Horses Don't Fly by Frederick Libby

Author:Frederick Libby
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61145-449-9
Publisher: Arcade
Published: 2011-01-13T16:00:00+00:00

18

First Flight over German Lines,

One Enemy Plane Confirmed

Through all of this I have remainded quiet, but finally come alive enough to inquire what is so wonderful in hitting a can where you have forty-seven shots and let the works go, which was quite contrary to what I was told, and I don’t feel too cockeyed good about my showing, even if everyone seems to think it wasn’t bad.

“Libby, the point is you did shoot. I have seen them freeze and never shoot. After two or three attempts they go back to their unit. This is one reason we are so short of observers. Shooting from the air, where you are all exposed, with nothing but your gun to keep you steady, is why so many men fail as observers the first two or three times.”

Our conversation is interrupted by the entrance of a buck private with flying coat, helmet, boots and gloves, which is a squadron issue and fits like it. Asked by Chapman if there isn’t something better in the coat department, he says, Possibly, but there is not time for that. He’s flying at three and is to be on field at two-thirty. “All right, son, you may go, and take your junk with you. I’ll fit Libby out with one of my outfits. Try this helmet, it fits like a helmet should, doesn’t drop down over your eyes. The coat is just right and, if I were you, I would put on a heavier pair of socks as your shoes are good and won’t be awkward like boots. Now for a pair of gloves and goggles and you look the part, which will please our Old Man, who you can bet will be out to see the flight leave. So while you are here, wear these clothes for good luck. You will soon be buying some for yourself.”

What a chap. You would almost think I couldn’t miss. All I could say was thanks. I at least looked like a flyer, regardless of how ignorant or green I might be. So with my new flying coat over my arm I am in front of the hangar at two-thirty promptly, where I find my pilot is Lieutenant Hicks. We have thirty minutes before flight time, as his ship is not out of the hangar. I wander over to wait, where I am assured by one of the mechanics that he is a top pilot, which is sweet music to my ears. Now, if I can just do my part and not let him down. In a few minutes I see him approaching from around one of the hangars, his leather flying coat hanging over his arm, helmet cocked on one side of his head, perfectly at ease and as carefree as a school girl headed for an ice cream parlor.

His first words were, “Stout show this morning, glad to have you with me.” Whether he really meant it or was just trying to build up my courage, I didn’t know.

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