Shortly after the great Argonne Offensive commenced, the Fifth Corps Air Service was visited by a small troop of Y. M. C. A. entertainers. I was at their airdrome at the time. In the party were two young ladies, one blonde and the other a brunette. As I was a sort of special boarder myself, I was very fortunately a guest at the Headquarters Mess, and at the head of the table sat Lieutenant Colonel A. R. Christie, who was the commander-in-chief of the Corps Air Service. I had heard early in the afternoon that these girls were coming, and it had been so long since I had seen a real American girl that my enthusiasm over their prospective arrival was not exceeded by a country lad’s anticipation of his first circus. As luck would have it, at the dinner table I was seated next to the brunette, which was just what I had wanted. I must say she was a “Queen.” She had eyes that were all eyes, and when she smiled it seemed, as the poet would say, just like the flooding of a dark and desolate dungeon with the glorious light of day. She wore a daintily scented perfume that made it all seem to be just like the environment 140of a wonderful rose garden and this girl was the loveliest rose of them all.
I immediately felt my insignificance, for I was only a Lieutenant, and around me were Colonels, Majors and Captains, and on account of this subordinance I knew my place demanded reticence rather than verbosity. Therefore, when introduced I merely told her quite formally how happy I was to know her and then I closed shop with all the good intentions of a huge, triple-locked, steel safe. However, Eileen, for this was her name, had the master combination for unlocking the deposit box of pentup conversation. She started it, but after she had been going for two or three minutes, rank did not amount to anything to me, because I was quite sure, as I had been several times before and have been several times since, that this was the one girl God had made for Elmer. So to me Rank was business and Love was pleasure, and pleasure superseded business.
Versatility was this girl’s middle name, and to my great surprise she even had a conversational knowledge of aerial observation, which is, indeed, unusual for a woman. Perhaps the reason she was so friendly to me was that I had some knowledge of aviation myself, and she wanted to learn more. She asked me no questions, however, simply volunteered her own information, so I felt she could not possibly be a spy, but whether she was or not it didn’t matter to me, for I was thoroughly convinced that there never before had been a girl like this and there never could be another afterwards.
141While dining, it developed that I was especially anxious to get a method for the rapid adjustment of artillery fire on moving targets. I explained to her that while it was no easy matter to make an adjustment on a moving target even in a quiet sector in closed warfare, the observer, at least, had the advantage of knowing where the battery was located, what the battery’s signal panels would look like and what code signals both would use and what method of fire the battery would pursue. But in a war of movement in which we were engaged, our own batteries were constantly on the move, and even if we did find a battery that was not moving there was no way of finding what code call it had been assigned, for the reason that they never displayed their panels as prescribed when taking a temporary position. So I explained in a careless way just what difficulties I had to surmount before reaching a successful method satisfactory for all conditions. Perhaps I said a little more than I should, but I couldn’t help it. I simply had to talk to this girl. She had the art of flattery well in hand, for she delighted me by demanding what business I had serving as an ordinary observer with my superior knowledge of things, whereupon I told her what a great man I really was—that I was the Operations Officer for the Air Service of the entire Wing, which consisted of six Corps, and that I was only in this drive doing very special work. This sounded bigger than it really was, but it seemingly got by, for she seemed very sympathetic from 142the first. I was quite sure I had won my happy home.
That night, upon an improvised stage in one of our huge airplane hangars, she sang. Galli-Curci, Breslau, Schumann-Heink or Farrar had nothing on her. She trilled and as she trilled, I thrilled. I even had wild ideas of a little home in California and everything. After the performance was over I reported for duty and we started to walk back to the main quarters together, she having spurned the proffer of one of my superior officer’s car. I had just made a grand and glorious spiel about the beautiful night, and the myriads of twinkling stars in the heavens, and how wonderful it was to be walking along in the lovely delight of it all with such a charming and entertaining companion, and how I dreaded to think that in the morning I must go out to fly again and might never come back to all these wonderful things.
I was raving and sputtering away, the enslaved victim of temperament, sentiment and ephemeral love. In brooding over the possible tragedy of the next day I was, of course, fishing for sympathy, expecting her to say, “Oh, don’t talk like that,” or something similar to jolly me along, but she evidently had had that line pulled on her before.
“You know, Lieutenant,” she smilingly said in a voice as welcome as that of a dying aunt about to give you a hundred thousand dollars, “I’ve been thinking of the wonderful work you are doing, and while I was singing my first song to-night I looked 143down at you and I had an inspiration which I think will help you.”
This was the highest compliment I had ever been paid in my life. I had disgusted people, displeased them, and even been repulsive to some, but this was the first time I had ever been the cause of inspiring any one. I thought it was the psychological moment to put the question. I had previously concluded that when a woman begins to talk about inspiration she has fallen in love herself, so without inquiring further about this particular inspiration, I turned to love.
“Eileen,” I said, and my voice quivered, for I had not called her that before—it had been Miss ——, “do you know, I want to ask you a question.”
She said nothing, and I did not look, though I was certain that she had modestly turned her head away from me, bashfully anticipating the fatal question which was sure to come.
“Do you know, Eileen,” I stammered on, nodding my head affirmatively in order to carry along with my words additional evidence of my sincerity, “I have been wondering why you have paid this attention to me to-night and have been heedless of the pressing attentions of the Colonels, the Majors and the Captains. I don’t like to talk like this so soon, but you are leaving to-morrow and I might never have another opportunity.”
Then I thought of that song, “Just you, Dear, just you,” and I knew quite well that she would say that she had been giving me all this attention amidst the 144jealous and envious looks of my superior officers because she, herself, individually wished to and because she liked or maybe loved me. Whereupon I was going to second the motion and say, “Ditto, I love you, Eileen,” and all that sort of bunk and close the contract. I pictured myself enfolding her in my willing arms and making solemn vows such as I would stand on my ear for her, etc.; all of this, of course, being contingent upon her responding in the way I fully expected.
Smiling—her teeth reflected glory in the moonlight—she demurely asked me, “Why, don’t you know?” That would have been all right ordinarily, but it had a ringing inflection I failed to comprehend, and being a man of words instead of action, I said, “No, I don’t know.”
“Well,” she went on rather surprised at my stupidity, “you see, our manager instructed us that the higher officers do not need the attention and encouragement of the young ladies because they do not have to undergo any hardships, so we have been instructed to pay as much attention as possible to the junior officers, and as you were about the most junior here—well——”
This was sufficient. I realized that I was on about the fifty-fourth floor of the Woolworth Building and had better catch the express elevator down, for it was going to be an awful fall. I had hit the mat and was already taking the count.
“I was telling you about the inspiration,” she went on, and in a hollow voice I said, “Yes, Miss ——,” 145swallowing many cubic feet of chagrin and remorse, yet still determined.
“I think I have a plan for adjusting your batteries. I got the idea while I was singing to-night. Of course, I know nothing about the practical part of it, but why wouldn’t it work this way?” and she roughly described a scheme that seemed about as feasible as most military tactics that women conceive. I offered her no encouragement, but she asked me if I wouldn’t try it out and I told her I would do anything for her. It would, at least, give me some excuse for keeping in touch with her, since I could inform her from time to time how her system was getting along, and I was firmly bent, in spite of the momentary rebuff I had just received, upon knowing this charming and bewitching damsel better.
As usual, the night gave me the opportunity to calm down considerably, so the next morning I took off quite early, the same old guy as before, with no domestic worries. Eileen was momentarily forgotten—my ardor was perhaps but a passing fantasy.
At a little village several miles north of Montfaucon there is quite a fork having two roads branching off to the south and over which the Germans were passing in their forced retreat. Flying in that direction the approaching roads were dotted with scattered German transports which consisted of many horses and very few motor vehicles as the Germans were short of gasoline and what they did have of this scarce article they used for their airplanes—their general transportation work was carried 146on largely by horses and a more extended use of their steam locomotives and railroads. But, coming from the south were several of these convoys trudging along as fast as they could, which, at best, was very slow. This was unusual for a retreat is generally done under cover of darkness, but, I suppose this material was such that it had to be moved at all costs.
Ah! I thought, this is a splendid target. I’ll put the artillery on. So, directing the pilot to go back to our own battery, I began to make furious attempts to get into communication with our artillery, by flying low and finding the location with the naked eye.
Again my theory of the previous day seemed to be all wrong, for in spite of all I could do I couldn’t get an answer from any of our batteries. Finally, flying extremely low I found a couple of them and threw them messages. Neither of them would fire. Why? I don’t know. Perhaps they were about to move up again. However, I knew that of all of the batteries in our Division there must a few that could work. Here was a wonderful target. I was to the last straw—there didn’t seem to be anything else to do but go home, so, pretty well disgruntled I motioned the pilot to go on home. Thus, my mind being freed of the cares and responsibilities of the mission, it naturally began to turn toward the personal interests of life, and, naturally enough I thought of my recently acquired acquaintance, Eileen—and instantly I remembered her inspiration—that silly, tactical 147dream she had conceived the night before. I knew it was impossible to try it out as she had suggested it, but the principle had possibilities, and seemed to be worth taking a chance on. If it failed, it would do no harm, and, at least, I could give her some kind of a report.
Attracting the pilot’s attention, I motioned him to turn around and although he gave me a look that indicated he had some doubt as to my mental balance, he followed the instructions. It was just a hunch at most. Instead of calling the particular batteries designated to fire on fugitive targets I calmly proceeded to call each and all of the twenty-four batteries assigned to the Division. In about five minutes, to my extreme delight, I picked up a new panel from a battery. Consulting my chart I found its call. I immediately wired them a message and instantly they put out the panel “I got you” or “Understood.” Communication was established. The inspiration was a success.
Over to my right, my eye caught another panel of another battery. Consulting my chart again I found that they were both Heavy Artillery—just what I wanted! The only fault with this method was that with so much wireless being flashed through the air it would very likely interfere with any other plane doing similar work in that sector. I knew of no other aerial adjustments going on just then, so, the chance was worth it.
Having gotten the two batteries ready to work I wired to every other battery I had called, sending 148them the code message, “I have no further need for you,” this, in order that they would not, by any chance, hold up their firing on account of my previous message. “Well,” I thought, “the nice thing about Eileen is that she is not only beautiful and can sing, but she is sane—she has a good bean.” Even before I had done the work, which I felt sure I would be able to accomplish, I was formulating dreams of the way she would receive me when I told her of the great success of her inspiration.
I did not register these two batteries on the road fork, itself, for should the first few shells fall near the road fork it would give a preliminary warning and the Germans would, undoubtedly, stop their traffic and scatter. A few shells, even if they did happen to hit, would not serve the end I had in mind. I was thinking of something bigger—a few pot shots on the road would do more harm than good. So, selecting a point about a quarter of a mile, directly to the right of the road fork, I reported the location to the battery. Of course, consulting their maps, they could not find a legitimate reason for my desire to fire on this particular point; that is, from its natural location, but fortunately they did not question my decision and presently gave me the signal “O.K.” I immediately wired them to fire. On account of the hasty advances it had been necessary for these batteries to make, their firing data was considerably off, so, it took me almost an hour to get the two of them accurately placed on my temporary target. This accomplished, I began 149to again pay attention to the road fork. Our firing had not interrupted the traffic. Coming from the south about a quarter of a mile down, there seemed to be approaching quite a composite transport made up of wagons drawn by about four horses each, and coming from the north, approaching the same road fork, were a body of men and some horses. The men were not mounted, except in a few instances, and I should say there were almost a hundred men and about forty horses. To the best of my calculations, the head of the column coming from the south would pass this body of men with their horses at the road fork within a few minutes. With the road fork filled with passing troops and horses it would be all the more advantageous as a target.
The mathematical calculations and mechanical adjustments necessary for the batteries to correct a difference of a quarter of a mile in deflection, are considerable, I had been told, so, it was necessary that they know their new target immediately in order that they might fire immediately at my command. I wired them to change their target three hundred meters to the left and then I specified the exact point by giving the co?rdinate location and last I told them to be prepared to go into a “zone fire” at signal. “Zone fire” is the deadliest of all destructive fire. It consists of firing the guns as rapidly as possible into an area, or zone, immediately adjacent to the target specified. The object of zone fire is that by the scattering of shells the target will certainly be hit by at least a few of the shells and if 150the target is large, as was the case here, the results would be disastrous.
To impress upon the batteries the urgency of speeding up their corrections I continually wired them in code, “Is battery ready?” “Is battery ready?” They put out the panels “Wait a few minutes,” but I continued to wire, “Is battery ready?” We had no code for “Hurry up;” I wished many times we had, for the columns were fast approaching each other. In a few minutes it would be too late to get both columns. I realized those battery commanders had just cause to make use of an extended stream of profane language when I gave them that large correction of three hundred meters or a quarter of a mile after adjusting them to such a fine point, for, undoubtedly, they could not see the necessity for it. Fortunately they both had confidence and stayed with me. Just as the heads of the two columns began to pass each other, which was just a little north of the cross roads, the first battery put out a panel, “Battery is ready.”
The airplane signal to fire was three long wireless emissions so it was only necessary now to press the key three times and the show would be on. I called the battery rapidly, but before I gave the fatal signal I thought of the warden of the penitentiary about to press the fatal buzzer that sends the doomed soul to his death. The simile naturally struck me for I had a hundred men and more horses directly in my trap. There was no way for them to escape. The deadly zone fire, with the speed of lightning, would 151soon crush them. I could imagine our men at their guns in the improvised battery pi............