Also released in paperback version under the title
'A Day in the Short Life of a Camel Pilot'25 minutes into single aircraft patrol with fuel low, height 3,000ft. Encountered Fokker Dr1 flown by novice pilot. I knew he was a novice because he was already within 200 yards and my Camel wasn't on fire yet. I was looking forward to getting 'a shot' at a Dr1. I hadn't had one for some time due to repeated encounters with the likes of iwlf and Ehre. For once I had the altitude advantage by about 300 - 400ft so I reversed direction to the right as he climbed up from my low 4 o'clock position with tracers passing nearby, scoring some minor hits on my port wing. The turn placed him at my high 4 o'clock position but pointing away from me. After a quick check over my shoulder I continued going right, diving slightly to hold a good speed for 'the shot'. By the time I completed a full circle the Dr1 was several hundred feet above me and had also reversed direction, now moving almost directly overhead. As I continued my turn to the right the Dr1 performed a half loop, which placed him at my high 8 o'clock diving on my tail.
Still being careful to maintain sufficient speed for 'the shot' by gently diving throughout, I changed left and turned across his attack to present the most difficult target. Tracers passed by very close and there were several hits on the starboard wings and tailplane. As the Dr1 climbed back up I turned right again and stood the Camel on it's tail. The little Fokker
was almost at the top of his climb, but I was near to the stall and not quite able to bring the guns to bear. I tried some imaginative cussing to no avail
He flew sideways a little, hovered, then did a flat half circle to the right from the top of his climb and half looped again, coming back onto my tail as I regained flying speed from the recovery dive. This time I turned left and most of his bullets passed harmlessly away over my right shoulder, but he scored a few hits on the nose and fuselage, and I noticed a fuel leak when I looked back to watch him climb up again.
His climb did not seem as steep as before so I rolled inverted and pulled back on the stick, blipping the engine to avoid overspeed and coming under and back up with the Dr1 again at the top of his climb within extreme firing range and what seemed like enough speed for 'the shot'. Standing the Camel on it's tail I was almost able to place the Dr1 in the gunsight. At that moment the engine cut out from fuel starvation and the Camel shuddered and fell into a parachute stall, from which I was unable to recover until down to about 200 feet, all the while cussing and receiving hits from the Dr1 as he swooped past repeatedly, guns blazing. I thought perhaps that as the bad language hadn't helped my gunnery, perhaps it would spoil his.
By this time the Camel was leaning heavily to starboard and shuddering in pre-stall at 70mph. I turned left to avoid stalling the badly damaged starboard wing and set up a hastily planned gliding approach towards a small outcrop of trees. Keeping the speed up and holding hard left rudder and almost full left stick to keep the wings level I carefully tested the grass with the wheels, which were thankfully both intact, and rolled at high speed steering gently with rudder to aim at the gap in the trees. More tracers as the Dr1 came across noisily in a beam attack, some hits behind me but I was too busy to take much notice. With luck I might be able to hide the F.1 in the middle of the trees. Alas it was not to be and the obstinate beast creaked and bounced over some rough ground and shed a wheel, dropping a wingtip into the grass and slewing around in a half circle before coming to a halt a few feet short of the treeline with it's nose and one wingtip resting in the dirt.
I sat there rolling a smoke and listening to the Dr1 approaching from behind, contemplating the chances of him flying into the ground or the trees as he closed in for the kill. After three or four firing passes and a number of new holes in the fabric Baron von Gripsticken
lost interest and flew off. Too bad I hadn't been able to get 'a shot' at him. Lucky for me he was just a novice. I climbed over the side for the long walk home, giving him the victory, and saluted his departing Fokker with something approaching resignation. I would just have to try harder. As I trudged wearily back to the airfield I kept repeating the mantra over and over again.... "it's not the ride, it's the man inside"