Part 11 (1/2)
The English were distinctly less satisfied for they preferred avoiding our base. It was a pity that they gave us a wide berth, for they gave us lots of fun. Let us hope that they come back to us next month.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] Schafer was also shot by Lieut. Rhys-Davids, R. F. C., later in 1917.
[31] It is possible that the figures are correct. Early in 1917, before the advent of the British fighters and de Havillands in quant.i.ties, the R. F. C. was having a very bad time. On April 7, for example, it was reported in the G. H. Q. Communique that twenty-eight English machines were missing.
[32] This might be a useful hint to some people who like to build repair depots, or big bombing aerodromes, right alongside the sea a few miles behind the firing line, so that they may be easily located after the shortest possible flight by the most inexperienced bombing pilot.
[33] One a.s.sumes that the reference is to the ancient F. E. 2b. ”pusher”
biplane, which, though produced in 1915, was still used for night bombing up till well on in 1918.
[34] This description is typical of what these extraordinary night-flying pilots do with their ancient ”flying pianos” night after night, when the weather is reasonable. Von Richthofen's generous admiration is thoroughly well deserved.
XII
_Schafer Lands Between the Lines_
WE went on a shooting expedition on the twentieth of April. We came home very late and lost Schafer on the way.
Of course everyone hoped that he would come to hand before dark. It struck nine, it struck ten, but no Schafer was visible. His benzine could not last so long. Consequently, he had landed somewhere, for no one was willing to admit that he had been shot down. No one dared to mention the possibility. Still, everyone was afraid for him.
The ubiquitous telephone was set in motion in order to find out whether a flying man had come down anywhere. n.o.body could give us information.
No Division and no Brigade had seen anything of him. We felt very uncomfortable. At last we went to bed. All of us were perfectly convinced that he would turn up in the end.
At two o'clock, after midnight, I was suddenly awakened. The telephone orderly, beaming with pleasure, reported to me: ”Schafer is in the Village of Y. and would like to be fetched home.”
The next morning when we were sitting at breakfast the door opened and my dear pilot stood before me. His clothes were as filthy as those of an infantryman who has fought at Arras for a fortnight. He was greeted with a general Hurrah! Schafer was tremendously happy and elated and tremendously excited about his adventure. When he had finished his breakfast he told us the following tale:
”I was flying along the front intending to return home. Suddenly I noticed far below me something that looked like an infantry flier. I attacked him, shot him down, and meant to fly back. However, the English in the trenches did not mean me to get away and started peppering me like anything. My salvation lay in the rapidity of my machine, for those rascals, of course, would forget that they had to aim far in front of me if they wished to hit me.
”I was at an alt.i.tude of perhaps six hundred feet. Suddenly, I heard a smash and my engine stopped running. There was nothing to do but to land. I asked myself whether I should be able to get away from the English position. It seemed very questionable. The English noticed my predicament and started shooting like mad.
”As my engine was no longer running I could hear every single shot. The position became awkward. I came down and landed. Before my machine had come to a standstill they squirted upon me heaps of bullets from machine guns in the hedge of the village of Monchy near Arras. My machine became splashed with bullets.
”I jumped out of it and down into the first sh.e.l.l hole. Squatting there I reflected and tried to realize exactly where I was. Gradually it became clear to me that I had landed outside the English lines, but cursedly near them. Happily it was rather late in the evening and that was my salvation.
”Before long the first sh.e.l.l came along. Of course they were gas sh.e.l.ls and I had no mask with me. My eyes started watering like anything.
Before darkness set in the English ascertained the distance of the spot where I had landed with machine guns. Part of them aimed at my machine and part at my sh.e.l.l crater. The bullets constantly hit its rim.
”In order to quiet my nerves I lit a cigarette. Then I took off my heavy fur coat and prepared everything for a leap and a run. Every minute seemed to me an hour.
”Gradually it became dark, but only very gradually. Around me I heard partridges giving a concert. As an experienced shot I recognized from their voices that they felt quite happy and contented, that there was no danger of my being surprised in my hiding place.
”At last it became quite dark. Suddenly and quite close to me a couple of partridges flew up. A second couple followed. It was obvious that danger was approaching. No doubt a patrol was on the way to wish me a happy evening.
”I had no time to lose. Now or never. First I crept very cautiously on my chest from sh.e.l.l hole to sh.e.l.l hole. After creeping industriously for about an hour and a half I noticed I was nearing humans. Were they English or were they Germans? They came nearer and I could almost have fallen round their necks, when I discovered our own musketeers. They were a German patrol who were nosing about in No Man's Land.