Flying Fury

Five Years in the Royal Flying Corps

James McCudden

• Publisher: Casemate
• Year: 2009
• ISBN:
  9781935149750
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World War I
• Index: History

The day-to-day insights of a brilliantly daring World War I ace that only ends with his death at the age of 23... James McCudden was an outstanding British fighter ace of World War I, whose daring exploits earned him a tremendous reputation and, ultimately, an untimely end. Here, in this unique and gripping firsthand account, he brings to life some of aviation history's most dramatic episodes in a memoir completed at the age of twenty-three, just days before his tragic death. During his time in France with the Royal Flying Corps from 1914 to 1918, McCudden rose from mechanic to pilot and flight commander. Following his first kill in September 1916, McCudden shot down a total of fifty-seven enemy planes, including a remarkable three in a single minute in January 1918. A dashing patrol leader, he combined courage, loyalty, and judgment, studying the habits and psychology of enemy pilots and stalking them with patience and tenacity. Written with modesty and frankness, yet acutely perceptive, Flying Fury is both a valuable insight into the world of early aviation and a powerful account of courage and survival above the mud and trenches of Flanders. Fighter ace James McCudden died in July 1918, after engine failure caused his plane to crash just four months before the end of World War I. His success as one of Britain's deadliest pilots earned him the Victoria Cross.

BOOK V – 1917

CHAPTER I

A COMMISSIONED OFFICER–ANOTHER NEAR THING– RESCUED–A GALLANT LAD–LOSING A SITTER–SELF DISCIPLINE–ANOTHER SCORE–HASTY CONCLUSIONS

ON JANUARY 1ST, 1917, I was given my commission and went home to England on the 5th for a fortnight's leave, which I enjoyed very much. It also gave me an opportunity to get my new kit.

I rejoined the Squadron on the 20th of January, 1917, and arrived back at the Mess just too late to see Noakes, who had just gone off to Home Establishment after completing thirteen months flying in France.

I shall not forget the night I arrived at Calais on my way back from leave. I met a Captain in the Yorkshires at a hotel in Calais, and as my train did not go to Amiens till the following day I arranged to go to Béthune with this fellow from the Yorkshires, and then try to get a car from Béthune going Le Hameau way.

We had dinner together at a hotel in Calais, and then got on a train at about 6 p.m. We got into a second-class compartment with all the windows broken, and it was intensely cold. About midnight we were absolutely perished, so we started burning paper in the compartment, which certainly warmed us a little, but also nearly choked us. We arrived at Béthune about 2 a.m. and stayed the remainder of the night at the Station Hotel there, and I caught a train to St. Pol the next morning and arrived, as I have previously stated, just too late to see Noakes on his way home.

The next day–January 21st–was clear and very cold with snow on the ground.

On the 23rd, we were on patrol when Captain Hill, our leader, dived on to a Hun two-seater over Monchy-le-Preux, but as soon as he came into action, a batch of Hun scouts dropped on to us, and we had to fight for it, for we were some way east of the trenches. During the ensuing fight, I fired at an Albatros Scout who went down in a dive, but I could not pay much attention to it as I was now attacked by a Hun Scout with a rotary engine and a very close gap, which I think may have been a Fokker biplane.

He passed across my front slightly above, and so I raised my gun on its mountings and fired at him. At once there was a sudden vibration and a noise, so I stopped my engine and made for the lines, with the Hun after me. I could not dive steeply because the engine increased its speed, and also the vibration, as the propeller was broken by some empty cartridge cases falling into it after I had fired at the Hun with my gun raised.

After I had got down to about 2,000 feet the Hun left me– I did not then know why, and so I picked out a field just behind Arras, and landed safely. I got out of my machine and went to a battery close by to telephone my Squadron for a mechanic and a new propeller.

The officers at the battery kindly gave me breakfast, and made me feel at home, as our cheery gunners usually do, and so I was kept amused until the tender arrived with my faithful Curteis, my engine mechanic. We soon fitted the new propeller and started up again, successfully dodging the many shell-holes whilst taxi-ing, and arrived back at the Squadron.

I now found that why the Hun left me was because Major Grattan-Bellew, my O.C., had arrived in the fight and, having observed my predicament, forthwith successfully side-tracked the Hun and enabled me to get down safely.

One of our pilots named Rogers had not yet returned from the fight and it was surmised that he was down in Hunland, as he was very young and rash, albeit full of pluck. However, he turned up later in the day from near St. Pol, having been chased miles west of the lines by two infuriated Hun pilots on Albatroses, who pipped him in the petrol tank and forced him to land.

This youngster was a very gallant fellow, for on his first patrol with me I suddenly missed him, and on looking about, saw him, a mere speck, miles away east after about six Huns who were at least ten miles east of the lines and were all on better machines. How he got back is a mystery to me. Unfortunately, this gallant youngster, as so many more, afterwards gave his life for the Motherland.

On the afternoon of the 23rd I was leading my patrol south of Arras when I saw a two-seater below me apparently doing artillery work. I dived steeply and opened fire, from 500 feet above, and from his right rear. Then I closed to 200 feet, and changed quickly from his right to his left rear.

My drum was finished about 50 yards away at the most, and I saw my tracers pass across from his left to his right wing tip. As I turned away to put on a new drum, I could plainly see the enemy gunner standing up in his cockpit with his gun pointing away from me apparently doing something to it, and I did not close on him again, because by the time I got a new drum of ammunition on he was too far off east to re-engage.

I honestly declare that I simply missed that Hun because I did not at that time possess that little extra determination that makes one get one's sight on a Hun and makes one's mind decide that one is going to get him or know the reason why, for that Hun was an absolute sitter.

But still, in my case it was little incidents like this which proved useful lessons, for they caused me to be very furious with myself when I gave the matter thought, and I remember that I said to myself that if I was going to be any good at shooting down Huns, which of course was my sole ambition, I would certainly make more of my opportunities in the future. I argued with myself that if I had sufficient courage to get within close range of a Hun, surely I would have enough sense to train myself to make sure to shoot well when I had the opportunity, such as at this time I was frequently missing.

We had no more excitement on that patrol, and all my fellows remarked how close I went to the Hun, which made me feel more ashamed of myself for missing him.

On the morning of the 26th of January, 1917, I was on patrol in my usual area, when we sighted a two-seater very low, coming north from Adinfer Wood. We dived and got down to the Hun, without him seeing us. I opened fire at 200 yards range, and, closing to 100 yards, finished my drum, when the Hun rolled over on his right wing-tip and went down in a sideslipping dive through a layer of mist, which was about 300 feet above the ground.

As we did not see this Hun crash owing to the mist, he was credited to me as "out of control," although he undoubtedly must have crashed.

We did not come across anything more of interest during that patrol, so about 9.15 we landed and had our breakfast with a relish that can only be appreciated by those who have done early morning patrols on an empty stomach.

Nothing else of interest occurred until the 2nd of February, when I was leading my patrol over Monchy-au-Bois at about 11,000 feet and saw a Hun two-seater flying towards the lines at about 3,000 feet. We dived and caught up with the Hun, who at once turned off east.

I opened fire at about 200 yards range, and had closed to about 100 yards when I almost collided with another D.H.2 on my left who was also firing at the Hun, so I had to turn away from the target to avoid a collision. I made up my mind to strafe the pilot of the other D.H.2 when I got home for nearly colliding with me, but when I landed I found the other pilot was Major Grattan-Bellew, who had joined in the patrol, so I at once forgot the strafing.

The Hun went down and crashed, and was credited between Major Bellew and me, although I am positive that the C.O. got the Hun.

I cannot understand to this day how it was that when flying D.H.2's we were always diving on to the rear gun of Hun twoseaters and never got shot about. The Hun gunners in those days must have been rotten shots.

CHAPTER II

REGULAR PATROLS–A BIG FORMATION–A LONE HAND VICTORY–SOME REQUEST–STUDYING THE HUN–A CURIOUS FIGHT–A CHANGE OF WEATHER

AT THIS TIME, EVER since coming back from leave on January 20th, the weather had been every day alike. Cold, frost, and fair visibility, and we were averaging two patrols a day. The cold was intense, but at this period it was remarkable that the atmosphere at 10,000 feet seemed warmer than on the ground. I remember that a thermometer on the outside of my hut was registering 24 and 26 degrees of frost at 7 in the morning.

The pilots at No. 11 Squadron ¹ had not flown for a week, for directly they put hot water into their radiators, and started their engines, the water froze solid.

On February 5th we left the ground at about 3 p.m. to meet a bomb-raid on Douai on its way back. Douai at this time was a particularly hot shop, as it was there that crowds of Albatroses and Halbertstadters made their home, and so it was with more than a little trepidation that I left the aerodrome and gained height towards Arras. We crossed the lines at about 9,000 feet over Rollincourt, and flew eastwards up the Sensée River, and when over Vitry I caught sight of a large formation of machines coming from the north-east and being most violently shelled by Hun Archies. Very soon we all met, and once again there came back that pleasant thrill to me that I always felt when about thirty of our machines were all together over the German lines all turning and intertwining to miss the numerous Archie bursts.

We were now all flying westwards, and some distance behind us and underneath straggled a bunch of Boche pursuit machines all just too late.

This was a most amusing bomb raid, as we had all sorts of comic machines up, including F.E.2bs and F.E.8s, B.E.2ds and es and also D.H.2's. As soon as the bombers had crossed the lines homeward bound, I led my formation around again, but the Huns had all gone home to tea, so very soon I fired a "washout" signal, and down towards the aerodrome we tumbled, my good friend Pearson and I having a final scrap over the aerodrome before landing.

On February 6th I was up by myself looking for Huns when I saw a German two-seater flying east over Berles-au-Bois, which was then about two miles west of the lines. The Hun was only at about 7,000 feet too, for he had apparently been getting some low photographs. I dived and intercepted him west of Monchyau-Bois, and opened fire at 200 yards range. The Hun observer opened fire at the same time, and so we both blazed away at one another, until the Hun, who was an Albatros two-seater, started to dive steeply and I thought I had him in our lines, but he still managed to fly east.

Putting on a new drum, I dived on him again, firing as I did so. This time the Boche gave an unmistakable plunge, and finally landed in the north-eastern corner of Adinfer Wood, and then gracefully subsided on its back in the snow.

I was rather disappointed with the fellow, because I thought I had him in our lines, and of course it is the ambition of every youthful pilot to down a Hun in our lines–and then land a crash alongside, as most people usually do, much to the evident amusement of the Huns, if they are alive.

It was about this time that the photograph of a German General was sent round to the squadrons in our wing with the instructions that if this particular German General was encountered in the air, the fact was to be reported at once. He was a very fat General too; in fact, as fat as only German Generals can be. Whether this instruction was a practical joke or not, I never really discovered.

The weather still continued very clear, cold and frosty, and every day I was up, waiting about over our lines for Hun twoseaters to come across after I had done my daily patrol.

If patience and perseverance would meet their just reward I certainly should have got many more Huns than I did, for I was up at every opportunity studying the two-seater's habits, his characteristics, and his different types of machines and methods of working. In fact, this branch of work alone, just studying the habits, work and psychology of the enemy aeroplane crews, constitutes a complete education of great interest.

On February 15th I was leading my patrol north over Adinfer at about 11,000 feet when I saw two Huns low down over Adinfer Wood. I dived, followed by my patrol, but out-dived them, and attacked the front machine at 200 yards and fired a whole drum at him.

While changing a drum I was attacked by the rear two-seater, who had now come up and was shooting at me through his propeller. I had a look round and could not see a sign of my patrol, so I cleared west at the same time having a good look at the Hun that had attacked me, and saw that he was a funny fat little fellow that I had not previously seen.

I climbed and met my patrol over Blainville, and so we reformed. Very soon after I saw the Hun that had attacked me coming towards our lines very low, so I dived again at once and caught up with him over the trenches at Monchy.

This Hun, instead of running away east as per usual, started a left-hand circle at a height of about 1,500 feet. I got directly behind at 50 yards, and the Hun gunner and I had a shooting match.

The Hun pilot very soon made his turn steeper, and I saw that the gunner was holding on to the fuselage with one hand and was pointing the gun at me very erratically with the other, and so now, I thought, was my opportunity. I banged on a fresh drum and fired it all at him at about 50 yards range when we had got down to 300 feet.

The Hun now went down into a steep dive and made some attempt to land, but subsided on his bottom plane, then stood on his nose, after which he fell back on to his tail again and then stayed motionless. I looked around and saw one of my patrol named Carter following, so I made for the trenches, crossing them at about 100 feet, and not getting a fraction of the machinegunning that I expected. I made a note of where the Hun had crashed, and then flew off home to the aerodrome, where I was very bucked indeed because the C.O. called me a "young tiger."

After we had finished lunch the C.O. took about six of us out to Monchy in formation, and then we took turns at diving and each firing three drums into my wrecked Hun machine from 1,000 feet for practice. The Hun must have weighed an awful lot after this, with the extra lead. It turned out to be a Roland.

The same afternoon the sky clouded a little towards the south with that high herring-bone cloud that betokens a break up of clear weather. In this case the sky had been cloudless since the 20th of January, and every day from that date until February 16th I had flown over the Hun lines.

On the 16th I led my patrol out and flew down the trenches from Arras, as the clouds were only at 5,000 feet, and Archie was too much respected in that sector for us to take liberties with him. By the time we had got down to Monchy (by the way, the Roland which I had shot down the day before still lay where it fell) I saw two Huns attacking a B.E. over Gommécourt. Whilst hastening to his assistance I saw one Hun go into a dive, then past the vertical on to his back, then into a vertical dive again, in which he stayed until he went through the roof of a house in Hébuterne with an awful whack and a lot of flying débris. The other Hun who was attacking the B.E. made off as fast as he possibly could, not wishing to share a similar fate. I thought at the time "By Jove! That's the stuff to give the Hun."

During the rest of the patrol we saw a patrol of eight D.1's about two miles east of their trenches, and at one time six of them went up into the clouds and the remaining two underneath came slightly nearer us in an endeavour to entice us to fight, but by this time I had enough common sense to know when and when not to attack.

CHAPTER III

THE FIRST MILITARY CROSS–THE TRAGEDIES OF THE R.F.C.–AT HOME–TEACHING THE YOUNG IDEA–THE FIRST TRACTOR SCOUT–ONE WAY OF LIFE SAVING

THE WEATHER GOT WORSE and it then started to rain, so we went home to the aerodrome, when on landing I was very pleased to be congratulated by the O.C. on winning the Military Cross. The same evening we had a great dinner to celebrate the event, and had a most amusing time.

The weather had now definitely turned bad and was raining day after day. Apropos the weather, I won a bet from Captain Benge. The weather had been frosty with an easterly wind for a month, and I said that when the wind changed to the west it would go via the south; Benge said it would go via the north. I won five francs. At that time Benge had spent four months in France and I had spent over two years. It was rather unfair of me to take on the wager.

Shortly after this rumours went round that I was going home, as I had been out for over eight months, and I was very sorry that the rumours proved well founded, for I was informed that I was "for home" on the 23rd of February.

I was very sorry to leave No. 29 Squadron and all the good fellows it contained, and was most of all sorry to bid adieu to my O.C., Major Grattan-Bellew, one of the very best C.O.'s that it has ever been my good fortune to serve under. However, I promised to return to No. 29 Squadron as soon as I came out again.

Several of us came home from the same Wing at the same time. Meintjes ¹ of one squadron, Quested and Thomson from another. We all left Le Hameau early on the morning of the 23rd and had a very wholesome breakfast in Hesdin, on our way to Boulogne by car.

A fortnight later I heard the awful news that Major Bellew had been killed on 29's last de Havilland, which he was flying back to an aircraft park to exchange for one of the Nieuports with which No. 29 Squadron was re-equipped soon after I had left. I was so very sorry.

It seems to me that in the Flying Corps the very best fellows are always those who are killed. It is so awful when the good fellows one meets in the R.F.C. are killed in some way or other, that sometimes one sits and thinks, "Oh, this damned war and its cursed tragedies." After all, I suppose it is to be, and we cannot alter destiny.

I arrived home from No. 29 Squadron, and was very glad to see England again. On reporting my arrival at the Air Board I was given ten days' leave, to which I did full justice.

During my leave, which I spent...

Table of contents

• PREFATORY NOTES
• INTRODUCTION
• BOOK I – PEACE
• BOOK II – WAR
• BOOK III – 1915
• BOOK IV – 1916
• BOOK V – 1917
• BOOK VI – 1918
• CHAPTER NOTES