WAR

Deullin shot down several two-seaters by patient stalking. He would wait
for them to come up to the lines,
himself patrolling at his Spad's ceiling which was
a shade over 20,000 feet. He would hold his station about five miles on the
German side of the lines so the two-seaters would pass under him at middle height,
still climbing on their way to the Front. Waiting for them to pass, he would dive
down a mile behind them, unseen except by the most alert and sharp-eyed observers,
leveling out directly behind them at an altitude slightly lower than that at
which they were traveling. Climbing slightly and making good use of the extra
speed built up in the dive, Deullin would overtake the two-seaters, keeping hidden
in the blind spot behind the tail. He would fire at point-blank range.
Deullin summed it all up this way: "Use your head—reflection, patience
prudence. Think out each attack fully; differ your attacks if necessary; watch out
for surprise, and, no matter what happens, lead the dance with celerity."
By practicing what he preached, Albert Deullin survived the war.
On July 28, 1917, while the Storks were stationed in Flanders, an American
volunteer joined the group, assigned to Spa 73 under Deullin. The American was
Charles J. Biddle of Andalusia, Pennsylvania. Born March 13, 1890, Biddle
graduated from Princeton in 1911, and received a law degree from Harvard in
1914.* He entered the French Armee de VAir by way of the Foreign Legion, and
some of his experiences as a student pilot at Avord have already been described.
Biddle was escorted up to the lines for the first time to have a look around
and came back from his first patrol with a vivid impression: anywhere below
2,000 feet the fighters are in the trajectories of the big shells, and when one of
these goes sizzling by, the Spad rocks like a canoe caught in the wake of a
motor boat.
By the middle of September, Biddle had flown enough time with the Storks
to develop some confidence, but was not beyond making greenhorn's mistakes.
He came across a two-seater while flying alone, having become separated from
the rest of the patrol, and from simple unfamiliarity was uncertain whether it
was French or British or German. He thought it was German, but since he was
above it, waited until it passed under him and he got a good look at the crosses
on the wings. "I then turned around," Biddle described the subsequent action in
a letter home, "and went for him from above, which by the way, is a fool method
to attack a two-seater, as it gives the machine gunner, who sits behind the pilot,
a beautiful shot at you. Usually the best way to do it is to get under his tail where
he often does not see you and can't shoot without hitting his own tail. I guess
I "was a bit too anxious, however, and spoiled my own chances. I could see the
machine gunner blazing away and could not get to close quarters without giving
him a much better chance at me than I had at him. I aimed ahead of him about
the distance I thought was right and gave him a rip from my machine gun. I
could see the tracer bullets and they looked to me as though I hit him, but I
could not be sure. At all events he started for home without a second's hesita-
* Since 1924 he has been a partner of Drinker, Biddle and Reath, of Philadelphia.
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