Vzfw. Hans Jeschonnek, Jasta 15
Le Clos Ferme, Boncourt, July 21, 1917
Today we had a patrol in good weather, after days of rain. Gontermann led us to the lines
northeast of Soissons. Half-way there, Monnington had to turn home with his "deathhead"
Albatros - he had severe engine-trouble and pulled a dark trail of fumes.
Near the lines we clashed with some cocky British Nieuports. They were from No. 40 Squadron,
RFC, and overly confident. These nimble aircraft can be a real nightmare with their great
turnability and climb! But early on I could damage two of them hard - twin-"Spandaus" are
another terrible nightmare - for fragile acrobats like them!
I drove one silver craft off of Gontermann's tail, then I must have drifted off with one
very persistant Englishman. High and low we went like in a helter-skelter, and I got the
impression he enjoyed the lightness of his shiny scout. I had to be really careful not
to give up my altitude advantage, and the strong climbing on the prop with the Mercedes
engine was my ace card here.
After more than 10 minutes, I managed to hit him hard. Now I was sure he had lost some
of his agility; and he dived and tried to get away from me. When he realised that my dive
was faster than his, he tried to climb away from me. But he couldn't get away from me
far enough - in a steep climb, from ca. 100 meters behind him, I fired a devastating burst.
Dust and debries came off of his silver kite in puffs. For a moment, his shiny craft came
to a standstill. Then it fell down to the left and went into a steep spiral toward earth.
British Flak fired like mad; light grey bursts everywhere around me. I was half-way across
the mud, over their part of the lines. Now I also heard the popcorn-kettle sounds - the
gunshots from more than a hundred rifles. They were determined to fight for their aviator
with teeth and claws, and wouldn't let me get at him any further.
I swung round and chased over to our side. That fellow had given me an impressive fight,
and I found myself hoping, he might make it back alive. He now tried a landing - in the
middle of no-man's land! Now all Germans down there were firing at him - and I wished I
could have stopped them. That is not the way an aviator should die - none of us!
First his little Nieuport seemed to be rolling fine, but then he went headover.
I flew home - what else could I do?
Later, back at our field, we received a telephone call from the lines. They asked, if one
of our Albatros had shot down an Englishman near Nanteuil-la-Fosse, and Gontermann told
them. Their forward posts had krept to the wreckage and they found a jacket with papers,
but no pilot. The daredevil! He had managed to escape! My heart jumped from joy!
The pilot was a certain Albert E. Godfrey from No. 40 Squadron, Royal Flying Corps.
I note his name here for myself. If I should ever come to England one day, when this
bloody war is over, then I will try to find that fellow, who put up such a great fight!
)
