“Rick” had in his famous 94th Pursuit Squadron, a hair-lipped pilot with whom I was earlier associated in the equally prominent 12th Observation Squadron. This lad was one of the few of our many airmen who realized that the flyer at the front plays ninety per cent in luck and not on good judgment3. His flying was daredevilish and reckless, which, while it might be considered good form in pursuit work, was such that it involved entirely4 too great a risk for the two-place, or observation plane. So, the kid was transferred to Pursuit where he made good right off.
It was the day of the Armistice7. The boys were talking it all over, reminiscing and the like. Several of the famous pilots of the 94th had given accounts of some particular thrilling fight in which they had finally won, naming it—their greatest accomplishment of the war. So, as that was the topic of conversation, 164Eddie asked our friend what, after all, he considered his greatest accomplishment. The boys all listened attentively8 for the kid usually sprang something. The hair-lipped lad puzzled for a moment, then answered with his inimitable impediment, “Well, Captain Rickenbacker, the war is now over, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” replied Eddie, hopeful that this was the correct reply.
“——which means no one else will get killed, doesn’t it?” he added solemnly, and Rick solemnly attested9 to this fact. “Well,” the lad went on, “you see me; I’m still here.”
“Well, Captain Rickenbacker,” replied the boy with evident surprise at Eddie’s apparent density11. “Look me over, Captain, I’m still alive. That is my greatest accomplishment.”
And after all, I am sure that all of our fighting men who have done actual service at the front—going through its hazards and dangers for any length of time, will agree that their greatest accomplishment is the fact that they came out of the thing alive; for while the code of military ethics12 at the front taught that one’s own life should be secondary to the accomplishment of one’s mission, yet there could not help but be a justifiably13 selfish pride after the mission was accomplished14, that the participant was also alive to tell the tale.
The 30th of September was a terrible day—there 165was very little flying, it was foggy and the clouds were low, irregular and uncertain, while the wind was almost a gale15. We had no business going out—our over-anxiety, which the French say is the greatest fault of the American soldier, to get our work accomplished was the only justifiable16 reason for the trip.
But even at that on the morning of September 30th the Flying Corps17 had no reason for being in the air unless the mission was of grave urgency, and fortunately ours was urgent for I was still adjusting our artillery18 on important enemy moving targets. Here is how my greatest accomplishment happened:
I arrived at the hangars shortly after daybreak and found Davis, who was assigned to fly with me, ready and waiting. I had never flown with him before, but I had heard of him and his reputation, and it was a relief to know I was to get a genuine pilot, such as Lieutenant19 Raymond Davis, whom we called “Uncle Joe Davis, of Danville,” since he hailed from the same well-known town as Uncle Joe Cannon20.
At first, the weather was impossible, so, we had to wait for the atmosphere to clear a trifle and for the clouds to lift some, as a high ceiling in heavy artillery adjustments is not only advantageous21 but necessary. So, we hung around and hobnobbed and got acquainted. At about eight o’clock we decided22 we would try it—for the importance of impeding23 the retreat of the enemy as much as possible was imperative24. The advance through the Argonne was 166proving itself to be a hard enough tussle25 for the doughboys, and we all felt that they certainly merited all the assistance it was possible for aviation to give them.
Luck was not our way, for it was not until after trying four different planes, all of which failed for one reason or another, that we found a bus that would buzz. It looked like an off-day, for the gale was so sweeping26 that we almost had a serious accident even in taking off. There is safety in height, so, when we got up three or four hundred feet our morale27 also went up a trifle. The ground station signaled that my radio wireless28 was O.K., so I jokingly called to Davis, “All aboard for Hunland.” He answered “Check,” and we headed toward the line for our last mission of the great war.
I knew the wind was high, but I did not actually realize its true velocity29 until I happened to look toward the earth and to my surprise saw to our right the familiar ruins of the village of Montfaucon sitting high and distinct amid the surrounding ruins and desolations. I had never flown so fast, for a strong wind behind the airplane adds marvelous rapidity to its speed. We were swept along like a feather in a gale. In front, on the Bois de Beuges, there was raining a tremendous artillery barrage31, which we knew extended all across the Argonne front. Almost instantly, it seemed, we were over Romange, which was Boche territory, and hastily I picked my target. We would again pile up the German traffic by adjusting our heavy artillery on their cross roads in 167front of our own 91st Division, whose batteries were around Epionville. We would repeat our previous successful adjustment and when the traffic was heaviest, would call for fire. Imparting this information to Davis, he turned the machine and we started back toward the line to call our batteries and start the fatal ball rolling.
A favorite trick of the Hun’s anti-aircraft artillery, and our own, as far as that is concerned, is to allow the entrance of observation planes to a considerable depth within the lines without molesting32 them, closely following it all the time with finely adjusted sights, and just as the plane turns to go back toward the lines the artillery opens up with everything available.
I knew it was going to happen as soon as we turned into the wind and that in bucking33 the wind we would practically stand still in the air, making us an easy target, especially since we were skimming along low, heavy clouds upon which the artillery could easily get accurate data as to range and direction. It happened. The Archies opened up. As luck would have it they realized our position and had us in their deadly bracket. One high-explosive shell burst directly under our tail, whereupon the plane reflexed like a bucking broncho.
The airman is bracketed when the archies have bursts on all sides of him, for in such a case he knows not what direction to go for one is about as bad as the other. One thing was certain, we did not dare to stand still in the air hanging on the propeller34, 168as we were doing in fighting the wind. We must slip the deadly noose35 of the bracket and do it before it was too late.
Realizing the necessity for quick action, Davis sharply slipped the plane into the wind, and amid a deafening36 applause of exploding shells, we plunged37 to momentary38 safety behind the curtain of the low, dark clouds with which the sky was filled. We were in the cloud, perhaps, for five minutes and the wind was with us. I knew we were covering a great deal of territory and in the wrong direction. So, when we emerged I quite well knew we were completely off our course. I asked Davis if he knew his location. He answered frankly39 that he did not—that it was away off his map. I was in the same predicament exactly as to the location, it being off my map as well, but fortunately I recognized the bomb-shattered town nearby as Dun-sur-Meuse, as I had many times studied it as a very prominent bombing objective.
“Head due south along the river,” I cried through the communicating tube, “We’ve got to hit the lines sometime.”
Dun-sur-Meuse had been bombed very heavily in the drive and I am sure the remaining inhabitants thought we too had that intention, for in heading south they certainly let us know we were not welcome. This time it was not only artillery, but machine guns in such a hail of fire that we would have been brought down with little effort had we attempted to fly a straight course. We didn’t attempt it. We answered by sharp zig-zags, and it was the master 169job of my life to keep up with the snaps, jerks, slips and dives of Davis’, in dodging40 the archies; and to still keep our direction in mind. We attempted this for fully41 ten minutes, but we were making no appreciable42 headway. The firing was too heavy—we must get higher as we could not expect to live at nine hundred feet at a very long period. We had been lucky to survive this long.
Davis headed due south by his compass which was east by mine. It looked all wrong to me.
“Is your compass pointing south?” I asked feverishly43, for it was a question of life and death.
“Yes, due south,” he replied.
I knew one of the two was considerably44 off, but it might be mine as well as his, so I decided to try his. A constant mist of rifle fire and archies followed us in our ascent45 into the clouds, which fortunately was not long—thanks to the climbing power of the Salmson airplane. We were in and above the clouds for fully twenty-five minutes, and believe me, those twenty-five minutes were prayers that Davis’s compass was unerring.
Finally, considering the wind velocity, our probable distance from the lines, and the speed of the motor, I was convinced that if the compass were true we should be well over the French lines, so, hoping to encourage Davis, I called, “Well, Davis, if that old pointer of yours is right we are in La Belle46 France again. Let’s go down and see.”
He put the boat into a dive and we came out of the clouds in a long, straight glide47. In a jiffy I quite 170well knew we were not in France. A German balloon with the Iron Cross was directly beneath us firmly moored48 to its bed on the ground. Here we were at less than a thousand feet. The excitement around that balloon bed could easily be imagined when out of a cloud, in such terrible weather, a huge and awkward two-place enemy plane unexpectedly dropped. I have been on the ground at our balloon beds when they were attacked and know something of the awful fire the attacking plane goes through in attempting to burn the balloon even at the ordinary height, but it is many times worse when it is moored to its bed, for the lower the plane must come the greater the hazard. It is for this reason that most armies consider it a greater feat30 for an aviator49 to destroy a balloon than an airplane. There we were like a great ghost suddenly manifesting itself, and take it from me, if the machine gunners were asleep on their work at our unannounced arrival, they mighty50 suddenly showed signs of speed for almost instantly, from every angle came the put-put-put, while we helplessly tried every conceivable maneuver51 to dodge52 the many guns which were firing upon us at full force. It is not strange that the airman does not worry much over the regular steel ammunition53 of the machine gun, for like other similar dangers, while they are the most fatal, they cannot be seen, so, he is oblivious54 to their presence; but when the guns are using tracer and incendiary bullets, the stream of fire is not unlike a miniature fire rocket and behind each of the pretty fire rockets comes two silent, fatal 171ball cartridges55, for, indeed, the very object of “tracer” ammunition is to show the path the bullets are taking. If there is anything that gets a flyer’s wind up, it is tracer bullets from the ground. Our wind was up and had been up for some time. But, Davis did the right thing and again headed with the wind, while “tracers” saw us, met us and almost conquered us. It certainly is terrifying to watch them come up at you for the helpless part of it is that they come so fast you cannot even try to dodge them. They were all around us; our right wing was perfectly57 perforated with several accurate bursts and in the diving and slipping I had been thrown around in the cockpit like the dice58 in a dicebox. My seat had slipped from beneath me about three times, but the condition of my mind was such that I was positive that it had been shot from beneath me. The sharp turning with the wind left a wake of disheartening tracers in our trail. It resembled a billion small rockets for the flaming trajectories59 were easily followed. The Fourth of July was not in it. I thought at the time that it was a sight well worth seeing, but dangerously unhealthful. Soon though as we shot along we were again greeted by the high explosive bursts of the artillery which was some relief for they were considerably behind us and we were at least away from the machine guns at the balloon bed.
The painful fact was that while we were going through the air at a terrific speed, that speed was carrying us farther and farther into Germany. The situation was becoming more and more serious. 172What could we now do? We could not possibly fight the wind below the clouds and make the long distance home, so I told Davis to go into the clouds again; at least, we would not be such an easy target. This time we would try my compass, for while it might be slightly untrue, if we went long enough we surely could not fail reaching France at some point. He started to climb and, well—those were long moments. The climbing greatly decreased our speed, while the machine guns again played upon us most cruelly. But that climbing was a most wonderful piece of work; poor Davis twisted that boat in every conceivable manner, but the best part of it all was that he continued the climb at all costs. There was nothing so dear to me as those clouds—so near and yet so far. Anything to again get out of that constant and swarming60 bee-hive of fire bullets. Then we penetrated61 the ceiling. My heart was again almost normal for a few seconds. Here was the supreme62 moment it seemed—truly to err6 was to die, or worse, to finally land from shortage of gasoline and be made prisoner. Hugging close to the compass, oblivious to all else, lest we deviate63 a jot64 from its true south reading, I slowly and distinctly called the directions. For fully a half an hour we followed this procedure—sometimes above the clouds and most of the time in them, but never below them. At last I was absolutely certain that we were well over dear old France again; at least, somewhere between Paris and Nancy, so, after another three minutes to be sure, I called to Davis again.
173“This time we have sure foxed the Hun,” I said; “let’s go down and look over the scenery.”
We had climbed quite a lot farther in the clouds than we thought, and it took longer to come to light, so, in our anxiety to see France again he put it into a steeper dip and soon we emerged in almost a straight dive. Below us to the right was another balloon at its bed. It was our own balloon line, of course. It could be no other for my compass had been undoubtedly65 true and somehow the ground looked like France. Furthermore, we had not been fired upon.
“Davis,” I said, “look out for a place to land and we’ll find where we are, then after dinner we’ll fly on home.”
I had no more than gotten the words out of my mouth when a machine gun started to fire at us, again using tracer ammunition. I was convinced that it was all a mistake and that when they saw who we really were they would quit, so, I told Davis to tilt66 the plane and show the colors of our cocarde as the weather was not clear and any one might make a similar mistake.
Our own aviation never, under any circumstances, approached our balloons suddenly, for the reason that the Germans one time used some allied67 captured planes in the Chateau-Thierry offensive, and with the French colors on their cocarde, approached one of our balloons and, unmolested, burned it. Since then all balloons had adopted the policy of firing on any machine which came suddenly out of 174the clouds toward them. I was positive that this was the case here. Suddenly other guns vigorously began to take up the firing and by the time I saw the foreboding black, German Cross painted on the side of the sausage, the whole balloon machine gun crews had us well in hand. When we went down on the first balloon I was pretty well convinced that it was all up with us, but this time there was no doubt about it, for we had lost far too many of our best pursuit pilots in attacking balloons at low altitudes for me to even hope otherwise, and our pursuit planes were smaller targets, were faster and more maneuverable. What chance in the world, I thought, has a lubberly, two-place observation plane in a hole like this when few of the pursuit planes even ever emerge with their lives?
Here I again hand it all to Davis, for with a bravery and grit68 that I have seldom seen equaled, and a skill that was uncanny, he did everything imaginable with that plane, but wisest of all he again headed with the wind, our only chance to get out of the mess. That second in banking69 into the wind was actually the longest of my life—the ground had surely anticipated it for we were truly the apex70 of the cone71 of lead and fire from the circular base of guns surrounding the balloon bed. The plane was almost a screen where so many bullets had perforated it. I heard a snap with a dismal72 twanging sound. One flying wire had been already cut by the barrage, but Davis kept right on twisting the boat as if nothing had happened.
175We still had life—something for which I had almost ceased to hope. Like persecuted73 souls weak from exhaustion74, but strong in determination, we went on, still with the wind unrelentlessly driving us farther into Germany. Already we had been up about two hours and the thought occurred to me that we would soon be out of gasoline. We could not take another chance. My calculation, which later turned out to be accurate, was that we were then about fifteen kilometers from the line.
The known splendid liaison75 of the Boche was already in action; this we well knew and undoubtedly several German planes were already up after us. The solution was simple. There were only two things we could possibly do. We knew the wind direction when we left France, so, we could pick up our direction from the smoke from locomotives, chimneys and the like and fly below the clouds toward the line. At best the condition of our plane would but permit elementary maneuvering76 and at that we stood but little chance of getting through the continual machine gun fire at such constant low altitude. Then, too, it was certain that if we kept below the clouds on such a course we would soon have enemy planes hot on our trail, although, personally, I thought we would never get through two more minutes of the gun firing even with our plane in the best condition. The alternative was to land, destroy the plane and try to escape. It all ran through my mind like a flash. I thought of Davis. I admit I thought of myself. One was justifiable 176life for the reason that the destruction of the plane, at least, would be guaranteed, while if we were shot down we would both die in the crash and the Boche would get the salvage77 and design of the plane. The impelling78 fighting chance of the second proposition was enough. There was no more hesitation79.
“Davis,” I shouted, “can you pick up the direction from the smoke on the ground?”
He looked around doubtfully.
“I’ll try,” he more doubtfully replied.
“All right, head into the wind again—beneath the clouds. This is our last chance. Fly straight into the wind. We will have to scrap80 for our lives, but luck is with us.”
Nodding his head with characteristic determination, he swiftly steered81 the bus into the wind. For several minutes the combined fire of anti-aircraft artillery and machine guns played upon us. I will not attempt to describe the horrors of those minutes that seemed years—how we lived through it I do not know. A piece of my tourelle was shot away and my wireless reel was torn completely off. I could hear the plane whine82 in its flight, the broken wires even dolefully singing our requiem83. Through it all the motor was not hurt—it was turning like a top. Indeed, it seemed just like the last moments of the poor fowl84 which, with its neck wrung85, will continue to flop86 about. Veritably it seemed we were flopping—it was the wonderful Davis doing his best to dodge the myriads87 of deathly bullets coming at us from all angles.
177Then suddenly all became quiet. The machine guns and the archies had for some reason stopped their firing. I had been there before—I knew. The time had come. Looking over to the right I saw what I expected—four German Fokkers had already taken off the field and were coming up after us. We could even see their airdrome and other planes ready to take off if necessary. It was a sad day. I had been in scraps88 before but such odds89 as these had not faced me. This was, indeed, foreign—ten miles from home, about out of gas, with a bunged-up plane and yet forced to stand there with hands on the guns and patiently await the seconds until they steadily90 climbed up to get us. I wanted to throw up the sponge in the worst way; it seemed but useless murder of the two of us, for there could be no possible chance to live through it. On the other hand, we might get one or even two of them, so it was the big game—the call of chance. We must give combat—now to break the word to Davis. I laughed hysterically91.
“Davis,” I called, “have you ever had a fight?”
Puzzled as to the significance of this question he turned around and answered, “No. Never.”
“Well,” and I again laughed for no reason in the world, “you are going to have one now.” Of course, the airplane did a strange shimmy, after which I continued, “There are four Boche coming up to the right rear. Fly straight ahead, and don’t worry. Only keep me in a position to fire.”
Davis said nothing, but turning around he calmly 178eyed the oncoming Germans, then I saw his jaws92 set in fierce determination and without another sign of emotion he directed his attention to the damaged plane.
While the Huns were in formation and at twelve hundred feet, I leveled the guns and fired a burst of thirty rounds in order to scatter93 them for I have found that the Boche is not half so bold when he knows he is seen. It had the effect I wanted; they scattered94 and began firing at me from about one thousand feet, hoping to get us by a chance shot, or better, of frightening us into landing. They kept this position for several minutes. I did not fire another shot; I could ill afford to waste a single cartridge56 and ever hope to make the lines. Seeing that we intended to fight to a finish they separated; one plane came from the left, the other three from the right, and attempted to close in all at the same time. At nine hundred feet they again began to fire, and steadily close in. Still I did not pull the triggers. At my reticence96 they became bolder and when the right three got to about six hundred feet from me I carefully leveled my right gun and turned loose a well-directed burst of about fifty rounds. To me the real fight had now begun for soon they would be at close range where real fatalities97 occur. The lad at my left required my attention so I swung the tourelle and carefully laying the bead98, I pulled the trigger. It did not fire. Thinking perhaps the locking mechanism99 had been caught by the sudden swinging of the guns, I reached down to pull it into 179place. The lock was O.K. It was nothing else than a plain jam. I did not feel so bad for I still had my other gun untried and there was sufficient ammunition yet for a good fight. So, as the left plane closed in I aimed with unerring accuracy; and I was sure I had him unless something unusual happened. Something unusual did happen. The left gun fired about seven shots and stopped. It was no time for child’s play—team work was the one thing necessary to save the situation. Davis realized it, for the moment the guns stopped firing he knew something was all wrong, and he took up the fight by a series of remarkable100 acrobatics101, in a vain effort to get his own guns into play.
After many strenuous102 efforts, by brute103 force I succeeded in clearing the jam. At least, I thought I did, although things happened so fast from then on that the gun never had a chance. Amidst the violent jerking of the plane I frantically104 attempted to aim, then there was no more jerking—the plane seemed to be falling on its side toward earth and glancing forward I saw flames. There was only one solution—they had not only gotten Davis and we were rapidly falling to our death, but they had also set us afire. There were but the fractions of a second, and then the crash, for I was powerless—I did not know how to fly and, furthermore, the plane was not fitted with a dual106 control. A multiplicity of active and concrete thoughts took form in my brain in that short space of time from the beginning of the descent to the crash. I closed my eyes—the horror of it 180was too much for me. It was bad enough to face certain death, but the thought of burning to death closed the picture.
The plane struck and the next thing I knew we had stopped; at least, I thought I knew it. To be perfectly frank I was so scared I did not know whether I was dead or alive. But, looking out, I saw Davis already on the ground; Davis, who I was sure had been killed. This brought me to my real senses and in a second I was out of the plane and running top-speed toward the crest107 of a hill which was directly in front of us. Fifty feet to my left and running in the same direction was Davis. and swooping108 down from the skies, at an altitude of from thirty to fifty feet, the four Fokkers continued to fire upon us. This brought me still closer to the realization109 that we were still very much alive, though how long we would be I did not know. I would run along about five yards and then fall on my stomach, then jump up and scramble110 on for another five yards and slide, the idea being that the planes, sweeping down, could very well judge our speed while running steadily, but when we stopped suddenly they could not quickly dive their planes to shoot straight down upon us, for in so doing they would crash headlong on the ground.
The hill was not steep, but at the same time it was not easy running. I think I beat Davis to the top, even at that. As I got there I will never forget the sight that met my eyes. Approaching us from the other side was the proverbial mob, coming out to 181get us. There were officers on horseback, officers on foot, soldiers, men, women and children with every means of conveyance111, from artillery trucks on down to the antique oxen. There must have been five hundred of them. Of course, the fight had easily been followed from the ground and I suppose they were all anxious to come out to see what was left of us. Believe me, I had real stage fright when I saw that crowd, so, I turned around and as I started to run back down the hill to my surprise I saw that the airplane had not burned.
There is one hard and fast rule that all flyers are taught to follow and that is when shot down in enemy territory, their duty is to burn the plane at all costs, for otherwise the enemy not only gets the airplane itself, but also the latest designs, inventions and improvements which are a hundred times more valuable.
“Davis,” I yelled at the top of my voice, as I started running toward the plane. Instantaneously he saw and followed. It was a bad trip back—the Fokkers, surmising112 our mission, came down to where they practically skimmed the ground, absolutely intent upon taking our lives.
When we finally reached the plane I was puffing113 like a steam engine, for my lungs were raw from exhaustion as I still had on this heavy flying suit which covered my entire body. The Fokkers were able to very well judge their shots for they made it extremely unpleasant.
“A match! A match! A match!” I kept calling, 182running around and not knowing what to do. Davis hauled forth114 a box with about eight in it. We had lost our heads absolutely for we were too excited to remember that we had such a thing as gasoline on board. Jumping around like a pair of ducks on a hot stove, we blindly tried to light the fabric115 on the wings which through the expenditure116 of a million dollars on experimentation117 had been made practically fireproof on the surface by the application of noninflammable varnish118. We were too dense119 to take any cognizance of the fact that they continually failed to burn, so, we went ahead making repeated attempts to light the wings. In a minute the last match was gone. There was no hope. I felt like breaking down and crying like a baby. The right side under the motor was still smoldering120 from the flames in the air, which had been caused by an incendiary bullet striking the carburetor, but had been extinguished by the violent side-slipping of the plane, just as a match is smothered121 out by being swept through the air. Then Davis had a brilliant idea.
“Hell,” he said, “We’ve got gasoline.” And he jumped up into the pilot’s pit and broke the main gasoline lead and in a second gasoline was spluttering all over the plane like a bubbling fountain.
“Look for another match!” I cried to Davis, and although he knew he had no more, he began to throw things out of his pockets right and left. Among these things there fell a smudge cigarette lighter122. These instruments were devised by the French on account of their extreme shortage of matches. The 183gadget consists of a tiny steel wheel, which strikes a piece of flint, which in turn ignites the smudge. The only trouble with these things is that they do not always work. However, when this fell before me, it was Heaven itself, for I made a high dive and grasping it, began to strike the wheel. It would not ignite. Running back and forth, trying to get the smudge to burn, I began to strike it, pray over it, and do everything else. My kingdom, such as it was, for a light.
“Soak it in gas! Use your bean. Let me have it,” cried Davis, and he snatched it out of my hand and soaked it with gas, but still it would not work. Disgusted, he threw it on the ground with a vehement123 oath, and took his spite out by trying to kick the rubber tire off one of the landing wheels. Snatching it up again I struck it sharply against a piece of the metal cowling on the motor with the hope that by some miracle this hasty remedy might help it. It was just luck, for something did the work. Whether it was hitting it on the metal or not, I do not guess, but when I gave it a brisk turn it bursted into flame, and my hands also being covered with gasoline, began to burn, too. I dropped it like a piece of hot steel and Davis snatched it up and threw it into the gasoline soaked cockpit. Soon the $20,000 plane was a roaring furnace. It was like the last act of a big motion picture—the criminals at bay were fighting for time against the mob and like the hardboiled leader of the villains124 laughs in the face of his pursuers while he goes to his self-inflicted death rather 184than deliver himself, so I turned around, knowing there was no escape from the mob, determined125 to die in the wreckage126. Already Davis was beating it across the field to the left, crying “Come on! Come on!” and so, while I did not have much pep left I started to run toward a sort of rude embankment over toward the left center, which was not over two hundred yards away. Fortunately the burning plane momentarily threw the crowd back, for they knew if there were bombs aboard they would soon explode.
The heavy flying suit was causing me trouble, for I was stumbling through the mud like an intoxicated127 elephant, but even at that I am inclined, now, to think that I beat the intercollegiate record for the one hundred yards dash. As I rushed around this embankment, I hit something which landed me on the ground in a puddle128 of mud. What I hit was a horse, which was one of five being ridden by four officers and one sergeant129, who had come from another nearby village to get us. These horses stepped all over and around me, and I thought at the time how ironical130 it was to have endured and lived through the hardships of the morning and have my life crushed out by a horse’s hoofs132. It was the same disgustingly disgraceful death that I have always feared since the war, namely of being hit by a Ford95 automobile133 on a quiet, country road after coming through the war in safety. However, the horses showed true horse sense and did not step directly upon me. Of course, I stopped. I was already stopped—if not by this sudden impetus134, then surely 185from sheer exhaustion. I got up literally135 covered with mud.
The senior officer of the party was a true Hun, who had undoubtedly been drinking, for I do not believe otherwise any one, regardless of nationality, could have been so cold-blooded and terrible. He could not recognize that I was American as my flying suit hid my uniform, so, he spoke136 up in French:
“Qui de vous a brulé l’avion, et ou est votre comrade?” I quite well understood his French, but I felt it would be better policy to say nothing, so I looked absolutely blank. Again he demanded who burned the airplane and where was my comrade, which ultimatum137 he sharpened by a threatening “Vite! Vite!” I realized that something was necessary on my part, for deafness would be a very lame105 excuse for any flyer, so, I told him in English that I did not understand him.
“Ah,” he smiled in delight, finding his prize had been even greater than he had expected, “then you are English or American. Which?”
He said this in perfect English, which upset my whole scheme of reticence, for it did not occur to me that he spoke still a third language. I said nothing, but looked at the ground, contemplating138 my reply.
“American or British?” he demanded.
I was proud of my nationality, so, looking up, I threw out my chest and exclaimed, “I’m American.”
I expected him to immediately recognize the strength of my citizenship139, just as the wise old Biblical 186character, whoever he was, got out of a tight hole by saying that he was a Roman. I had a surprise awaiting me, however, for he gave me a cynical140 laugh that gave him an opportunity to divert from the subject in mind.
“So you are an American, are you?” he sneeringly141 went on. “Well, I’ve lived in your America ten years, myself, and I know you all. You’re a rotten bunch of lying hypocrites.”
Strange as it may seem I did not see fit to take issue with him under the circumstances, so, he went on with another little round of abuse of the Americans that made my blood boil, but again I failed to go to the bat for my country. Thinking he had sufficiently142 riled me, he started on the subject of more vital importance.
“Now, which one of you burned that plane?” he sharply demanded.
Again I said nothing, but I thought a lot, for since he was getting so individualistic about it, I was convinced that we were in a pretty serious situation; yet I knew I was going to have to answer that question. I was hoping that if Davis was caught he would say that he did it and I knew that Davis was human, and was hoping that I would say that I did it.
What would I say to get by? I decided to spar.
187“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed145. “It might have been afire when you started down, but we saw you go back and burn it.”
“Well, if you saw me go back and burn it, why did you ask me who did it?” I unthoughtedly retorted, and then I was sorry for if at first I thought him fierce, he had now become an irate146 demon147.
“You did do it then, eh?” he said persuasively148, as he slowly looked around to his companions in order that they might bear witness to my confession149.
“What’s the use,” I thought to myself, so, I looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “Yes, I did it.”
“Ah!” and he again looked around, shaking his head with intermingled scorn and pride that he, the Prussian, had been able to bulldoze an American. “Didn’t you know that the moment that plane hit the ground, it became German property and that you wilfully150 destroyed German material?”
I most emphatically told him that I did not know it, for while I convicted myself on my previous confession, I didn’t intend to sign my own decree of execution. He assumed a slightly conciliatory attitude.
“Now,” he continued, “where is your partner, or comrade?”
I told him that I did not know.
After a little dickering dispute, I looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “I do not know.”
188Then he became fierce again. “Don’t lie to me,” he snarled152 in rage. “You do know and you are going to tell me.”
I became pretty well convinced that my days were done for, so consequences momentarily did not matter. It was more than I could stand, for this was a matter that not only insulted my character as a soldier, but my integrity as a man—that he should call upon me to divulge153 the hiding place of my friend and my comrade-in-arms. In spite of the effort to control my temper, it flared154 up like a tire-pressure indicator155 and in a daring attitude, I exclaimed, “I don’t know and if I did know I would not tell you.”
He flew into a white rage. “Is that so?” and he quickly reached back to his hip131 and pulled out a Leugger, the most deadly German automatic pistol, and with fiery156 eyes he put it right at my heart, the barrel even touching157 my clothing. I admit I inwardly swooned; in fact, I almost fainted for, while all the time I thought I was going eventually to be killed, I had no idea that there was going to be any snappy action like this. He meant business; there was no argument about that. His very attitude and the decisiveness with which he drew out the gun and the way he put his finger on the trigger convinced me that to spar was to die. If there was any chance at all, it lay in silence. He must have time to cool down or something else must intervene; so, like a weak sister I looked at him, just hoping.
“Are you going to talk or not?” he began quietly 189and I have never heard words uttered more decisively. I knew quite well that Davis had gone over to the left. One thing was certain, while above all things else I would not tell where he was, at the same time I was not exactly prepared to die. Since I was to die some time it could just as well be later, so, looking over to the right, in exactly the opposite direction in which Davis had gone, I noticed a clump158 of trees about three hundred yards away. In an attitude indicating that I was only telling to save my own life, I pointed159 to the clump and breathlessly whispered, “Over there.”
He hastily gave some directions in German, and leaving me with one officer and the sergeant, he and the other two officers hurriedly galloped160 off toward the location I had pointed out. During this little entertainment quite a crowd had gathered around and as the tenseness was relieved, they immediately began ejaculating and mumbling161 in great fashion, completely surrounding me. Looking through the crowd my gaze was following the horses and surmising what my next move would be when they reached there and found I had deliberately162 lied.
When they were almost to the spot I had designated, we suddenly heard quite a noticeable scramble over to the left and looking over that way I saw that they had caught Davis and he was being escorted toward town, followed by a portion of the mob. Hearing the same noise, the arrogant163 Prussian stopped his steed and wheeling around, saw Davis had been caught in just exactly the opposite direction 190from that to which I had pointed. He knew instantly that I had deliberately pranked him at pistol’s point. In Western cowboy fashion he gave his horse the spurs and drawing his Leugger back over his shoulder came madly galloping164 toward me. I knew what was going to happen. There was not a chance in the world; and the crowd around me also knew what was going to happen because they made a clearing just as the gamblers miraculously165 disappear when some one pulls a revolver in the game. Standing166 alone I awaited the inevitable167.
As the fatal moment approached—suddenly there came from somewhere a sharp voice and from the crowd there rode forth another officer with a flowing purplish-gray cloak about him, the kind German officers sometimes wear when mounted, crying “Halte! Halte!” or something similar. It was a voice of command. The onrushing Prussian, riding past at his terrific momentum168, dismounted and saluted169. In a fast and furious manner this superior officer spoke to him in a well-modulated voice, but with a manner and expression, which, though I could not understand a word of German, I quite well knew was nothing else than a plain balling-out.
After about three minutes, in which our would-be assassin saluted ten or twelve times, he put his gun in its holster, re-mounted his horse and slinkingly rode away. Then this superior officer addressed something generally to the crowd, in reply to which one soldier stepped out, saluted smartly and after some directions by the officer, proceeded to explain to me, 191in broken English, that the officer wanted to apologize for the uncalled for conduct of the first German officer. After a little hesitation, I was surrounded by a proper German escort and marched over toward Davis—going where and for what I did not know—but trembling like a cur dog with delirium170 tremens—too afraid to be frightened.
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1
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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2
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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3
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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ace
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| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
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6
err
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| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
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7
armistice
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| n.休战，停战协定 | |
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8
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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9
attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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10
aces
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| abbr.adjustable convertible-rate equity security (units) 可调节的股本证券兑换率；aircraft ejection seat 飞机弹射座椅；automatic control evaluation simulator 自动控制评估模拟器n.擅长…的人( ace的名词复数 )；精于…的人；（ 网球 ）（对手接不到发球的）发球得分；爱司球 | |
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11
density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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12
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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13
justifiably
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| adv.无可非议地 | |
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14
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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15
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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16
justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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17
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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18
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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19
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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20
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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21
advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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22
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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23
impeding
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| a.(尤指坏事)即将发生的，临近的 | |
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24
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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25
tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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26
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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27
morale
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| n.道德准则，士气，斗志 | |
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28
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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29
velocity
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| n.速度，速率 | |
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30
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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31
barrage
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| n.火力网，弹幕 | |
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32
molesting
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| v.骚扰( molest的现在分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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33
bucking
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| v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的现在分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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34
propeller
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| n.螺旋桨，推进器 | |
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35
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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36
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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37
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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38
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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39
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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40
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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41
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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42
appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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43
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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44
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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45
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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46
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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47
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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48
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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49
aviator
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| n.飞行家，飞行员 | |
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50
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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51
maneuver
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| n.策略[pl.]演习；v.(巧妙)控制；用策略 | |
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52
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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53
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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54
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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55
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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56
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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57
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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58
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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59
trajectories
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| n.弹道( trajectory的名词复数 )；轨道；轨线；常角轨道 | |
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60
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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61
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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62
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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63
deviate
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| v.(from)背离，偏离 | |
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64
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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65
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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66
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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67
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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68
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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69
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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70
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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71
cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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72
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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73
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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74
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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75
liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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76
maneuvering
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| v.移动，用策略( maneuver的现在分词 )；操纵 | |
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77
salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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78
impelling
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| adj.迫使性的，强有力的v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的现在分词 ) | |
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79
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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80
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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81
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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82
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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83
requiem
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| n.安魂曲，安灵曲 | |
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84
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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85
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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86
flop
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| n.失败(者)，扑通一声；vi.笨重地行动，沉重地落下 | |
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87
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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88
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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89
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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90
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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91
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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92
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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93
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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94
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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95
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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96
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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97
fatalities
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| n.恶性事故( fatality的名词复数 )；死亡；致命性；命运 | |
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98
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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99
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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100
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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101
acrobatics
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| n.杂技 | |
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102
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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103
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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104
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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105
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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106
dual
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| adj.双的；二重的，二元的 | |
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107
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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108
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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109
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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110
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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111
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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112
surmising
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的现在分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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113
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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114
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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115
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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116
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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117
experimentation
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| n.实验，试验，实验法 | |
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118
varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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119
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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120
smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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121
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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122
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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123
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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124
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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125
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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126
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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127
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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128
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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129
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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130
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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131
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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132
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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133
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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134
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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135
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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136
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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137
ultimatum
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| n.最后通牒 | |
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138
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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139
citizenship
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| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
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140
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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141
sneeringly
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| 嘲笑地，轻蔑地 | |
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142
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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143
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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144
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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145
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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146
irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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147
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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148
persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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149
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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150
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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151
coaxingly
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| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
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152
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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153
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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154
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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155
indicator
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| n.指标；指示物，指示者；指示器 | |
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156
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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157
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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158
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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159
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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160
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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161
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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162
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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163
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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164
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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165
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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166
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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167
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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168
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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169
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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170
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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