BOXART STORY

#8136

You won’t get me!

He’s still in bed when the phone rings. “Sir,

north of the forest at Villers-Cotterets,

a French Breguet is directing enemy artillery

fire. Its effects are devastating!” He quickly

notes the area on the map and then replies

curtly into the phone, “We’ll be there in a minute!”

Off duty, he should have been allowed to sleep, but needs must. He looks at his watch.

It’s not even 0730! But all the other pilots

have left for the morning patrol, so it’s up

to him. In five minutes, he’s ready. The mechanic is fluttering about his new Fokker

D.VII. Jasta 4, which he leads now, was the

last of the whole JG I to get these beasts on

June 13, just a fortnight ago. He picked one

of them, had its fuselage, upper wing and

elevator painted red, while the nose was

painted black and, following the example of

Kirschstein’s Fokker Dr.I, which he also used

for a short time, the upper wing was decorated with white stripes. After the letters “Lo”,

accompanied by an exclamation mark, had

been painted on the sides of the fuselage as

usual, the work was almost complete. But

something was still missing. A short message to anyone who might want to get him

down. He had already made up his mind and

the words “Du doch nicht!!” were added on

the elevator.

He jumps into the cockpit, settles in, sprays

fuel, turns on the magneto, moves the stick

to check the controls clearance. The mechanic turns the propeller twice, and by the

third time the whole plane shakes with the

February 2023

first revs of the nose engine. A minute later,

he takes off.

He heads for the front, his eyes searching for

the enemy. It doesn’t take long. There it is!

North of the forest, about 600 meters up. He

doesn’t waste time and immediately attacks

from behind. He’s got to be careful, the twin

machine-guns of the Breguet could really

mess him up. He’s keeping level and sits right behind. The French observer would shoot his own rudder off if he tried anything! He

pulls the breeches of his machine guns and

fires a short burst. The head behind the machine guns disappears. Did he hit him? Looks

like it. But the French pilot is not about to

give his skin cheap and maneuvers violently.

He takes a sharp descend turn and tries to

escape towards friendly territory.

Now, he’s attacking from the side, which

would normally be risky. But now there’s nobody behind the Breguet’s guns. He is perhaps only twenty meters from the French aircraft when suddenly the observer reappears

behind them! And it’s bad! The first flashes

come from the guns, and he can literally feel

the projectiles passing close by. Then his

Fokker jolts upwards and there is an abrupt

drop in the feedback of the control stick.

The rods, leading to the elevator, were cut

by enemy shots and the aircraft gets out of

control within second. Worse still, the rudder

was also hit and badly damaged! The Fokker

turns and circles while the Breguet escapes.

The combat took him over the enemy positions. He must make it back to friendly terri-

Text: Richard Plos

Illustration: Adam Tooby

tory! But how? An idea emerges. Whenever

the nose begins to turn in the direction of friendly positions, he pushes the throttle. More

power widens the turn and that takes him

a little bit further in the desired direction.

He repeats this over and over again. The progress is slow, but he keeps it. The German

positions are within reach already, when

suddenly the Fokker banks sharply and goes

violently into a dive. There’s no time to lose!

He crouches, pushes his feet on the edge

of the seat and hurls himself from the

cockpit.

A blast of air hits him in the chest and throws

him straight into the damaged rudder, which

catches on a loose strap of the parachute

harness. He is trapped in the wildest ride of

his life! He’s trying to get rid of the half-shot

rudder, but in vain, the ground is closing. His

beloved Lo in tears flashes through his mind

... Snap! The rudder loosens and the strap

slips from its grasp. “It’s too late,” he thinks.

But then something jerks him upwards.

The parachute has opened! A second flies

by, maybe two, and he hits the ground hard.

Pain shoots from ankle of Ernst Udet to his

entire leg. He lies there, breathing deeply.

Artillery fire rumbles around him and one

shell explodes so close that a lump of dirt

falls on him. He must get out! Struggling for

a moment with the pile of white silk, he is

finally free. His heart skipping, he makes

his way to the nearby firing positions of the

German artillery. It’s not over, he’s escaped

death again. Du doch nicht!!!

INFO Eduard

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