I hated these long bomb raids, for the fear of recapture was always on me whilst I was over enemy territory. My nerves had suffered from the events of the previous three years, and it had been only by a great effort of will that I had forced myself to take part in expeditions far over the lines. Perhaps the majority of men are more afraid of being afraid than of anything else--and it may have been partly for this reason, but mainly for another more weighty reason, that I found myself alone in an aeroplane on the wrong side of the Dead Sea. However, in ten minutes we would cross the mountains and the Dead Sea, and be over comparatively friendly territory. I say "comparatively," because it was always a matter of some uncertainty whether the temptation to murder you and steal your kit would overstrain the good wishes of our noble allies. Through the clouds on my left I had just caught a glimpse of the ancient city of El Karak, when my engine sputtered badly, picked up again, and then banged and sputtered once more and half stopped. Owing to the clouds we were flying rather low, and would not cross the hills ahead by more than 1000 feet or so. I checked the instruments and pressure, closed and then slowly opened the throttle, dived with the throttle opened; but all to no purpose, for the engine banged and backfired, and we lost height and revolutions in an alarming way. It was an airlock or water in the petrol, and must be given time to clear itself. How I longed for a little more height. It seemed that the engine might pick up again at any moment, because, for a few seconds, it would give full power and then cut out again completely. Then I found myself a few feet from the ground, and had to land willy-nilly. The place was a ploughed field, almost flat and comparatively free from boulders. We did not sink in very much, but unfortunately the wheels came to rest in a little ditch a few inches deep.
For a moment or two I sat in the machine altering the throttle, for the engine had not completely stopped. Then I heard a roar, and the Bristol fighter came by, flying a few feet from the ground, and I could see the observer waving to me. I jumped out and tried to wave them away. It was possible, but risky, for a machine to land and get off from that ground, and, with the hope that my engine would pick up again, I did not think the risk was justifiable. However, they had no intention of leaving me in the lurch, and after another turn round landed on the plough about 50 yards away. I got into my machine once more, and as they ran across towards me my engine started once more to give its full power; but I saw that I should have great difficulty in getting out of the ditch. When they came up I recognized them as two most stout-hearted Australians, Captain Austin and Lieutenant Lee, who had both gained the Military Cross, and made a considerable reputation for themselves on the Palestine front. They hauled on the machine whilst I roared the engine. All in vain, however; we could not shift her. I shouted to them that we must set this plane on fire and try to get away on theirs. "Ours is useless," they answered. "We broke a wheel on a boulder in landing." "Is it quite hopeless?" I said. "Yes, quite."