FIGHTING IN THE AIR1

(The distinguishing military feature of the Great World War-the feature marking the greatest difference between this gigantic struggle and preceding wars-was the use of the aeroplane. No wonder the air service the eyes of the army-attracted the most daring spirits among the hosts of both friends and foes. All the leading nations at war developed knights of the air whose names and deeds will never be forgotten: Guynemer, the great French ace; Ball, the English; Rickenbacker, the American; Boelke, the German; Bishop, the Canadian. The lastnamed ace brought down during the fighting season of 1917 forty-seven German machines and two observation balloons!

The selection that follows is taken from Lieut. Colonel Bishop's book, Winged Warfare. As the entire book is true and just as interesting as this selection, you will want to get the book and read the other fighting experiences of this gallant ace.)

A

BOUT the first of April we heard the first rumors of the approaching storm. The British artillery was tuning up all along the line, the greatest fire being centered in the neighborhood of Arras and the Vimy Ridge. It was the beginning of that great tumult of artillery which eventually was to practically blow the top off the ridge-and the Germans with it. Our aeroplanes had been working with the guns, ranging them on the German lines and the villages where the enemy troops were quartered in the rear. There had been much careful "registering" also of the German battery positions, so that when the time came for our troops to "go over the top," the British and Canadian artillery could pour such a torrent of shells on the German guns as to keep them safely silent during the infantry attack.

At last came the orders for our part in another phase of the "show." It was our duty "to clear the air" during the last days of battle preparation. We did not want any more prying eyes looking down upon us from the clouds-it was bad enough to have to submit to the ground observation from the German

'From Lieut. Colonel W. A. Bishop's Winged Warfare. Copyright 1918, by George H. Doran Company, Publishers.

held ridges. We were already accustomed to fighting the enemy aeroplanes over their own ground and thus keeping them as far as possible from our lines, but now we were assigned to a new job. It was attacking the enemy observation balloons. They flew in the same place almost every day, well back of the enemy lines-but the observers in them, equipped with excellent telescopes, could leisurely look far into our lines and note everything that was going on. We proposed to put out these enemy eyes.

They

We called the big, elongated gas-bags "sausages." floated in the air at anywhere from eight hundred to three thousand feet above the ground, and were held captive by cables. These cables were attached to some special kind of windlasses which could pull the balloons down in an incredibly short time. Sometimes they would disappear as if by witchcraft. Wherever the sausages flew they were protected from aeroplane attack by heavy batteries of anti-aircraft guns, familiarly known as "Archies." Our instructions were not only to drive these enemy balloons down but to set fire to and destroy them. This is done by diving on them from above and firing flaming bullets into them-not by dropping bombs on them.

The British attack at Arras and Vimy was set for April ninth-Easter Monday. On the fifth of April we started after the balloons. I was assigned to "do in" a particularly annoying sausage that used to fly persistently in the same place day after day. It was one of the sausages with a queershaped head, looking for all the world like a real flying pig— without feet. Any new sort of hunting always appealed to me strongly, so I was eager for the chase when I crossed into enemy territory in search of my particular game. I flew expectantly in the direction where the balloon usually inhabited the air, but it was nowhere to be seen. I circled down

close to the ground to make sure it was not on duty, and immediately found myself in the midst of a terrific fire from all manner of guns. Something told me to hurry away from there, and I did. The quickest shelter available was a rather dark and forbidding cloud, but I made for it with all my might, climbing as fast as my little single-seater would take me. What a relief it was to be lost in that friendly mist! Continuing to climb, I rose at last into the sunshine and then headed for home.

Every class of our machines was now engaged in the preparations for the big offensive. The bombing squadrons were out by day and by night. With only the stars to guide them, they would fly over the lines and drop tons of high explosives wherever it was considered that the resulting damage would have a crippling effect upon the enemy. Our photographers were busy during every hour of sunlight; and our artillery observing machines were keeping long hours in company with the guns, carrying on the preliminary bombardments.

My own experiences on the seventh of April brought me my first decoration-the Military Cross. The thrills were all condensed into a period of two minutes for me. In that time I was fortunate enough to shoot down an enemy machine and destroy the sausage I had started for two days before. This should have been excitement enough, but I added to it by coming within fifteen feet of being taken a German prisoner and becoming an unwilling guest of the Huns for the remainder of the war.

I was ordered after my particular balloon, and climbed to about five thousand feet before heading for the lines. After flying about five miles over the lines I discovered my sausage, and circled around as a preliminary to diving down upon it. But just then I heard the rattle of a machine gun just behind me, and saw bullet holes appear as if by magic in the wings

of my machine. I pulled back as if to loop, sending the nose of my machine straight up into the air. As I did so the enemy scout shot by underneath me. I stood on my tail for a moment or two, then let the machine drop back, put her nose down and dived after the Hun, opening fire straight behind him at very close range. He continued to dive away with increasing speed, and later was reported to have crashed just under where the combat had taken place. This victory I put down entirely to luck. The man flew directly in line with my gun, and it would have been impossible to have missed him.

I proceeded now to dive for the balloon, but as it had received so much warning it had been pulled down to the ground. I would have been justified in going home when I saw this, for our orders were not to go under one thousand feet after the sausages. But I was just a bit peevish with this particular balloon, and my blood was up. So I decided to attack the ungainly monster in its "bed." I dived straight for it and when about five hundred feet from the ground, opened fire. Nothing happened. So I continued to dive and fire until I was only fifty feet from the bag. Still there was no sign of its catching fire. I then turned my machine gun on the balloon crew, who were working frantically on the ground. They scattered and ran all about the field. Meantime a "flaming onion" battery was attempting to pelt me, so I whirled upon them with a burst of twenty rounds or more.

This was all very exciting, when suddenly, with a feeling of faintness, I realized that my engine had failed. I thought the engine had oiled up from the steep diving I had done. It seemed but a moment before that I was coming down at a speed that must have been nearly two hundred miles an hour. But I had lost it all in turning my machine upon the people on the ground.

There was no doubt in my mind as to just where I was, and there appeared no choice but to land and give myself up. Underneath me was a large open field with a single tree in it. I glided down, intending to strike the tree with one wing just at the moment of landing, thus damaging the machine so that it would be of little use to the Huns, without injuring myself.

I was within fifteen feet of the ground, absolutely sick at heart with the uselessness of it all, my thoughts having turned to home and the worry they would all feel when I should be reported missing, when all at once one of my nine cylinders gave a kick. Then a second one miraculously came to life, and in another moment the old engine the best old engine in all the world-had picked up with a roar on all the nine cylinders. Once again the whole world changed for me. In less time than it takes to tell it I was tearing away for home at a hundred miles an hour.

My greatest safety from attack now lay in keeping close to the ground, and this I did. The "Archies" can not fire when you are so close to earth, and few pilots would have dared risk a dive at me when I was flying so close to the ground. The machine guns below me rattled rather spitefully several times, but worried me not at all. I had had my narrow squeak for this day and nothing could stop me now. I even had time to glance back over my shoulder, and there, to my great joy, I saw a cloud of smoke and flames rising from the sausage I had attacked. We learned afterward that it was completely destroyed.

It was a strange thing to be skimming along just above the ground in enemy territory. From time to time I would come on groups of Germans who would attempt to fire on me with rifles and pistols, but I would dart at them and they would immediately scatter and run for cover. I flew so low that when I would come to a clump of trees I would have to pull my