Sgt. Albert Mayes MC, No. 3 Squadron R.A.F 2 Victories.
August 31st, 1918 (Part 2).
It was time to go up again. The usual 'B' flight mob took off at 13:16, a little behind schedule, and headed to our climb point. I must admit, this sortie had me nervous before we had even set off - I had ever-increasingly vivid flashbacks of our airfield attack the closer we got to the hour of departure.
Rast was looking slightly more comfortable in the air, now that he'd had a couple sorties to feel-out the Camel's quirks. He still hung behind us, but he was much more stable in the sky, and wasn't lagging behind quite so much. Also, good old Cpt. Wallace cheered me right up - as we flew over the S.E. airfield he'd spotted one redheaded pilot wandering around on the airfield, and so he'd gone right over the poor unsuspecting airman's head almost at ground level! The fellow threw himself to the ground in terror as Wallace tore overhead, and I burst out laughing - as I passed the S.E. pilot was back on his feet, and to add further hilarity to the situation I saw him pull his Webley from it's holster and throw it at my machine!
Tears in my eyes from laughter at the sheer nonsense of the situation, my machine wobbled all over the sky. I could see my wingmen also twitching about, and knew that they must be in a similar state. Eventually, we composed ourselves and tightened up our formation again. For that moment I felt like just a boy larking about again.
We climbed to about 3000 feet and headed towards Arras once more. The weather had cleared up a bit since the morning, although there were still a fair few clouds ahead. As we approached the front we had resumed our usual serious attitude, scanning around for high-flying Fokkers waiting hungrily to send us to our oblivion. Maxted and I drifted closer to Rast. We both knew he would be the most vulnerable out of the lot of us - he was yet to make the hun's acquaintance. We crossed into the mud.
The clouds covered our approach as we reached the border of Hunland, but that didn't make me feel an awful lot better as I was all-too-aware of how the crafty hun liked to use clouds to his advantage. I groaned as we sighted our target - a Sausage Balloon sat right beside it. The Archie would be relentless so close to that damned gasbag! Wallace was first to dive down, and the rest of us followed him in. I could see my flight tearing into the station, and so I set my sights on that damned ballon and switfly ignited it, at which point it expoded in a huge ball of fire. I turned hard and very nearly got caught up in the fireball - in fact, my left wingips were even slightly singed! A torrade of bullets from the ground went up at me as I flew back towards my flight.
For the next few minutes Hunland became a savage mess of tracer fire, Archy bursts and explosions on the ground. 'Archy' flight had arrived now as well, and we were really ripping up any ground target we could find. Oh, what havoc we were causing, and no hun machines to challenge us! Eventually McClintock fired off the 'Recall Signal', and we all at once turned to form up on his Camel. At this point the German Archy gunners must have snapped out of their haze, for it seemed that they fired the Western Front's entire supply of shells at us! Looking straight ahead and gripping my control stick with bone-white knuckles I fought my every instinct to keep in the formation., to not turn and flee the terrifying flak. A flight of 5 German scouts flew high overhead, but they must have been complete novices for they didn't even appear to see us, despite the torrent of Archie!
To my horror McClintock, caught up in the moment, decided it was the proper thing to do to circle the Archy positions and MG nests, to taunt the huns on the ground! It appears the rest of the squadron was enjoying rubbing it in as well, and Wallace was even looping and waggling his wings! I was becoming very consious of our situation, and was almost certain that the Archy batteries were (if they hadn't already) telephoning the nearby 'Staffels'. [i]Damn it, McClintock, just take us home![i] I shouted at the Major in my head, gritting my teeth.
At long last, McClintock turned us homewards. It turns out his showboating would cost him, as upon his landing his undercarriage ripped away, and he got fairly dinged up as his Camel jolted to a stop. Later examination showed that his underside was riddled with shrapnel - it's a wonder it all managed to miss him!
Extraordinarily, my Balloon claim was rejected. I must admit, I feel quite hard done-by! Surely the entire squadron must have seen that fireball! Oh well. I've been awarded 4 days' leave, so the day isn't a complete loss.
