The Red Baron's Last Flight

The Red Baron's Last Flight www.aerostories.org Rolf Steiner Translation by R. Magnani Manfred von Richthofen is to Germany what Georges Guynemer is to France. Beyond the patriotic fervour they generated, they both confirmed the advent of a new race of warriors, the cold-blooded, calculating and methodical fighter pilots. Unlike Boelcke, his mentor, Richthofen did not revolutionise air combat. He was not a genuine theoretician, not even a real leader; he may not have been a bril- liant pilot either. But he strictly and precisely put into practice the set of rules he had devised for himself. His dismise, in an arguably confused engagement, was received in Germany with disbelief and grief. To the British, it was a much needed “shot in the arm” for their somewhat harassed Royal Fly- ing Corps. The sceptical German challenged that controversial version of the episode. Who actually shot down Richthofen? It is not easy to supply a plain, convincing answer. The question has been puz- zling aviation circles for over eighty years, but, when all is said and done, is it such an important issue as some would make it appear? April 21, 1918. It is daybreak on a chilly Sun- all, are painted in gaudy colours. Some are day. A nervy mist, rising from the Somme green or blue; others are finished in more or Canal, shrouds the region of Cappy, a small less intricate patters of bright hues. The ma- village a few miles frame Peronne. On the chine in the middle is mostly red, it is the airfield, mechanics are already busy around the Rittmeister’s mount, the one most feared by aircraft; these are all Fokker Dr.I triplanes, the the British, its pilot, Baron Manfred von Ric h- formidable “Dreidekkers”, and all, of nearly thofen, is credited with 80 victories. The Richthofen Circus Cappy is in fact the present base of Jag- Okerlentnant Karl Bodenschatz draws near dgeschwader 1 which the British have nic k- and, stopping in front of Richthofen, lightly named. “The Richthofen Circus”. There is slaps his hand. It is a ritual that goes back to nothing derisive in the phrase ; they feel too Jasta 11’s times. Every other pilot then comes much respect – and dread – to jest about it. The and slaps Bodenschatz’s hand in turn, this hop- last knights of the Air are no more, they have ing to ward off any ill luck that might befall been replaced by professional sky warriors, their Rittsmeislter in combat, or, even worse… calculating, cold blooded and methodical “Se- in some Berlin office! Indeed, it is rumoured rial Killers”. Quite simply, like a circus, Jag- that the High Command might take Richthofen dgeschwader 1 is frequently on the move ; its away from the front and send him as inspector personnel travels on a special railway-train, around the fighter units. The tragic fates of whose carriages are painted red, and every Boelcke and Immelmann are still rankling the “ace” in the unit is entitled to his personal or- “higher circles”, and the German Air Force has derly. no need for another martyr. The pilots arrive on the airfield. Richthofen is “Richthofen chair-borne! Heaven forbid, among them, wrapped up in this woollen- Bodenschatz quips, he must stay here with us”. flying jacket, wearing his usual deerskin trou- Richthofen bursts out laughing. sers, and the “Pour le Mérite” cross hanging An east wind is rising. Within a couple of from his neck. Hans Wolff is near him. The hours the fog will have lifted. As Richthofen two pilots are chatting about a hunting party heads towards his red triplane, a band comes they have planned to attend in the Black Forest out of the big tent used as a hangar and starts in three days’time. 1 playing a stirring march. What on earth is go- the dog. “Certainly not” Bodenschatz expostu- ing on? lates! He remembers that Boelcke, too, had Bodenschatz bends to his Rittmeister’s ear and, been photographed just before what was to be shouting over the din, explains that this has his last mission. Since then, all German pilots been arranged by the general commanding the have refused having their photos taken before military region to celebrate his eightieth vic- take off, a superstition that will eventually tory. spread all over the aeronautical world. But Leutnant Löwenhardt’s young Alsatian, Jasta Richthofen does not believe in such nonsense, 11’s mascot, tries to clamber onto the he shrugs and says “Don’t bother me with your triplane’s bottoming. Richthofen helps him up, old wives’ tales”, pushing his orderly aside; he but once there, the animal starts shaking with kneels down, hugs the dog’s neck and face the fright. A mechanic steps forward and asks camera for posterity – for eternity! Richthofen if he may take a photo of him with Stopping the gaps Bertangles is a small village nestling between chaperoned him, often taking him over the Amiens and Villers-Bocage. It is less than front lines to familiarise him with “Archie” twenty miles from Cappy as the crow flies. (anti-aircraft artillery) and teach him the rudi- The airdrome here is equally busy. Here too, ments of air combat. mechanics are carrying out the same ritual as at It is now time for Wop to carry out his first Cappy, but they are British, and their charges real mission. are Sopwith Camels. As every morning for the "Wop, I am taking you up with me today. fast few weeks, Captain Roy Brown got up Brown’s face is haggard with exhaustion, sic k- racked with pain. The young Canadian suffers ness and poor diet; although he is only twenty from stomach ulcer and can only swallow a four, he looks like a fifty year old man. I want mixture of brandy and milk with bicarbonate you to get the feel of things, but you are not to of soda. Major Charles Butler, the Command- take any chances. If we grapple with the Huns, ing Officer of 209 Squadron, has repeatedly I want you to keep away. If you happen to see urged him to report sick, but Brown has always a straggler below you, fine, you may dive and declined. It is the worst possible moment to shoot a burst; if you miss him, don’t climb leave the unit. Far from his mind the idea of back, go straight on. If there is a general mêlée, adding to his score, already standing at 12 you stay out." confirmed victories (plus over a dozen prob- "All right!" Young May replies briefly, his able) but his unit cannot spare a single pilot. thrill at the prospect of his airtight is slowly The Royal Flying Corps is being rather se- turning into apprehension; guessing, he can verely mauled by the German “Circuses” and feel “butterflies in his stomach”. every pilot, even sick or exhausted, is desper- The mission today consists in patrolling the ately needed. German sector along the road between Amiens A fortnight earlier young Wilfred May, known and Albert, starting from Hangard, east of as “Wop” joined the Squadron, but this cannot Amiens. The orders issued by Major Butler be a substitute for a battle -trained pilot. Brown have been received with mixed feelings. 209 greeted May’s arrival with pleasure for, as luck Squadron is to take off in mass formation to would have it, May was born in Edmonton too, counter the Germans’ new tactics. The British and the two young men are close friends. But pilots generally prefer smaller, five-machine Brown’s satisfaction was short-lived when he strong formations, which they consider more learnt that May’s training had been curtailed in manageable, rather than those “shows of order to make good the losses on the Somme strength” mustering fifteen planes in three front. flights. But there is no discussing orders and Butler has agreed to May’s posting to Brown’s Brown himself will lead the first flight. flight. For two weeks, Brown has dutifully 2 Guess who is coming to fight! About half past ten, the wind has swept away by the Germans. Brown waggles his wings, the the last remnants of mist. The sun is coming agreed signal for attack. Excitedly, but some- out. The "Lords" will soon be here for the ball, what incautiously, the fifteen fighters drive on Richthofen thinks. Seeing the officers hurrying their quarries. At the same moment, Brown towards their planes, the Rittmeister calls them catches sight of a number of dark specks to his back. They had better wait until the alarm is right, slightly higher up. “Holy Heavens” he sounded before climbing into their cockpits. exclaims; other Fokkers are swooping down on By sitting conformably in the meantime, they them. To crown it all, it is the “Richthofen will feel more fit when it is time to scramble; it Circus”. There is no mistaking them, a glance will not be long now. The phone rings, a few at their gaudy warpaint is enough. And, lead- British planes have been spotted above the ing the attack, an unmistakable triplane: the front lines. Red Baron himself! Less than five minutes later, the first Fokkers To make things worse a Staffel of Albatrosses are climbing away. Bodenschatz goes to the joins the fray, to give the Germans the advan- observation platform and peers through the tage in numbers. glass. It is eleven o’clock sharp. He can see the With the Fokkers making any retreat impossi- six triplanes flying westwards, Richthofen ble, the British pilots have no choice but to leading the first section, Leutnant Weiss the fight it out.

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