Book IV Read online

  The slim, light haired armament officer was doing some paperwork in a small cubicle at the corner of the maintenance tent when John approached him with his request.

  “Welcome to the squadron, and no problem with that request, captain,” he said as he stood and shook John’s hand. “I’ll have one of my men clean up a workbench for you, and lay out two Vickers guns and belts of ammo for you.”

  Belli thought the new captain was odd, but let him come back with a sandwich and coffee and take apart the twin Vickers machine guns and reassemble them. He watched as he did his paperwork, as John took the belts of .30 caliber bullets and cleaned each bullet individually, then placed them back in the canvas feed belt.

  It took John three hours to complete his task and he thought with satisfaction, Glad I checked that ammo. He fingered six of the bullets that were dented or had sand on them. Those dents and sand are enough to jam the guns. Four possible duds were tossed away.

  Finally, he walked back to his tent and was in bed by ten o’clock. Snores from the other three bunks told him he was the last one in and he tied the tent flap. He saw a towel tied to the bottom of his cot and he grinned. The tied towel was the standard sign for, ‘wake this guy up’ so the duty sergeant wouldn’t wake the wrong men up. He had planned on reliving his first taste of combat, but was asleep as soon as he hit the sack.

  At exactly four, the next morning he was shaken awake by the orderly as Rickenbacker had predicted. As John got out of bed, he became aware that he had butterflies in his stomach. The other three men in the tent slept through his bumping in the dark, as he got dressed.

  He finally left and made it to the only light on the dark and foggy field, the mess tent. Inside sat Rickenbacker and another officer.

  Rickenbacker waved him a greeting. “Over here, John,” he said, patting a wooden bench seat. He pushed a pot of hot coffee toward him along with a chipped mug.

  “This is Captain Kenny our operation’s officer. He’ll get you some flight gear. You best have some coffee first. Believe me, it only gets worse as Cookie boils it more.”

  John shook hands with Kenny, finished his coffee, and then all three left and went to one of the canvas hangar. As they entered John saw that it was filled with various types of flying gear: boots, helmets, heavy pants, coats and long gloves all designed to keep the pilots warm at altitude.

  Kenny gave him a pair of the long, fleece-lined, chest-high pants with wide suspenders to keep them up, followed by high fur boots. The jacket was leather with a fur collar and the ever-present silk scarf, which would be used to wrap around the lower half of his face. John knew it was used to cover the pilot’s nose to keep the oil fumes from being breathed. Finally, he put on his leather helmet and goggles and was handed long, fur gloves.

  Rickenbacker stood back with his hands on his hips and grinned. “Well, you’re as ready as I can make you. Be sure to keep your mouth and nose covered with that scarf.”

  John nodded, “I know, oil fumes.”

  “Not just oil fumes John,” said Rickenbacker with a knowing grin. “The engine uses castor oil for lubrication and if a pilot ingests enough of that he gets a sever case of the trots.”

  John shrugged his shoulders, Boy. Learn something new every day, he thought as he tightened his scarf

  “Now,” said the commander, “let’s waddle out to Number 13.” He looked at John and, still smiling, asked, “Are you superstitious?”

  “No, knock on wood.”

  Rickenbacker laughed and said as his grin disappeared to show his business side, “Here’s the plan. I take off, with you thirty seconds behind me. We do a left-hand turn and form up over the field. We’re just doing a familiarization flight, checking out the area so you don’t get lost. Then we separate and come at each other and do a little playing. If I put my hand straight up, it means stop, form up, and we land. If your kite’s engine acts up just put her down anywhere. Got it?”

  John nodded as they stopped in front of Number 13.

  Rickenbacker patted the side. “She’s good and reliable. A little long in the tooth, but a proven steed. And Lieutenant Belli says you serviced her guns yourself.” He motioned to John, saying, “Check her out then climb in and I’ll meet you on the field.”

  John followed his lead and started his walk-around of the aircraft. He looked at the wiring on the engine, then the fittings to make sure they were tight. Next he actually kicked the tire and pulled on the wire bracings as he had done on his Boeing trainer many times before. He pulled down on the ailerons, pushed the rudder back and forth, and ended the pre-flight check by lifting and lowering the elevator. He looked up at her and thought, well, all seems tight where they’re supposed to be tight, and loose where they’re supposed to be loose. It’s show time, John.

  Two mechanics helped him push the fighter out of the hangar. Once on the dew slicked grass he got into his seat, and a mechanic hopped up on his wing and helped him strap up. He put on his long gloves and thought, No parachute. And this is what they called the good old days?

  The mechanic climbed down and went to the front of the aircraft. He put both hands on the prop and called, “Contact!”

  John called back, “Contact,” as he threw the switch to the ‘on’ position.

  The mechanic pulled the propeller through one turn. Nothing happened. He pulled it through again, and again, nothing. The third time the engine coughed to life and the machine started making the same vibration he experienced in the simulator.

  As the time traveler watched for other airplanes, he suddenly thought, Not only am I doing this, but also I’m not nervous at all. His training had kicked in and he had become an aviator again, at one with his aircraft. Nineteen-eighteen or nineteen-forty, he thought, flying is still flying. The rules are the same; it’s just a different machine. He looked to both sides as he slowly rolled over the slightly uneven grass parking area and used the rudder to make turns to avoid parked aircraft and fueling trucks.

  Finally on the empty grass field, he saw Rickenbacker waiting, his engine idling. John pulled up next to him and the commander nodded his head as he gunned his little machine and it trundled down the field, becoming airborne in less than one hundred feet.

  John counted to thirty and opened his throttle and quickly picked up speed.

  Wow! It feels just like the simulator, he thought as he rolled down the runway. He watched the speedometer and when it reached thirty-six miles an hour, gently pulled the control stick back and immediately got the feeling he loved so much; liftoff!

  He did a gentle left-hand turn and formed up with Rickenbacker at five hundred feet. He followed the commander as he did some easy turns, each one getting tighter. He wants to see how I handle a stall, John thought.

  As the turns became tighter, he felt his aircraft start to shake. Losing airflow over the wings, he thought, as Rickenbacker watched him with a smile. Suddenly his aircraft stalled and started a fluttering dive toward Earth. John automatically pushed the nose down and added more power. The Spad quickly righted itself and he climbed back up to Rickenbacker’s tail. John smiled to himself as he realized his training had kicked in automatically.

  Looking back past his tail at him, Rickenbacker knew John was looking to dogfight. He obliged him by doing a quick pull up and went into a roll at the top as he looked back for John. He smiled at seeing John still on his tail. Rickenbacker quickly pushed his nose down. He knew that for a split second he was out of John’s sight, because the nose of John’s aircraft would be in the way, so he quickly rolled to the left. He watched John go by, still looking forward expecting to see Rickenbacker in front of him. With a grin, he quickly pulled up and was on John’s tail.

  John saw him in his rear view mirror and tried to shake him, but he couldn’t. He zoomed and dived doing everything he knew from Air Training Command, but Captain Eddie knew them all. John cut his engine power back to idle hoping the commander would overshoot and end up in front of him, but Rickenbacker was on to that old trick and sim
ply cut his to match John’s speed and stay on his tail.

  Finally, Rickenbacker pulled up beside him and raised his arm.

  Time to land, John thought, looking for the field. He followed Rickenbacker to the aerodrome and they landed.

  Hopping out of his Spad, John smiled as he realized he felt comfortable in the nimble fighter. Maybe I will be able to pull this off after all, he thought.

  They went back to the operations tent and as he stripped off his flying togs, Rickenbacker turned to him and said, “That was some pretty nice flying John, how about some breakfast?”

  John grinned and nodded. He felt like a million bucks! They walked on the planks back to the chow hall.

  After sitting with some coffee and doughnuts, Rickenbacker said, “Well John, I think you have what it takes to go up against the Hun. I don’t know how you are at handling the guns, but I have to assume that a man who takes the time to clean his guns and ammo is able to take care of himself.”

  Two other pilots joined them and the commander introduced them, “John Brand, Captain Tom Dowd and Lieutenant Divers. They’ll be flying with me on the eleven o’clock sortie.” The commander looked at his watch then dipped a doughnut into his coffee and continued, “I’m leading that sweep over the trenches in one hour John, want to join us?”

  John answered immediately, “Yes, sir, I sure do!”

  “Good. Then you stick with me. There’ll be four of us and we’re going to fly over the front for ten miles and we’ll see if any Huns want to come up to play. If they do, don’t take any chances for now, unless you get a good, clean shot.” He dipped the last of his doughnut in his coffee and downed it. “You can go in Number 13. Double check and make sure that Belli put the two Vickers guns you cleaned last night, onto that Spad. Okay?”

  “I’m on my way, sir,” John said as he left the tent.

  One hour later the four Spads warmed up on the grass. A green flare arched up over the field, and Rickenbacker reacted by gunning his engine. The others followed at thirty-second intervals with John as the second man in the flight. He was told by Rickenbacker to stay close to him and he did. John had always handled formation flying better than most, and this time he was Rickenbacker’s shadow. He was pleased to see the commander give him a thumb’s up after they formed up and circled the field. After a few minutes flying east, Rickenbacker pointed down and the four fighters went low and just skimmed over the trenches of no-mans-land.

  The area between the lines was empty of movement, but when they reached the German lines, any of the gray clad troops they saw took a pot shot at them as they zipped past them at over one hundred and ten miles an hour.

  Suddenly an airfield appeared beneath his wings and Rickenbacker buzzed the runway, which was empty of aircraft. A few puffs of black and red smoke told John that it was an enemy runway they buzzed, and he instinctively ducked as the anti-aircraft artillery shot up at them.

  They circled the airfield for twenty minutes, dodging an ever-increasing barrage of anti-aircraft fire, when their leader waggled his wings as he called off the mission. The German air force decided to sit this one out, so they returned to their aerodrome and all started doing mock dogfights against each other.

  Rickenbacker started by doing a loop and getting on the tail of Dowd. Because John stuck close to his leader, he was doing the same maneuvers that his leader was. Suddenly, John looked back and spotted Divers just as Divers got on his tail. John immediately pulled the same maneuver that Rickenbacker had pulled on him that morning and was soon on Divers’ tail. Utilizing every tactic he knew of dog fighting, John stuck to Divers through every gyration the man performed. Finally, Rickenbacker raised his arm and the four landed.

  On the way back to the operation’s tent after landing, Divers slapped his back. “Dang! John, you got some great moves.”

  John laughed and answered, “Captain Rickenbacker taught me that one just this morning.”

  Divers and Dowd went back to their tent and John asked Rickenbacker, “Sir, I have an idea that can give us an advantage over the Hun should he decide to tangle with the group. Mind if I tinker with Number 13?”

  Rickenbacker slapped his back and answered, “Any new trick you guys come up with in the States that’ll keep us alive, I’m all for. Go ahead, and tell Lieutenant Belli I said to give you all the help you need.” He smiled broadly and said, “You fit in real well today, John. I’ll see about taking you along on another mission soon. Wish you had joined our group a few months back, we could’ve used you. See you tomorrow.”

  John watched Rickenbacker walk towards his tent. The day after tomorrow’s flight is the flight I must be on, he thought, “or, catch up with you somehow before that fight goes bad.”

  He went back to his tent, took some of the Ninety-Fourth’s letterhead notepaper and did some sketching. Satisfied, he went to see Belli in the maintenance tent.

  The young lieutenant sat at a small wooden desk writing some reports, and looked up as John walked in. He stood and said, “Hey, Captain, how did it go today? Was there any problems with ‘ol number 13?”

  “It went real good, Lieutenant, and 13 was at her best.” He waved the sketches and continued, “I have an idea I’d like to try out, and Captain Rickenbacker said you’d be the right man to come to.”

  “Sure,” answered Belli. He cleared a place on his desk and looked at the papers John put down on it, “how can I help?”

  John spread his sketches out, and they both sat down to study them. He said, “I noticed twice, that when I had someone on my tail, there was no way to slow down to let the other guy slide out in front of me. If I cut my engine to slow down, the lack of visible exhaust tells the guy behind me that I killed my power, and he does the same thing and stays behind me. So, I’d like to keep my engine on full and still be able to slow her down. He’d have no warning of me slowing down, and by the time he realized it, he’d be out in front of my guns.”

  Belli looked at him and scratched his head. “Boy! I see your problem. So, how are you going to do this, Captain?”

  John pointed to his drawing and said, “Simple. We build, what I call a speed brake. I want to attach a flat, three-foot-square board to the belly of my Spad. I want to hinge it at the front and hook up a control stick to it. When I pull back on the stick, the flat board will be forced down and out into the slipstream and slow down the airplane. I’ll be in a perfect gun position when he slides in front of me. Then I’ll simply retract the board and resume flying at full speed, but now, I’d be on his tail.”

  The young officer was visibly impressed. “Wow, Captain, you guys in Air Training Command are good. Bet the guys will wish you had come along sooner.” He picked up the sketches and continued, “Let’s take a look at this.” He pondered it as he walked around the tent, muttering, “Three foot square board. Okay, let’s see, got some one-inch floorboard. That should do it. Also, got an old control stick and some hinges.” Then he looked up and said, “This should take about two hours to get together, Captain.”

  “Great,” answered John, “I’ll help you.”

  Slightly over two hours later, John and the maintenance officer stood by Number 13, smiling as they admired their handiwork. The board was hinged at the front, to the airplane’s belly and was flush against it. John climbed in the cockpit and at a nod from Belli, pulled back on the control stick. The board lowered from the belly and stuck down into the slipstream. The lieutenant gave him a thumb’s up.

  “Looks good from here, captain.”

  John climbed down and said, “Let’s keep this between us for now, Lieutenant. I’d like to try it tomorrow without anyone knowing.”

  “You got it, Captain,” he said as they washed up, “it’ll shock ’em.”

  At four, the next morning, Rickenbacker entered the mess tent. He smiled when he saw John sitting at his table sipping coffee. “Hey John, I thought Air Training Command guys liked to sleep late.”

  “Ha,” replied John, “not when there’s a chance to
have another go at the boss in a dogfight.”

  “You challenging me?” asked a laughing Rickenbacker as he poured himself a mug of coffee and grabbed a doughnut. “You must really have done some tinkering last night.”

  John nodded as he drained his mug.

  “Okay then, Captain,” replied the commander, “let me have a cup of java and we’ll try you out again.”

  Forty minutes later the sun was just rising and John and the commander were aloft at five hundred feet. As usual Rickenbacker started the mock dogfight by raising his arm. They separated, and then turned to face each other as they started maneuvering to best the other fellow.

  John’s hundreds of hours of flying time kicked in, and he felt at home in this arena. His experience showed as each tried to get on the other’s tail.

  As they zoomed and dived, the noise of their engines brought out the entire base to watch. Entrepreneurs started taking bets on the outcome. The commander was heavily favored, but Belli took the odds against the new guy.

  John and Rickenbacker were at it for twenty minutes when the commander finally got on John’s tail. John looked back and saw Rickenbacker about to come within machine-gun range, and quickly pulled back on the second control stick in his cockpit.

  This control stick pushed the board away from the belly of his Spad, and it bit into the slipstream causing his fighter to stumble in the air and quickly lose some speed.

  To Rickenbacker, it seemed as though part of John’s airplane dropped away and he thought, Damn, his plane is breaking up on him.