Winged Warfare by William Avery Bishop

Author:William Avery Bishop [Bishop, William A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781443435338
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2014-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter XII

The first few days in May we spent escorting machines taking photographs. It was rather exciting work, for several times we went very long distances into Hunland and stayed over there for hours. It is also very nerve-racking work, as you listen constantly for the least break in the smooth running of your motor, knowing that if it fails you are too far from home ever to get there by gliding. At such times my thoughts always reverted to the ignominy one would feel in helplessly landing among the Germans and saying “Kamerad!” Far better to die in a fight, or even yield up the ghost to a despised “Archie” rather than tamely submit to being taken prisoner. Then, too, all the time you are loafing about taking snapshots from the air, the anti-aircraft fire gets very fierce.

On one occasion we went over to photograph an aerodrome in the vicinity of Douai, a city you can see from the top of Vimy Ridge on any clear day. We had with us in all about twenty machines, and were a very formidable party indeed. As luck would have it we spied two Germans. With two or three other of our fighting pilots, I quickly dodged to one side to try to engage the Huns before they could see the whole crowd of us and be frightened away. But, no luck! They made off the minute we turned our noses in their direction. We proceeded over Douai, and in turning around once or twice, the machine actually taking the photographs was lost. I mean by lost that it got mixed-up with the rest of us and it was practically impossible in that number of machines to pick it out again. The result was we went around and around in circles for half an hour trying to find out where it had gone. It was like an old-fashioned game of “Button, button, who’s got the button?” and was so amusing I had to laugh. Around and around we went. The strain began to get on the nerves, of course, as every minute seemed to be an hour, and we all felt we should be getting away from there as soon as possible. But when you are in great danger, the smallest things make a keen appeal to your sense of humour, and the idea of the whole twenty of us playing such a foolish game in such a dangerous spot, could not help having its funny side. Several of the others on landing told me they had felt the same way about it, and had had many good laughs.

Needless to say, the anti-aircraft guns under us were having the time of their unprincipled lives. They never had had such a huge bunch of good targets to shoot at, so they blazed into the midst of us with all the “hate” they had. But we had the luck, and hardly a machine was touched. We were flying at 13,000 feet, and that seemed lucky in itself.

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