To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [25]
The pilot made wide turns, first one way, then the other, trying to help him locate the landmarks. Richthofen was miserable now, shook his head, the only signal he could muster. The plane made one wide sweeping turn, and after several minutes, he could feel them dropping down, his stomach rising again. To one side he could see the familiar aerodrome, a small crowd of pilots, the instructors, all watching him. The plane swung down to the far end of the field, lower still, the bushes and trees a few feet below them, then open grass, and now the pilot cut the motor, the prop jerking to a stop. Richthofen felt a cold shock, something terribly wrong, expected the plane to simply fall, held tightly to the sides, braced for the crash. The plane bounced once, then settled onto the grass, slowed quickly, the seat jarring him. They rolled to a stop, the instructor walking slowly toward the plane, Richthofen feeling a hot burn of embarrassment.
“So, Lieutenant, did you accomplish your mission?”
He stared down for a moment, said, “I did not, sir.”
Behind him, the pilot said, “He had rather a good time of it, though.”
The instructor stood stiffly, his hands clasped behind him, said, “We do not have time for sightseeing, Lieutenant. There are others in this squadron who understand why they are here.”
“Sir, I have no excuses. It was my first time . . . I have not flown before.”
“Well, Lieutenant, if you intend to fly again, I suggest you pay more attention to your duty.”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir.” The instructor began to move away, and Richthofen could see the faces of the others, some of the students laughing quietly. The pilot rose up behind him, climbed out of his seat. Richthofen still sat, stared at the controls in front of him, ran his hands over the edge of the small cockpit, said, “Sir!”
The instructor stopped, turned toward him, and Richthofen said, “I would like to try again, sir.”
“You will have another opportunity, Lieutenant.”
“Uh, sir, how about . . . right now?”
RICHTHOFEN HAD FINALLY PASSED THE TESTS, HAD BEEN SENT first to the Western Front as an observer, little more than a helpless passenger in the large bombers, assisting the pilots to “lay their eggs” on targets that varied from troop barracks to factories to bridges. The men he flew with enjoyed their work, celebrated each night with real and imagined tales of the vast destruction of their enemy. But Richthofen chafed at being a passenger. In some of the large bombers the observers sat behind the pilot, and he had passed the idle time watching as the pilots worked their controls, studied every move, every turn and dip of the plane corresponding to some action by the man at the controls. It had not taken him long to lose patience with being an observer. By December 1915, he was enrolled at the pilot training school at Döberitz, near Berlin. Within weeks, he had mastered those examinations as well, and he would finally sit at the controls of his own bomber, while someone else searched for targets.
Throughout 1915, the Western Front had been locked mostly into a quiet stalemate, but in the East, the Russian campaign against Germany’s eastern borders had spread all across the eastern front. Despite a catastrophic defeat for the Russians at Tannenberg, which effectively ended their invasion of German territory, Russian forces had begun to launch attacks against what they believed to be the more vulnerable Austrians. With the enormous resources of manpower the Russians could bring to their front lines, the German High Command was forced to send aid to their Austrian allies, and shift German troop strength away from France.
With so much of the fighting now away from the West, Richthofen’s squadron had been moved to the Russian front. The Russians had few modern aeroplanes, and fewer pilots to fly them, and the Germans had complete control over the