Attempting to write about a past era is difficult enough in descriptive terms. But writing about a past era as it was seen through the eyes of another requires extensive research into the technical matters of the story, and a familiarity with the manner of writing and speech used at that point in history. It can be difficult to capture the "feeling" of looking out through someone else's eyes and thinking with someone else's thoughts. The following excerpt is from a story involving WWI Aviation/Combat which I've been working on for many months entitled "A DEADLY BUSINESS".
This is a portion of a daily journal entry by an American pilot in the story.
"Our orderlies awoke us early this morning, just after 4 AM. With hot coffee, generous quantities of eggs, bacon, and biscuits to fortify us for the frigid temperatures of high altitude, we mounted our machines and took off. The field was still dark, but the sky was lightening with the anticipatory glow of dawn. First Lieutenant Robert “Bob” Chubb was recently posted to Second Flight and joined our number this morning on our dawn patrol to the eastern portion of our patrol sector. As he had not yet made a flight in hostile territory, he was assigned to fly on my right wing and I was given the task of watching over him.
We climbed toward the sun, now creeping above the horizon, then turned our noses northward toward Pont-a-Mousson. With our noses now facing Germany we each triggered our guns briefly to ensure they were functioning correctly. When that conurbation of humanity which lay upon the river had passed beneath us and we were well within Boche territory, we turned our machines westward and flew parallel to the front lines. At our altitude of 15,000 feet the sounds of our engines must have been fairly miniscule to those on the ground, and I warrant we went all but unnoticed unless a gaze happened to fall upon us by chance. The air was clear with almost no clouds; we had the sun to our backs and anyone attempting to discern us against that blazing backdrop would be all but blinded.
We had patrolled thus for nearly three quarters of an hour when I perceived a number of machines at a distance of some two miles to the west, flying in a formation at a slightly lower altitude. I wagged my wings to alert Captain Hunter, then pointed over the forward edge of my office at the distant fliers. By gestures he indicated that he had also seen them, and then with a wag of his own wings he signaled that we should stoop to investigate. By prearrangement we did not initially increase our throttles, but simply put our noses down a bit in a shallow dive.
Within moments we discerned the distant aeroplanes to be five German Albatros D.V machines. For the moment they seemed totally unaware of our presence and continued in their flight at an angle away from us toward the south west. A sudden burst of white smoke ahead of the D.Vs proved to be a warning to then regarding our presence from their own archy. It was too late, however, and we burst through their formation with guns blazing. Chubb and I had concentrated our fire on the same machine and I was gratified to see it burst into flames, roll onto one wing tip, then plummet downward as we swooped past.
I pulled my control stick back and climbed quickly to regain the altitude I had lost in the dive, spinning my head around to the right and left in an effort to keep from colliding with my fellows whilst maintaining an awareness of the Boche machines. Below their group, spiraling slowly downward, I saw another Hun with smoke streaming from his engine cowling. He was apparently attempting to regain control of his machine and turn away from the front lines and the dangers of no-man’s land, though I doubted from the smoke that he would do so under engine power. He was beyond immediate reach, however, and no longer presented any threat to us, so I turned my attention back to the remaining three Boche D.V machines.
One of the Albatros machines had pulled up in a steep renversement and was diving back down toward us with guns blazing. The other two Boche had split up, one going left and one going right, each with a member of our Flight in close pursuit. Captain Hunter turned his own machine to face the diving Boche, and at the last second before they would have collided he flipped his N28 upward and over onto its back, then snapped it into a tight reversed loop. Finding himself below and behind the diving Albatros, he fired a line of blazing bullets which stitched the entire length of the enemy machine. From my higher point of view I could see the canvas erupting upward along the length of the Boche machine as Hunter’s bullets tore through.
The Albatros ceased firing, but it continued its downward plunge unabated, beginning to rotate slowly over as it went. One or more of Captain Hunter’s bullets must have found the Boche pilot; he was either dead or entirely disabled and certainly doomed either way. I banked my machine in order to watch the machine as it fell and could see that no efforts were being made to interrupt its plunge; the pilot must certainly be dead in his office. It stuck the ground less than a mile behind the German lines. Surprisingly there was very little in the way of an explosion, although it did burst entirely to small bits upon impact. "
This is a portion of a daily journal entry by an American pilot in the story.
"Our orderlies awoke us early this morning, just after 4 AM. With hot coffee, generous quantities of eggs, bacon, and biscuits to fortify us for the frigid temperatures of high altitude, we mounted our machines and took off. The field was still dark, but the sky was lightening with the anticipatory glow of dawn. First Lieutenant Robert “Bob” Chubb was recently posted to Second Flight and joined our number this morning on our dawn patrol to the eastern portion of our patrol sector. As he had not yet made a flight in hostile territory, he was assigned to fly on my right wing and I was given the task of watching over him.
We climbed toward the sun, now creeping above the horizon, then turned our noses northward toward Pont-a-Mousson. With our noses now facing Germany we each triggered our guns briefly to ensure they were functioning correctly. When that conurbation of humanity which lay upon the river had passed beneath us and we were well within Boche territory, we turned our machines westward and flew parallel to the front lines. At our altitude of 15,000 feet the sounds of our engines must have been fairly miniscule to those on the ground, and I warrant we went all but unnoticed unless a gaze happened to fall upon us by chance. The air was clear with almost no clouds; we had the sun to our backs and anyone attempting to discern us against that blazing backdrop would be all but blinded.
We had patrolled thus for nearly three quarters of an hour when I perceived a number of machines at a distance of some two miles to the west, flying in a formation at a slightly lower altitude. I wagged my wings to alert Captain Hunter, then pointed over the forward edge of my office at the distant fliers. By gestures he indicated that he had also seen them, and then with a wag of his own wings he signaled that we should stoop to investigate. By prearrangement we did not initially increase our throttles, but simply put our noses down a bit in a shallow dive.
Within moments we discerned the distant aeroplanes to be five German Albatros D.V machines. For the moment they seemed totally unaware of our presence and continued in their flight at an angle away from us toward the south west. A sudden burst of white smoke ahead of the D.Vs proved to be a warning to then regarding our presence from their own archy. It was too late, however, and we burst through their formation with guns blazing. Chubb and I had concentrated our fire on the same machine and I was gratified to see it burst into flames, roll onto one wing tip, then plummet downward as we swooped past.
I pulled my control stick back and climbed quickly to regain the altitude I had lost in the dive, spinning my head around to the right and left in an effort to keep from colliding with my fellows whilst maintaining an awareness of the Boche machines. Below their group, spiraling slowly downward, I saw another Hun with smoke streaming from his engine cowling. He was apparently attempting to regain control of his machine and turn away from the front lines and the dangers of no-man’s land, though I doubted from the smoke that he would do so under engine power. He was beyond immediate reach, however, and no longer presented any threat to us, so I turned my attention back to the remaining three Boche D.V machines.
One of the Albatros machines had pulled up in a steep renversement and was diving back down toward us with guns blazing. The other two Boche had split up, one going left and one going right, each with a member of our Flight in close pursuit. Captain Hunter turned his own machine to face the diving Boche, and at the last second before they would have collided he flipped his N28 upward and over onto its back, then snapped it into a tight reversed loop. Finding himself below and behind the diving Albatros, he fired a line of blazing bullets which stitched the entire length of the enemy machine. From my higher point of view I could see the canvas erupting upward along the length of the Boche machine as Hunter’s bullets tore through.
The Albatros ceased firing, but it continued its downward plunge unabated, beginning to rotate slowly over as it went. One or more of Captain Hunter’s bullets must have found the Boche pilot; he was either dead or entirely disabled and certainly doomed either way. I banked my machine in order to watch the machine as it fell and could see that no efforts were being made to interrupt its plunge; the pilot must certainly be dead in his office. It stuck the ground less than a mile behind the German lines. Surprisingly there was very little in the way of an explosion, although it did burst entirely to small bits upon impact. "
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