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I learned to fly in a Curtiss JN-4, a stable, easily-controlled aeroplane powered by a Curtiss OX-2 engine, of conventional design, bolted firmly to the airframe. Beguiled and seduced by war propaganda, I joined the Lafayette Escadrille in the Fall of 1917. I was seeking two things, glory, and to lose my virginity in Paris. I certainly accomplished the second one. After a couple of weekend visits to learn my way around, I never returned to the airfield from Paris sexually unsatisfied. I was assigned to fly a Sopwith Camel, an aeroplane justly noted as a "pilot killer". As many pilots died in crashes as in combat, flying that monstrosity. It was the most difficult to control of any aeroplane I have ever flown. The cause of this was the LeRhone rotary engine. In a rotary engine, the crankshaft stands still and the crankcase, cylinders, pistons, etc. rotate around it. In other words, the whole damn' engine spins with the propeller bolted to the crankcase. This permits it to run much cooler than more conventional engines. Hence, more horsepower could be demanded of it, raising the horsepower/weight ratio. That is its ONLY advantage. Viewed from the front, the engine rotates counterclockwise. So, from the pilot's seat, it rotates clockwise. Newton said that "To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.The reaction to the engine's rotation was a torque to the left, tending to lower the left wingtip, forcing the aeroplane to bank to the left unless compensated for by using the ailerons and elevators. So much of their available range of movement was used up just in trimming the attitude of the aeroplane for straight and level flight that there was too little left to use in banking to the right. In effect, then, the Sopwith Camel could only turn to the left. This wasn't bad enough, however. The heavy rotating engine acted like the rotor of a gyroscope. If the nose of the aeroplane was tilted upward in climbing, there was a thrust to the right, if downward in diving, the nose was forced to the left. If the aeroplane turned to the right (very difficult in the Sopwith), the nose would rise, if it turned to the left, the nose would drop. This gyroscope effect made the Sopwith Camel very wayward and difficult to control. I managed not to crash in learning to fly the thing (others were not so lucky), but I never felt comfortable with its weird handling properties. Soon, I was flying missions, flopping around the sky like an albatross. I got one kill and I'm not sure that I deserved credit for it. The machine guns had to be fired in short bursts to avoid overheating. I was engaged in a dogfight with a Fokker E-7, which did NOT have a rotary engine and, therefore had the advantage of greater manoeuverability. I fired two bursts at the Fokker. After the first, the pilot stopped firing and seemed to lose air speed. I suddenly noticed that he had shot off his propeller. Apparently, his interrupter which prevents firing when a propeller blade is in front of the machine gun, had failed. I did not fire again, for I could see that his right shoulder was wounded and he was having difficulty controlling his powerless aeroplane. Suddenly, the Fokker plunged into a dive which quickly became a tailspin. Apparently, his injuries prevented him from getting out of the cockpit. He was trapped in his aeroplane and crashed fatally. I'm not sure whether the bullet(s) which wounded him were mine or his own, ricocheting off his propeller. That's why I am unsure that I deserve credit for the kill. Anyhow, it was credited to me. I learned later that the pilot's name was Heinz Baumeister and that he was bucking for a Blue Max. In early March, 1918, I was flying at about 3000 feet near Lille, the late German ace, Max Immelmann's favorite hunting ground, when, directly ahead of me, though still some distance away, I saw a Fokker DR-1 triplane. It was faster than the Sopwith Camel and approaching me rapidly. Then it noticed its color, red. I knew then who the pilot was , Baron Manfred von Richthofen, " the Red Baron". I was no ace and nowhere near as good a pilot as he, who had 80 kills to his credit. To say that I was scared shitless would be an understatement. I fired one short burst, pro forma, and my machine gun jammed. Oh SHIT ! Here I was with a jammed machine gun heading straight at the Red Baron. No, though, I had an excuse to avoid the confrontation, if I could. Baron von Richthofen hadn't returned my fire. He was obviously unafraid of me. The only manoeuvre I could use to turn tail and run would be an Immelmann turn. It's an aerobatic manoeuvre and Max Immelmann probably never actually used it because his Fokker Eindecker would lose its wings if he tried it. (What he did do is called a chandelle.) The Immelmann turn is a half loop followed by a half roll. The aeroplane ends up upright and heading the opposite way. I had done it in the Curtiss JN-4, but never in the Sopwith Camel. Now, I had to use it, and everything that could went wrong. When I started the climb into the loop, that damned flying gyroscope yawed to the right, turning the climb into an upward spiral . As I struggled with the controls, I went over the top of the half loop and began diving. Dropping the nose of the Sopwith brought about a strong thrust to the left, just as I was starting my roll to the left, being prevented from rolling to the right by the torque of the engine. turning the nose to the left brought about a downward thrust and I found myself diving and yawing to the left at the same time. That set the tail to precessing around the line of fall, a good description of a tailspin. I knew I couldn't pull out of that and I did the only sensible thing. I ditched the Sopwith. I jumped out of the cockpit and, as soon as I had drifted far enough from the falling aeroplane for safety, I opened my parachute. I felt that I had nothing to fear from Baron von Richthofen. He was far too much of a gentleman to shoot a man dangling helplessly from a parachute. I was right. He roared by me and wagged his wings at me. I waved back. I was descending over a plowed field with a single apple tree in the center. I estimated that I would touch down about midway between the crash site of the Sopwith Camel and the tree. And, so I would have, had it not been for the turbulence near the ground. A sudden gust of wind drove me directly above the apple tree when I was less than 100 feet above the ground. There wasn't time to control my descent and I came down in the apple tree, landing astride a branch about 5" thick, right on my balls. Like any boy, I'd been hit in the balls a few times, but never really hard. This impact was devastatingly hard. I didn't know pain like that could exist. I screamed like a wounded animal. "Excruciating" is too mild a word to describe that pain. No suitable word exists.Worse yet, was the realization that I was ruined for life. The crash and my anguished screams attracted the farmers and they came on the run.Two teenaged boys scrambled up into the tree, cut my shroud lines and used them to lower me to the men on the ground who carried me to the farmhouse. I speak very little French and I was only semi-conscious anyhow , but I heard one of them mention "medecin", which I knew means "doctor". The doctor spoke almost as little English as I did French, but, after examining me he told me that my testicules were toutes brisees and would have to be removed. He performed the operation there in the farm house. Later I was transferred to a hospital in Lille where a high-ranking French officer (I never did catch his name) kissed me on both cheeks. WOW ! So, I had given my manhood pour la France. If I had imagined how they were going to behave after the war, I would never have joined the LaFayette Escadrille. As long as we were pulling their chestnuts out of the fire for them, they were nice as pie. We lent them millions of dollars, but, when President Coolidge suggested it was time to pay some of it back, they rioted in the streets under banners reading "Pas un sou a l'Amerique" ("Not a Penny to America") Thanks, buddies ! I suppose I would have ended up over there fighting for them anyhow after President Wilson who had campaigned under the slogan "He Kept Us Out of War", got us into that squabble among the royal families of Europe anyhow. There was no way in which that fight was in our national interests. It was called the Great War (Hah !), the World War, though it was basically European, the War to End All Wars (Oh sure), and, most laughably of all "The War to Make the World Safe for Democracy", Mr. Wilson's idea. Of the seven major powers involved in it, only two, the U.S. and France, were, by any stretch of the imagination, democracies. I was discharged as disabled and sent home, where I sat out the last year of the war. I was genuinely grieved to learn of the death of Baron von Richthofen in April 1918. He was a fine man. I joined in the protests against the shabby way the veterans were treated after the war . That was the only thing I got worked up about, otherwise, after losing my manhood, I was pretty apathetic. I gave my manhood for an ungrateful nation in an unnecessary war. |