FLIGHT COMMANDER
Things had definitely moved forward for Mannock over the summer. Gone now were any thoughts about his ability as a fighting pilot, and if indeed there was anything the matter with his sight, this had either been surmounted by him, was something that has been exaggerated, or it came and went and did not cause him too much trouble.
He was also proving a good and popular flight leader. Perhaps being that much older than most of the squadron pilots gave him that extra maturity which in turn made it more likely that a man with his outlook, and now much combat experience, would make it his business to help, guide and protect his men as much as possible. He was always eager to engage the enemy, but in a calculated way. Maximum damage for minimal risk.
By this time, Mannock had been credited with nine victories, the same total he himself noted in a letter home. Of these, four had been destroyed, including those two brought down on the Allied side, and five ‘out of control’.
Maclanachan flew with Mannock mid-afternoon of 18 August, and they chased a DFW two-seater over Lens and then lost it in cloud, but it was now flying east and away from the front. Two days later Mannock made a good job of virtually writing off Nieuport B3554. He took off from Bruay at 14.45 to fly over to Mazingarbe, but as he did so ten minutes later, overshot the field and ran into a haystack. Although he was unhurt, the Nieuport suffered the following damage: top main planes, fuselage and undercarriage strained, wheel axle bent, propeller and gun mounting smashed, engine mount broken and a section of the fuselage badly twisted.
There were several actions on 22 August. Mannock led an OP south of La Bassée between 05.10 and 06.15, with Maclanachan, Harrison, Tudhope and Kennedy behind him. They saw a two-seater east of Lens trying to sneak over to the British side of the lines. Mannock loosed-off 20 rounds at it as it turned rapidly for home, firing off a red and green light, no doubt hoping to confuse the attackers into thinking it was a British machine. They were back on the ground for just 45 minutes before the same five were going out again at 07.00 for a seventy-minute OP between La Bassée and Vitry, these efforts in order to keep German observation machines from taking photographs or directing artillery fire. The third sortie came in the late afternoon.
I make no excuse for again using here words from another Maclanachan article he wrote for Popular Flying (July 1935 issue), under the heading of ‘Mannock’s Way’, that concerned this third patrol. With nobody now to interview about events that occurred in WW1 we can only refer to earlier written words by such men as Maclanachan, who was in any event a keen observer of men and events.
‘On a beautiful summer evening in August 1917, just before dinner, Mannock and Padre Keymer were indulging in one of their usual arguments in 40 Squadron’s Mess at Bruay.
‘The Squadron had steadily been losing young pilots and our brave old Padre was in a despondent mood. His wealth of kindliness and quiet courage rebelled at the deaths of so many young men and filled him with the desire to join the fighting forces himself. Mannock was opposing him.
‘“My dear Padre, there are enough of us here to do the fighting. We’ve got the Huns so well “under” we have to go and dig ’em out. And we can keep them there too. We need the influence of good men like you behind the lines here – particularly over the younger fellows. Yours is really a greater work than fighting and – with all due respect to your courage and your spirit – how old are you? How do you think you would fare as a fighting pilot?”
‘I had often heard them arguing in this strain, for every time the Padre heard of the death of one of his protégés his bitterness welled over.
‘Knowing that the argument would only finish by Mannock attacking the Padre on religious grounds, and threatening to defrock him, I went over to the piano, just behind Mick, opened the cover quietly and struck a sharp chord. Mannock jumped.
‘Although supposed to be the fittest men in the army, it was extraordinary the instantaneous reacting a fighting pilot would show on hearing a sudden and unexpected burst of noise. Mannock himself often “put the wind-up” the mess by hitting the wooden walls of the hut with a stone, or using his powerful lungs to imitate an Archie burst, or the tat-tat-tat of a machine gun. Besides, there was the uncanny superstition in the Squadron that any pilot who played the piano was doomed.
‘“God Almighty,” Mannock jumped up, “I’ll,__ I’ll __” He glared at me and then at the Padre.
‘“Excuse me, Padre,” he said apologetically, “that wasn’t blasphemy, it was a real prayer. There’s Mac playing that confounded thing – and Kennedy did it the other night. Why doesn’t Tilney give it away or blow it up?” He turned to me. “You needn’t laugh. I don’t want to lose the lot of you.”
‘I remembered something Kennedy had told me two or three nights previously. “Did Ken play it?” I asked. Mick nodded.
‘“He accompanied Mick until we stopped him. I’m not superstitious,” observed the Padre, “but there certainly seems to be something sinister about that piano. You knew it – then why did you touch it?”
‘“Yes I know but – it’s really queer. The other night Ken and I were sleeping at Mazingarbe and he told me he had a hunch that he wouldn’t last more than two or three days.”
‘They were both very serious and as nothing depressed me more than sentiment and superstition, I turned round and struck a few more chords on the piano. Mannock came over threateningly. “If you don’t stop that I’ll knock ___”
‘“Shut up you two,” the Padre broke in abruptly, and we noticed that Kennedy, followed by several others, was entering the Mess. As it was such a lovely evening, everyone had changed into slacks.
‘“What about a drink, Mac?” someone asked, and as I was in charge of the bar, I, followed by Kennedy, retired to mix our renowned “Lady Killer” cocktails. Silently he watched me measuring the ingredients, then, when I was pouring out the drinks, he said quietly. “Thank God it’s all over for today, Mac. I haven’t been able to get that feeling out of my mind.” I told him I was glad too. He was a close friend, and as the subject was distasteful, I gave him one tray of drinks and followed him into the Mess with another. We were helping ourselves when Major Tilney, the CO, hurried into the Mess.
‘“Blast them!” he burst out. “Some fool of an observer has reported that Droignies aerodrome is deserted, and we’ve got to corroborate the report to-night.” As a CO, Major Tilney was considerate. We were tired. Our work that month had included a balloon strafe on the 10th, a hectic day during the attack on Lens on the 15th, and almost incessant flying. He looked round the mess, and continued. “It’s a dirty job – as if it matters whether we find out to-night or to-morrow morning. I’ve tried to put it off, but they say they must know before dark – looks like a job for you Mac. You know those aerodromes around Douai.
‘“All right, Sir,” I replied. “Let’s have our drinks first.” Mannock expostulated. “But look here Major, Droignies is just behind Douai; we can’t let Mac go over there alone at this time – all low-flying Huns will be after him. What about an escort?” And, without waiting to hear what the CO had to say he turned round to the others: “Who’ll come! It’ll be a damned fine lark.”
‘Hall jumped up. “That’s the idea. Let’s all be in it.” Steve Godfrey, Crole and Harrison acquiesced, but Major Tilney remonstrated. “Look here Mick, we’ll leave it to Mac. Would you rather go alone or with an escort?” he asked me. “Alone,” I replied.
‘Both Mannock and Hall insisted that it was unfair to put the question in that way, as I could only give the one answer, and that way, as the pilots from the five aerodromes round Douai would have a chance to take off to intercept a low flying machine, I should have little chance of getting back. I thought it was making a mountain out of a mole-hill, but Mick clinched the argument by saying that as I was going anyway, it would not matter to me whether or not the rest of the Squadron used me as bait.
Lieutenant R N Hall MC, 40 Squadron, from South Africa.
‘With his usual enthusiasm for special stunts Mannock wanted to take the whole Squadron to raid the German aerodromes, but Tilney wisely decreed that the Flight that was to take morning patrol should stay behind. He was thinking of the mechanics, many of whom would probably have to be up all night working on our machines in preparation for the next morning.
‘We made our plans hurriedly. Mannock was to lead the first flight, while the second was to follow about a thousand feet above him. I was to contour chase right over to Douai and then, when I had got corroboration, to climb up underneath the formation.
‘Forgetting that the others intended getting their height before crossing the lines, I took off immediately they had assembled over the aerodrome. Like the others, I had changed into slacks for dinner, and as flying close to the ground always made our engines uncomfortably hot, I wore only a light raincoat and no flying cap. As a precaution, in case of a forced landing on the German side of the lines, my RFC cap and chequebook were in my pocket.
‘Flying between ten and twenty feet from the ground I crossed the front line to the east of Vimy, where to my great relief, the machine gun fire that met me was not nearly so bad as it had been on the morning of the balloon strafe. There were only about ten seconds of real firing from the trenches before my machine was skimming over green clover fields. As usually happened, the lull brought a feeling of peace and security – the worst was over, and, except for the immaculate Hindenburg-Drocourt trenches, there was little sign of the war beyond two or three miles from the front line. In passing over a peaceful village I could see women moving about in the road and grey-clad German soldiers standing about in groups.
‘As I was flying at less than a hundred feet from the ground the Archie gunners could not have hit me, even if they had been aware of my presence. My chief danger lay in meeting low flying scouts or of someone telephoning ahead to the aerodromes, but to my relief I did not see any machines until I was approaching Douai when I spotted five fighters to the north at about five or six thousand feet. Looking round to ascertain Mannock’s position I observed a few specks amidst clouds of Archie bursts, to the north-west, while to the south-east was another large flight, obviously German, as they were flying towards Douai and were losing height.
‘On reaching my objective I flew round the aerodrome at two or three feet, but, except for a few German soldiers, who might have been a guard, there was no sign of occupation by aeroplanes. The hangars were shut up. The Germans were running to the easternmost hangar and, debating as to whether or not I should spend ammunition on them or save it for the inevitable ‘scrap’ that was about to take place, I decided to keep my drums intact and to climb towards the escort.
‘My machine had reached five thousand feet when Mannock attacked the enemy flight that had been approaching from the south-west and was now directly above me. Within a few seconds the air was full of whirling, stunting machines. From the struggling mass, one dropped in the unmistakeable uncontrolled spin. It was a German Albatros.
‘Zooming quickly as I let down my double Lewis gun in order to fire up into any of the Germans that got above me, I had almost gained their level when, to my horror, I saw one of our own Nieuports careering downwards in a mad dive, streaks of smoke issuing from behind it, while the sun vividly lit up the aluminium-painted fuselage and red-white-and-blue circles. There was another Albatros above me, circling round feverishly. As I fired a burst from both guns right into the front of the fuselage, the first Archie shells exploded in our midst. The German batteries at the front had got our range and bombarded us regardless of whether their shells were hitting friend or foe. Added to the anxiety of being shot at by machine guns were the two more terrifying dangers of meeting an Archie shell, or crashing into another machine.
‘In the most intense part of the fight, my machine passed right across Mannock’s tail, only a few feet above him. I could see that his eye was glued to his Aldis sight, aiming at an Albatros, but that inexplicable something which warned seasoned pilots of the proximity of another machine, made him turn his head abruptly, to realise in a fraction of a second that mine was a friendly machine. I shall never forget the scared expression on his face as he instinctively cowered.
‘Turning round into the scrap again, I succeeded in getting on the tail of another German, but by side-slipping and diving he prevented me from getting my guns to bear on him. After following him down to a thousand feet, I gave up the attempt and, on turning westward, discovered that my Nieuport was again alone. In the distance a long trail of Archie bursts indicated the course of Mannock’s return flight.
‘Again I felt lonely. I was hot, tired and disgruntled – I had seen one of our machines going down – was it Kennedy’s? Mannock had always declared that there was no merit in bringing down two Germans if we lost one of our own good pilots.
‘Dreading the sound of more machine guns, I flew towards the lines, climbing steadily and zig-zagging to mislead the Archie gunners. On reaching Oppy another Nieuport joined me, Crole’s, and we flew together home to our aerodrome at Bruay. When my machine stopped on the ground Mannock ran out.
‘“Thank God you’re safe old boy! Where’s Ken? I thought you had gone too.” I asked him who was missing. “Only Ken,” he said mournfully. “I saw him going down.”
‘Then I knew that, after what I had also seen, we should never see Kennedy again. The remainder of the flights were gathered round the Orderly Room, filling in combat reports and arguing.
‘Godfrey and Hall, both valiant scrappers, declared that Mick had given them no chance to close-in before he attacked and that had he manoeuvred properly their Flight could have headed-off the Germans. Mannock rounded on them, saying that the Albatroses were losing height and would have got away, and that, if the upper flight had taken advantage of the extra height, they could have been in the thick of the scrap. “And besides,” he added, “it was only a matter of a few seconds before they would have seen Mac. Seven of them. I hold back? Not bloody likely.”
‘Amid the excitement I filled in my combat report, accurately stating the condition in which I had found the German aerodrome. Everyone else had forgotten the object of the expedition. We were able to claim several victories, but to Mannock and myself these counted as nothing – we had lost our friend.
‘Poor old Ken. He had been in all our scraps that month, had gone over with me on the balloon strafe. Mannock, Kennedy and I had discovered a secret rendezvous in Béthune where we frequently had tea together. Kennedy’s was the first serious loss the Flight had suffered since Mannock took command and Mannock felt his death keenly.’
Although Mac had seen that Albatros going down seemingly out of control, no confirmation was allowed to Mannock, and there is no indication that a second Albatros was credited to the Squadron either. Mannock had fired into his Albatros from 25 yards range and saw it going down in a spiral, but he was too busy to watch it further. Lieutenant Harry Alexander Taylor Kennedy, aged 22, came from Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. He had previously served with the Canadian Infantry. He lies in Cabaret-Rouge Cemetery, France.
Only one Nieuport Scout was claimed by a German pilot late in the day, and that by Leutnant R Wendelmuth of Jasta 8, east of Ypres at 18.35 pm German time, which was one hour ahead of Allied time, which is way too far north of Douai to be Kennedy. 40 Squadron’s ten-man patrol had taken off at 17.40, so the time is wrong too, 40 Squadron only taking off at the time of Jasta 8’s action.
One item of interest while reading Maclanachan’s account of this episode, is that he carried two Lewis guns on the top wing. While this was not frowned upon, the problem was that the extra weight of the second gun tended to affect the Nieuport’s performance. Individual pilots had to weigh (no pun intended) the disadvantage of performance against the extra fire-power two guns gave, provided the pilot was on target.
The last few days of August proved quiet, little action being seen from 27 August to 2 September, and it wasn’t until 4 September that 40 Squadron next added to their combat log. In the meantime, some of the latest Nieuport Scouts had started to arrive. It has always been difficult to differentiate between Nieuport 17s and 23s, but the type 27 had a definite change of rudder and fin. As Mannock described it in his diary: ‘The tail plane and rudder are shaped very like a Hun Scout, also the body is fish shaped. The similarities are a source of great concern to our other machines in the air, as we are often mistaken for Huns, and consequently get fired at.’
The Nieuport 27 had a 130 h.p. Le Rhône engine (an increase of 10 h.p.) but its speed did not improve overmuch, perhaps 8-19 mph, over the type 17 or 23. In contrast, the main fighter opposition, like the Albatros DVa, had a 180 or even 200 h.p. engine, although its speed did not increase pro-rata over the Nieuport. However, the fire-power and slightly better manoeuvrability gave the edge to the German pilots. The Nieuport had a slight duration time advantage that was often a blessing when battling against head-winds, trying to get back over the front lines.
Another event which Mannock diarised was that the mechanics had set up the two top wings salvaged from von Bertrab’s Albatros, in the Flight hangar, with Mannock’s name on it plus the date and place where it had come down. Then three American newspaper men had paid a visit to Bruay and Major Tilney made Mannock tell them the story of his victory over von Bertrab, and they also wanted bits off the wings as souvenirs. Mannock also arranged for the carpenter to fashion a model of the Albatros from wood from one of the wings.
Mick Mannock made out three combat reports on 4 September. The first was for an action fought at around 09.45 am south of Béthune. Yet another DFW two-seater was spotted, this one over Noeux-les-Mines at 17,000 feet. Mannock engaged and he fired no fewer than three drums of ammunition at it at close range, the combat continuing well east of Lens. As he was firing he saw the observer slump down and hang over the side of his cockpit. The DFW went into a steep dive but to him the pilot looked in control of his machine, and Mannock was forced to disengage now that his ammunition supply was spent. This fight was in full view of the guys on the ALG, causing great excitement. Vizefeldwebel Eddelbüttel, an observer with FA211(A) was reported wounded this date and may have been Mannock’s victim.
Combat number two was timed at 11.30 am, another DFW which he engaged over Liéven at 11,000 feet, after being ordered off to drive it away. This machine had already been in action with Captain Keen but had evaded his fire, then Keen had to turn away to change drums. The German was heading for home. Mannock, flying with Sergeant L A Herbert, closed in to open fire at close range, emptying a full drum into it but the DFW pilot manoeuvred away and headed down steeply east of Lens. Mannock broke away to fit another drum and was unable to engage it further. An AA battery confirmed seeing the two-seater going down steeply but its commander was not able to say if it was ‘out of control’ or not.
He and Herbert appear to have been credited with an ‘out of control’ victory between them, although Herbert’s combat report was marked ‘indecisive’. He had climbed away from Mazingarbe on another mission, to escort Corps machines, and had reached 16,000 feet when he saw and attacked the DFW. Opening fire he found he had a problem with his gun. Something had come loose and he was unable to keep the gun steady as he fired. In trying to solve the problem he somehow caught the Bowden cable in the Foster mounting, so the gun – without any help from Herbert – frustratingly fired off the remainder of the ammunition.
Changing drums he chased after the two-seater as it flew east, managed to cut it off over Lens and began firing at long range. Although he saw some tracer bullets hit the machine, which then stalled and nosed-dived, he lost sight of it while changing to his third drum. This is where Mannock took up the attack. It was not unusual for NCO pilots to be with fighter squadrons in 1917, but they were few and far between. He was later commissioned.
A third DFW drew Mannock’s attention between 16.05 and 16.30 that afternoon, Mannock heading off from Mazingarbe following another call from the front. Mannock confided in his diary an interesting tactic, which thankfully worked.
‘I met this unfortunate DFW at about ten thousand feet over Avion coming south-west, and I was travelling south-east. I couldn’t recognise the black crosses readily (he was about three hundred yards away and about five hundred feet above me) so I turned my tail towards him and went in the same direction, thinking that if he were British, he wouldn’t take any notice of me, and if a Hun, I felt sure he would put his nose down and have a shot (thinking I hadn’t seen him). The ruse worked beautifully. His nose went down (pointing at me) and I immediately whipped round, dived and “zoomed” up behind him, before you could say “knife”. He tried to turn, but he was much too slow for the Nieuport. I got in about fifty rounds in short bursts whilst on the turn, and he went down in flames, pieces of wing and tail, etc. dropping away from the wreck. It was a horrible sight and made me feel sick. He fell down in our own lines, and I followed to the ground, although I didn’t land. The boys gave me a great ovation.’
In his combat report he was less detailed but says that at 9,000 feet he engaged the two-seater north of Petit Vimy, attacking at first from above. He then manoeuvred behind the German and fired 70 rounds at close range. As he did so smoke began to trail from the machine that eventually turned into flames. The DFW went down and hit the ground near Souchez, the exact position noted by Mannock being T.15 Sheet 56c. This time the anti-aircraft boys were able to confirm the German machine going down in flames, but of course, it fell inside British lines so there was no doubt about this one.
The machine came from FA235(A), its crew of Unteroffizier Georg Frischkorn (aged 21, from Bitsche, south-east of Saarbrücken) and his observer, Leutnant Fritz Frech (23, from Königsberg) were both killed. The machine was a complete wreck but was still given the British code G.68 for captured aircraft.
Mannock had been flying B3607 on this day, as type 24 Nieuport. Maclanachan had flown this in from 2 AD and it had been marked with the letter ‘L’. Mannock was to claim five victories in it during September. (In early October it was returned to 2 AD for overhaul, and later went to 1 Squadron, but was lost in a mid-air collision on 9 January 1918.)
The next day, the 5th, Mannock was driven to the spot where his DFW had crashed, in a motor-bike sidecar, hoping to collect some souvenirs from the two-seater but nothing remained of the machine. The two dead airmen had gone by this time but he was told that there had been a small dog in the observer’s cockpit, which likewise had not survived.
September 1917 would prove a busy month for Mannock and 40 Squadron. On the 5th he was up again chasing two-seaters in the early evening, finding them east of Lens at 10,000 feet. He attacked one giving it about 15 rounds before his gun jammed, so he had to break off. Being unable to clear it, he flew back to Mazingarbe.
On the 6th he was again sent aloft from Mazingarbe along with Tudhope, at 05.50. German aircraft were spotted north of Lens and the two British pilots drove them east. For reasons that are not explained, Mannock at least reduced height and just north of Vimy, flying at 1,000 feet, he was fired on – presumably from German trench positions. Mannock was off again after a reported German and shortly before 9 am found the almost inevitable DFW two-seater near Lens. Diving from 14,000 feet to the DFW’s 6,000 feet, he saw it was already being engaged by another Nieuport – Lieutenant W L Harrison – who had likewise been sent off but who had covered the sky at a lower altitude. Looking down, Mannock could pick out the well-known features of the Metallurgique Works of Lens. He also saw two Albatros Scouts beginning an attack on Harrison, the nearest being close on his companion’s tail.
Mannock pulled away from his line towards the DFW, made a rapid sharp turn and placed himself behind the offending Albatros and blazed away with a whole drum from his Lewis gun. Some of the shots must have hit home for the German pilot nosed down very steeply but Mannock was already making sure the other Albatros was not going to cause a problem, so he lost sight of the first one. However, ‘C’ Battery, anti-aircraft, later reported seeing the Scout force-land, although under control, near Lens.
Bill Harrison lived to fight another day, and indeed, went on to gain 11 victories with 40 Squadron. From Toronto, Canada, William Leeming Harrison was only 19 years old but had already served with the Canterbury Mounted Rifles before transferring to the RFC in May 1917. That summer he joined C Flight, 40 Squadron, and had scored one victory thus far, a balloon on 9 August. By the time Mannock left the Squadron in January, Harrison had yet to gain his second victory, but by the start of April 1918, had bagged 11. His 12th and last was obtained later that month as a flight commander with No.1 Squadron, but he was then wounded. He received the MC and Bar.
According to the Squadron record book, Mannock was in action yet again during a patrol between 11.15 and 12.25, which is assumed to be an indecisive encounter.
The poor weather over the next few days limited much aerial activity with ground mist and low cloud. On the 11th conditions improved and at 11.15 am Mannock, again off alone on an EA Patrol from the ALG, spotted three two-seaters between Thelus and Oppy. There had been two initially but they were joined by a third during his attack. In all he fired off all three drums at varying ranges and saw one of the two-seaters go down out of control from 15,000 feet as the fight drifted right above Oppy Wood. Now out of ammunition, he reluctantly gave up the pursuit of the other two and turned for home. Ground AA observers watched the fight but due to mist and haze at low level were unable to confirm if the German machine had crashed.
As at this date, Mannock noted his score as being 13½. This today would be interpreted as 14. It is uncertain as to how he came to this personal total but it is not far off what appears to be a more official figure of 12.
There were new fighters on the Western Front now. On the British side the SE5 and Sopwith Camel were increasing in numbers since they had first appeared in the late spring and early summer respectively. Both were single-seater types and both would remain as front line aeroplanes till war’s end. A two-seat fighter, the Bristol F2b, had also arrived in the late spring and after an initially poor start, became another good machine which would also see out the war.
On the German side, the Albatros DVa was the machine most RFC units encountered during the summer and autumn of 1917, and a new machine, not dissimilar to the Albatros, the Pfalz DIII and DIIIa was about to make its debut. It was not as well liked as the Albatros and in some respects was not as good as the Albatros, but it showed up in several Jastas, even though it might be relegated to the more junior pilots. In September the new, distinctive, Fokker Dr.I Triplane was starting to appear. It was a fast and agile machine and much-liked by many, including the Red Baron – Manfred von Richthofen – the first three being given to his Jagdgeschwader and flown by him, Werner Voss and Kurt Wolff. After a short period it was withdrawn to strengthen its top wing assembly but returned in early 1918 where it continued till the early summer, before the arrival in strength of what has become known as the best German fighter of WW1, the Fokker DVII biplane.
The pilots of 40 Squadron soldiered on with the Nieuport Scouts, which in good and experienced hands could easily hold their own against all-comers. Mannock scored again on 20 September, at 17.35 hours that afternoon. However, his first patrol was timed at between 09.00 and 10.45 from the ALG. He patrolled from Lens to Arras initially at 18,000 feet and observed an artillery-spotting two-seater to the east. By positioning himself expertly he prevented the German crew from getting anywhere near the front, thus stopping them from carrying out their work, although he was unable to get close enough to engage. But he had been spotted by German fighters, five of which attacked him over Méricourt but seeing the Nieuport pilot was aware of their presence by turning towards them, the German fighters turned away and dived eastwards.
Then came the late afternoon action. Mannock led out four pilots: Tudhope in B3617, Harrison in B3605, Maclanachan in A6789 and a new pilot, G E H McElroy, in B3541, at 16.45. Harrison found his engine was not running smoothly so turned back, landed, had it fixed and was off again at 17.10. Meantime, Mannock had started patrolling the line Fresnoy to La Bassée, and in doing so spotted a two-seater, a type he initially could not identify, well east of Lens, heading north-west.
Mannock led his men into the sun, turned, then began to fly a parallel course with the two-seater until it had crossed the lines somewhere above Vermelles. Mannock now attacked, opening fire from close range with some 60 rounds. Tudhope now opened fire (30 rounds) and he observed pieces breaking off after Mannock’s attack, and the German went down vertically, leaving a trail of smoke near Hulloch. Although a little further away, Maclanachan also saw the two-seater going down smoking badly. Unfortunately none of the three pilots saw it crash, losing it in the darkening gloom and ground haze.
Mannock was credited with an ‘out of control’ victory. It is possible this was a DFW from FA240(A). This unit had two crews shot-up this date. Pilot Unteroffizier Kalbreiher was wounded and his observer, Leutnant Artur Beauchamp killed. Unteroffizier Eddelbüttel and his observer, Leutnant Kuhn, were both wounded. (Whether this Eddelbüttel or the one Mannock wounded on 4 September – FA211(A) – are in any way connected, is not clear.)