WAR

One wonders at times if the luck to which veteran fighter pilots refer to
as being one of the attributes of success was not more necessary during the
training than during the fighting.
Having mastered the loop and survived the stall, Curtis went on to the next
stage of aerobatics, the spin—incredible as it may seem, at the Front: "My first
spin was involuntary and was over the German lines while flying tail man on an
inside turn. It took me 2000 feet to get out of the spin and half an hour to
regain my position in
the formation."
Curtis. His Camel of No. 10 (Naval) Squadron bore white stripes as unit identification and
a white "A" for "A" Flight. The white rings on the wheel covers were personal marks.
In the fall of 1917 Curtis was learning the trade of fighter pilot in the
toughest school in the world—the Western Front. An aggressive pilot, he tended
to take advantage of his luck, and although some of his escapes were hair-raising,
he came back for more with invincible enthusiasm. Soon he was feeling that he
could take on anybody. On November 5 he led five Camels of "A" Flight on a
high offensive patrol up to the lines at Nieuport. The flight took off at 12:30
and climbed to 10,000 feet where Curtis shaped a course northeast along the
coast. After a penetration of perhaps five miles he turned back to the lines where
a flight of eight Albatros was spotted on a level somewhat above that of the
Camels.
They looked like a good target so he headed up into them: "Two of the
German formation did a roll as we approached. This should have warned me
that they were above average, but it did not and I pulled up and opened fire.
It seemed that four of them started firing at me at the same time. In some
unaccountable manner I found myself upside down, heading for the earth with
a lower right wing that had buckled upwards about two or three feet out from
the fuselage. I had had toe straps put on my rudder bar so that I could both
push and pull with one foot in case I was shot through the other leg. Well, I
found myself trying to keep my body inside the fuselage by pulling up for all I
was worth with my toes from the ankle forward. My belt had too much elastic in
it and was of very little use. I was hanging on to the fuselage beside the machine
gun holes for all I was worth.
13!