War at Ground Level

The set-piece, static, trench warfare of WWI presented a scenario not seen in previous wars. The war on the ground was often more a war against the elements of nature than it was a war against enemy soldiers. The fight against the enemy was a daily affair for those at the front lines, but for all those who were further back, the daily war was one of survival in the face of the harshest living conditions and continuing deprivation. The demands of military regimen may have been necessary for good order and conduct, but those demands often made a miserable situation all the worse. In this brief examination a pilot whose war takes place in the skies, and who views his aerodrome as a refuge from that war has a chance to see the war as it is being experienced by others who are dealing with the daily grind of war under the worst of conditions. Survival in the harshest conditions of cold, rain, mud and disease were often more dangerous than enemy bullets.

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NARRATIVE DESCRIPTION - March 16th, 1918

Rain and fog. We did not fly today; the skies opened shortly after midnight and the entire area of our aerodrome is soaked. The field bears the long drag marks made by the tail skids on our machines and the parallel depressions made by our wheels, and all are now filled with water reflecting the dull light of the overcast skies. Thick fog blanketed the entire region during a brief respite from the rain which lasted for roughly two hours shortly after dawn. It was then washed away by a second downpour which degraded to a monotonous, steady rainfall lasting through the entire afternoon.

The infantry troops encamped along the perimeter of our field and billeted in canvas tents set upon wooden pallets are awash in mud and misery. There was a brief row just before lunch which I witnessed as I made my way from the mechanic sheds to the squadron mess. A grizzled Army sergeant had half a dozen doughboys braced up in the pouring rain, berating them for using their bayonets to dig the thick, viscous mud from their boots. His argument looked to be falling upon deaf ears, and I could well sympathize with the men as I looked at the thick clods adhering to their feet. It was impossible to see their boots for the massive pack of sticky clay lumped at the base of their legs. I continued on to the mess, glad that I was not subject to the wrath of the towering and intimidating sergeant. When I returned to my quarters a short time later, two of the men were sitting on the running board of a lorry and using metal tent stakes to dig the clay from their feet. The other two were engaged in stacking crates of ammunition atop wooden pallets to keep them out of the pooling water. A tarpaulin lay nearby, ready to be used to cover the stacked crates.

We’ve heard that the French and British made a push today, somewhere north of Rheims, but we’ve not yet heard any details. The mechanics are working to repair my bus, but the lacquer does not dry particularly well in a humid atmosphere. Still, I am told that I may expect my faithful #5 to be ready to take the air again when the weather clears.

DIARY ENTRY - March 16, 1918 [Saturday]

Rain and fog. No flying today. Airfield is awash. Learned of French and British push north of Rheims. Mechanics trying to make repairs to canvas on my #5 are hindered by dampness.

The First Voluntary Patrol

This entry continues the comparison between a descriptive narrative of events as with the earlier narrative and matching diary entry for 5 March 1918. The details must be sacrificed in order to fit the day's news into the small space in the diary; the all-too terse entry does little to convey the nature of the day's events.

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NARRATIVE DESCRIPTION - March 13th 1918

Sadly we have heard that Captain Phelps Collins of the 103rd Squadron was killed in action today near Rheims, although we have no details. I met the man when we were attending training in Issoudun and he was a fine American. I am certain his loss will be strongly felt among his fellows.

We have also learned that the 27th Squadron has proceeded from Winnall Downs Rest Camp to Romsey Rest Camp, and will be coming to France very soon.

Our Second Flight made a patrol in force along the far eastern end of our assigned sector without seeing a Boche machine close enough to intercept. We all returned safely to the aerodrome with only vapors of petrol left in our tanks. Captain Hunter is determined to make an impression on the Hun and chafes greatly at not having any dust-ups with their fliers.

I then joined Captain Hunter on a voluntary patrol shortly past midday. On the off chance that we might find a particularly flammable object for our attentions, we loaded our ammunition boxes with incendiary bullets. We raced toward Pont-a-Mousson, climbing to 15,000 feet, flew on past the village and into German territory for some five miles, and then turned west. There were no Boche machines in sight, however, a slow-moving train caught our eye about a mile further back of the German lines.

I followed Captain Hunter in a smooth virage that brought us to a position directly behind the train, and we were delighted to see that it was a freight loaded with vehicles on flat cars, as well as what appeared to be very large fuel canisters or barrels. There was a curve in the tracks ahead, and we took the opportunity to pique down upon the train as it began to slow in preparation to take the curve. Our flaming bullets rent the air with streams of fire and quickly brought about a series of delightful explosions as the fuel containers burst in brilliant yellow and orange detonations, and then began streaming massive clouds of thick black smoke. We continued forward over the train, spraying our bullets along the long line of rail cars as we went, obtaining many additional small detonations from the vehicles mounted on the flat cars.

Apparently the engineer was also hit or killed by the flaming projectiles we sent into his office as the train lurched forward and picked up speed. Perhaps he pressed the throttle lever the wrong way, or fell dead against it. We shall never know. The train increased its speed toward the curve and when just a bit past the halfway point it slowly pitched over on its side and crashed from the tracks, pulling several of the cars over with it. The remaining rail cars were jerked to a halt, flaming and smoking.

Hunter flashed me an all-American thumbs up gesture and I gave him an answering wave, then we turned south and headed for home. When we arrived over the field there was a small crowd gathered outside the command building, and they came to greet us as we rolled up to the mechanics’ hangar. Word had already come back from the front lines through the telephone connection regarding our strike against the train; our efforts had also been seen by French observation balloons and a celebratory crowd of our fellows was waiting to congratulate us. I don’t know what Boche outfit was supposed to receive those vehicles and fuel canisters, but they shall have to make do with what they already have on hand for the present as their expected shipment has been indefinitely delayed.

DIARY ENTRY - March 13, 1918 (Wednesday)

Captain Phelps Collins 103rd Sqdn killed over Rheims. Informed 27th Sqdn has moved from Winnall Downs Rest Camp to Romsey Rest Camp. Coming to France soon. 2nd Flight morning patrol over eastern sector. No luck. Flew a voluntary patrol with Capt. Hunter later in day. Strafed a German supply train which then crashed. Uneventful return.

Diary Entries versus Reality

Typically a person's diary entries are brief and sparse, often in sentence fragments, revealing little of the excitement and reality of what actually took place as they attempt to compile a full day (or more) into a few short sentences or descriptive notes. As an exercise in demonstrating the huge differences which might exist between real actions and events and the summary descriptions which might result in a diary, I penned the following.

This is the first of several individual diary entries from the daily journal of the fictional Steve Robinson Pilot Officer, 1st Lieutenant, American Expeditionary Force, 1st Pursuit Group, 95th Pursuit Squadron “Kicking Mules”, Western Front – France. They take the form of a detailed "verbal" narrative description of a day’s events, followed by the extremely brief/terse diary entries used to record those same events for those same days.

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NARRATIVE DESCRIPTION - March 5th 1918

We have completed our combat flight training at Issoudun and the Squadron has been posted to Villeneuve-Les-Vertus. With us at the aerodrome is the 94th Pursuit Squadron.

We have been told that our assigned patrol area will eventually be located nearly west-to-east along the front lines from St. Mihiel on the Meuse River at the west end to Pont-a Mousson on the Moesselle River on the east end. Our aerodrome is to be some twenty miles from the front lines, lying almost dead south of the center of the east-west line.

There is a Boche observation station atop Montsec, just a bit to the north of the lines, which provides them with a commanding view of the entirety of our sector, and a Boche aerodrome at Thiacourt which lies some seven miles behind the lines and some twelve miles northeast of Montsec.

We have been told to expect our flying machines before the end of the week. The French are to provide us with Nieuport N28 machines. I’ve heard that both the French Escadrilles and the British RFC have rejected these machines in favor of others. I must wonder what quality our mounts will have against the Huns if they have been summarily dismissed by our allies.

Our pilots occupy several houses near the edge of the field which have been abandoned by their former residents. The hangars are the sort used by the French, having metal and wooden frames over which are stretched canvas sheathing. The enlisted men occupy tents along the border of the field, each rigged atop wooden flooring so that they might keep out of the mud on wet days. The pilots of the 94th occupy similar quarters with us, though their members are not actually berthed with ours.

We have all the necessary mechanic sheds, fuel tanks, trucks, and equipment, and look to all outward appearances to be a working aerodrome… save for the conspicuous lack of flying machines. The Boche seem very interested in our activities and sent over a low-flying machine to have a look. I could actually see the observer in the rear seat leaning over the edge of his office to use a large camera. The black silhouette of his mounted machine gun was clearly outlined against the sky beside him.

The French sent two machines aloft after the Boche reconnaissance machine from their field two miles to the east, but the Hun quickly turned and climbed back toward his lines before they could engage him. I feel a bit like a mouse that has been discovered by a hungry cat.

DIARY ENTRY - March 5th 1918, [Tuesday]
Flight training at Issoudun complete and we are posted at Villeneuve-Les-Vertus with the 94th Sqdn. Ultimately we will patrol St. Mihiel to Pont-a-Mousson. Our Nieuports will arrive soon. Germans are aware of our presence. Sent recce machine with photographer. French chased it unsuccessfully. I feel like a mouse watched by a cat.
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WWI aviation is of great personal interest to me, and I really enjoy writing that involves that tremendous conflict. Stay tuned for more examples of NARRATIVE vs DIARY ENTRY comparisons as the fictional 1st Lieutenant in the 95th Pursuit Squadron (a very real unit in the war) continues to encounter THE BOCHE and deal with all that THE GREAT WAR entails.