Favourite Stories

[Ed]

With Christmas nearing, I'd like to share one of my favourite stories of aviation during the Great War. While it took place in August, 1918, and is not a Christmas story per se, it remains with me as a reminder in these cynical times that there actually was honour and respect among enemies in the skies. Not all of the time, certainly, but it did happen. I quote directly from Rudolph Stark's autobiography "Wings of War':

The sun is a huge, blood-red ball, sinking into the sea.

From the depths its rays still gleam up heavenwards like the beams of a searchlight; then they too die down and follow the sun into the sea of infinity.

The air is thin in the great heights and lets the cold through to me. Or is it only the coming night?

It is a long way from the front to Arras now. Arras has almost become part of the base. The town lies directly beneath me, but I can only just recognize it. Mists rise up from the Scarpe and float over the town, wrapping its buildings in a soft, blue veil. The only objects I can distinguish clearly are the jagged roadways of the citadel.

A solitary machine climbs in my vicinity and approaches me. It is a single-seater, an English scout. At first we stare at one another across the void; then we attack and begin to turn. The turns grow narrower and narrower; nearer and nearer come our machines. I can see every detail of the other machine, the painted badges, the number, the bracing wires. Two red streamers float out from its elevator...the pilot is a streamer-man, like myself, a leader.

We meet alone in the great heights. What drives my opponent so late into this loneliness?

We still continue our narrow turns. Neither can get on the other's tail and put in a burst. I see his eyes peering out of his goggles and watch his hand on the stick.

Is it not senseless to think of fighting now?

The other pilot raises his hand and waves to me; simultaneously both machines pull out of their turns. Now they are flying side by side, quite close to one another--quite close.

Weary of the combat, two birds of prey soar through the evening sky on peaceful wings.

We have known one another a long time. Our formations have often met and fought at the front. Has peace come to the land now, so that we may fly tranquilly side by side?

We hold converse with one another; thereto we need no words; words would not help us here. We speak of the evening sky and the sun which has just set. We do not speak of the depths, of the ground far below us, and we do not speak of the war. We speak of the air, of infinity, of eternity, of the stars.

Darkness grows around us. Only a faint gleam comes up to us from the lakes and rivers in the west that reflect the last brightness of the evening sky. Already it is quite dark in the east; the eye can see nothing more there, when, dazzled by the western sky, it scans the depths.

I must go home.

The other pilot has a little more daylight, for he is flying in the direction of the sun. I wave to him for the last time; we detach from one another and break off our flight. One machine goes into a wide turn and heads eastwards; the other flies to the west. The streamers swing out in opposite directions to give a farewell greeting.

The other machine vanishes into the evening sky, while I dive into the blue twilight.

[Mukund]

Hi,Ed.I found it very moving.Thank you.BTW,who was Rudolf Stark...he writes very well indeed.Regards.Mukund.

Rudolph Stark was a Bavarian ace, who flew Pfalz D.III and D.IIIa aircraft in Jasta 34b, later a Fokker D.VII as the CO of Jasts 35b. His aircraft were trimmed in lilac, a unique color, but supposed to be because of his affection for a lady named Lila. The key word is supposd to be as I don't know of any firm evidence.

He survived the war. His book "Wings of War" is one of the better personal records to read on the German side, so if you can find a copy I recommend it.

[Vigilant]

The "taking a break from war" theme reminded me of this extract from McScotch's "Fighter Pilot" which takes place between Christmas Day 1917 and the New Year:

We emerged from the bitterly cold cloud into a world of glittering white iciness. The sun was shining brilliantly and a glistening expanse of white hills of powdered snow appeared before us as a newly created world. The reflected light from the clouds was blinding, and as the surfaces of the 'hummocks' and slopes were clearly defined, the silhouettes of our machines showed up with almost perfect definition, each one surrounded by a circular halo of rainbow colours.

... It was indeed an entrancing world in which our S.E.s were suspended, and very soon the rest of us realised that it had cast a spell over Mick [Mannock]. The wild loneliness had roused his boyish spirits. There were no other machines in sight, the world was ours, and Mick 'wagged' his wings once, asking us to take up our wing-tip-to-wing-tip formation and, without giving the second 'waggle' that would have signified the presence of an enemy, dived slowly towards the clouds.

He flattened out just above them and began contour-chasing among the steep feathery mountains and valleys, round one peak, down the slopes into a hollow, zooming up to avoid the next mountain, occassionally dashing into an overhanging precipice of freezing cold, billowing cloud, all the time with the silent rainbow spectres following us or preceding us as we turned and twisted over the arctic expanse.

... we all entered into the spirit of the chase, forgetting the war in our enjoyment.

... When we landed his face was beaming with joy. Whether at work, play or paying compliments to the fair sex, the whole of his vital enthusiasm was directed towards the immediate object. Our entrancing flight in the solitude and beauty of the upper air had stirred him, as it had thrilled us.