Epower, your last episode was a tour de force. I hope we will still get a chance to learn about what happened to Tommy. The final scenes with Eliza were truly touching. Good writing doesn't tell you how a character feels; it makes you feel it. That's what you did. Remember I suggested that I wished Maurice Jarre were still here to write "Eliza's Theme"?
Fullofit, I am getting very nervous about Ziggy's run of success. He is swatting EAs out of the sky these days. Again, hats off to your splendid flying. I finally had a chance to sit back and enjoy all your videos. There is always something to learn!
Lou, great to have Freddie back in action. I love the Albatros livery and am dying to find out what happens next at St Omer.
Lederhosen, Willi has an incredible record. Hats off to you!
Carrick, Marcel has done a good job in his first month! Best of luck.
Tagebuch of Oblt. der Res. Hans-Dieter Vogel, PLM. HHO, EK1, EK2
Jasta 12, Roucourt, France
Part 31
31 August 1917 – Heading home with a smashed windscreen
27 August 1917
Beautiful clear morning. Our job this morning is to fly south towards Bapaume where there is a new enemy observation balloon. We take off shortly before six and climb steadily southwest toward the lines. We are five: Joerke, Schobinger, Backhaus, and Langhaus, and me. Backhaus arrived at the Staffel yesterday and this is his first time up to the lines. The sky is so clear there is little worry about being surprised by enemy machines. Far off to the north we see an English two-seater plodding up and down the front surrounded by Flak bursts. But we have other business today and leave him to his own devices.
The balloon is ten or twelve kilometres over, just north of Bapaume. I plan to claim the privilege of my position and make the first run at the target, so as soon as we cross the lines I open the throttle full and begin a shallow dive. The balloon shines with a bright ochre glow in the early sunlight. I come at it in a long curve so as to approach it from the side. I fire from 500 metres and continue in short bursts until the last second when I pull up and to the left. By then my Himmelwurst is smoking. I have time to make a vertically-banked turn and take a second run at it before the others have their go. But just as I am about to level off, the flames appear and the balloon crumples and falls in an inferno. I see two parachutes drifting off and am secretly glad that the English observers have got away. There is no question about this one. It goes down as my thirty-seventh victory.
We encounter a flight of DH5 scouts on our way home. I hope to feast on them like I have done twice before, but our good fellows are too eager and I dare not join in for fear of collision. I have made a firm rule that no more than two machines may attack the same enemy. The good news is that Vzfw Joerke downs two of the English machines. I am able to confirm both of them.
We return to discover that headquarters has approved my recommendation to promote Joerke to Feldwebel. We plan a celebration for tonight. One of Brother Benjamin’s small casks will be tapped and we have acquired some pheasants. Steinmesser has contracted with a local woman to prepare the meal. There is good rice and mushrooms and a red wine sauce. We even have tinned pears for dessert.
I have to remind Steinmesser that we have these things called aeroplanes that require supplies. It can’t all be about food. He has taken to the job of provisioning the Staffel with a vengeance. The barns behind the château are now home to a cow and several pigs. His only frustration seems to be the major at the commissariat. He is convinced that we are being shorted our allotted rations.
This afternoon I have a new experience. The post arrives and there are two letters for me. These are the first things I have received in the post other than bills and official correspondence. When I open the first letter, I find a photograph of myself in uniform. It is the Sanke card for which I posed a few weeks ago. There’s something odd about the picture. Then I notice that the printer has had my Pour le Mérite painted in; I had not yet received it when the photograph was taken. The artist has done a good job. The little forgery is scarcely noticeable. There is a note attached from a young boy who lives in Potsdam. He begs me to sign the card and return it to him. The rest of the letter is full of schoolboyish praise and professed wishes to become a pilot. I borrow a pen from Mueller and sign it. I do not know what to say in reply, but the good adjutant tells me he will draft something for my approval. The other letter is more interesting. It is from a young woman from Magdeburg. She too has seen the Sanke card and professes undying love. She is uncomfortably forward with her emotions and promises of affection. The men sense my embarrassment and demand that I read the letter aloud. I do so, and am inclined to believe that this will be nightly entertainment for a while. The letter is scented but to the disappointment of all, it does not contain a photograph of my secret admirer. The men compete to describe how hideous a woman must be to profess such love for me. This too promises to be nightly entertainment.
Dinner is a huge success. The Kasino formerly had a cluster of small tables. We have acquired a very long formal dining table with a slightly shorter table which we use as a head table. The two are set up in a “T” shape. The smaller tables are moved to the library, which we use as a lounge and games room. The Karambol Billiard table has been set up in the front parlour. But back to the dinner – it is proclaimed to be the best meal ever served in Jasta 12. We get poor Joerke quite drunk. Even Backhaus makes a speech – something about being lucky to have been assigned to such a wonderful group. I feel the same way.
29 August 1917
Second day of rain. Our field is a quagmire and flying is impossible again. I visit the commissariat with Steinmesser and speak to our friend the major. He insists that we have received everything we are due. He manages a snide remark that suggests our Staffel might have better luck if we were good enough to be part of Richthofen’s Geschwader. Steinmesser begins to stand and I fear he will say or do something that will land him in trouble. I put a hand on his arm and motion for him to sit.
“Have you met Von Richthofen?” I ask the major. He has not. “Pity. I see him often and he visits us occasionally for dinner. Would you like me to get you a signed photograph of him?”
The major has been stiff and reserved until now. I see him lean on the arm of his chair. “Can you do that?” he asks.
“I can and I will,” I reply. I confirm the spelling of his name – Erich Zielke. “Very good, Major Zielke,” I say. “We will be making a goulash for him and we will need some better bread than we have been able to get. Perhaps a couple of bags of flour and a kilo of butter would assist. The major said he would see what he could do.
More letters have arrived with more promises of undying love and a few more earthly intentions. This could go to a boy’s head!
30 August 1917
The rain continues. The conversation with the major has got me thinking, so after lunch Steinmesser drives me in his personal lorry up to Marckebeeke, where I plan to have a chat with Richthofen and invite him for dinner. Steinmesser intends to visit some of his Belgian contacts, including Brother Bernard. I learn, however, that Richthofen has gone to visit Jasta 6 at Bisseghem, so we continue on towards Menen to find him. As we arrive I see Richthofen and his big ugly dog talking with several pilots outside a hangar. I stroll over and join the conversation. It is strange how the blue medal on my collar makes me welcome with people who might not have given me the time of day a month ago. Richthofen, however, is warmly and genuinely welcoming. I have brought with me a small bag full of bones from our kitchen, which I present to him for Max, his dog. The Baron is delighted and I realise that this last minute idea was inspired. We retire to the large house at the edge of the village that serves as Staffel headquarters and Kasino. He serves me some rather poor coffee and we chat for about an hour. He must return to Marckebeeke and I must wait for Steinmesser to pick me up. I mention my need for a signed photograph for major Erich Zielke, and I promised that it will be sent to me tomorrow. When Richthofen leaves I take my coffee mug into the front room and find a comfortable armchair by the window.
“Hello! What are you doing here?” I recognise the fellow I met at Marckebeeke a few weeks back. The name comes back to me – Immer. He sees my new rank and apologises for his familiarity, and I assure him that two working-class Berliners shouldn’t worry about such matters in the middle of a war. He has done well so far with Jasta 6 and already has six machines to his credit. His arm is in a sling and I learn that he is an escapee from the hospital in Courtrai – out for the afternoon in any event. He tells me he will be back in the air in a few days. I realise how comfortably the two of us are getting along and suggest that he join me in Jasta 12 if his Staffelfuehrer will permit him the transfer. Immer thinks about it for only a few seconds before telling me that he will talk to his boss immediately. I realise that I must put a word in with von Adam first and explain why I am trying to poach one of his men.
I hunt down the Staffelfuehrer and haltingly explain that I would like Feldwebel Immer to join Jasta 12. I tell him that I need a few more NCO pilots to balance out the Staffel so that the NCO pilots I already have will not feel like the odd men out. I can see that von Adam is your typical stiff Prussian and that what I am telling him seems a little ridiculous to him. He says he will think about it, but just as Steinmesser returns to pick me up, he comes to the front room and informs me that he will approve the transfer.
31 August 1917
Clear weather at last. We are airborne at first light to meet with a pair of DFW observation machines who will photograph the lines near Lens. The patrol is long and cold and we see no enemy machines despite the cloudless sky.
In the afternoon we perform another escort, this time far to the south where the two-seaters that we are shepherding drop their bombs on a French aerodrome.
We recross the lines west of Cambrai and head northwest towards Monchy. I spot a lone two-seater flying south over the lines. We have a chance to surprise it so I dive and make a firing pass. The machine is a British RE8. Its pilot zooms up into the right. By all rights its gunner should be holding on for dear life and unable to get me in his sights, but indeed he does. Rounds smash into the side of my engine. Two holes appear in my windscreen and one of my cabane struts is partially shot through. I have memories of how I lost the little finger on my right hand. I am developing an intense dislike for RE8s!
The engine still runs true and there is no sign of a fuel or water leak. Still, I gain height to ensure my safe return if I lose power. From my high perch I watch our newly-minted Feldwebel Joerke shoot down the English machine.
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