First Dublette
Event ID: 178
Categories:
02 April 1917
Source ID: 4
‘First duplicate 2 April 1917 was another hot day for my squadron. From my position we could clearly hear the drumfire, and it was very heavy again today. I was still lying in bed when my lad came rushing in with the exclamation: ‘Herr Leutnant, the English are already here!’ I look out of the window, still a little sleepy, and sure enough, my dear friends are already circling over the square. I got out of bed, put my clothes on, and I was one. My red bird was ready for morning work. My fitters knew that I would not let this favourable moment pass by unused. Everything was ready. Quickly put on the warm-up pads and off we went. I was the last to start. My other comrades were much closer to the enemy. I was already afraid that my roast would escape me, so that I would have to watch from afar as some aerial battles took place before my eyes. Suddenly one of the cheeky customers thought of pushing me down. I calmly let him approach and a merry dance begins. Soon my opponent is flying on my back, [123]soon he’s doing this, soon that. It was a two-seater fighter plane. I was on top of him, and so I soon realised that he couldn’t really escape me. During a break in the fighting, I convinced myself that we were facing each other alone. So, whoever shoots better, whoever is calmer and has a better overview at the moment of danger, wins. It wasn’t long before I had pushed him down without really having shot him seriously, at least two kilometres from the front. I think he wants to land, but I’ve miscalculated my opponent. All of a sudden I see him, only a few metres above the ground, suddenly flying straight ahead again and trying to get away from me. That was too colourful for me. I attacked him again, so low that I was almost afraid of touching the houses of a village below me. The Englishman defended himself to the last moment. At the very end I felt a hit in my machine. But now I didn’t let up, now he had to fall. He ran at full speed into a block of houses. There wasn’t much left. It was another case of brilliant cutting. He defended himself to the last. But in my opinion it was more stupidity on his part in the end. It was once again the point where I draw a [124]line between grit and stupidity. He had to go down after all. So he had to pay for his stupidity with his life. * I returned very pleased with the performance of my red steel steed during the morning’s work. My comrades were still in the air and were very surprised when we met at breakfast and I was able to tell them about my number thirty-two. A very young lieutenant had shot down his first, we were very amused and prepared for new battles. I catch up on my missed morning toilet. A good friend – Lieutenant Voss from the Boelcke fighter squadron – comes to visit me. We have a chat. Voss had finished his twenty-third the day before. So he was the closest to me and is probably my fiercest competitor at the moment. As he was flying home, I wanted to accompany him for a while. We take a diversion over the front. The weather had actually become very bad, so we couldn’t assume we’d have any luck. Closed clouds below us. Voss, who was unfamiliar with the area, was already starting to get uncomfortable. Above Arras I met my brother, who is also with my squadron and [125]had lost his squadron. He also joined us. He knew it was me (red bird). We see a squadron approaching from over there. It immediately flashes through my mind: ‘Number thirty-three!’ Although they were nine Englishmen and on their territory, they preferred to avoid the fight. (I’ll have to change colour next time.) But we did catch up with them. A fast machine is the main thing. I’m closest to the enemy and attack the one at the back. To my great delight, I realise that he is about to engage in battle with me, and with even greater pleasure that his comrades are abandoning him. So I soon have him on my own. It’s the same guy I had to deal with in the morning. He didn’t make it easy for me. He knows what’s important and, above all, he’s a good shot. To my chagrin, I was able to ascertain this quite accurately afterwards. The favourable wind comes to my aid and pushes both of us fighters over our lines. The enemy realises that it’s not as easy as he thought and disappears in a dive into a cloud. It was almost his salvation. I push after him, come out at the bottom and – man must have a running start – I miraculously find myself right behind him. I shoot, he shoots, but no tangible result. There – I’ve finally hit him. I can tell by the white haze of petrol that lingers behind his machine. He must be landing because his engine stops. But he was a stubborn chap. He had to realise that he was out of luck. If he shot any further, I could shoot him dead immediately, because we were now only three hundred metres up. But the guy defended himself just like the one from this morning until he landed at the bottom. After he landed, I flew over him again at a height of ten metres to see whether I had shot him dead or not. What does the guy do? He takes his machine gun and shoots the whole plane to pieces. Voss said to me afterwards that if that had happened to him, he would have shot him dead on the ground afterwards. Actually, I should have done it too, because he hadn’t surrendered yet. Incidentally, he was one of the few lucky ones who stayed alive. I flew home very happy and was able to celebrate my thirty-third.’
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