Free Winged Warfare by William Avery Bishop

frightened faces. With hate in my heart I fired every bullet I could into the group as I swept over it, then turned my machine away. A few minutes later I had the satisfaction of seeing our line again advancing, and before the time had come for me to return from my patrol, our men had occupied all the German positions they had set out to take. It was a wonderful sight and a wonderful experience. Although it had been so difficult to realise that men were dying and being maimed for life beneath me, I felt that at last I had seen something of that dogged determination that has carried British arms so far.
    The next ten days were filled with incident. The enemy fighting machines would not come close to the lines and there was very little doing in the way of aerial combats, especially as far as I was concerned, for I was devoting practically all of my time to flying low and helping the infantry. All of our pilots and observers were doing splendid work. Everywhere we were covering the forward movement of the infantry, keeping the troops advised of any enemy movements and enabling the British artillery to shell every area where it appeared concentrations were taking place. Scores of counter-attacks were broken up before the Germans had fairly launched them. Our machines were everywhere back of the enemy lines. It was easy to tell when the Germans were massing for a counter-stroke. First of all our machines would fly low over the grey-clad troops, pouring machine gun bullets into them or dropping high explosive bombs in their midst. Then the exact location of the mobilisation point would be signalled to the artillery, so that the moment the Germans moved our guns were on them. In General Orders commending the troops for their part in the battle, Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig declared that the work of the Flying Corps, “under the most difficult conditions,” called for the highest praise.
    We were acting, you might say, as air policemen. Occasionally one of our machines would be set upon by the German gangsters they were “careful” fighters and seldom attacked unless at odds of four to one and naturally we suffered some casualties, just as the ordinary police force suffers casualties when it is doing patrol duty in an outlaw country. The weather was always favourable to the German methods of avoiding “open air” combats. Even the clearer days were marked by skies filled with clouds sufficiently large and dense to offer protection and hiding places to the high-winging Hun machines.
    I had several skirmishes, but did not succeed in bringing down another machine until the twentieth of April, when I was fortunate enough to begin another series of extremely interesting and successful fights. I was promoted to be a Captain about this time and thought I was very happy, but the promotion was followed by another incident which really made me proud. The sergeants of my squadron had made me a round “nose” for my machine. It fitted on the propeller head and revolved with it. I had it painted a brilliant blue, and from that time on my machine was known as “Blue Nose.” It was given to me, the Sergeant Major explained, as a sign that I was an “Ace” that I had brought down more than five machines. I was so pleased with this tribute from the men, that I took old “Blue Nose” visiting to several other squadrons where I exhibited my new mark of distinction to many of my friends and flying companions.
    The machine I got on the twentieth of April was the first I ever destroyed in flames. It is a thing that often happens, and while I have no desire to make myself appear as a blood-thirsty person, I must say that to see an enemy going down in flames is a source of great satisfaction. You know his destruction is absolutely certain. The moment you see the fire break out you know that nothing in the world can save the man, or men, in the doomed aeroplane. You know there is no