FLYING FURY: Five Years In The Royal Flying Corps [Illustrated Edition]

James Thomas Byford McCudden VC DSO & Ba, MC & Bar MM

• Publisher: Verdun Press
• Year: 2014
• eBook ISBN: 9781782892168
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: British History
• Index: History

Illustrated Edition – contains 30 photos
The highest scoring British Air Ace reveals his daily life at the front, in the air and in combat with the Germans above the Western Front.
In the muddy trenches of the Western front few rankers would have considered that they would achieve field rank of major and international celebrity. In the skies above the shell-torn landscape, any man with enough talent, daring and skill could hope to become a 'Flying Ace' by claiming five or more victories over enemy aviators. Such an adventurous warrior was James McCudden; born in 1895 in Kent, he enlisted in the Royal Engineers in 1910 as soon as he could. But he was smitten with the service in the air after a flight in his brothers plane in 1913 and transferred to the Royal Flying Corps. However he was only an engineer in 1914, but once in France despite his modest rank he was allowed to go up with his squadron and act as an observer in a two seater plane. After much good service as an observer his superiors put him forward for pilot training in 1916.
McCudden's tally of the enemy over the next two years would rank him among the greatest of the World War One Aces; he claimed some 57 enemy aircraft even three in a single day in 1918. His exploits in the air were legendary, surviving an attack by the Red Baron himself, he pioneered new tactics that enabled him the edge of his enemy by using his engineering skill to fine tune his aircraft. He was awarded the Victoria Cross, DSO with Bar, MC with Bar and a Military Medal and the French Croix de Guerre for his daring, bravery and skill. It is with a sad irony that it was not his German foe that eventually ended his outstanding military service but a flying accident in 1918. He was only 23 at the time.
His own exploits, adventures, tactics and escapes are best left to him in his own words, but suffice to say despite his modest retelling of his life in a day-by-day fashion remains both dramatic and engaging.

BOOK V.—1917

CHAPTER I — A COMMISSIONED OFFICER.

On January 1, 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 21—was clear and very cold with snow on the ground.

ANOTHER NEAR THING.

On the 23rd, we were on patrol when Captain Hill, our leader, dived onto 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 mounting 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.

RESCUED.

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 taxying, 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.

A GALLANT LAD.

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.

LOSING A SITTER.

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 fie 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.

SELF-DISCIPLINE.

But still, in my case it w-as 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.

ANOTHER SCORE.

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 side, slipping 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.

HASTY CONCLUSIONS.

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 onto the rear gun of Hun two-seaters and never got shot about. The Hun gunners in those days must have been rotten shots.

CHAPTER II — REGULAR PATROLS.

At this time, ever since coming back from leave on January 20, 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 had not flown for a week, for directly they put hot water into their radiators, and started their engines, the water froze solid.

A BIG FORMATION.

On February 5 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.2s. 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.

A LONE HAND VICTORY.

On February 61 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 Monchy-au-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.

SOME REQUEST.

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.

STUDYING THE HUN.

The weather still continued very clear, cold and frosty, and every day I was up, waiting about over our lines for Hun two-seaters 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.

A CURIOUS FIGHT.

On February 15 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 onto 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 machine-gunning 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.

A CHANGE OF WEATHER.

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 20t...

Table of contents

• Title page
• DEDICATION
• PREFATORY NOTES - I
• PREFATORY NOTES - II
• INTRODUCTION
• BOOK I.-PEACE
• BOOK II.-WAR
• BOOK III-1915.
• BOOK IV.-1916.
• BOOK V.-1917
• BOOK VI. - 1918
• FOR KING AND COUNTRY.
• LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS