Editor’s Note: This month’s cover is the eleventh of the actual war-combat pictures which Mr. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft, is painting exclusively for BATTLE ACES. The scries was started to give our readers authentic pictures of war planes in color. It also enables you to follow famous airmen on many of their amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt.

IN JUNE, 1918, there arrived at a certain American airdrome in France a group of replacements who had been trained in England. Among them was a lad by the name of Carr. To use a remark of one of his instructors, he was “the world’s worst pilot but a damn fine lad.” He had wrecked more ships than any man in camp. Why he was not thrown out of aviation, or at best sent to an observation group, he did not know. The fact remains that in the final test he passed, and was sent with five others to a fighting squadron. This squadron was proud of its toughness and its record for victories. The squadron leader looked the replacements over critically and approved, for they were just the type he wanted.

Carr was tall, with broad shoulders and an infectious smile—the sort of fellow one likes instantly. He was selected to be the first to go over the lines. Accordingly, next morning he was one of five to line up and take off. However, only four actually did take off. Carr’s ship went wobbling across the field and came up standing in a hedge. The mechanics looked it over for defects and, fortunately for Carr, found one that might have caused the crack-up. Carr, much surprised, thanked his lucky stars for that. Naturally he did not mention that the accident was due to his own stupidity. He was congratulated on his escape and wished better luck.

His next chance arrived and this time he managed to get into the air. His orders were strict; should a fight occur or if he were to loose the others, he was to return immediately. He was back in ten minutes—the time it took him to get lost and return to the airdrome. It did not help his reputation when he crashed in landing.

There followed a painful series of mishaps by which he became known as the “lovable ole dub.” It took them less than a week to discover that Carr would make a far better cab driver than a pilot. On the other hand he was the leader of all their binges. His smile carried him through all his troubles and with the willing help of the rest of the squadron his mistakes were smoothed over. However he was a great responsibility to flight leaders, who dreaded to have him in their patrol. At last, after a bit of particularly stupid flying, the C. O. decided that he would have to return to England. Carr was broken-hearted; he would rather die than be sent back. Rage against his own inability to fly determined him to try one last flight on which he would cither kill or be killed.

Early on the day he was to leave he took out his ship, gave it the gun and swept into the air. Although he did not realize it at the time, he was flying as he should have flown long ago. For the first time, instead of putting his ship into the air by sheer nervous will power, he forgot flying and thought only of fighting.

He had not gone far when he saw a patrol of Jerries beneath him. Without an instant’s hesitation he dove with such fury that he scattered the German ships right and left. Before they had become organized, he had shot down two of them. He dove head-on at another, intending to crash and end his life; but the panic-stricken Boche pulled up and fled with the others who had had enough of this mad American. Carr turned his De H-5 about just in time to see a green Pfalz diving at him. He plunged at him head-on, ripping out a savage burst. The Jerry, badly hit, looped but Carr looped after him.

Just at this point a Fokker Tripe joined the fight. Both planes came out of the loop with Carr on the German’s tail and his tracers crashing into the ship ahead. The Fokker zoomed and his wheel smashed through the left wing of the Pfalz, which went down out of control and crashed behind our lines. In a moment the pilot of the Fokker discovered that he had made a mistake in thinking that he or anyone could withstand such reckless and savage fury. He gave up in panic, raised his hands in token of surrender and followed Carr meekly back.

Carr returned to an overjoyed squadron, as confirmation of his victories had traveled ahead. He did not return to England. Instead he rose to be flight leader, then C.O., and finally became one of America’s aces.

The De H-5 was produced late in 1916 and was extensively used at the front. It was so constructed that the pilot’s view upward and foreward was not entirely blanketed by the top wing. For this reason the top wing was staggered backward and the pilot’s cockpit put beneath the leading edge of that wing. Despite loss of efficiency which resulted from this backward stagger, by careful attention to the reduction of head resistance, a ship was produced with very good all-round performance. Its span was 25′-8″; length 22′; engine 110 h.p., Le Rhone; speed at 10,000 ft. 102 m.p.h.; landing speed 50 m.p.h.; approximate ceiling 15,000 ft.

“Lt. Carr and the De H-5″ by Frederick M. Blakeslee (October 1932)

Editor’s Note: This month’s cover is the sixteenth of the actual war-combat pictures which Mr. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft, is painting exclusively for BATTLE ACES. The series was started to give our readers authentic pictures of war planes in color. It also enables you to follow famous airmen on many of their amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt.

AN AMERICAN observation group was assigned a very important photographic mission. The objective was far in German territory and heavily guarded both by airplanes and anti-aircraft. Heretofore although several attempts had been made to photograph the position, all had failed. It had been decided, therefore, as a last chance, to send several observation ships, with a huge group of pursuit planes as protection. It was hoped that with this strong-force, one ship at least would be able to go through with the work.

As a matter of fact only one ship, of the twenty-seven that took the air, arrived over the objective.

How six of the observation ships dropped out and how they missed their top protection at the rendezvous, is another story. Suffice it to say that only three of the photographic ships, which were brand-new R.E.8’s, reached the rendezvous; when they did not see the fighting group, they separated and started alone into Germany, for they carried only enough gas to get them there and back and so could not wait. Two of the three were forced to return by strong Boche patrols. One ship was left. Let us follow him into Germany.

The pilot of this ship was not sorry to be alone, for in all the previous attempts there had been eight or nine planes and Lt. Reed felt confident that where many ships had failed, one might do the trick. He flew as high as he could and arrived over his objective unchallenged. On the ground the Germans had observed the lone flyer, but as it was a mere dot in the sky and only one where they had been looking for many, the observers were puzzled. They could not determine whether it was one of their own ships or not. Soon it began to spiral down, but since there was a German airdrome in the neighborhood this was not unusual. It was only when Lt. Reed came within view of the binoculars which were trained on him, that he was recognized as an Allied plane.

Reed came down faster than the gunners could adjust their fuses and in a minute he was at the desired level. He flattened out so that his observer was able to calmly click his camera. While he was thus employed the anti-aircraft suddenly became quiet. No wonder, for eighteen Boche fighting ships were diving on this dauntless American.

He was surrounded in a second by a milling crowd of roaring planes. Almost instantly he was out of action, with his observer seriously wounded and his own legs shot through. The storm of lead stopped as suddenly as it had come. Here was a prize—an R.E.8, a machine the Germans badly wanted intact. The Germans saw that the American was helpless, so they surrounded him in a boxlike formation and headed him toward G.H.Q., or so Lt. Reed supposed.

They had not gone far when two L.V.G.’s took up a position on either side of him, and the rest flew away. Lt. Reed was growing weak from loss of blood. He knew that he could never escape in his condition, for aside from being faint he found that his legs were stiffening so that it was barely possible to steer. He was headed into Germany, so he supposed, and could never be able to turn his ship.

Suddenly the ship on his left dove; at the same moment the L.V.G. on his right burst into flames. Then an S.E.5 with British insignias flashed in front of Lt. Reed, to hurtle down at the other Boche. The next instant Reed found himself flying alone again.

The action had revived him somewhat, but when he tried to turn toward France he found his legs were useless. He could do nothing but fly straight on. He was headed toward the south and had been all along, though he had been unaware of it. Believing that he was going deeper into Germany he flew on until he grew blind from faintness. Then he landed and learned that he was in France. He asked to have his observer and photographs looked after and collapsed.

For their devotion to duty both the observer and the pilot received a high award.

The Luft Verkehrs Gesellschaft, better known as the L.V.G., G.V., was a well-known fighter. It was a two-seater biplane, carrying one Spandau on the right of the motor and firing through the propeller, and one Parabellum gun fired from the observer’s seat. There were several types of L.V.G.’s. One was a C.IV, an improvement over the C.V. Another was a single-seater scout, the D.VI, produced toward the end of the war. It was a queer looking ship. A third was also weird in appearance and called the D.V., a single seater. A big brother to the L.V.G. family was a twin-engined tractor triplane. The cream of the lot however was a little single-seater scout of the D class, one of the speediest looking ships ever made. The span of the L.V.G., C.V. was 44′-8½”; overall length, 42′-2½”, with a speed of 150 km. per hour at 4,000 meters.

“Lt. Reed and the L.V.G.” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (September 1932)

Editor’s Note: This month’s cover is the fourteenth of the actual war-combat pictures’ which Mr. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft, is painting exclusively for BATTLE ACES. The series was started to give our readers authentic pictures of war planes in color. It also enables you to follow famous airmen on many of their amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of, this fine series to be complete.

BECAUSE of a promise not to reveal his identity, the hero of this combat will be called Jim. He was a British war pilot and has a great fund of experiences, some of which he has been good enough to relate for use in this magazine.

This month’s cover story is a most unusual one. Of the seven men involved in the fight only one survived and he, as a result of the battle, spent long months in the hospitals in both France and England. As for the three planes, all were totally wrecked; in fact only portions of the German ships were ever found.

The combat took place toward the end of the war, not long after the exploit of Jim’s which was related in last month’s issue of Battle Aces. On this occasion Jim started out with his patrol early one morning and flew toward the German lines. As the planes advanced the weather suddenly changed. The earth disappeared and the sun burned red through the haze which rapidly gathered. Flying conditions fast became impossible in the face of the gathering storm, so Jim, who was leading the patrol, gave the signal to turn about for home.

The weather changed from bad to worse and soon Jim discovered that he was flying alone. He knew that his patrol had been forced to separate and to fly each man for himself. He decided to head due south in the hope of flying out of the storm, for he could not find his own field and it was suicide to land where he was. Suddenly the form of an immense bomber loomed up ahead, rushing directly at him out of the haze.

It was not until nearly a year later that Jim was able to recall what happened from that moment on.

Let me tell you the story from the ground.

At about 11:30 A.M. two dark objects whirled out of the haze. One landed in a street and proved to be the body of a man, his clothes in shreds and too mutilated for identification. The other object hit the roof of a building in Châlons-sur-Marne, and was followed by splinters of wood, metal and scraps of red fabric. When dug out of the basement this proved to be the wreck of a Mercedes engine.

A few moments later the tip of an airplane wing fell in the outskirts of the same town, preceded by several explosions. It was also reported that at about the same time two Mercedes engines, with separate bits of metal and parts of the wings of an airplane, fell near the road between Châlon and Chepy. Then reports came in of a rain of wreckage falling all over the district. To cap the climax, another Mercedes engine, with more wreckage, fell at Marson, three and a half miles from Chepy. What could be the cause of this deluge of Mercedes engines? All came down at approximately the same time at widely separated points. The bodies of five more men and wreckage were found near Châlon and Chepy.

To add to the interest of the day, at Sommesons, nearly twenty miles from Châlons, an S.E.-5 suddenly shot out of the haze, barely missed a farm house, and spread itself out over the adjacent landscape. The pilot was sent to a hospital unconscious, where he stayed in that condition for several clays. As he was the only one who seemed at all connected with the affair, the matter remained a mystery until a year later when his memory had fully returned. The following is what happened.

As the bomber loomed up ahead, Jim recognized it as a German A.E.G. Contrary to general practice, it was not camouflaged but was painted a bright red. Jim pulled up to pass over. As he zoomed up he saw another bomber almost directly overhead. The nose of his ship pointed directly at it and with an instinctive movement, he pulled his trigger. Almost instantly there was a terrific explosion. The wreckage of the bomber was thrown in all directions. Jim was so close that parts of the Boche ship shattered his propeller and damaged his right wing. The bomber dropped, shearing off the left wing of the A.E.G. underneath close to the fuselage. Jim does not yet know how he escaped the tangle of flying wreckage and ships. The next moment they had vanished and Jim began a long glide earthward; because of the thick haze, his ship crashed, as has been related. (For purposes of design the scene on the cover has been painted in bright sunlight, but in reality the haze was extremely dense.)

The A.E.G. bomber was powered by two 260 h.p. Mercedes engines and carried two guns. At 5,000 feet its speed was 90 m.p.h. and its landing speed about 75 m.p.h. It had one fault. Its elevators did not function well when landing. It was also found advisable not to fly the machine without a passenger in the front seat.

“A.E.G. Bomber” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (July 1932)

Editor’s Note: This month’s cover is the thirteenth of the actual war-combat pictures which Mr. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft, is painting exclusively for BATTLE ACES. The series was started to give our readers authentic pictures of war planes in color. It also enables you to follow famous airmen on many of their amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of this fine series to be complete.

JIM, like most of the men who fought in the World War, refused to talk on the subject. He was an English ace and I knew he had done some worthwhile things. Finally, just to get rid of me, he agreed to tell me his story on the condition that, should I repeat it, his name would be withheld. Luck was with me after he once started and by questioning and egging him on I persuaded him to tell me of several other of his exploits. You’ll hear of them in later issues. This month the cover is based on one of his stories which he told very modestly, so I shall retell it in my own way.

A British hospital had been bombed by three German flyers. They had wrecked one wing of it, killing several of the wounded. As soon as the news reached the nearest airdrome, planes took off in pursuit of the marauders, but they had disappeared and as night was setting in the ships had to return.

The three Boche flyers had flown monoplanes with green camouflaged bodies, brick-red rudders and blue wings, so they were marked men. The Allies determined to avenge the outrage and early next morning the patrol took the air together with all ships in that sector. They ranged the sky all without coming in contact with the enemy. On the way home they flew under the clouds, shooting up everything in sight on the ground. When they returned to the drome, Jim’s patrol learned that in their absence the three Jerries had again bombed the hospital, fortunately without any fatal results. The three had lurked in the clouds until the patrols had gone and then proceeded to drop their eggs.

Orders were issued to get these Jerries at all costs. This time the British forces were to fly singly or in pairs, in order to cover more territory. With rage in their hearts the British pilots took the air.

Jim was flying alone and very high when he saw three specks skudding along close to a layer of clouds; they were coming from the direction of Germany. Sure these were the wanted planes, he tilted his machine down to investigate and noticed that one ship was flying high above the other two, probably as a lookout. On coming closer he recognized the plane as one of the bombers of the day before. He pulled his throttle wide open and dove for him.

Too late the Boche heard the scream of the plane behind him. He turned with a startled look as Jim let go a savage burst straight into him at point-blank range. The Boche was probably killed instantly, for he fell forward, his monoplane tipped up and Jim’s smoking bullets smashed through the entire length of the body. The other two ships streaked down one behind the other. All at once Jim realized that he was in a trail of heat and smoke. In his blind fury he had kept a fast hold on his trigger and was pouring a steady stream of lead into the ship ahead.

The smoke brought him to himself and he pulled to one side just in time to see the enemy ship burst into roaring flames. In its dive the burning plane had headed straight for the other two and an instant later had plunged into the leading Boche. There was a blinding flash, followed by a cloud of smoke, suspended for an instant, and when Jim gathered his wits, he and the third Boche were flying alone.

Instantly he brought his nose in line with him and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. He had used up his ammunition in that wild dive. He thought of his center section gun, but before he could maneuver into position, the German had gone into a dive. Jim determined to get him or die in the attempt. He set off in pursuit, but when the Jerry whirled into the clouds. Jim thought he had seen the last of this particular enemy. He cut in after him, however, and as he came out, saw the Boche still diving towards the earth. A moment later, the Jerry plane flattened out and crashed into a field. The pilot extracted himself from the wreck, ran a few steps and dropped.

Jim landed near him and found that the German was not badly hurt but that his mind had been temporarily deranged. He was removed to a hospital and several weeks later, when his mind and nerves were rested and back to normal, he explained the reason for the bombing of the hospital. The Germans had been informed that the hospital was an ammunition factory in disguise, for the demolition of which they would be highly rewarded.

Jim did not recognize the type of the German ship, but was sure it was neither a Fokker nor a Junker. From his meager description it sounds like a Kondor E 111a or E 111. At any rate I have shown these two ships on the cover. There is no information available on this machine except that it had a 200 h.p. Goebel rotary motor.

“Kondor E 111a” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (June 1932)

Editor’s Note: This month’s cover is the twelfth of the actual war-combat pictures which Mr. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft, is painting exclusively for BATTLE ACES. The series was started to give our readers authentic pictures of war plwves in color. It also enables you to follow famous airmen on many of their amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of this fine series to be complete.

THE PAINTING on the cover this month lacks two things—movement and noise. The only way to show movement is by the speed lines which stream out behind the planes. As for the noise, you will just have to imagine it. The three diving Germans with motors wide open are sending forth a deafening roar which gives the effect of a musical note when heard at a distance. The American ship, upside down as it zooms over, is emitting a high-pitched, reverberating and ear-splitting shriek. It drowns the bark of two Vicker machine guns which are pouring a stream of hot lead into the nearest Boche. Now that you have stuffed cotton in your ears we’ll go on with the story.

The action took place near Chateau-Thierry on July 2, 1918. The pilot of the American ship was First Lieutenant Alfred A. Grant of the 27th aero squadron. He was out on a patrol with several other officers when he encountered an enemy formation of nine planes. During the combat which followed, Lt. Grant became separated from the others and was immediately set upon by three of the Jerries.

He led these three Boches all over the sky, his comrades having vanished. Whenever opportunity presented itself he would turn and pour hot fire into a German ship. By skilful maneuvering he managed to keep out of serious trouble.

He kept the three Germans on the qui-vive however, and they found it impossible to corner him. Suddenly Lt. Grant broke off the fight and started on a bee-line for home. This was what the Germans wanted and hoped for. They gathered together in a group and dove after him.

On the other hand this was what Lt. Grant had hoped they would do. He allowed them to approach to within range and then zooming up and over he let go a withering blast of machine-gun fire straight into the Jerry ships as they streaked by under him.
One Boche continued his dive into eternity and the others turned and fled for home. For this action Lt. Grant was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.

At first glance you may think the German ships are Pfalz scouts of the type shown on the cover last September. If you have that cover compare the two and you will see how and where they differ. The machines illustrated on this cover are Albatros D.V.’s.

The Albatros biplanes were largely used in the War, at first as rather slow two-seater fighting machines, and as reconnaissance types. At the end of 1916 there came a very small Albatros single-seater with a Benz or Mercedes engine of some 175 h.p. This little ship did much damage to the Allies’ airplanes, until it was met and defeated by still faster British and French machines.

The speed of this ship was between 120 and 130 m.p.h. at its best height. This was the type known as the DIII. The DV was essentially the same as the DIII with no outward difference in appearance. There was, however, an improvement in speed and maneuverability. The DIII and DV were speedy looking ships and beautifully stream-lined. They have two Spandau machine guns firing through the propellers.

There was also an Albatros DXI, quite radical in design. The body instead of being rounded was box-shaped and for no apparent reason the rudder and fin were advanced. Between the wings it had a single instead of the V strut. As the bottom wing was much shorter than the upper, this strut inclined outward, and did away with all wiring. There was also a two-seater Albatros and a two-engined bomber.

But this month we concern ourselves with the blue ship flown by the American which is a new and seldom heard of type, the Westland “Wagtail.”

It was designed in answer to a general demand for a fast, quick-climbing single-seater fighter, and its purpose was for high altitude fighting. It met the demand, for it could climb to its service ceiling of 17,000 ft. in 17 minutes—a thousand feet a minute, which was fast climbing in those days and hardly surpassed even today.

The pilot’s view upward and downward, was very good, as more than half the center section was left open. The engine cowling differs from the accepted type of the day and has more or less of a modern appearance. It had a span of 23′ 2″ and an overall length of 18′ 11″.

“The Westland Wagtail” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (May 1932)

Editor’s Note: This month’s cover is the tenth of the actual war-combat pictures which Mr. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft, is painting exclusively for BATTLE ACES. The series was started In give our readers authentic pictures of war planes in color. It also enables you to follow famous airmen on many of their amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of this fine series to be complete.

THE COVER painting this month depicts the essential elements that combined to cause the death of Baron von Richthofen. All of the planes involved are shown.

Baron von Richthofen was the greatest ace Germany ever produced. He was a cool daring fighter who fought to kill or be killed, and the more skillful his adversaries were the better he liked them. To match wits with a clever opponent brought him the utmost pleasure. He fought like a demon, quickly and surely, taking advantage of every fortune of combat. His
deadly aim accounted for the crashing of eighty Allied planes.

An analysis of his combats show that of his eighty victories, forty-six of the vanquished were two seaters and thirty-four were single-seater scouts. He killed eighty-eight men in these combats, seventeen of whom were unidentified. His record of eighty may be disputed, however, for there are no British casualty records to account for three of the ships which were reported by von Richthofen. If we give him the benefit of the doubt—and there is no evidence that he did not bring down these three—eighty is an imposing” record. He was the terror of the Front and in his all-red ship he blazed his way through the sky from September 17, 1916, until the day of his death, April 21, 1918.

Von Richthofen’s circus became a byword at the Front. The ships composing this staffel resembled a sinister rainbow. They were painted in every color imaginable, no two ships being alike and every one having a different combination. Only one of his circus had a single color scheme. This ship—a Fokker triplane—painted a brilliant red except for the black maltese cross on its white background.

It fell to the lot of Captain Roy Brown to put an end to “The Red Knight of Germany. This he accomplished on April 21, 1918, in the vicinity of Hamel. Four triplanes led by von Richthofen had dived on some old R.E.’s which were engaged on a photographic mission. Captain Roy Brown, with his flight of seven Camels, was two miles above. His attention was directed to the plight of the R.E.’s by the English anti-aircraft calling for help. Down he came in a two-mile dive with his flight screaming in his wake.

The triplanes had been joined by additional Fokkers and Albatrosses, so that they numbered about twenty-two. With guns blazing, the eight Camels plunged into the fight. It developed into one of the most desperate dogfights of the War.

The R.E.’s relieved of their pursuers, streaked for home and escaped.

In Captain Brown’s flight was Lieut. W.R. May, a newcomer and out for the first time. Nevertheless he joined the melee. After downing a Boche he remembered his orders to stay out of a combat, so with great difficulty he disengaged himself and started for home. Death, however, in the form of an all-red triplane, rode on his tail. Do what he could, side, slip, loop and turn, May could not shake the cool and determined fighter who pursued him. His ship was being-shot to pieces and he was painfully wounded. But fortunately death showed no partiality and also road on the tail of the red triplane. Brown had seen the unequal combat and diving in from the right his tracers tucked a seam up the body of the Fokker until they reached the cockpit. The triplane faultered, then glided to the earth, making a nearly perfect landing. It settled between the lines. The pilot did not move. An Australian crawled over the top, attached a rope to the undcr-carriage and drew it to the shelter of a rise in the ground. The pilot was taken out. Baron von Richthofen was dead.

The triplane was another creation of Anthony Fokker, It was speedy and a machine to be avoided in a scrap. Some authorities contend that it had one fatal fault—its tendency to tear itself apart in the air. For this reason the Germans finally abandoned it.

The Fokker triplane had a 110 h.p. engine and its speed was approximately 125 m.p.h. It was 19 feet, 1 inch in length over all and had a top wing span of 25 feet including the balancing fins on the aileron. The span of the center wing was 21 feet and that of the bottom wing was 19 feet. It carried two fixed machine guns on the cowl, syncronized through the propeller.

“Richthofen’s Last Flight” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (March 1932)

Editor’s Note: This month’s cover is the ninth of the actual war-combat pictures which Mr. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft, is painting exclusively for BATTLE ACES. The series was started to give our readers authentic pictures of war planes in color. It also enables you to follow famous airmen on many of their amazing adventures and fell the same thrills of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of this fine series to be complete.

THE HERO of the exploit featured this month is Lieutenant-colonel William Avery Bishop, the ace of aces. In his many combats, numbering over two hundred, he made an official score of seventy-two enemy planes, destroyed. Seventy-five percent of these combats were undertaken alone and the majority were against great odds. In a single day, his last in France, he brought up his score from sixty-seven to seventy-two, by destroying, unaided, five enemy ships in less than two hours.

Here is the story of the action which is illustrated on the cover. It will give an insight into the daring of this fighter. The combat took place on August 11, 1917. Colonel Bishop went out that day to work independently, as was his custom. Finding the air clear of patrols, he flew to an enemy airdrome only to find it deserted. He then flew on, going at least twelve miles beyond the lines into German territory, until he discovered another airdrome. Here there was great activity. Seven planes, some with their engines running, were lined up in front of the hangars, preparing to ascend. This was just what he had hoped to find.

With throttle wide open, Bishop dove to within fifty feet of the ground, sending a stream of lead into the group of men and planes. He noticed one casualty as the pilots and mechanics scattered in all directions. The Boches manned the ground guns and raked the sky, while the pilots worked frantically to take off. They knew whom they were up against. There was no mistaking “Blue Nose,” which was the name of Bishop’s machine. Furthermore, who but Bishop would come so far into their territory, and have the audacity to attack an airdrome all by himself?

Here, right in their midst, was the man most feared and most “wanted” by the Germans. It meant promotion and an Iron Cross for the pilot who downed him. However he was not easily downed.

At last one Jerry left the ground. Bishop was on his tail like a hawk and before the Jerry could gain maneuvering altitude, Bishop gave him fifteen rounds of hot fire, crashing him to the ground. During this brief action another plane took off but Bishop was too quick for him. He swung around and in a flash was on his tail. Thirty rounds sent this Boche crashing into a tree. In the meantime two more enemy ships had taken off and had gained enough altitude for a serious scrap. These Bishop engaged at once. He attacked the first ship, his guns ripping out one of those short bursts at close range, which were his specialty. The enemy ship went spinning to earth, crashing three hundred yards from the airdrome. He then emptied a full drum into the second hostile machine, doing more moral than material damage, for this plane took to its heels.

Then Captain Bishop flew back to his airdrome, pursued for over a mile by four enemy scouts, who were too discouraged to do any harm. When Bishop left the Front he had won the M.C., the D.F.C., the D.S.O. and bar, the Legion of Honor, the Croix de Guerre, and Briton’s highest award, the V.C. For the action here illustrated he was awarded the D.S.O.

You will recognize the enemy machine as a Fokker D-7, “The Wolf of the Air.” In the hands of a good pilot it was a terror to the Allied forces. It was designed by Anthony Fokker who was not a German, but a subject of Holland. He is now a citizen of the United States.

This remarkable ship might have been on the Allied side, if it had not been for the short-sightedness of official England; for Fokker offered his services to England and was rejected. He then went to Germany where his value was recognized and where he was immediately employed. England, realizing her mistake, offered Fokker two million pounds to leave Germany. Since Fokker was virtually a prisoner there—but that is another story.

At any rate Fokker built the Germans a ship which filled the Allied pilots with wonder and consternation when it first appeared over the lines. This ship was the D-7. It could out-speed, out-dive, and out-fight any thing then at the Front. Later the Allies produced ships that possessed certain advantages over the Fokker—notably, the Spad that could turn on a dime, the Camel and the S.E.5. However the Fokker remained the most deadly ship that the Germans had to offer, until the end of the war.

The characteristics of the Fokker include an extreme depth of wing, lack of dihedral, and the absence of external bracing. It was truly a wireless ship. It had a span of 29′ 3½” and an overall length of 22′ 11½”, while its speed was about 116 miles per hour.

“The Fokker D-7″ by Frederick M. Blakeslee (February 1932)

You will see a Fokker triplane on the cover next month. It is Baron von Richthofen’s machine, so don’t miss it!

Editor’s Note: This month’s cover is the eighth of the actual war-combat, pictures which Mr Blakeslee well-known artist and authority on aircraft, is painting exclusively for BATTLE ACES. The series was started to give our readers authentic pictures of war planes in color. It also enables you to follow famous airmen on many of their amazing adventures and feel the same thrill of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of this fine series to be complete.

Lt. Wilbert Wallace White, 147th Aero Squadron. He was a Flight Commander for the Squadron and gained 8 victories during his service.

ON SEPTEMBER 14, 1918, three reconnaissance machines took the air on a mission of observation. They had for protection Second-lieutenant Wilbert W. White. While Lt. White was cruising about above the ships he was attacked by three Halberstadt fighters. He succeeded in fighting them off and leading them away from the observation ships, which were permitted to carry on their work unmolested. On his way home he sighted an enemy balloon near Chambley. He dove through a cloud to the attack, and before the ground crew knew what had happened, the drachen had come down about their ears in flames. The Yank was instantly attacked by two Fokker Scouts.

Although he was alone, with intrepid courage he attacked the first plane head-on, shooting until it went into a vertical dive out of control. Pulling sharply about, he fired a long burst at the second Fokker as it went over him. The Boche didn’t stop to argue, but streaked for the Vaterland as fast as his prop would drive him. For this thrilling exploit Lieutenant White was awarded the D.S.C.

The very next month he paid the supreme price in a way that was heroic in the extreme. He sacrificed his life that a buddy might live.

It was on October 10th that Lieutenant White, while in command of a patrol of four planes, met a flight of five Fokkers. In his patrol was a new member who was taking his first trip over the lines. One of the Boche pilots, perhaps sensing that he was a novice, or just by chances of combat, attacked him and obtained an advantageous position on his tail. The new pilot dodged and turned but was unable to shake off the Fokker, who followed his every move and was rapidly gaining on him. Lieutenant White saw that his friend was in dire trouble. Turning, he sped into position to attack the Boche. The Jerry was intent on his intended victim and was sending short bursts at close range whenever he could get him in line with his gun-sights. The situation looked black for the new pilot, but still blacker when Lieutenant White’s guns jammed hopelessly. Sooner or later a burst from the Fokker would hit a vital spot.

There was only one thing Lieutenant White could do to save his buddy, but it meant a horrible death. Without an instant’s hesitation he swung around and streaked full speed, head-on, into the startled and horrified enemy. The impact was terrific, the results devastating. For this act of extraordinary heroism the oak leaf cluster was awarded. The scene on the cover is just before the impact.

Lieutenant White belonged to the 147th squadron which used Spads. Since there was a picture of a 147th squadron Spad on last month’s cover, I have painted Lieutenant White’s machine as a Sophwith Camel to prevent repetition in plane types.

Much can be said for and against the Camel. It was an enlarged and modified “Pup” and was designed specially for high performances and extreme maneuverability. To obtain these ends some of the qualities of the Pup were necessarily sacrificed, and the machine had a reputation for being uncomfortable to fly. In fact I know of no pilot who went into a Camel squadron voluntarily.

Due to the torque of the motor it was extremely difficult to make a right-hand turn. This one fault caused a great many deaths to the men in training.

The Camel was also prone to catch fire in landing. The reason for this was because the engine, a 9-cylinder Gnome Monosoupape rotary, had no carbureter and therefore no throttle. It was necessary to slow down by means of a selector on the ignition system which cut out various cylinders. For example, the engine could run on 9-7-5-3 or one cylinder.

The mixture in the cylinders not used was sent through the exhaust manifold unburnt and might be ignited by the exhaust from an active cylinder. The ship landed with a long flame streaming from the exhaust which very often ignited the fabric.

On the other hand, it was the best ship for maneuvering ever brought out by the Allies, and was a great success in combat.

The Camel could climb to 5,000 feet in 5 minutes and to 10,000 feet in 12 minutes, at which height its speed was 113 m.p.h. It had a span of 28 feet; an overall length of 18 feet, 9 inches; a maximum gap of 5 feet and a minimum gap of 4 feet, F/io inches. A distinctive feature of this machine is the great dihedral of the bottom plane, combined with a flat top plane.

The ship received its name partly because of the appearance of a hump when seen from the side, and partly because the elevators were so sensitive that unless the pilot had a great deal of experience he flew in humps.

“The Camel and Lt. White” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (January 1931)

Editor’s Note: Every month the cover of BATTLE ACES depicts a scene from a real combat actually fought in the War and a real event in the life of a, great ace. The series is being painted exclusively for this magazine by Frederick M. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft and was started especially for all of you readers who wrote us requesting photographs of war planes. In this way you not only get pictures of the ships—authentic to the last detail—but you see them in color. Also you can follow famous airmen on many of their most amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of this fine series to be complete.

The Friedrichshafen G.III Bomber

THE cover this month shows how a Friedrichshafen bomber was brought down by a Frenchman near Verdun. It was a big brute such as this that spelled the doom of Lufbury, America’s most spectacular ace.

The huge ship appeared back of the American sector near Loul. Four fighting ships took the air to give it combat, but returned after expending their ammunition, reporting that it seemed impossible to damage it. The big bomber loafed along as unconcernedly as if it were an elephant with a swarm of mosquitoes at its heels. Then Lufbury obtained permission to try his hand. He took off and mounted above the dragon of the air, then swept down upon it. His machine gun is believed to have become jammed, for when nearly upon the German he swerved off. Almost at once he came back again, flashing by the Boche with his guns blazing. But still the German lumbered on unhurt. Again Lufbury returned to the attack. Suddenly the watchers below saw a line of fire burst from his machine, and the ship began to plunge earthward.

We all know the manner of Lufbury’s death. He had a horror of being burned, and always said that in the event of his machine catching fire he would jump. He was true to his word, for that is exactly what he did, from a height of about two thousand feet. However, this is a digression; let us return to the Friedrichshafen.

These machines were in the air what the battleship is in the sea, and about as dangerous to tackle. There was no blind spot except on the under part of the fuselage toward the bow, and it was extremely hard to maneuver for this position, due to the fact that in the bottom of the floor, just aft of the bomb racks, was a trap door from which a machine gun commanded a view downward and backward.

The weak point in all big planes had been the inability of the gunners to protect the ship from an attack underneath. The secret of the invulnerability of the Friedrichshafen was that, due to this trap door, the gunner could now protect the blind spot, making the accepted mode of an attack on a bomber not only very dangerous but almost useless. The guns aboard these planes commanded a field of fire that almost completely surrounded the ship.

The big red devil pictured on this month’s cover, however, was unlucky. It was returning from a bombing mission at early dawn. A French flyer on morning patrol spotted it and speeding along in the gloom that hung close to the earth, slowly mounted until directly behind the tail. Then with throttle wide open he dove, gaining tremendous speed. He zoomed up and in a flash was directly underneath, his guns blazing forth a deadly hail of lead. Then he stalled, fell away, and dived out of range.

What circumstances accounted for the fact that he was allowed to approach within range, is not known. It is presumed that the crew, for some reason, had lapsed their vigil and were feeling safe either because of the early hour of the morning, or because they thought themselves over Germany. At any rate, that one burst was enough. The big crate came down back of the lines near Verdun, very slightly damaged, and was hailed with much joy by the powers that he.

It would serve no purpose to give an exhaustive technical description of the Friedrichshafen. A few facts will suffice. Big ships as they were, they were considerably smaller than the Gotha, being 36 feet in length with a wing span of 66 feet. They were powered by two 225 h.p. Benz motors, one each side of the center and inclosed in ovoid bonnets. The ship weighed when loaded 6,960 lbs. Beside machine guns they each carried twelve high explosive bombs and seven incendiary bombs.

The cover and the drawing below will give you a very accurate idea of how the plane looked.

“Friedrichshafen Bomber” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (December 1931)

Next month’s cover will feature a CAMEL in deadly combat with a FOKKER. If you have been wanting an authentic picture in colors of a Camel machine, you will find it on the cover of the January issue. Not only that, but there is a real, gripping story behind the fight in which the ship is portrayed—the story of a valiant flyer who was willing to crash nose on into an enemy plane, willing to meet a flaming death, in order that he might save the life of his buddy. This will be the 8th in the series of actual war combat covers which Mr. Blakeslee is painting for you. If you do not have all of these pictures and would like them so that your series will be complete, send twenty cents for each magazine to Battle Aces, 205 E. 42nd St., New York City, and specify which issue or issues you desire. The planes illustrated so far have been: S.E.5; B.E. Fighter; R.E.8; Pfaltz Scout; Spad.

Editor’s note: Here you are gang, a real surprise for you this month. You have all read and enjoyed the ceiling-smashing stories that O.B. Myers writes for you every month. But did you know that he had won the Distinguished Service Cross for heroism in one of the toughest scraps of the war? That almost single-handed he engaged a powerful German squadron and made monkey meat out of them? Yes, sir, and below you will read this amazing true story. It’s told for you by one of Obie’s best friends, Kenneth L. Porter, who was along on that eventful day as Flight Commander, and what he tells you, he saw with his own eyes.

1Lt Kenneth Lee Porter of the 147th Aero Squadron stands before Nieuport 28 N6256 ‘15′ in which he shared in the downing of a Pfalz D Ilia with five squadronmates on 2 July 1918.

Ken Porter is himself one of America’s sixty-six accredited aces, with five enemy planes to his string of victories. On the cover, this month, is the actual picture of O.B. Myers in the act of downing the German observation plane. Obie is one swell guy whom you would all like to know personally. He’s also a modest cuss, and if he had any inkling that this was being printed, he’d probably land on our necks with a ton of T.N.T.

O.B. Myers: Flying Hero

By Kenneth L. Porter • Battle Aces, November 1931

FOLLOWING is O.B. Myer’s citation: Extract from General Orders No. 1, War Department, 1919.

“Myers, Oscar B., Near Cierges, France, September 28, 1918. First Lieutenant, 147th Aero Squadron, Air Service. Sent on a particularly hazardous mission, he harassed and routed enemy troops. He then climbed higher to look for German planes. With two other officers, he encountered 9 Fokkers protecting a reconnaissance machine flying in one of the most effective formations used by the enemy. Outmaneuvering the hostile planes, the three officers succeeded in routing them. After a quick turn he dived at the reconnaissance machine and crashed it to the ground in flames.”

DURING the latter part of September, 1918, the start of the big Argonne push was getting under way. At the time, we of the 147th aero squadron, 1st pursuit group, A.E.F., were stationed at Rembercourt almost due west of St. Mihiel and south of Grand Pre. The first pursuit group was called upon to carry out a great variety of special assignments in collaboration with the movement of ground troops. Some of these assignments were balloon strafing, troop strafing, contact patrol and escort work of various kinds.

Our troops were attempting to straighten out the line and in doing so encountered very strenuous resistance from both the German artillery and infantry.

On the morning of September 28th, the operation officer called me into his office and advised that our troops were experiencing difficulty in straightening out the line near Cierges, France. He advised that I was to take a patrol out and strafe the German front-line troops. At the same time he ordered me to be on the lookout for enemy two-seaters which might be regulating artillery fire in that specific sector.

After receiving the orders I walked out onto the line to ascertain how many ships I had available for patrol duty. I found that, including my own, we had only three serviceable ships—those of Lt. O.B. Myers and Lt. L.C. Simon, Jr. I immediately rounded up “Obie” Myers and “Red” Simon and informed them of the somewhat difficult mission.

We accordingly took off and proceeded immediately to the Front, Obie flying on my immediate left and Red on my immediate right. We easily located the particular portion of the line which was causing the difficulty by the great concentration of artillery fire, machine-gun activities, etc. After carefully sizing up the situation, we realized the reason for our inability to displace the German position. The front line of the enemy was immediately back of the crest of a small ridge, making it easy for the Boches to keep up a scathing fire without undue exposure to themselves.

Hastily glancing at the sky to see that there were no enemy Fokkers lurking around, I swung my formation into an attacking position and raked the entire crest of the ridge with machine-gun fire. Immediately the Germans let loose with their anti-aircraft defense. Upon pulling away after the first attack I noticed that our anti-aircraft guns were sending shells into our vicinity, which caused me to more carefully survey the skies. Immediately I discovered a patrol of nine enemy Fokkers rapidly approaching. I decided to make one more hasty attack at the troops on the ground and then attempt to better our own defensive position from the attack of the nine Fokkers.

After completing the ground attack I rapidly climbed the patrol and at the same time signaled both Obie and Red to close in. We had gained about 500 meters when I discovered the reason for the presence of the nine Fokkers. A German Hanoverian two-seater was regulating artillery on our ground-line troops which were attempting to take the ridge that we had just strafed. I swung my patrol over toward the Hanoverian and the Fokkers made immediate plans to attack us.

As we crossed over the position of the Hanoverian, Obie dived out of formation and coming up under the tail of the Hanoverian raked it with devastating fire from his machine gun. The Hanoverian fell off almost immediately and burst into flames, crashing right near the town of Cierges. Meanwhile the Fokkers had jumped us and were making things very interesting for Red and me. We were seriously outnumbered and were making a running fight of it all the time working our way toward home, when Obie climbed back into position and flew straight into the middle of the fight, shooting at everything that came in his way. This diversion put the Fokkers on the defensive and we immediately drove them back toward their line. Out of the group we shot down one Fokker and badly disorganized the rest.

Upon returning to the airdrome we discovered that all of our ships had been pretty badly shot up in the engagement, but no serious damage done. The first thing that Red said on landing was “Oh boy, did you see that Boche burn!” Obie replied that he had not seen the ship go down in flames but he was sure that he had gotten it from the way it fell out of control. Both Red and myself saw the two-seater burst into flames. The victory was later confirmed by our own ground troops. While Obie always claimed that it was a bit of luck on his part to have gotten the two-seater so quickly, I always claimed that it was very pretty flying.

The ships used at this time by our squadron were Spad’s, type 13, and the ship flown by Obie bore the squadron number 28. These ships were equipped with 220 H.P. Hispano motor with geared-down propeller. This was one of the earliest types of service machine to use a motor with a gear reduction. The Spad was a small biplane of about 30 feet wing-spread, the wings having neither stagger nor dihedral. The armament consisted of two Vickers machine guns mounted and synchronized to shoot through the propeller. In order to aim the guns the ship had to be aimed, in other words flown into firing position. This type of Spad was capable of a top speed of 135 miles per hour and up to that time, with the exception of the Fokker D-7, was about the best ship on the front.

“O.B. Myers: Flying Hero” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (November 1931)

You have just read in the foregoing story how O.B. Myers won his Distinguished Service Cross. All of the authors in BATTLE ACES are real flyers and fighting aces, and believing that you would like to know a bit about them personally as well as to read the stories they write, we got Ken Porter to tell you the interesting story about Obie’s first flight across the lines. Usually, when a green peelot took his first trip over, he missed his landmarks, got jumpy under anti-aircraft barrage, and couldn’t even see enemy planes if he was attacked. But did Obie beat it at the first sign of trouble? Wow—we’ll tell the cockeyed flying world he didn’t! Ken Porter, who was assigned to break him in, tells this unusual story here for the first time.

Obie’s First Flight

By Kenneth L. Porter • Battle Aces, November 1931

EARLY in September, just after the completion of the St. Mihiel push, we were located at Rembercourt which was almost due south of Souilly and approximately sixty or seventy kilometers from Bar-le-Duc. For quarters we had tents which were pitched in a small clump of trees on the side of a hill just across the road from our airdrome. Whenever it rained the water succeeded in flooding our tent and making us very uncomfortable.

The St. Mihiel Drive had thinned our ranks considerably and we were expecting several replacements at any time. One evening, just after mess, we returned to our tent and discovered that five or six new pilots were temporarily housed in C Flight tent. It was customary, upon the arrival of new pilots, for the boys to look them over and decide in their own minds just who they wanted attached to their particular flights.

Among the new arrivals was one Lt. O.B. Myers and Lt. Hayward Cutting. “Whitie,” who was flight commander at that time, drew me aside and asked me what I thought about the new arrivals. I told him that if possible we should get Myers and Cutting attached to our flight. Whitie accordingly called on the C.O. that evening and requested that the two boys in question be attached immediately.

It is a rather peculiar situation when new pilots arrive on the Front as they are more or less under a tension and as a rule don’t act naturally. They seem to think that they have to throw some kind of a bluff to impress the boys who are already there. One of the outstanding characteristics of Obie was that he seemed perfectly natural and entirely unperturbed as to what the future held. Of course, all new pilots, upon arrival, immediately want to have a ship assigned to them and participate in regular patrols.

A few days after his arrival, Obie sought me out one morning and asked me when he could expect to participate in regular patrols. I pointed out to him that we were rather short on planes at the time, but I would see what I could do about the situation and try to get him a joy hop anyway. I had a talk with “Whitie” and we decided that we would let Obie use Lt. Bronson’s ship for a little joy ride, as Lt. Bronson was away on leave. I took Obie over to the airdrome and told him to take Bronson’s ship up for half or three-quarters of an hour to familiarize himself with a new type of plane and that after he felt that he was satisfied with the handling of the ship, he could go over to a nearby lake and practice shooting at the flying target which we had anchored there.

Obie went through these preliminary tests very satisfactorily and upon his return to the ground he collared me and pleaded with me to take him out for a look at the lines. I told him that if the weather improved a little, we would take an observation tour on the next morning.

When we awoke the following day, the weather looked none too good. There was considerable haze on the ground and the clouds were not over 1,200 meters high. Not only that, but it had been raining slightly during the night. I requested information of headquarters as to weather conditions on the Front and found they were about the same as those prevailing at our own airdrome. Accordingly, about ten o’clock, we decided to make a tour of the Front with a view to familiarizing Obie with the landmarks and conditions as they existed up there. Taking him into the operations tent where there was a map of our entire sector, I carefully pointed out the exact route we were to follow.

Now, among other things that are lacking when a pilot arrives on the Front is his ability to see things from the air. Some pilots acquire it very quickly, while others take time, but as a rule when they do acquire it, it happens all of a sudden. I told Obie that we would fly due east to St. Mihiel and from there to the north over the ridge of hills to Verdun. From Verdun we would swing west along our front line over Montfaucon to the river which goes through the middle of the Argonne forest.

It is a rather ticklish situation to have a new pilot with you on his first trip over the lines, so I was very explicit in requesting Obie not to pay too much attention to landmarks, but to stick close to me, and that above all, if we got into any trouble, to stay close on my tail and that I would lead him home. I further advised him that if we met any Germans he was to stay out of the fight and watch me, as he probably could learn more from watching my tactics than he could from getting himself shot up.

As it was immediately after the St. Mihiel Drive and just prior to the final Argonne push, there were practically no aerial activities and I felt fairly safe. In fact I didn’t expect to see anything more than a good anti-aircraft barrage. Finally feeling that Obie fully understood the instructions, we took off and made our way leisurely to the Front by way of St. Mihiel. We were flying pretty close up under the clouds at about a thousand meters altitude when we reached St. Mihiel. From time to time, I glanced back to see just where Obie was. Each time I looked back, it seemed that he was closer to me; in fact he was riding so close to my tail that it was a little bit uncomfortable.

Consequently when we arrived at St. Mihiel, the Boches let loose with their anti-aircraft guns and we received a very nice dose of it. I expected, after the barrage, to find Obie at a considerable distance away from me, but upon looking back I discovered that he was in his usual position—right on my tail. This was somewhat unusual, as most new pilots, upon experiencing their first heavy barrage, go through all sorts of aerial acrobatics and stunts and find themselves a considerable distance away from where they should be. I began to feel a little less worried about Obie and proceeded more confidently to Verdun.

We had almost reached Montfaucon when I noticed that the Germans were putting up one of their balloons just to the east. Everything had been going so smoothly that I decided to show Obie how a balloon was shot down. As we approached the Boches apparently divined my purpose, because they immediately started to pull the drachen down.

Prior to leaving the ground I had told Obie that in the event of attacking any balloons or going close to the ground he was to remain up above and watch. I therefore signaled him that I was going to dive and without looking around, did so. The balloon was about halfway down when I opened fire, raking it from end to end with machine-gun fire. Incidentally, I didn’t have any incendiary ammunition in my guns, as we were not supposed to carry it unless specifically ordered to strafe balloons. The air being damp and the envelope of the balloon covered with moisture, there was no apparent effect of burning as a result of my shots. I pulled off and climbed back up a short distance to attack the balloon once more, when to my astonishment I saw Obie giving the sausage a dose of the same medicine.

He pulled up from his attack and dove in again. By this time the balloon was pretty close to the ground. As I opened fire the second time, they let loose at me from the ground with everything they had—machine guns, flaming onions, rockets and what have you. Following my example, Obie also came in for a second dose, and was treated to the same display of fireworks. While we didn’t burn the balloon, we put enough holes in it to keep it on the ground for a couple of days while it was being patched. As I pulled up from my second attack and circled over, Obie climbed up and got into his usual position on my tail. By this time, I was beginning to feel that he was almost a passenger in my own plane and had no more fears that I would lose him, or could even shake him loose if I wanted to.

We had hardly reached our lines before I noticed a barrage of our own antiaircraft. This barrage was in front of me—or in other words, between me and home and would indicate that there were German airplanes in that vicinity. I felt that I would probably run into some kind of a fight before we had proceeded much further. Almost immediately I saw what the cause of the excitement was—a two-seater Halberstadt, which was regulating artillery fire on our troops, The clouds were so low that I didn’t like the looks of the situation because I felt that the two-seater would probably have some chasse protection. However, I couldn’t seem to find them and decided that the two-seater must be done away with. We already had him blocked off from home and so I now endeavored to force him still further back into our lines where the advantage would be much more in my favor. However, the Jerry seemed to think otherwise and headed straight for home. Consequently, I again signaled to Obie to stay up above, and dove in to attack.

Then I put the ship into a steep dive and came up under the tail of the two-seater, slightly from one side. I got in about ten rounds before I fell off, and was swinging around to make another attack when, to my astonishment, again Obie was attacking the two-seater from above. I immediately turned sharply and gave him another burst from below, with the result that the two-seater went down out of control. Meantime, Obie had climbed back up and I was probably 400 meters below him, when two German Fokkers dropped down from the clouds. For a few minutes I was so busily engaged that I had no more than a passing moment to think of Obie. I was hoping that there were no more than two of them, and that he had not been surprised by the attack. I finally got on the tail of one of the Fokkers and was giving him the works when I heard guns and was aware of bullets going by my head and realized that another Boche was immediately on my tail.

It was necessary for me to pull over in order to protect myself. As I did so, I heard the sound of some more guns, and both the Jerry and Obie dove past me hell-bent. We now had the two Dutchmen below us and I swung back to renew hostilities, but by this time I discovered that we had drifted considerably into German territory, and as we had been out about an hour and a half, we only had about enough gas to get us home. Consequently, I dove in front of Obie and signaled him to follow me. Then we turned back home. We arrived without any uneventful happenings other than my mixed feelings and amazement at the show this new pilot had put up.

After each patrol it is customary for a pilot to make out a combat report. I was interested to see what kind of one Obie was going to make of his first flight. While we were in the operations tent preparing to make out these reports, the flight sergeant came in and reported that Lieutenant Myers had eight bullet holes in his plane and that the tail of my ship had so many in it he couldn’t count them. I told Myers to go ahead and make out his report. He advised me that I had better make mine out first, as, while he knew we had shot at a balloon, engaged a two-seater and two Fokkers in combat, he had no idea where the action occurred. This, of course, was no more than was to be expected from a man who is unfamiliar with the territory over which he has flown. I therefore wrote out my report and Obie practically wrote “ditto.”

Later we received confirmation of the victory over the two-Seater, and the fact was also mentioned that we had succeeded in forcing the Germans to pull down one of their balloons. While we didn’t claim a victory over either of the Fokkers, one of them was reported to have crashed just inside the German lines. Obie, in his first show, had proved himself to be decidedly an exception to the average both as to attitude and results.

The 147th Aero Squadron They are, standing, from left to right, 1Lt Oscar B Meyers, 2Lt Arthur H Jones, 2Lt Edward H Clouser (adjutant), 2Lt Ralph A O’Neill (five victories), ILt James A Healy (five victories), 2Lt Charles P Porter, Maj Harold E Hartney, commander 1st Pursuit Group (seven victories), Capt James A Meissner, commander 147th Aero Squadron (eight victories), 1Lt Heywood E Cutting, 1Lt James P Herron, 2Lt Francis M Simonds (five victories), 1Lt George H Brew, 2Lt G Gale Willard, 2Lt Cleveland W McDermott and 1Lt Collier C Olive. Squatting, from left to right, ILt Walter P Muther, 2Lt Frank C Ennis, 2Lt Louis C Simon Jr, 1Lt G A S Robertson, 2Lt Stuart T Purcell, 2Lt Thomas J Abernethy, 1Lt Horace A Anderson (supply officer), 1Lt Josiah P Rowe Jr, 2Lt James C McEvoy and 2Lt John W Havey (armament officer)

Both of these stories are featured in our collection of stories by O.B. Myers—The Black Sheep of Belogue: The Best of O.B. Myers which collects his Black Sheep of Belogue stories featuring Yank Ace Dynamite Pike and his trusted mechanic Splicer Teale and The Mongol Ace stories which pits American pilot Clipper Stark against the seemingly invincible “Mongol Ace”—Janghiz Kaidu, a descendant of Genghis Kahn who has joined the German army. Some great stories!

Editor’s Note: Every month the cover of BATTLE ACES depicts a scene from a real combat actually fought in the War and a real event in the life of a great ace. The series is being painted exclusively for this magazine by Frederick M. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft and was started especially for all of you readers who wrote us requesting photographs of war planes. In this way you not only get pictures of the ships—authentic to the last detail—but you see them in color. Also you can follow famous airmen on many of their most amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of this fine series to be complete.

THE COVER this month might be called “Turn, Turn Who’s Going to Turn.” Of course you know the answer, but just a second before the scene depicted occurred it was a toss-up whether the leading Boche would turn or whether the American ship would be flattened on its nose. However, the Jerry did the turning and all the others did likewise. This tactic of rushing head-on at each other was used by both sides. There were pilots who said that no German could stand up under the terrific strain of an impending collision. Of course this is not true. There must have been Boches who refused to turn, but since no one survived to tell of it, we only hear of the ones who did.

Such a battle of nerves happened to First Lieutenant Robert O. Lindsay of the 139th aero squadron near Bantheville on October 27th, 1918. While on a patrol in company with two others, he met three Jerries with the usual exchange of compliments. The combat took place at three thousand meters and after a sharp combat Lieutenant Lindsay shot down one. While he was maneuvering for position on the tail of another Jerry, he noticed a flock of eight Fokkers coming at him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned, and sped straight at the startled Boches.

The German leader held to his course until he saw that Lindsay was not going to turn and then he veered aside at the last moment. The others got out of the way as best they could. In a flash Lindsay was through the formation. Then he whirled around and dove on the last Fokker which, after the first burst, rolled on its back and started the long but swift plunge into eternity. Lindsay then streaked for home as the others in his patrol had done long before. The Jerries got themselves organized and searched an empty sky for the nervy Yank.

On the cover you see Lindsay halfway through the formation and seeing this you are inclined to say that the chances of a collision were remote. But there is an element you might not have taken into consideration—speed. We’ll say Lieutenant Lindsay was traveling over 125 m.p.h. and the Boches at the same speed. That would mean the Jerries were approaching Lindsay at well over 250 m.p.h. At that rate, it doesn’t take long for an object to pass a given point; and so, although the farthest planes from Lindsay seem a long way off, he actually grazed them in passing, for it took only the wink of an eye to close the distance between them.

For this exploit Lieutenant Lindsay won the Distinguished Service Order.

No doubt you will recognize the plane in the foreground as an S.E.5. This was not the type of plane flown by the 139th squadron at that time. In our series, we don’t always show the machines that we actually used in the incidents pictured, because frequently they were the same type, and one of our aims is to give you pictures of every one of the machines. We have used the S.E.5. before in a cover, but have not shown a drawing of it, therefore we include the drawing this month. The Fokker D.7 will be a feature on the December issue.

“The S.E.5 and Lt. Lindsay” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (October 1931)

No, not of Age of Aces Books, but of Popular Publication’s Dare-Devil Aces magazine! It was 83 years ago today that the first issue of Dare-Devil Aces hit the stands.

Popular Publications had been publishing for a few months over a year, and their Battle Aces magazine was doing well. Steeger had been able to get some of the best aviation writers out there for Battle Aces, so why not start up a sister mag—or in this case, a big brother magazine.

Ad for the first issue of Dare-Devil Aces from the February 1932 issue of Battle Aces.

The Three Mosquitoes led off the issue with “The Night Monster.” Steeger had just rustled Oppenheim into the Popular fold, with the Three Mosquitoes first appearance being the previous month’s issue of Battle Aces! Here the Mosquitoes take on a dragon-like menace that has been terrorizing the Allied front lines. Entire armies fell before it—this dragonlike horror with flame-pointed breath and glimmering eyes. But there were three who dared challenge it—dared follow it down a sky trail of blood.

Next up is a short story by the incomparable O.B. Myers, “The Suicide Ace”—Those Fokkers gloated as they buzzed around their prey; they didn’t know he was of the already lost—that he fought not to escape but to hold them off for 14 minutes—14 minutes of living death.

Coming in next was “The Sky Killers” by Harold F. Cruickshank. Straight into that poison-gas barrage those two gutty Spads plunged, braving a hideous death in a mad scheme that meant victory or defeat for the Allies.

Steuart M. Emery was next to the deadline with “The Devil’s Flying Armada.” “Rescue Major Revel from the Boche prison camp!” That was the order that sent Joe and his buddy into peril skies on the most amazing adventure a pair of fighting fools ever tackled.”

“The Skeleton Flight” by William E. Poindexter was fifth in the flight. For weeks the ghost ship had patroled Allied skies. Now two Yanks were taking up the trail—determined to answer the grizly challenge with their life’s blood.

And flying in the safety position was Frederick M. Blakeslee with his Story Behind the Cover of a gallant British squadron that staged one of the most daring air raids of the war—”Revenge Bombs.”

Dare-Devil Aces would go on to be Popular’s longest running aviation title. In the early years of publication Steeger packed each issue full of every 14 year old boy’s favorite authors and series characters. There was Ralph Oppenheim’s Three Mosquitoes, Robert J. Hogan’s Red Falcon and later Smoke Wade, Harold Cruickshank’s Sky Devil, Donald E. Keyhoe’s Vanished Legion and The Jailbird Flight, Steve Fisher’s Captain Babface, C.M. Miller’s The Rattlesnake Patrol and Chinese Brady, as well as O.B. Myers and R. Sidney Bowen!

Editor’s Note: Every month the cover of BATTLE ACES depicts a scene from a real combat actually fought in the War and a real event in the life of a great ace. The series is being painted exclusively for this magazine by Frederick M. Blakeslee, well known artist and authority on aircraft and was started especially for all of you readers who wrote in asking for photographs of war planes. In this way not only do you get pictures of the ships—authentic to the last detail—but you see them in color. Also you can follow famous airmen on many of their most amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of this fine series to be complete.

THE BEST way to tell the story of this month’s cover is in the words of the citation. The pilot was First Lieutenant Stirling C. Alexander of the 99th air squadron and the incident pictured happened in the region of Landres-et-St. Georges, on October 6th, 1918. Here it is.

“He, with Lieutenant Atwater, observer, while on a photographic mission, was forced back by seven enemy pursuit planes. A few minutes later he returned over the lines and while deep in enemy territory was cut off by twelve enemy planes (Pfaltz scouts). He maneuvered his plane to give battle and so effectively managed the machine that he, with his observer, was able to destroy one and force the others to withdraw. With his observer severely wounded, he managed to bring his plane safely back to his own aerodrome with his mission completed.”

Read over the last four words of the citation, and remember—he had twelve Boches to fight! Not three or four, which would have been plenty, but twelve swift pursuit ships that could fly circles around the, comparatively speaking, lumbering reconnaissance ship. With those odds against him he completed his mission. A real pilot!

It is hard to say who had the most important job, the combat pilot, or the reconnaissance pilot, but without any question the reconnaissance pilot had the hardest job. Where the combat pilot could pull out of a fight if anything went wrong, and, due to the speed of his ship, have a fair chance of getting away, the reconnaissance pilot in his slower ship had to rely on his observer’s aim. For him it was a case of fighting it out as best he could. If his observer was shot, or his guns jammed—well, it was just too bad.

The reconnaissance pilot’s work consisted of observing troop movements, often deep in enemy territory; photographing, sometimes at low altitudes; special missions or spy planting (a job no one wanted); artillery direction and, when necessity arose, of fighting his way home.

To fly on such a mission against such overwhelming odds was no mean feat.

The combat pilots of both sides were always on the lookout for the two-place ships, as they were considered cold meat for two or more fighting planes. There is only one case on record where a reconnaissance ship was unmolested. Even archie ignored this particular plane. Combat pilots would sight it from a distance and dive in to attack, but upon recognizing it, would veer off with a smile and look for victims elsewhere.

The ship was a German and was called “The Flying Pig.” It used to come out over the lines every afternoon in the same place, fly up and down and then go home. It never did any harm as far as could be observed and from the lumbering and clumsy way it was flown it derived its name. It was believed to be piloted by an old woman. When a combat ship approached too near, its attempts to escape were pathetic. It was a point of honor among Allied pilots never to harm it. One day, however, a new pilot spied it and dove to the attack. He had heard of this particular ship, and on coming close recognized it and zoomed away. No combat ship had ever come as close as this and the poor “Pig” nearly turned itself inside out getting to safety. Since it never appeared again, it was assumed that the pilot died of fright.

Now let us consider the Boche ship pictured on the cover. It is a Pfaltz scout DIII. Lieutenant Bert Hall of the French army had several battles with Pfaltz scouts and has this to say about them. “The new German Pfaltz single-place ships are damned good. They are as fast as hell and maneuver beautifully.”

The first ship of this type landed in the British lines near Bonnieul, on February 26th, 1918. It is first cousin to the Albatros and is like that ship in many ways. To quote from the report of the first machine captured—”It is light in construction and clean-cut in design, and from the great amount of care that has been taken to keep the fuselage of very good streamline shape, and so free from irregularities, it appears to be the result of a serious attempt to produce a scout machine with good performance. It is powered with a 160 h.p. Mercédés engine. Two Spandau guns fire through the propeller. Its speed at ten thousand feet is 102½ m.p.h. and at fifteen thousand feet, 91½ m.p.h. The estimated absolute ceiling is seventeen thousand feet.

“The machine is stable laterally and un-stable directionally and longitudinally. It tends to turn to the left in flight, is not tiring to fly and is normally easy to land.”

The Germans succeeded in producing a beautiful ship at all events, and one that did a great deal of damage. The faults of the DIII were corrected in a new modle, but it never appeared at the Front as the war ended before it could be brought up. Those who saw it after the Armistice said it was beter looking that the DIII, and if looks meant anything, a ship not to pick a fight wit.

“The Pfaltz Scouts and Lieutenant Alexander” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (September 1931)

The original painting for this month’s cover was up for auction in 2012 by Heritage Auctions. They listed it as “The Jailbird Flight, Battle Aces pulp cover, September 1931.” Oil on canvas, it measures 30¼” by 21¼” and was initialed—fmb—by Blakeslee in the lower left. It’s condition reported as: “In-painting from previous frame abrasions visble along the right extreme edge; very light surface grime in the white painted areas; stretcher creases on the upper and right edges faintly visible; area of craquelure in the upper right corner; otherwise in very good condition. Framed to an overall size of 36¾ x 28 inches.” They estimated it would sell for between $3,000 and $5,000, but in the end sold for $2,250.

Editor’s Note: Every month the cover of BATTLE ACES depicts a scene from a real combat actually fought in the War and a real event in the life of a great ace. The series is being painted exclusively for this magazine by Frederick M. Blakeslee, well-known artist and authority on aircraft and was started especially for all of you readers who wrote us requesting photographs of war planes. In this way you not only get pictures of the ships—authentic to the last detail—but you see them in color. Also you can follow famous airmen on many of their most amazing adventures and feel the same thrills of battle they felt. Be sure to save these covers if you want your collection of this fine series to be complete.

THE COVER this month tells one of the best stories of the War, and that’s saying a lot, because it’s hard to find one that isn’t good. It shows First Lieutenant William C. Potter winning his Distinguished Service Cross—a decoration well earned, as you shall see.

A formation of eight reconnaissance machines, when on a daylight bombing mission in the vicinity of Dun-sur-Meuse, on September 26th, 1918, was attacked by a force of enemy planes three times its number. Now twenty-four Jerries in one formation is a whale of a formation, believe me. Go out some nice clear morning, point your finger at twenty-four places in the sky, and you’ll get some idea of the amount of ammunition floating about that September day.

All hell broke loose when the two formations met. Potter, with his observer, was in the thick of it, and the Jerries had good cause to remember him that day. The fight had been on only a few moments when Potter noticed that his leader’s plane was pulling away from the battle toward Germany, and that the pilot was making desperate efforts to control the machine. The observer’s guns were inactive. Here was a bit of cold meat for the Boche flyers. They weren’t long in realizing it. A half dozen or more left the dogfight and tore in to finish the Yank off, but they hadn’t reckoned with Potter. He also left the fight, and, “under conditions demanding greatest courage and determination flew in close so as to protect him from the rear.”

He beat off the immediate attack on his leader, but by this time they were both well over Germany. The Allied ships had disappeared, and the disabled plane showed no indication of turning. Potter of course knew that something was desperately wrong. The observer was invisible—gone overboard perhaps—but why didn’t the pilot turn? Was he lost? Couldn’t he turn? That was it! The meaning of the pilot’s frantic signaling at last became clear. He couldn’t turn! For some reason the controls were jammed.

Well, he couldn’t leave a helpless comrade to the mercy of the Fokkers, so with renewed energy he fought on, determined to protect his leader to the last drop of blood or gas. By now they were deep in enemy territory and getting deeper every second. Chances of regaining their own airdrome were fast decreasing. The fight raged furiously, the only advantage on the side of the Americans being the Jerries’ inability to separate them, and the great number of German ships which had to watch each other to avoid collision.

Conditions were getting desperate, when suddenly, to Potter’s relief, the leader made a turn about, headed at last for home. Lieutenant Potter turned with him. Regaining his position he started to fight his way toward Allied territory, now miles ahead.

They had a long distance to go, gas was getting low and the ships were badly shot. But the planes continued to fly, and as long as the ammunition held out, the Yanks knew they now had a chance.

The frustrated Boche buzzed after them like a swarm of angry bees. Soon the two speeding planes were back over the lines where the Jerries decided to depart, helped in their decision by the presence of a few Allied wasps. The two tired pilots landed their riddled machines on their own airdrome on the last drop of gas.

It was found that the leader had been unable to turn because his observer had been killed early in the fight, and in falling had jammed the controls. It was only due to the skilled protection afforded by Lieutenant Potter that he had been given an opportunity to clear the jam.

The two ships pictured are not the machines that figured in this experience; we show these because they are more famous than the ones actually used. They are R.E.8’s, also known as the Harry Tate, a British experimental machine, hence the letters R.E.

First produced in 1912, the R.E. had a Beardmore 120 h.p. engine. It gave some good climbs, but being somewhat troublesome to land, was not built in quantities and was more or less obsolete during 1918. Later developments of the type produced in 1914-15-16, showed greater speed and were used in active service for certain specific purposes. The R.E.8, being the eighth in the series, was used during the later period of the war. It resembled somewhat the B.E.’s, known as “Quirks”—two guns fired through the propeller, that was very often four-bladed, and one gun on a swivel in the observer’s cockpit. It had an R.A.F. 4A, 150 h.p. engine; its weight was 2,680 lbs.; speed at 5,000 feet, 103 m.p.h., and at 10,000 feet, 96 m.p.h. It could climb to 5,000 ft. in 11 minutes, 25 seconds, and to 10,000 ft. in 29 minutes, 5 seconds. It’s absolute ceiling was 17,000 ft. Besides reconnaissance work, it could give a very good account of itself in a fight.

“The R.E.8’s and Lieutenant Potter” by Frederick M. Blakeslee (August 1931)

Next week the cover of BATTLE ACES will show a Pfaltz, attacking a D.H.9 which First Lieutenant S.C. Alexander of the 99th Aero Squadron is piloting. The OCTOBER number will show First Lieutenant R.O. Linsay in an S.E.5 fighting a flock of Fokkers. Others in the series will be announced later. The present cover is the third in the series. Last month we featured the B.E. Fighter, and the cover of the June issue showed a flight of S.E.’s attacking a Boche balloon.

When the publishers of G-8 and His Battle Aces announced the formation of a G‑8 Club in the seventh issue (April 1934), G-8 promised that “this club is going to be different from any other magazine club in the country. It will be a secret organization.” So successful was the club that it persisted throughout the ten-year run of the magazine; So successful was the pledge of secrecy that NO evidence of its membership has turned up in the last 75 years. Until now.

Admittedly, proof of the club outside of the monthly editor’s column, “G-8 Speaks,” is rare. As G-8 explained: “There will be no cards — no buttons — no emblem of any kind. The only ones who know they are members will be the members themselves. Just as the Secret Service is run. Get it?”

But even though individual members did not receive identifying papers from the magazine, local chapters of five or more kids did, in the form of a G-8 Club Charter. In order to form a chapter of the G-8 Club in your community all you needed to do was find four friends who also bought G-8 every month, and mail in five club coupons from the same issue. (Some chapters were formed by individuals in different communities connecting through the G-8 letters column.) The June issue reported that the very first chapter of the G-8 Club mailed their coupons on February 28th — actually a day before the street date of the April issue that announced it.

Qualifying clubs received a charter, a small (7″x5″) but distinguished-looking two-color certificate with a blank for the name of the chapter (ideally to be named after a local bird) and “signed” by G-8. In addition they received the Rules and Secret Orders for the Operation of the G-8 Club Chapters a tri-fold brochure (5″x7″ folded) that consisted of one page detailing the meeting rules (including an oath) and two pages describing the club’s SECRET CODE, none of which was ever reprinted in the magazine.

Members of the G-8 Club apparently took their secrets all the way to the grave or the nursing home, because neither of these giveaways had ever been documented by collectors or pulp historians until two weeks ago, when one example of each turned up at auction. The only other known G-8 premium is equally rare …

G-8 and His Battle Aces didn’t offer any other premiums for many years following the launch of the club. Then, in the November 1939 issue, came the “Special Announcement” of the G-8 Battle Aces Club Wings — silver metal wings with a blue enamelled shield in the center, measuring 1.25″ wide. As the announcement makes clear, this is not for the secretive G-8 Club (remember, that would blow your cover) but a separate, “affiliated” Battle Aces Club.

Strangely, after this “Special Announcement” there was no mention of the badge again until the April 1941 issue, when the wings coupon became a staple of the club section of the magazine through October 1942. The wings offer reappeared for two months in the final year of G-8, with a interesting variation: golden wings. Only one example of the G-8 Wings has ever turned up and yet it sold at auction in 2007 for only $800. Like the Spider Ring, the G-8 wings were produced by Uncas Manufacturing Co. of Providence, Rhode Island, and bear the company stamp of a “U” with an arrow through it.

Silver Wings Coupon

Gold Wings Coupon

Comparison of G-8 wings with Shadow & Doc badges and (repro) Spider Ring