Diary entry

2. Nov. 1916

I was surprised yesterday to receive a visit from Oblt Schellenberger, who presented me with some English cigarettes and thanked me for saving his life. He is returning to the Abteilung today. I told him that all I did was turn and run, with that damned Frenchie all over us. But he insisted that it was a good fight. The cheering-up was appreciated, since Vater has sent me another letter suggesting that flying, particularly flying an old bus like mine, is not a manly occupation. He says I should be serving in a Wuerttemberg infantry regiment. Mutti was not even mentioned in his letter.

A flier recently brought into our same ward with broken legs and burns has told us that the great master Boelke is dead. We have heard several different stories, but it seems he was in a collision in the air. I am more determined than ever to become a Jaeger pilot when I am out of here. I swear I will not write Vater until I have downed an enemy aircraft and hold an Iron Cross.

It is clear that this war is a battle of engineering and professional thinking, and not some bright, shiny folk-tale crusade, as many of the other pilots see it. Boelke was of the same mind, I am sure. When I get out, I must devote myself more carefully to the study of fighting in the air. But first I must get past Hauptmann Öfele. He seems determined to tie me to that damned flying oxcart!

1830h: Just heard I will be released from this place tomorrow.