On second thought I withdraw that word Hun in relation to the German airman; I continue to apply it with all the vehemence I can muster to the crews of a baby-killer Zeppelin, but one’s adversary in Albatross or Halberstadt is an adversary worthy of the name. Here, almost alone in all phases of modern warfare, remains the personal touch. Up there in the awful solitude of space two human beings pit their brains and courage one against the other, with death each moment before the eyes of both. It is a strange turn of things that the latest development of modern science has brought about a revival of medieval chivalry, the single combat.
I have mentioned the freemasonry of the air. Any airman who has seen any fighting could give you countless instances of it. Your German airman treats you as an honorable foe, and you treat him as one. That constantly recurring phrase, “An aeroplane was forced to descend and its two occupants taken prisoners,” means that those prisoners, whether Germans or English, were treated honorably, even ceremoniously. A wounded aviator landing in the enemy’s lines is lifted from his seat with every care, and is almost invariably saluted. I have known on five separate occasions airmen fly over the enemy simply to drop the personal belongings and effects of the men whom, in a terrific mid-air struggle, they have succeeded in sending crashing to earth and death. German airmen have done the same, and seen to it that his comrades should receive the cigarette case or bundle of personal papers of a fallen foe.
One of the most dramatic incidents of this drab war was the dropping of a wreath from an English aeroplane in honor of the dead hero of the German Air Service, Immelmann.
An airman likes an opponent worthy of his mettle; he likes even chances and the prospect of a good fight. I shall always remember the disgust at a certain war aerodrome recently. The approach of a Zepp had been reported, and all was excitement. Aeroplanes were dragged from their hangars, and off they went at lightning speed. Soon the return. Disgust was on every one’s face. “We thought there was going to be some real fun,” was the general grumble. “Zepp? Not a bit of it; only a sausage balloon.”
