Grisly Account of World War 1 Air Combat Over Verdun

[Stealth Hunter]

This comes from "Au Ciel de Verdun". Found a couple of sentences that came from it from an old web page I'd printed in 1999. Here's what I found:

"It got even uglier. Bernard Lafont in his candid book, Au Ciel de Verdun, detailed the brutal side of the air war. One time, a Caudron bomber force-landed at his aerodrome. When he and his friends came out to see it, they discovered that the Caudron's gunner had been shot in the head. The pilot, Lafont noted, was unhurt but quite shaken as he was 'covered with blood, {his} clothes and face, for in the wind of the motors, the blood that poured out of the passenger's wound lashed him.'

Another time, Lafont's squadron commander assigned him to burial detail. He spent his days recovering the mutilated bodies of his comrades. Once, after a nighttime crash, Lafont arrived at the crash site the next morning and noted:

'It is Senain. He received three bullets in the head, which exploded like rotten fruit; brains and blood trickle on the face and clothes. The helmet moves on nothing more than a broken skull.'

Another time he recovered the body of a Farman crewman, who had fallen to his death from his airplane:


'The second fell on the roof of the house. I clearly heard the dull sound of the body when it was crushed. Flouc!
. . .
The body was recovered from the roof, entirely broken, shattered, and shapeless and without rigidity like a heap of nothing more than ooze.'

Clearly, the air war over Verdun was not for the faint of heart."

Unnerving to say the least, but not surprising. I think my favorite thing about films about dogfighting is the neat trail of bullets that dots the plane, not an incoherent and disrupted spread of them through the wood and canvas; cracked ribs, torn canvas, broken wingspars.

[nikimcbee]

I read in a WWI aviation book that one on the aces (I don't remember who) would come back from missions caked in dried blood: His response: "I don't fire until I am very close." :o

I also have a book that analyzes every kill of the Red Baron. It's pretty depressing, because they were all just kids, 18-21 years old.

[Stealth Hunter]

What's the title of the book regarding the Baron? I've tried to find "Au Ciel de Verdun" on the web, but to no effect. I heard from a man on The Aerodrome that he'd obtained a 1918 copy of the book (however I will not register on that site; the seem to be pretty arrogant at times of their community, and they don't like people who don't go with the flow of their users).

[Platapus]

Billy Bishop wrote, but did not originate, about "the condition"

The majority of the pilots in WWI (I assume from both sides) suffered from "the condition"

It appeared that "the condition" was the gut-wrenching paralyzing fear that your life expectancy was measured in very small digit number of flights. No only was it an almost certainty that you would die, there was an overwhelming chance that your death would be particularly nasty.

1. Die screaming as your out of control airplane smashed into the ground either through enemy action or simply because airplanes fell down a lot

2. Burning to death as you were sitting under about 40 litres of highly flammable fuel in an airplane constructed of wood and linen coated with flammable chemicals.

3. You would die screaming as you fell to the earth without your airplane because you jumped to escape burning or simply fell out during "unusual attitude" flying.

4. Slowly bleed and freeze to death if you were wounded and not one of the lucky ones who were able to die outright.

Bishop wrote that it was common for pilots to carry two small bottles with them to help with "the condition". One was Gin, the other was Milk of Magnesia. If one did not work, the other might.

My utmost respect goes out to any and all of the WWI pilots.

1. No parachutes
2. No armour
3. Little standardized training

How they managed to act like "knights of the sky" instead of "lambs to the slaughter" is a testament to their courage and their ability to simply go up again. :up:

[Stealth Hunter]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63-Jg-dKiQU

Nasty stuff, indeed.

I would NEVER burn to death. Not in a thousand years. I'd jump first or even bash my brains out on the cockpit's upper lip (part right behind the guns). Hell, I might even try to snap my own neck or chew through my own wrists, but burning is not for me.

[nikimcbee]

What's the title of the book regarding the Baron? I've tried to find "Au Ciel de Verdun" on the web, but to no effect. I heard from a man on The Aerodrome that he'd obtained a 1918 copy of the book (however I will not register on that site; the seem to be pretty arrogant at times of their community, and they don't like people who don't go with the flow of their users).

I'll look it up when I get home. @work now:cool:

[Stealth Hunter]

Righto.

[nikimcbee]

My utmost respect goes out to any and all of the WWI pilots.

1. No parachutes
2. No armour
3. Little standardized training

How they managed to act like "knights of the sky" instead of "lambs to the slaughter" is a testament to their courage and their ability to simply go up again. :up:

They had parachutes, but they didn't use them because you would "abandon the plane needlessly:o ."

And I'll add to your list poor manufacturing techniques and quality control. (planes falling apart). I also read someplace that most air to air kills were achived on the first pass and were a total surprise (hit the pilot).

[Stealth Hunter]

Allied pilots were not given parachutes because their commanders feared that it would cause them to abandon a perfectly good machine. This stupid move cost the lives of many good pilots, and made a lot of airmen panic. The German pilots, in the late war, were supplied with them. However, they were basically just thrown into the cockpit, and if you had to bail, you jumped out and threw the silk into the air, hoping it would deploy. Sometimes it did... sometimes it didn't...

That's also a very good point about the kills made. Most of the time, the bullets hit the pilot or hit the fuel tank. You either got a dead pilot or a burning/exploding plane. The thing many people seem to forget is that these planes were just wood and canvas. Bullets basically just passed through until they hit something important.

One of the favorite tactics used by the Germans to attack the Allied pilots was to head out of the sun at their opponents. This made them difficult to spot, and gave them the element of surprise (not to mention and advantage in altitude and thus, as the Dicta Boelcke states, an advantage in speed). Run-n-Gun. However, the Allies began issuing pilots smoked pieces of glass so they could hold them up to the sun to spot the Germans. Primitive, but effective.

Standardized training for these pilots was mediocre by today's standards. The problem most pilots had was not in experience, but in just holding their damn airplane together! These planes were very flimsy and were notorious for having weaknesses. For instance, the Nieuport 17 had wing failure problems for the lower wing whilst going in a steep dive. The Albatros D.V and D.Va aircraft also suffered these same problems. They were basically kites (and that's a literal meaning). They were nothing more than wood and canvas with wires hooking them together with engines and machine guns attached; that's the plain truth (no pun intended).

If your plane caught fire, you had a few choices. You could either stay with it and scream as you roasted alive, you could shoot yourself with a pistol that was a requirement for all aviators to have, or you could jump from several thousand or hundred feet and smash into the ground.

Not like the fancy stuff you see today. These planes were living, breathing things. Their pilots were a part of them. It's not like today where you move a joystick a fourth of an inch and you get a huge turn. Much, much different. I've thought about buying a World War I replica plane, but I lack a pilot's license and I wouldn't know where to begin with the aircraft (I know how to fly it, but finding them is the problem; most you have to build yourself!).

[nikimcbee]

What's the title of the book regarding the Baron? I've tried to find "Au Ciel de Verdun" on the web, but to no effect. I heard from a man on The Aerodrome that he'd obtained a 1918 copy of the book (however I will not register on that site; the seem to be pretty arrogant at times of their community, and they don't like people who don't go with the flow of their users).

I'll look it up when I get home. @work now:cool:

"Under the Guns of the Red Baron" It analyzes ever kill of MvR in great detail.

[Letum]

I keep reading the topic title as:
"Girly account of World War 1 Air Combat Over Verdun" :doh:


....that I would enjoy reading!

[August]

Anyone ever read Rene Foncks autobiography of his wartime experiences? That was one of my favorite books growing up.

[August]

People say that Fonck was conceited and vain but he gave me a great understanding of WW1 air combat.

[mrbeast]

What's the title of the book regarding the Baron? I've tried to find "Au Ciel de Verdun" on the web, but to no effect. I heard from a man on The Aerodrome that he'd obtained a 1918 copy of the book (however I will not register on that site; the seem to be pretty arrogant at times of their community, and they don't like people who don't go with the flow of their users).

I'll look it up when I get home. @work now:cool:

"Under the Guns of the Red Baron" It analyzes ever kill of MvR in great detail.

I have that book too, has some nice colour plates to go with the reports. :up:

[Jacky Fisher]

Air combat in WW1 was just as brutal as the land war.

Did they ever find Guynemer and Albert Ball's bodies?

[iambecomelife]

2. Burning to death as you were sitting under about 40 litres of highly flammable fuel in an airplane constructed of wood and linen coated with flammable chemicals.

:up:

To paraphrase that ace from flyboys, if you became a flamer you could always "take the easy way out". :nope:

As with all combat pilots from the world wars, I wonder how they kept going up there, day in and day out.

[Biggles]

If you crashed from low altitude with an airplane of the time, you'd have bigger chance of survival than today. Mostly because of the lower top speed.

But then again, the airplanes themselves were often deathtraps. You dive too steep, you'd have your wings breaking off. Ouch.

The first bombing sorties were carried out ina very primitive way: The pilot had small bombs in his cockpit, and would over the target throw them out with his bare hands.

There is some stories from the war describing the somewhat respectful attitude the pilots had towards their enemies.

After the death of a french ace, who had crashed while attacking a german two-seater, the german airplane crew flew over the crashsite the next day throwing out a garland of flowers.

Whenever the british pilots managed to capture a german pilot alive, they'd throw a helluva party in his honor at the airfield, before sending him to Wing.

Balloon busting was THE most dangerous task a flier could get. Heavy ack-ack and escort flights made the balloons risky targets, but you'd often get a fine reward if you brought one down (and if anyone could describe the event).

Strange as it may be, several pilots has survived an direct collision with a balloon. One of them managed to grip the wire with which the balloon was connected to the ground. His hands got severe wounds after the adventure, but he lived through it.(that is seriously the most amazing story I have from the great war):doh:

[Jacky Fisher]

Mick Mannock took a loaded Webley revolver with him just in case he caught fire. to use on himself:dead:

[Sailor Steve]

Well, just to add a tiny bit of levity, here is Louis Strange's account of how NOT to fall out of an aeroplane:

"Recollections of an Airman"
pg 112 - 115
But on May 10th, 1915, I reached 8,500 ft when going after an Aviatik belonging to von Leutzers Squadron from Lille Aerodrome. We were somewhere over Menin, and the Hun was still gaining height, though we were both near the tops of our respective ceilings. Not all the enemy aircraft were equipped with machine guns in those early days, but the German observer potted at me from the rear cockpit with a parabellum pistol, and as some of his bullets came unpleasantly close, I thought it high time to retaliate, and gave hime a drum from my Lewis gun without much effect. But when I wanted to take off the empty drum and replace it with a full one, it seemed to jam, and I was unable to remove it with one hand, I wedged the stick between my knees and tugged at the obstinate thing with both hands. After one or two fruitless efforts, I raised myself up out of my seat in order to get a better grip, and I suppose that my safety belt must have slipped down at a critical moment. Anyhow, my knees loosened their grip on the stick just as the Martinsyde, which was already climbing at it's maximum angle, stalled and flicked over into a spin.

As I was more than half out of the cockpit at the time, the spin threw me clear of the machine, but I still kept both of my hands on the drum of the Lewis gun. Only a few seconds previously I had been cursing because I could nto get that drum off, but now I prayed fervently that it would stay on forever. I knew it may come off at any moment, however and as its edge was cutting my fingers badly, I had to get a firmer hold of something more reliable. The first thing I thought of was the top of the center strut, which at the time was behind and below the Lewis gun, but as the machine was now flying upside down, I had suifficient wits left to realize that it was behind and above me, though where it was exactly I could not tell.

Dare I let go of the drum with one hand and make a grab for it? Well there was nothing else for it but to take the risk; I let go and found the strut all right, and then I released my other hand and gripped the strut on the other side. I was then in a more comfortable position, and at least I felt rather more part of my machine than I had done in my original attitude. My chin was rammed against the top plane, beside the gun, while my legs were waving about in empty air. The Martinsyde was upside down in a flat spin, and from my precarious position the only thing I could see was the propeller ( which seemed unpleasanlty close to my face), the town of Menin, and the adjacent countryside. Menin and its environs were revolving at an impossible angle - apparently above me - and getting larger with every turn. I began to wonder what sort of spot I was going to crash on.

Then I got angry and cursed myself for a fool for wasting time on such idle speculations, while at the same time it dawned on me that my only chance of righting the machine lay in getting my feet into the cockpit. If I could manage it, I knew that I was bound to fall automatically into the cockpit when the machine came over. I kept on kicking upwards behind me until at last I got first one foot and then the other hooked inside the cockpit. Somewow I got the stick between my legs again and jammed on full aileron and elevator; I do not know exactly what happened then, but somehow the trick was done. The machine came over the right way up, and I fell off the top plane into my seat with a bump.

I grabbed at the stick with both hands and thanked my lucky stars when I got hold of it. Then to my surprise I found myself unable to move it. I suddenly realized I was sitting much lower than usual inside the cockpit; in fact, I was so low down I could not see over the edge at all. On investigation I found that the bump of my fall had sent me right through the seat, with the result I was sitting on the floor of the machine as well as on the controls, which I was jamming. The cushion had fallen out when the machine turned upside down, along with everything else that was loose or had been kicked loose when I was trying to find the stick with my feet. Something had to be done quickly, as although the engine had stopped through lack of petrol when the machine was upside down, it was now roaring away merrily and taking me down in a dive which looked likely to end in the wood to the north of Menin. So I throttled back and braced my shoulders against the top of the fuselage, and my feet against the rudder bar; then I pulled out the broken bits of seat and freed the controls. Luckily I found them all working all right, so that I was able to put up the machines nose and open the throttle again. I rose and cleared the trees on the Menin Road with very little to spare.

I did not trouble to climb anymore, but just flew back along the Menin Road. In my efforts to find the control stick with my feet, I had smashed all the instruments on the dashboard, and as I gazed at the damage, I wondered if I could ever make anyone realize how it had been done. I had only a very hazy idea myself as to what had really happened, but I felt happy to be alive, and thought it simply marvellous that I was still able to control the machine.

I hurried back to Abeele, without worrying about the increasing strain on the small of my back or the futile shots that the Germans on the ground were sending after me. I went to bed early that night and slept for a good solid twelve hours; but; Lord, how stiff I was the next day! It took a long time before I was able to move about with any comfort.

During the recent trip to Germany which enabled me to make the acquaintance of von Leutzer, my opposite number, I told him the story of this incident. In reply he stated that one of their observers had returned that day with a report of a victory over a British machine, which went down in a spin into the wood on the north side of Menin. This observer was positive that he had seen the pilot thrown out of the machine, although did not fall clear of it, and on the strength of his evidence the Germans spent half a day vainly searching the wood for the wreckage of the machine. Von Leutzer added that the observer, who was known to be reliable and accurate in his statements, got very much ragged about the business for some time afterwards.

[Biggles]

Now that is incredible.