With Holck in Russia
Event ID: 108
Categories:
20 August 1915
Source ID: 4
‘My last flight with him almost went wrong. We didn’t actually have a specific mission to fly. But that’s the beauty of feeling completely free and being your own boss when you’re in the air. [51]We had an airport change ahead of us and didn’t know exactly which field was the right one. In order not to jeopardise our crate unnecessarily when we landed, we flew towards Brest-Litovsk. The Russians were in full retreat, everything was burning – – a gruesome and beautiful picture. We wanted to spot enemy columns and came over the burning town of Wiczniace. A huge cloud of smoke, which perhaps reached up to two thousand metres, prevented us from flying any further, as we were only flying at an altitude of fifteen hundred metres in order to see better. Holck thought for a moment. I asked him what he wanted to do and advised him to fly round it, which might have been a five-minute diversions. But Holck didn’t even think about it. On the contrary: the more the danger increased, the more appealing it was to him. So straight through! I also enjoyed being with such a dashing chap. But our carelessness was soon to cost us dearly, because as soon as the tail of the aircraft had disappeared into the cloud, I noticed a swaying in the plane. I could no longer see anything, the smoke was biting into my eyes, the air was much warmer and all I could see below me was a huge sea of fire. Suddenly the aeroplane lost its balance and plunged into the depths, [52]somersaulting. I quickly managed to grab hold of a strut to hold on, otherwise I would have been thrown out. The first thing I did was look at Holck’s face. I had already regained my courage, because his expression was one of iron confidence. The only thought I had was: it’s stupid to die a hero’s death in such an unnecessary way. Later I asked Holck what he had actually been thinking at the time. He said that he had never felt so disgusting. We plunged down to five hundred metres above the burning city. Whether it was my guide’s skill or providence, or perhaps both, we had suddenly dropped out of the cloud of smoke, the good Albatross recovered and flew straight ahead again as if nothing had happened. We had now had enough of our airport change and wanted to return to our lines as quickly as possible. We were still a long way over with the Russians and only five hundred metres above the ground. After about five minutes, Holck’s voice sounded behind me: ‘The engine is slowing down.’ I have to add that Holck didn’t have quite the same idea about an engine as he did about an ‘oat carburettor’, and I myself was completely blinkered. The only thing I knew was that if the engine failed, we would end up with the Russians. So we went from one danger to another. I convinced myself that the Russians were still marching briskly below us, which I could see clearly from a height of five hundred metres. Apart from that, I didn’t need to see anything, because the Russians were firing machine guns as if they were rotten. It sounded as if chestnuts were on fire. The engine soon stopped running altogether, it had taken a hit. We got lower and lower until we hovered just above a forest and finally landed in an abandoned artillery position, which I had reported as an occupied Russian artillery position the night before. I told Holck my suspicions. We jumped out of the box and tried to reach the nearby wood to defend ourselves. I had a pistol and six cartridges, Holck had nothing. When we reached the edge of the wood, we stopped and I could see a soldier running towards our plane through my glass. To my horror I realised that he was wearing a cap and not a spiked helmet. I thought that was a sure sign that it was a Russian. As the man came closer, Holck let out a [54]cry of joy, for it was a Prussian Guards grenadier. Our elite troops had once again stormed the position at dawn and broken through to the enemy battery positions. * I remember that Holck lost his little darling, a puppy, on this occasion. He took the little animal with him on every ascent, it lay quietly in its fur down in the bodywork. We still had it with us in the forest. Shortly afterwards, as we were talking to the guard grenadier, troops passed by. Then came staffs from the guard and Prince Eitel Friedrich with his adjutants and orderly officers. The prince gave us horses, so that we two cavalry pilots were once again sitting on real ‘oat engines’. Unfortunately, we lost the little dog as we rode on. It must have travelled with other troops. Late in the evening we finally returned to our airport in a Panjewagen. The plane was gone.’
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