War Journal of Flight Commander George Ewan MacAlister, DSO, DSC
8 Squadron, RNAS
Bray Dunes, France

Part 32


"My second burst killed the pilot and the machine fell out of control."

Before we settled in our cabins at Serny, we were on the move again. We learned at dinner that we were to return to Teteghem the next morning. We were placed into reserve and had to give up three of our Bentley-engined Camels to another squadron. The whole affair was a colossal cock-up. Half of our squadron had missed out on leave only to find ourselves doing circuits and training flights around Dunkirk. On top of that came the news that the merger of the Royal Naval Air Service and RFC was imminent, most appropriately scheduled for 1 April.

We were awakened in the early hours of 21 March 1918 by a thunderous booming in the east. Certainly this was the long-awaited push by the Hun. The air rumbled and rolled without cease, the sound like an endless procession of fully-laden lorries clattering over a grade crossing. The sky danced with the reflected flashes of gunfire. I stood outside with White, smoking under an umbrella and shivering in greatcoats over pyjamas. We shook our heads and commiserated with the poor sods on the receiving end of so much hate. Where was the attack? Arras or Albert? Or everything in between? What was certain was that this was a push unlike anything that had gone before on either side. The Hun was about to throw all his forces from the eastern front against us with the intent of knocking us out of the war before the Yanks could get their army knocked into shape.

We were up early and ready for action, but no orders came. We fell into the same reserve pattern of maritime defence flights and formation flying exercises for the newer pilots. I suggested to Squadron Commander Draper that we visit the Admiral of the Fleet and leave our calling cards so that he would remember we existed. The post was confused for a couple of days but I was able to get off a few lines to Bronwyn and received a lovely letter from her. At the bottom of her letter she signed off with the word “fondly,” which she then struck through and replaced with the word “love.” I took the letter back to my bed space and hit it away in a drawer, from which I withdrew it to reread several times each day.

Finally, on 27 March, orders came that we were to move up to the field at Bray Dunes. It was only a few miles to the east but from here we should become fully operational again, although in a quieter sector. It appears that we are still considered a unit in need of rest. Bray Dunes had been a naval air station for years now and we found it a most comfortable billet. We were housed in Nissen huts and enjoyed a spacious wardroom. On Thursday, 28 March, I flew our first patrol from our new home. The compass stations reported several two seaters over our lines north of Ypres and we took off shortly after eight to chase them off – Fowler, Draper, Gerrard, Dennett, and a new man named Ross. We climbed to 14,000 feet before approaching the lines and spotted some two seaters in the distance. I circle to the south to put the sun at our backs, but the Huns were alert and scrambled away to the east. Then we spotted a cluster of small dots headed in our direction. A flight of Pfalz scouts emerged, and we quickly began a tangled melee. I spotted a Hun on Fowler’s tail and attacked him, only to find another Hun on mine. I rolled underneath him and shook him off. I saw a Pfalz trying to leave the fight and got on its tail. My second burst killed the pilot and the machine fell out of control. The fight was still above me, so I climbed immediately to rejoin but by the time I regained my lost height everyone had scattered. I searched the sky for a while and headed toward home. After several minutes, Draper and Fowler formed up on me and we returned together. I claimed my Pfalz and Fowler claimed another. Unfortunately, Wing was not as certain that I killed the pilot as my claim went unconfirmed.

Ross, despite orders to stay out of a scrap, must have got caught because he is missing and we think he must have been shot down in the first minute or two as no one remembered seeing him.

News from the front is not good. The Hun has attacked on both sides of the River Somme and his troops have infiltrated our positions and pushed more than five miles back. The entire front in that sector is in disarray.