Chapter VII: Canto II: Launched Into Space (3)

The group which he had attacked was composed of five airplanes, flying in _échelon_, three above, two below. The two which flew lowest were assaulted by one of our escadrilles, and the pilots, seeing a machine fall in flames, thought at first it was their own victory. "It was my first one, falling from the upper story," Guynemer explained drolly, in his Stanislas-student manner. With his "_terrible oiseau_" he had waged battle with the three pilots "of the upper story," and had forced them down one after the other. "The first one," he said, "had a half-burned card in his pocket which had certainly been given him that same morning, judging by the date, which read in German: 'I think you are very successful in aviation.' I have his photograph with his Gretchen. What German heads! He wore the same decorations as that one who fell in the Bus wood...." Is this not Achilles setting his foot on Hector and taking possession of his trophies? Guynemer's heart was stone to his enemies. He saw in them the wrongs done to France, the invasion of our country, the destruction of our towns and villages, our desolation, and our dead, so many of our dead whose deserted homes weep for them. His was not to give pity, but to do justice. And in doing justice, when an adversary whom he had forced down was wounded, he brought him help with all his native generosity.

For him, thirty seconds had separated the Capitol from the Tarpeian Rock. After his triple victory came his incredible fall, unheard of, fantastic, from a height of 3000 meters, the Spad falling at the highest speed down to earth, and rebounding and planting itself in the ground like a picket. "I was completely stupefied for twenty-four hours, but have escaped with merely immense fatigue (especially where I wear my looping-the-loop straps, which saved my life), and a gash in my knee presented to me by my magneto. During that 3000-meter tumble I was planning the best way to hit the ground (I had the choice of sauces): I found the way, but there were still 95 out of 100 chances for the wooden cross. _Enfin_, all right!" And this postscript followed: "Sixth time I have been brought down: record!"

Lieutenant V.F., of the Dragon Escadrille, colliding with a comrade's airplane at a height of 3000 meters, had a similar fall onto the Avocourt wood, and was similarly astounded to find himself whole. He had continued maneuvering during the five or six minutes of the descent. "Soon," he wrote, "the trees of the Hesse forest came in sight; in fact, they seemed to approach at a dizzy rate of speed. I switched off so as not to catch fire, and a few meters before reaching the trees I nosed up my machine with all my strength so that it would fall flat. There was a terrible shock! One tree higher than the rest broke my right wings, and made me turn as if I were on a pivot. I closed my eyes. There was a second shock, less violent than I could have hoped: the machine fell on its nose like a stone, at the foot of the tree which had stopped me. I unfastened my belt which, luckily, had not broken, and let myself slip onto the ground, amazed not to be suffering intense agony. The only bad effects were that my head was heavy, and blood was flowing through my mask. I breathed, coughed, and shook my arms and legs, and was dumbfounded to find that all my faculties functioned normally...." Guynemer did not tell us so much; but, as a mathematician, he calculated his chances. He too had switched off, and with the greatest sang-froid superintended, so to speak, his fall. Its result was no less magical.

The infantrymen had observed this rainfall of airplanes. The French plane reached the earth just before its pilot's last victim fell also, in flames. The soldiers pitied the poor victor, who had not, as they thought, survived his conquest! They rushed to his aid, expecting to pick him up crushed to atoms. But Guynemer stood up without aid. He seemed like a ghost; but he was standing, he was alive, and the excited soldiers took possession of him and carried him off in triumph. A division general approached, and immediately commanded a military salute for the victor, saying to Guynemer:

"You will review the troops with me."

Guynemer did not know how to review troops, and would have liked to go. He was suffering cruelly from his knee:

"I happen to be wounded, General."

"Wounded, you! It's impossible. When a man falls from the sky without being broken, he is a magician, no doubt of that. You cannot be wounded. However, lean upon me."

And holding him up, almost indeed carrying him, he walked with the young _sous-lieutenant_ in front of the troops. From the neighboring trenches rose the sound of singing, first half-suppressed, and then swelling into a formidable roar: the _Marseillaise_. The song had sprung spontaneously to the men's lips.

* * * * *

Cerebral commotion required Guynemer to rest for a few days. But on October 5 he started off again. The month of October on the Somme was marked by an improvement in German aviation, their numbers being considerably reinforced and supplied with new tactics. Guynemer defied the new tactics of numbers, and in one day, October 17, attacked a group of three one-seated planes, and another group of five. A second time he made a sortie, and attacked a two-seated plane which was aided by five one-seated machines. On another occasion, November 9, he waged six battles with one-seated and two-seated machines, all of which made their escape, one after another, by diving. Still this was not enough, and he set forth again and attacked a group of one Albatros and four one-seated planes. "Hard fight," says the journal, "the enemy has the advantage." He broke off this combat, but only to engage in another with an Albatros which had surprised Lieutenant Deullin at 50 meters. On the following day, November 10, he added two more items to his list (making his nineteenth and twentieth): his first victim, at whom he had shot fifteen times from a distance less than ten meters, fell in flames south of Nesle; the other, a two-seated Albatros, 220 H.P. Mercédès, protected by three one-seated machines, fell and was crushed to pieces in the Morcourt ravine. This double stroke he repeated on the twenty-second of the same month (making his twenty-second and twenty-third), and again on January 23, 1917 (his twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh), and still again the next day, the twenty-fourth (his twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth victories). In addition, here is one of his letters with a statement of the results of three chasing days. There are no longer headings or endings to his letters; he makes a direct attack, as he does in the air.

26-1-'17

_January_ 24, 1917.--Fell on a group of five Boches at 2300. I
brought them back, with drums beating, at 800 meters (one wire stay
cut, one escape pot broken). At the end of the boxing-round, 400
meters above Roye, I succeeded in getting behind a one-seated
machine of the group. My motor stopped; obliged to pump and let the
Boche go.

11.45.--Attacked a Fritz, let him go at 800 meters, my motor
spattered, but the Boche landed, head down, near Goyancourt. I only
count him as damaged.

At this instant, I see a Boche cannonaded at 2400, hence at 11.50 a
boxing round necessary with a little Rumpler armed with two
machine-guns. The pilot got a bullet in his lung; the passenger,
who fired at me, got one in his knee. The two reservoirs were hit,
and the whole machine took fire and tumbled down at Lignières,
within our lines. I landed alongside; in starting in again one
wheel was broken in the plowed frozen earth. In taking away the
"taxi" the park people completely demolished it for me. It was
rushed to Paris for repairs.

25.--I watch the others fly, and fume.

26.--Bucquet loaned me his "taxi." No view-finder; only a
wretchedly bad (oh, how bad!) sight-line.

At 12 o'clock.--Saw a Boche at 3800; took the lift.--Arrived at the
sun.--In turning, was caught in an eddy-wind, rotten tail
spin.--While coming down again I saw the Boche aiming at me 200
meters away; sent him ten shots: gun jammed; but the Boche seemed
excited and dived with his motor in full blast straight south. Off
we go! But I took care not to get too near so that he would not see
that my gun was out of action. The altimeter tumbled: 1600
Estrées-Saint-Denis came in sight. I maneuvered my Boche as well as
I could. Suddenly he righted himself and departed in the direction
of Rheims, banging away at me.

I tried bluffing; I rose 500 meters and let myself fall on him like
a pebble. When I began to think my bluff had not succeeded, he
seemed impressed and began to descend again. I placed myself at a
distance of 10 meters, but every time I showed my nose the
passenger aimed at me. The road to Compiègne: 1000 ... 800 meters.
When I showed my nose, the passenger, standing, stopped aiming and
made a sign that he gave himself up. All right! I saw under his
belly that four shells had struck the mark. 400 meters: the Boche
slowed up his "_moulin_" (motor). 200 meters, 20 meters. I let him
go and watched him land. At 100 meters I circled and found I was
over an aërodrome. But, having no more cartridges, I could not
prevent them from setting fire to their "taxi," a magnificent 200
H.P. Albatros. When I saw they had been surrounded, I landed and
showed the Boches my broken machine-gun. Sensation. They had fired
at me two hundred times: my bullets, before the breakdown, had gone
through their altimeter and their tachometer, which had caused
their excitement. The pilot said that an airplane had been forced
down two days before at Goyancourt: passenger killed, pilot wounded
in legs--had to have one amputated above the knee. I hope this
original confirmation will be accepted, which will make 30.

Thirty victories, twenty or twenty-one of which occurred on the Somme: such is the schedule of these extraordinary flights. The last one surpassed all the rest. He fought unarmed, with nothing but his machine, like a knight who, with sword broken, manages his horse and brings his adversary to bay. What a scene it was when the German pilot and passenger, prisoners, became aware that Guynemer's machine-gun had been out of action! Once more he had imposed his will upon others, and his power of domination had fascinated his enemies.

In the beginning of February, 1917, the Storks Escadrille left the Somme after six months' fighting, and flew into Lorraine.