To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [50]
The new planes also used the ingenious technology of the interrupter gear, which to Richthofen was a mechanical wonder. But he knew that Boelcke was not pleased that this one lieutenant could barely figure out how to unjam his guns.
They flew near ten thousand feet, and as the sun rose behind them, Richthofen looked frequently to his left, could see Boelcke’s head always in motion, studying every part of the sky around them. The mission was simple: find enemy planes and shoot them down. Richthofen stared ahead, a few low clouds just now catching the first glow from the rising sun. He looked out to the right, into empty space, more clouds, frowned, saw no one else, nothing to disturb the tranquillity of the morning sky.
The Albatros hummed beneath him, the motor tuned flawlessly, the cables tight, no rattles, no vibration. It was another result of Boelcke’s influence, this time on the mechanics. Boelcke gave them all a strong sense of the team, every man’s job crucial. No plane left the airfield without a thorough grooming.
Richthofen glanced up, more empty sky, felt a clenching emptiness in his stomach. There must be someone out here. Perhaps they know we are coming. Surely there are spies. He smiled at the thought; well, it could be so. Captain Boelcke is well known on both sides now. Perhaps today the British will stay home. Fortunate for the British.
He knew Boelcke had no patience for boastfulness, but Richthofen was inside his own mind now, enjoyed an unusual moment of playfulness, could not help feeling the strength of the man who flew beside him, the pure power of the man’s skill. Certainly that must affect those men out there, those men who know that if they take to the air, today might be the day they meet the great Boelcke.
The lessons had been drilled and drilled again, from the formation they flew in now to Boelcke’s rules of engaging the enemy. Richthofen had never been a good student, despised classrooms and lecturing, but he had grasped at every word that came from Boelcke. They learned every detail about the planes they flew, and those of the British and French, their strengths and weaknesses, comparisons in maneuverability and speed. Boelcke focused on the pilots, the skills each man must have, coordination, dexterity, quick reflexes. Only when a pilot understood his own limitations, and those of his plane, would Boelcke impart the most difficult lesson to teach: how to make the kill. The rules rolled through Richthofen’s thoughts: Do not be seen, come in from behind, use the sun to hide yourself, wait for the enemy to focus his attentions elsewhere. Don’t waste your ammunition by shooting at him from too great a distance. Surprise is everything: see him before he sees you.
Richthofen stared out to the horizon again, thought of the emphasis Boelcke placed on eyesight, clarity of vision. Well, of course, you must be able to see. And right now, I don’t see anything.
Boelcke was suddenly in motion beside him, rocking his plane, tilting his wings. Richthofen’s heart jumped, and he saw Boelcke point, a gloved hand motioning to the right. He stared that way, the sun reflecting off a low, fat cloud, and then, a brief flicker of light, then more, and now Richthofen could see a mass of dark specks, tried to count, eight, ten, then more. He looked back toward Boelcke, who moved his plane out in front of the others, and Boelcke made a hand signal, up, gain altitude. Richthofen was confused for a moment, looked again toward the distant planes, counted again . . . more than a dozen, clearly visible now. Fourteen. Boelcke’s Albatros was already rising above him, and Richthofen followed, thought, Why do we wait? He ran Boelcke’s rules through his mind, the sun is behind us, surely they do not see us . . . but Boelcke was higher still, and Richthofen silenced the questions in his mind. Just follow him, Lieutenant.
They circled to gain altitude, rose up far above the British planes, and Boelcke led them in a sweeping arc, kept a wide distance from the enemy. Richthofen waited for the sign, saw