- 'The Death of von Richthofen'
- by "Vigilant"
- the End of the Red Baron
von Richtohofen (far left smiling) in 1917
“It is impossible to fly across the Ancre in a westerly direction on account of strong enemy opposition. I must ask for this aerial barrage to be forced back, so that a reconnaissance may be carried out as far as the line Marieux-Puchevillers."
These were the instructions which reached Richthofen on April 20th from the commander of his group. He knew that the matter was urgent, but not so urgent as to compel his personal intervention.
He did not intend to fly on April 21st, because he trusted no one to deal with the "strong opposition," and he had so much business to do on the ground before he could leave with a clear conscience.
The sky was veiled in a thick haze which would prevent the German reconnaissance machines from fulfilling their mission, even if there were no Englishmen to stop them. It looked like a day of "airmen's weather," but Richthofen ordered his pilots to stand by in case it cleared. He sniffed the strong east wind that blew across the aerodrome, and it warned him that his machines would be heavily handicapped if they had to fight their way back.
But no English aircraft had been reported from the front, and the pilots of No. n were not worried about the east wind. Feeling in the best of spirits, they let off their superfluous energy in jovial horseplay.
Then the east wind suddenly blew the mist away, and Richthofen saw English machines over the front. If the weather was good enough for the enemy to fly, it was good enough for his pilots. He gave orders to take off.
Then he thought of the east wind again. The job was going to be more difficult than he originally anticipated, and he felt that he ought to see it through himself.
"Bring out my machine," he commanded on a sudden impulse.
Then, just as he was buttoning up his overcoat, while one mechanic adjusted his helmet and another attended to his flying-boots, one of the eternal pressmen came up with his camera to snap the champion of eighty victories making ready for his eighty-first.
A shiver ran through the two mechanics and the bystanders. In the superstitions of the German airmen a photograph taken before a flight foreboded the very worst of all bad luck. Many an ignorant cameraman had been prevented just in time from committing this ill-omened act; if he succeeded in getting the photograph, nothing would induce its involuntary subject to take the air on that occasion.
But Richthofen thought such fears childish, even though he had to recognise their effect on his subordinates. He determined to give them a lesson that day.
He turned his head and deliberately faced the cameraman.
Afterwards he saw a little dog playing at the entrance to a hangar. As he stooped to pat it, a sergeant came up with a postcard he had written to his son at home and asked him to sign it.
Richthofen smiled at him. "Why are you in such a hurry?" he asked. "Don't you think I'll come back?" Then he signed the postcard with the preferred fountain pen.
- the wall of von Richthofen's quarters
- decorated with aircraft insignia of fallen opponents
He led a group of five into the air. With him were Wolff and Karjus, two good men, and Sergeant-Major Scholz, who was not so experienced. The fifth pilot was another Richthofen—a cousin who had just joined the Staffel and was under strict injunctions to keep out of dogfights. They took off at about 11.30 a.m.
Some time before their start three Flights of No. 209 Squadron's Camels took off from Bertangles, about twenty miles away from Cappy. They occupied the same aerodrome from which Richthofen's most distinguished opponent had taken off to meet death at his hands.
After they had patrolled their area for a time without incident, a Flight of them dived away to attack a couple of two-seater Albatrosses, which were making for the lines. The other two Flights continued the patrol under the leadership of Captain A. Roy Brown, a Canadian.
Brown's primary purpose was to fight and destroy any German machines he might meet, but he also had a secondary one. He had made it his duty to look after his old school friend, Lieut. W. R. May, who was a newcomer to the squadron. Like Richthofen's cousin, May had been ordered to keep out of dogfights.
Two of the machines led by Brown developed engine trouble and had to return, thus leaving him with only eight when he saw white shell-bursts away over to the west of Hammel.
The obvious inference he drew from them was that British anti-aircraft gunners were firing on German machines. He promptly led his two Flights in their direction; on reaching the scene of action, he found two R.E.8s from No. 3 F.C. (Australian Flying Corps), putting up a stout defence against some German machines which had attacked them when they were out on a photographic mission.
Richthofen had arranged for Jagdstaffel 11 to take off in two swarms, one of which he led himself, while Weiss took charge of the other. Jagdstaffel 5, which also went up that morning, met the third Flight of No. 209's Camels, and was hotly engaged with them over Sailly le Sec.
At first it seems an impossible task to sort out the details of the fight which took place when Brown's Camels came to the rescue of the two R.E.8s. As a German writer has aptly remarked, the story of Richthofen's last moments in the air is now encrusted with as many legends as the mythical death of Siegfried. Some of the principal actors in the tragedy and a number of eye-witnesses have furnished accounts which appear contradictory on comparison, but this is only natural. The fleeting impressions on the brains of the pilots engaged in the fray are bound to be distorted, while many circumstances might affect the evidence of the men on the ground. Yet even the most difficult jig-saw puzzle must yield to patience and perseverance.
The following is, therefore, an attempt, submitted with all due diffidence, to solve a problem which cannot be insoluble.
When the fight began, Richthofen's swarm was outnumbered. Scholz had been unable to keep his place in the formation ; he drifted over to join in the fighting in progress over Sailly le Sec, while Richthofen's cousin followed instructions and remained a spectator. But when Weiss's swarm and some Albatrosses joined in, the odds were against the Camels.
Then Brown found himself engaged in one of the hottest fights in which he had ever taken part. He did not expect to come out of it alive, but when he could spare a fleeting moment for a glance round, he saw that his machines were holding their own. Lieut. J. W. Mackenzie set about a Fokker to such purpose that he forced it to retire before his own wounds made it necessary for him to leave, while Lieut. F. J. W, Mellersh compelled another triplane to land at Cerisy. Mellersh was then attacked by Wolff, who put in an effective burst; he spun down for dear life and hedge-hopped home with his damaged machine.
Obedient to orders, May kept out of the dogfight, but when he saw a triplane hovering on the edge of the fray, he could not resist the temptation to attack it. But Richthofen's cousin was an even more obedient pupil and an even rawer novice than May. After firing a few shots in self-defence, he dived away, and made a bolt for Cappy.
May thrilled with delight; he thought he had shot down his first Hun. Then he remembered instructions and put his machine into a turn in order to make for Bertangles.
Brown happened to catch a momentary glance of May's apparent success, and felt pleased about it for a tiny fraction of a second. Then he saw a red machine shoot out of the fight and start in pursuit of his friend.
Manfred von Richthofen was no more immune from erroneous impressions during a fight than any other pilot. Recognising by its markings the machine flown by the cousin who was under his special protection until he gained enough experience to look after himself, he made a dash at May. He meant to destroy him before he could follow his cousin dowrt and finish him off.
Brown saw May's peril, but for the moment he could give him no help, because he was fighting three Fokkers for his life. He zigzagged to spoil their aim, but when no way of escape seemed possible, he resolved to die fighting.
Collision! If he could force a collision with one or more of them he felt that at least he would gain the satisfaction of selling his life dearly. As two of them closed in on him, he went up in an Immelmann turn.
He saw them miss each other by inches; then he nearly got the third in his dive. As the other two came out of their turns, he zoomed up to their height again and let them attack him. At the last moment he passed out below them in a half-roll, and once again he saw the two opponents only just avoid the impact of collision !
Weiss had seen Richthofen pursuing May, but thought his commander could take care of himself, especially as Wolff was supposed to guard his tail. For the moment he was in charge of both swarms ; all the German machines had lost height in the course of the fray, while the strong east wind had drifted them over the English lines. He gave the signal to return, imagining that Richthofen—who always combined prudence with audacity—would turn back in time if he failed to finish off his intended victim.
And so Brown found himself unmolested when he zoomed up for the third time. His first thought was for May.
He scanned the sky—no sign of him. He began to think his friend must have got home safely. Then, far away to northward, he saw a Fokker in pursuit of a Camel. And the Fokker was gaining on the fugitive !
Brown resumed his climb, in order to gain height for a long dive !
Wolff had started off in pursuit of Mellersh. Mindful of his self-imposed task of guarding Richthofen's tail, he looked round and saw the all-red machine following May. He was surprised to find it about to cross the lines at such a low height, for this was one of the dangers against which the commander had so often warned young airmen. He made up his mind to relinquish his pursuit of Mellersh and fly to Richthofen's aid. But before he could do so, he heard firing behind him. A Camel was on his tail, pumping lead into his machine.
He wriggled out of the enemy's fire, shook off his opponent and looked round again. But Richthofen had not returned; the only German machine in the vicinity was one which he recognised by its markings as belonging to Karjus. He flew over to him, but the persistent Camel came back and attacked them.
They chased it all the way to Corbie and then turned back. But there was still no sign of Richthofen; the all-red triplane had apparently vanished from the sky. Wolff began to feel worried.
May was zigzagging to avoid his pursuer's bursts, but Richthofen hung on grimly. As usual, he held his fire until he was close enough for an accurate death-burst.
May thought he was lost. He ceased his zigzags, risking everything in a straight, desperate dash for home. Richthofen also flew straight; he was too intent on his prey to look round, and so he never saw Brown climbing to gain height for the death-dive on to his tail.
At last he was only thirty yards behind May—nicely placed for a shot. His finger was on the trigger button, waiting to press it at the right moment.
The right moment came, but no bullets issued from his Spandaus. Both his guns refused to fire !
At once their failure brought him to a sense of his peril. He was now at a low height behind the enemy's lines and exposed to the fire of Corbie's anti-aircraft batteries, with a strong east wind to retard his progress home. A precarious enough position—even with serviceable weapons to fight off any aerial opponent who tried to bar his way. But with jammed guns it was nothing less than hopeless.
As yet he had not seen the pursuing Camel behind him. His one thought was to get his machine out of range of those batteries. His right hand pulled at the stick; the all-red triplane began to climb.
Sergeant C. B. Popkin and Gunner R. F. Western, two Australians "belonging to the 24th machine-gun company, were waiting behind their anti-aircraft gun in the corner of a wood, not far from Corbie. They saw the red triplane pursuing the Camel, but dared not fire until their own machine was clear of their sights. At last their gun spoke ; from another position nearby, Gunner A. Franklyn also fired. An Australian staff officer, who happened to be in the wood at the time, heard the rattle of machine-guns and saw the red triplane swerve. Elated at the prospect of a victim, other gunners took up the firing.
Richthofen's machine was hit. He switched off his engine and went into a glide. His holiday was gone ; in its place a vista of long enforced idleness in captivity confronted him. But behind him was Brown's Camel.
When he had climbed a while, Brown glanced at his altimeter. 3,000 feet—height enough for a dive on to the red machine. He pushed his stick over and toed the rudder- bar for the sharp right-hand turn which was to bring him on to Richthofen's tail.
He did not see the red triplane climb and then go into a glide. If his eyes had taken in these movements, his brain would have failed to record them. His thoughts were all concentrated on the desperate necessity for overhauling the pursuer before he could put a burst into May's tail. It was therefore impossible for him to grasp the fact that the pilot in the triplane was a disarmed, disabled man with no alternative left but to land alive behind the English lines, if he could.
Brown fired. He saw his bullets rip Richthofen's elevator away and lacerate the Fokker's hinder parts. He pulled his stick and brought his machine up slightly; then he fired again.
This time he saw the red Fokker's pilot turn round and stare at him. He fancied he could see his eyes gleaming from behind his glasses. Then he saw him lurch forward in his seat, and, knowing that this enemy was now past all power to harm May, he ceased fire.
The all-red Fokker swerved to the right. Then it heeled over and plunged into the depths.
Left in temporary charge of Cappy aerodrome, Reinhard waited for the return of the patrol. One by one the Fokker triplanes dropped down to rest, until at last all were safely accounted for except the pure red one.
At first Reinhard was not unduly alarmed. One pilot thought he had seen Richthofen's machine hard pressed by several opponents, but when he compared notes with the others, he was convinced that he had really seen Wolff in a tight corner. The general opinion was that Richthofen must have made a forced landing somewhere near the front lines, in which case he would be bound to ring up the aerodrome as soon as he reached the nearest telephone.
But half an hour passed without news of any kind. Then Lieut. Wenzl, a member of Weiss's swarm, remembered having seen a small machine on the ground behind the British lines and somewhere east of Corbie. He thought it looked to be painted red, but would not swear to its colour. Reinhard rang up the front and also sent up a chain of three machines to investigate.
"Where is Richthofen? Where is Richthofen?" was the message which passed up and down the line.
At last news came through. An artillery observer had seen a red triplane land on rising ground to the north of Vaux sur Somme. Khaki figures encircled it—he saw them carry a body from the machine, which they subsequently pulled to cover behind a rise in the ground. Later another message from the front said that Richthofen had been seen pursuing Camels, one of which he shot down. Then the remaining fugitive landed, and Richthofen's machine descended close to it.
Sergeant-Major J. H. Sheridan, of the third battery, R.A., had also watched the fight. He had often seen other air-fights, but it was not so often that one had so close a view of the final act of a drama of the air. For a moment it looked as if the vanquished German was going to fall down right on top of him.
When it finally came to rest, he ran towards it, but the pilot made no effort to get out. His huddled body had pitched forward, so that his head rested on the end of a machine-gun, but his hand still clutched the stick. One glance was sufficient for Sheridan; he had seen that attitude before.
Men came running up—men of No. 3, A.F.C.—then came a doctor. They lifted the body from the cockpit of the broken machine and laid it on the ground. They saw before them a handsome, clean-shaven young man, with lightish hair and a well-shaped head. There was blood on his face, and blood was clotting round a wound in his chest.
"Instantaneous death!" was the doctor's verdict.
Sheridan took the dead man's identity disc from his body and handed it to a pilot who had come down in the neighbourhood. Other hands searched the pockets, from which they took a gold watch engraved with the initials "M v R" and a crest. There were also a number of papers.
They could not read the German sentences, but one of the documents looked to bear a resemblance to a pilot's certificate. They searched for the name, and then looked incredulously at the Fokker trip lane for confirmation.
It was an all-red machine, relieved by no other colours save the black of the Maltese crosses which proclaimed its nationality, and the name on the document was Manfred von Richthofen! The greatest German ace had fallen at last!
It was the duty of Sergeant A. J. Porter, of No. 3, A.F.C. to salve all aircraft which crashed or made forced landings in the neighbourhood of Bertangles. He had hastened from the aerodrome in his car as soon as the news came through that an enemy machine was down somewhere near Corbie. Under his directions five men helped him to raise the body, which they carried to the car. He also issued instructions for the machine to be removed to Bertangles, but the news of the pilot's identity ran round too quickly for him. Airmen, infantrymen, artillerymen hastened to take a look at it, and each of them wanted a souvenir for luck.
For luck ! The luck of a machine which landed with a dead pilot inside would not be the best of luck, one might think, but the souvenir-hunters had a different point of view. They reasoned that the man who could last as long as Richthofen stood a good chance of seeing the war through ! And so they stripped the wings, hacked at the woodwork and detached all removable metal parts, until there was little left for Porter's salvage party.
Meanwhile, Roy Brown had seen Mellersh chased by two Germans. Without landing to ascertain the fate of the machine he had shot down, he went to Mellersh's aid, and forced the Germans to abandon the pursuit. Then he returned to Bertangles, where he landed in a state of complete exhaustion after all his strenuous efforts. May was waiting to greet and thank him ; they discussed the fight, but neither mentioned the name of Richthofen.
Both knew that the German champion flew an all-red machine, and the Fokker triplane which had pursued May and was pursued by Brown was red from nose to tail. The only possible inference was that Richthofen himself had flown it, but Brown dared not draw this inference. It seemed to. him too great a presumption on his part.
He wrote out a terse combat report, stating that after extricating himself from the attacks of three German machines he had shot down a red triplane which was pursuing May. For this victory he cited his friend and Mellersh as witnesses.
But No. 209 Squadron had already heard the news. At lunch his messmates congratulated him on his victory over Germany's greatest airman, but he remained dubious. The feat seemed too incredible and impossible.
Just as they had finished the meal, Lt.-Col. Cairns, the Wing-Commander, entered and asked Brown whether he really believed that he had shot Richthofen down. He did not seem at all pleased; Brown thought his manner cold and aloof.
He shook his head and repeated that he only claimed a red Fokker triplane. He had no idea who the pilot was.
Cairns looked uncomfortable and perplexed. The pilot was Richthofen ; he could assure Brown that there was now no doubt on that point. But the trouble was that several Australian machine-gunners claimed to have shot him down, while an R.E.8 had also put in a claim. A bad business!
"Anyhow, I've got a car waiting," he concluded. "You'd better come along with me and see him!"
They drove to the headquarters of the nth Australian Infantry Brigade, but neither felt inclined for conversation during the journey.
An Australian officer guided them to the spot where the body lay, guarded by several soldiers. It was just outside a hospital tent; when the news of Richthofen's death and the various claims had been telephoned through to the R.A.F. headquarters, Brig.-General Game gave instructions for all the evidence to be thoroughly sifted. The post-mortem examination conducted by several doctors had just been concluded.
Brown gazed on the frail, pathetic figure that lay before him. A kindly, wistful smile played about the delicate features.
An intense wave of depression overwhelmed the victor. He felt ashamed of himself; in his heart he cursed the war which had forced him to this unlucky deed. At that moment no price would have been too high for him to pay for the power to restore Richthofen to life.
Brown's agony was greater than he could bear. Unable to face the sight of his dead victim any longer, he strode to the car, where he waited in silence until Cairns was ready to drive him back to Bertangles.
The verdict of the doctors was unanimous Richthofen had been killed instantaneously by a bullet passing through his body at an angle which showed that it could not have been fired from the ground. The victory was awarded to Brown, and five days later an official statement was issued to that effect.
Porter took charge of the body on behalf of No. 209 Squadron and conveyed it to Bertangles in his car The funeral was fixed for the following afternoon, and the pilots of No. 209 were resolved to make it as worthy of the dead champion's career as the conditions of war permitted.
Meanwhile Richthofen lay in royal state A large canvas hanger which Porter used was hastily cleared; in it they erected a dais, on which the body was laid. Pilots and mechanics from all the squadrons which used Bertangles aerodrome filed in to pay their respects to this most valiant enemy.
That night, Porter slept in the hanger with the body, which he prepared for the funeral. All through the following morning Bertangles aerodrome was the scene of many comings and goings. The ordinary work of the war still went on, but pilots from other squadrons, who could snatch the time from their duties, flew over with the flowers and wreaths which their squadrons had sent as tributes to the memory of the foeman they held in such high esteem. They, too, filed into the tent to look upon his face.
From his dais the dead Richthofen smiled at them all.
at von Richthofen's funeral
At five o'clock on this afternoon of April 22nd a party of twelve men, headed by an officer, lined up before the entrance to the tent. Through the lane they formed, six squadron-leaders, all of whom had been decorated for their deeds in the aerial field of battle, entered and raised the coffin in which Richthofen's remains had been placed. They deposited it on a tender, where it was soon hidden from view by wreaths and flowers which surrounded it. One specially large wreath came from the headquarters of the Royal Air Force.
"To Captain von Richthofen, our valiant and worthy foeman," was the inscription on it.
As the procession passed along the narrow country road, headed by an escort of Australian infantry, men in khaki paused from their normal occupations of war to salute the great foeman who could not escape the common lot. From camps beyond the meadows flanking the road, other men saw the cortege and stood to attention until it had passed out of sight.
From the corner of Bertangles cemetery where a grave had been dug under a hemlock tree, the eyes of the spectators could wander across a wide expanse of space to Amiens, where the mass of the cathedral stood out clear and beautiful in the mellow afternoon sun. On one side of this grave stood the pall-bearers with the coffin, on the other the firing-party, with the muzzles of their rifles grounded. Around them were many pilots who could claim to have exchanged shots with the dead airman, mechanics from Bertangles aerodrome in their stained overalls and a number of French civilians— women, children and old men past the age of military service. Beyond the hedge that bounded the cemetery stood rank upon rank of Australian infantry, while overhead aeroplanes circled round the grave.
Distant guns rumbled from the front as the army chaplain read the simple but impressive burial service. Then the pallbearers lowered the coffin into the earth; a sharp word of command broke the silence and twelve rifles were raised to fire the regulation three volleys which are the last tribute to a departed hero.
From Bertangles aerodrome Hawker had taken off to meet his death at Richthofen's hands. To Bertangles cemetery came Richthofen to sleep his last sleep. The wheel of Fate had rolled a full circle.
