I had the morning duty when “Chips” Coates coaxed the battered R.E.8 back to the field. Coming in low, just over the trees, we heard the beast’s laboring engine long before we saw the kite…and no wonder. This “Harry Tate” had been shot about rather severely and “Chips” had his hands full just keeping her airborne. Shortly after clearing the field’s perimeter, the Yank rather unceremoniously brought the crippled bird back to earth.
No points for style…right? The rangy American was attempting to extricate himself from the wreckage of the recon bird when I arrived. Not having my wits about me, I’m not afraid to admit, I blurted “Bloody Hell, Chips?!” I stood there waiting as the wheels turned, my attempts at interpreting the tableau a failure.
Ceasing his struggles, he craned his neck about so as to favor me with one of his infuriating, laconic smiles. “Brilliant! We made it…give the lads a hand?”
It was only then that I took note of the small man pulling himself from behind the observer’s Lewis gun. A curious short, he was clad as one would expect to find a farmer and sporting a nasty gash running along his jaw and ending with what was supposed to have been his left ear. Free from the aircraft, he pulled himself to his feet, pressed his cap up against the mangled wreckage of an ear, and ordered quite forcefully in French, “Votre commandant, monsieur lieutenant, maintenant!”
Curiousier and curiouser. Not only had Lt. Coates taken a non-squadron bird over the lines this morning, found himself a Hun to play with, and then cocked-up the landing spectacularly, he had apparently done so with this Frenchman in tow…? Very curious. At a loss for words, I finally demanded, “What the Devil?”
“Leftenant Clark…?” So focused had I been on the little, glowering Frenchman, I hadn’t noticed that Lt. Coates had finally extricated himself from the wreckage of the R.E.8. “I think we should take this chap to see the Captain….” he added, helpfully, “he’s got some intelligence about something behind German lines.”
“I understood him, Mr. Coates. I growled, then muttered sotto voce, “Just about the only part of this affair that I have understood.” Shaking my head, my voice softening somewhat, I pointed Chips in the direction of the Infirmary “To hospital with you.”
I favored the Frenchman with a narrowed glance, turned on my heel, and called over my shoulder, “Suivez-moi, s'il vous plaît.”
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Surprise was more likely to keep the Hun away than were numbers, so we scotched across the lines in a shallow echelon of three. I understand that the lads were busy raising a commotion further to the south, hopefully drawing prying eyes from our little gaggle of DH.4s.
A wonderful kite, the DH.4, they did all that was asked of them…and they did it fast. This is why “Mac” and “Robbie” were flying my wing, as were Simcoe & Harvey, with no friendly scouts for company. Barely able to keep pace, they would just draw unwanted attention.
After crossing German lines, we dropped down to the deck, the Frenchman’s instructions coming to life as we screamed into the target area. The Hun was relying upon the site’s anonymity, and had kept it lightly defended. Even so, AA fire greeted us as we crossed the river.
Largely ineffective, the fire from the German guns exploded harmlessly above as their gunners struggled to find their targets.
I opened fire with my Vickers just as I crossed the river and was rewarded almost immediately by good hits on the emplacement.
I continued to pour it on until I overshot, but smiled as Mac’s fire silenced the German gun.
Simcoe enjoyed similar success, smoking the second gun just before our welcoming party arrived.
Intent upon the target as I was, I didn’t take note of the V-strutters until they were upon on. Simcoe exchanged long-range fire with one of the black German scouts as kicked my DH.4 into a skid that put me right over the target.
Although I paid for my concentration when the nearest V-strutter holed our flank as he flashed by, I was rewarded by two good strikes and secondary explosions! Target destroyed!
While Mac followed me over the first target, his sights set on the oddly-shaped structure, Jones’ triumphant yell rose above the barking of his Lewis. He had hurt the Hun!
Simcoe was, meanwhile, engaged heavily with the banded V-strutter. Although the German had the advantages of maneuverability and speed, Harvey kept stinging him whenever his Lewis would come to bear.
Unfazed by the flames consuming his kite, the German reversed, snapping off a shot at the trailing DH.4.
Mac flew through the hail of 7.92mm shells and placed his payload directly on target, destroying the odd-looking structure on his first past. Unfortunately, the Hun’s aim was true and Robbie was hit.
This, however, cost the Hun dearly. The flames licking hungrily, he dove for the safety of his lines in a desperate to extinguish the flames before they consumed his kite.
A timely jam of the Hun’s paired Spandaus prevented Robbie from taking the worst of it, and provided an opportunity for escape.
Rolls-Royce engines opened up, we found ourselves in uncontested skies and sped for home before our luck turned. It wasn’t until we were back at the aerodrome that we learned from Simcoe that a mid-air collision had brought down the 2nd V-strutter, clearing our route home.
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2Lt. Archibald Clark / RTB
Sgt. William Jones / RTB
2Lt. Malcolm Ferguson / RTB
Sgt. Robert McFadden / RTB / WIA (skip 1)
2Lt. John Simcoe / RTB
Sgt. Conrad Harvey / RTB
[AI] Ltn. Kurt Lindemann / KIA
[AI] Ltn. Lukas Schweiger / RTB
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