. But on November 9th Major Kirby, who had just joined the 94 Squadron for a little air fighting experience, was one of a party of four who flew off for a try at the retreating Huns, and shot down an enemy plane across the Meuse. This was the last plane shot down in the war. Rather exultingly, pardonably so, Captain Rickenbacker says:
“Our old 94 Squadron had won the first American victory over enemy aeroplanes when Alan Winslow and Douglas Campbell had dropped two biplane machines on the Toul aerodrome. 94 Squadron had been first to fly over the lines and had completed more hours flying at the front than any other American organization. It had won more victories than any other—and now, for the last word, it had the credit of bringing down the last enemy aeroplane of the war!”