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Authors: William Avery Bishop
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formation of five enemy machines, some of the squadron looked on me as some sort of wild man, or fire-eater just escaped from the Zoo. The Colonel telephoned up and said that I had better not fly any more that day, so I was given the afternoon off.
As we had to be ready to fly with the dawn next morning, we were early to bed on Easter night. As we turned in the British guns were roaring all along the far-reaching battle line. The whole horizon was lighted with their flashes, like the play of heat lightning on a sultry summer evening. I knew the meaning and the menace in the booming of the cannon, but I slept the sound slumber of a little child.
Chapter VIII
Dawn was due at 5:30 oâclock on Easter Monday and that was the exact hour set for the beginning of the Battle of Arras. We were up and had our machines out of the hangars while it was still night. The beautiful weather of a few hours before had vanished. A strong, chill wind was blowing from the east and dark, menacing clouds were scudding along low overhead.
We were detailed to fly at a low altitude over the advancing infantry, firing into the enemy trenches, and dispersing any groups of men or working troops we happened to see in the vicinity of the lines. Some phases of this work are known as âcontact patrols,â the machines keeping track always of the infantry advance, watching points where they may be held up, and returning from time to time to report just how the battle is going. Working with the infantry in a big attack is a most exciting experience. It means flying close to the ground and constantly passing through our own shells as well as those of the enemy.
The shell-fire this morning was simply indescribable. The bombardment which had been going on all night gradually died down about five oâclock, and the Germans must have felt that the British had finished their nightly âstrafing,â were tired out and going to bed. For a time almost complete silence reigned over the battlefields. All along the German lines star shells and rocket lights were looping through the darkness. The old Boche is always suspicious and likes to have the country around him lighted up as much as possible so he can see what the enemy is about.
The wind kept growing stiffer and stiffer and there was a distinct feel of rain in the air. Precisely at the moment that all the British guns roared out their first salvo of the battle, the skies opened and the rain fell in torrents. Gunfire may or may not have anything to do with rainmaking, but there was a strange coincidence between the shock of battle and the commencement of the downpour this morning. It was beastly luck, and we felt it keenly. But we carried on.
The storm had delayed the coming of day by several minutes, but as soon as there was light enough to make our presence worthwhile, we were in the air and braving the untoward elements just as the troops were below us. Lashed by the gale, the wind cut the face as we moved against the enemy. The ground seemed to be one mass of bursting shells. Further back, where the guns were firing, the hot flames flashing from thousands of muzzles gave the impression of a long ribbon of incandescent light. The air seemed shaken and literally full of shells on their missions of death and destruction. Over and over again one felt a sudden jerk under a wingtip and the machine would heave quickly. This meant a shell had passed within a few feet of you. As the battle went on the work grew more terrifying, because reports came in that several of our machines had been hit by shells in flight and brought down. There was small wonder of this. The British barrage fire that morning was the most intense the war had ever known. There was a greater concentration of guns than at any time during the Somme. In fact, some of the German prisoners said afterward that the Somme seemed a Paradise compared to the bombardments we carried out at Arras. While the British fire was at its height
As we had to be ready to fly with the dawn next morning, we were early to bed on Easter night. As we turned in the British guns were roaring all along the far-reaching battle line. The whole horizon was lighted with their flashes, like the play of heat lightning on a sultry summer evening. I knew the meaning and the menace in the booming of the cannon, but I slept the sound slumber of a little child.
Chapter VIII
Dawn was due at 5:30 oâclock on Easter Monday and that was the exact hour set for the beginning of the Battle of Arras. We were up and had our machines out of the hangars while it was still night. The beautiful weather of a few hours before had vanished. A strong, chill wind was blowing from the east and dark, menacing clouds were scudding along low overhead.
We were detailed to fly at a low altitude over the advancing infantry, firing into the enemy trenches, and dispersing any groups of men or working troops we happened to see in the vicinity of the lines. Some phases of this work are known as âcontact patrols,â the machines keeping track always of the infantry advance, watching points where they may be held up, and returning from time to time to report just how the battle is going. Working with the infantry in a big attack is a most exciting experience. It means flying close to the ground and constantly passing through our own shells as well as those of the enemy.
The shell-fire this morning was simply indescribable. The bombardment which had been going on all night gradually died down about five oâclock, and the Germans must have felt that the British had finished their nightly âstrafing,â were tired out and going to bed. For a time almost complete silence reigned over the battlefields. All along the German lines star shells and rocket lights were looping through the darkness. The old Boche is always suspicious and likes to have the country around him lighted up as much as possible so he can see what the enemy is about.
The wind kept growing stiffer and stiffer and there was a distinct feel of rain in the air. Precisely at the moment that all the British guns roared out their first salvo of the battle, the skies opened and the rain fell in torrents. Gunfire may or may not have anything to do with rainmaking, but there was a strange coincidence between the shock of battle and the commencement of the downpour this morning. It was beastly luck, and we felt it keenly. But we carried on.
The storm had delayed the coming of day by several minutes, but as soon as there was light enough to make our presence worthwhile, we were in the air and braving the untoward elements just as the troops were below us. Lashed by the gale, the wind cut the face as we moved against the enemy. The ground seemed to be one mass of bursting shells. Further back, where the guns were firing, the hot flames flashing from thousands of muzzles gave the impression of a long ribbon of incandescent light. The air seemed shaken and literally full of shells on their missions of death and destruction. Over and over again one felt a sudden jerk under a wingtip and the machine would heave quickly. This meant a shell had passed within a few feet of you. As the battle went on the work grew more terrifying, because reports came in that several of our machines had been hit by shells in flight and brought down. There was small wonder of this. The British barrage fire that morning was the most intense the war had ever known. There was a greater concentration of guns than at any time during the Somme. In fact, some of the German prisoners said afterward that the Somme seemed a Paradise compared to the bombardments we carried out at Arras. While the British fire was at its height
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