A Day Over the Lines

In the language of the Corps, “there was something doing,” for from dawn till dark machines had been coming and going on the aerodrome almost without a break; in fact, it was “some day.”

Just as the first grey streaks of dawn crept over the horizon the roar of a couple of hostile aircraft patrol machines taking off woke an otherwise peaceful camp. An hour later the orderly officer was bustling round two more machines, which were to leave on the early morning reconnaissance of the country behind the actual scene of operations and along the Turkish lines of communication, to search for any signs of fresh concentrations or reinforcements being hurried up.

At two hour intervals machines left in couples to patrol above our lines and prevent any possibility of Boche machines sneaking over, either to watch the movements of our troops or to bomb them; for, during a stunt, it was just as important for us to keep the Hun blind as to keep our own eyes well skinned.

To me fell the first patrol, and a call from the Orderly Officer at 3.30 a.m. was not received with the utmost courtesy. After hot tea and toast by candle light, we scrambled into warm leather coats, woollen-lined boots, gloves and helmets, and climbed aboard. By the time I had inspected my guns and the usual contents of the cockpit, the engine was ticking over and we were ready to start. It was still dark enough, as we took off, for the pilot to need all his lamps alight to see the various instruments, and, as we climbed, the crisp morning air set our blood tingling with the joy of living. When above the clouds at about 8000 feet the first rays of the rising sun shot across the sky, and very shortly the clouds, which until then had been snowy white, were bathed in a crimson glow that held us spell-bound with its beauty. Primarily, the crests of those billowy mists were tipped as with a wand of fire whilst, as we ascended into space and the sun gradually rose above the horizon, the colour spread over that sea of cloud until it appeared like a stupendous stream of lava belched forth from some volcano which, after years of quiescence, had suddenly burst into activity.

GOT HIM COLDBy Lieut. O. H. Coulson

I have seen many sunrises under varying conditions, sunrises at whose beauty I marvelled, but never before had I witnessed anything that could come within coo-ee of the riotous blaze of colour that lay spread beneath us, covering the Holy Land, as it were, with a cloth of gold. It disappeared from view, however, all too soon, for, as the sun gained in strength and we in height, the colour slowly faded from fiery brilliance to a delicate pink until, finally, the clouds once again showed up in all their glistening purity.

It seemed impossible to realize, whilst nature was all aglow beneath us, that war was being waged with all its relentless cruelty, that guns were sending forth their messengers of death and pain, and, above all, that we, who had been privileged to witness the glory of God’s handiwork, were scanning the heavens for something in the way of Hun airmen to kill. To me it seemed a sacrilege that, on such a glorious day, hate should be animating the hearts of men, and that I should be a willing agent, eager for an opportunity of sending a fellow-mortal crashing to earth and death. The Hun, however, evidently deeming discretion the better part of valour, did not put in an appearance, and when, after three hours’ cruising up and down the lines, we returned to the aerodrome, I believe I was pleased that I had not been, by force of circumstances, compelled to share in sending some creature to meet his Maker.

So, throughout the day, the work went on, and, as a Hun “bus” was reported to have bombed our troops in the early morning, every one of our machines thereafter carried four bombs to drop on any suitable target that offered itself.

Whilst on afternoon reconnaissance, the observer located a large body of enemy troops, and, immediately on receipt of his report, a bomb raid was ordered on which every available machine was to be sent. Luckily, I was detailed for escort duty, and it was a pleasant experience to watch the bombing machines assembling overhead, as they arrived from the differentaerodromes, and took up the allotted formation. About 5 p.m. the leader fired his light and thirty machines, like a flock of great birds, set off on their journey to play havoc with our old friend, the Turk. After dropping the bombs, all machines swooped down on the troops and used their spare machine gun ammunition in shooting them up and generally giving them a devil of a time.

All good things come to an end, and, finally, we set out for home, which we reached just as the sun, a ball of fire, was sinking to rest. The machines, glistening white in the reflected sunlight, resembled a flock of swans coming home, as, in slow, stately circles, one by one, they glided to earth. The Mediterranean, as calm and unruffled as a mill-pond, reflected the glory of the sun until its surface glowed like a sheet of burnished gold. By the time we, as escort, had seen the last of our charges land in safety and commenced our own descent, the sun was well below the skyline, and the narrow ribbon of the pink afterglow that skirted the horizon was all that remained to remind us of the sun and its glory.

H. BOWDEN FLETCHER.

THE END OF THE SCRAPBy Lieut. O. H. Coulson

TURKISH PRISONERS AT ES SALT

JERICHO

NAZARETH FROM THE AIR

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