Winged Warfare by William Avery Bishop Page B

Our machines were not only called upon to fly faster by far than the swiftest birds, but to do “stunts” that no bird ever thought of. Whoever heard of a bird flying upside down?
    Yet there were plenty of our pilots who rather delighted in doing this. There are trick flyers just as there are trick bicyclists and trick riders in the circus. I belonged to the steady flyers’ class, but someday soon I am really going to learn to fly—to do aerial acrobatics, and everything. I remember crossing the lines one day in the hottest sort of “Archie” fire and suddenly seeing below me one of the most remarkable sights of my flying career. The shape of the machine looked a little familiar, and the colour was certainly familiar. But there was something queer about the rigging. My curiosity was aroused, and in spite of the whistling “Archie” shells I determined to have a nearer look at this stranger of the air. As I approached I made out something that looked like wheels stuck up toward the sky. I was more puzzled than ever for a moment, then realised it was a machine upside down. The wingtips bore the red, white and blue target markings of the British service, so I flew very close to see if anything was wrong. When I got near enough I recognised my squadron commander at the time. He was out having an afternoon stroll and had deliberately sailed over the lines upside down just to show his contempt for the Hun “Archies,” and also in the hope that he might attract the attention of a “headhunter” and thus bring on a little excitement.
    With the great attack scheduled for dawn the next morning, we went at our work on Easter Sunday with an added zest. At nine o’clock, just after the early morning mist had been driven away by the mounting sun, I was due for an offensive patrol—in other words there were six of us going over the lines in search of trouble. Our squadron commander was in the flight, and he had been leading us inside Hunland for about twenty minutes before anything happened. Then a two-seated machine with the enemy markings on it, appeared underneath us. Our commander dived at him like a hawk and his first burst of fire clearly hit home. The enemy machine dived toward the ground, but thinking this might be a trick I dived after it, firing all the way. I soon saw, however, that the Huns actually had been hurt and were doomed. So I pulled my machine out of the dive and looked around for the rest of the patrol. They had all disappeared. A moment or two later I sighted a pair of our machines engaged in a helter-skelter fight to the left of me, and had just started in their direction when seemingly out of nowhere at all, an enemy scout dived at me. I turned quickly and avoided him. Then for several minutes we had a running fight, firing occasionally, but neither one of us being able to manoeuvre into a position of real advantage. Finally the enemy flew away eastward and escaped.
    In the excitement of the fighting I had not noticed it before, but now looking downward I saw a Boche sausage just beneath me. I plunged at it just as the crew began to pull it frantically down. I kept diving and firing at the big bag, but as no smoke appeared I gathered I had either missed it all the while, or my bullets had failed in their duty as “fire-bugs.”
    I had dropped to 800 feet in my chase after the bag and could plainly see German troops marching toward the support and reserve lines at the front. Evidently they were preparing for our assault. The way our artillery had been going for a week past left them little room for doubt. I flew about watching these troops for some time, despite the telltale rattle of the machine guns on the ground, but at last decided I had better get out of it. I saw a cloud some distance above me and decided to climb into it and lose myself. I had just about reached the edge of the cloud when another enemy scout decided to have a go at me. I had fired