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The Anti-Richthofen squadron

Event ID: 200

Categories: 

Der rote Kampfflieger von Rittmeister Manfred Freiherrn von Richthofen, 1917, 351.000 - 400.000, Verlag Ullstein & Co, Berlin-Wien

25 April 1917

50.329872275934086, 3.144518810662833
Roucourt

Source ID: 4

Der rote Kampfflieger von Rittmeister Manfred Freiherrn von Richthofen, 1917, 351.000 - 400.000, Verlag Ullstein & Co, Berlin-Wien p.  144 

‘The anti-Richthofen squadron (25 April 1917) The British had come up with a great joke, namely to catch or shoot me down. For this purpose they had actually set up a special squadron which flew in the area where we were mostly ‘hanging around’. We recognised it by the fact that it mainly went on the offensive against our red planes. I should note that we had painted our whole fighter squadron red, as the brothers had begun to realise that I was in that bright red box. So now we were all red, and the Englishmen’s eyes widened when they saw a dozen such boxes instead of one. But that didn’t stop them from trying to attack us. I’d much rather the customers came to me than have to go to them. We flew to the front in the hope of finding our opponents. After about twenty minutes the first ones arrived and actually attacked us. This had not happened to us for a long time. The English had curtailed their famous offensive spirit somewhat, as it had probably cost them a little too much. There were three Spad single-seaters, who thought they were very superior to us because of their good machines. They flew together: Wolff, my brother and me. Three against three, so it was a perfect match. Right at the beginning the attack turned into a defence. We already had the upper hand. I got my opponent in front of me and could quickly see how my brother and Wolff each had one of these guys in front of them. The usual dance began, circling around each other. The good wind came to our aid. It drove us fighters away from the front towards Germany. Mine was the first to crash. I must have shot his engine. Anyway, he decided to land with us. I knew no mercy, so I attacked him a second time, whereupon the aeroplane folded apart in my sheaf of bullets. The wings fell like a sheet of paper, each one separately, and the fuselage hurtled down like a burning stone. It fell into a swamp. It could no longer be dug out. I never found out who it was I was fighting with. He had disappeared. Only the last remnants of his tail were left, showing the place where he had dug his own grave. At the same time as me, Wolff and my brother had attacked their opponents and forced them to land not far from mine. We flew home very cheerfully and said: ‘I hope the anti-Richthofen squadron comes quite often.’’

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