The Adventures of the Pilot from Tsingtau -Pages 7 - 19

The Joys and Woes of Aviation It was August in the year nineteen hundred and thirteen when I arrived in my hometown of Schwerin. I had spent many weeks in England primarily studying anything in London that had to do with art treasures. Daily I had traipsed about in London and the surrounding area. At that time I had no inkling of how valuable this foray would be for me two years later. A certain internal excitement and anxiety had befallen me during the entire trip and as I arrived in Schwerin I dared not ask my uncle the question which had burned within my soul for days. During these days the new autumn commander-in-chief of the Marines would be announced. This concerned me because it would determine whether the aspiration I had had for years would come to fruition. My uncle's question, "Do you know where you are going?" hit me like an electric shock.

"No." "Well then, heartfelt congratulations. Marine pilot branch!" Out of sheer joy I could have done a handstand right in the middle of the street but I didn't want to put the good citizens of Schwerin in an uproar. Finally my wish had been fulfilled! The last days of leave flew by and I happily returned to Marine flight school in order to complete my year and a half training as an inspections officer and I never had a better time packing my suitcase in order to go to a new assignment. Just a few days before my departure one of my comrades came to me and said: "Have you heard the latest news on where you're going?" "Yes. Pilot." "Oh, man, you don't know how lucky you are. You're going to Tsingtau!" I was speechless and must have had a dumb look on my face. "Yes, Tsingtau, and not just as a pilot, you lucky fellow. You're going to be the first marine pilot in Tsingtau!" It's no wonder I couldn't believe it until I got official confirmation. It was true, I really had extraordinary luck. Three month layover in Kiel and finally the first of January, nineteen fourteen arrived. I was in my beloved Berlin. And the anxiety! I could barely control myself. And already on the second of January I stood in Johannisthal and thought I could begin immediately with aviation. But things went for me the way it does for most flight students. For the first time I learned the basic,

experience-driven rule of aviation: One must learn to wait above all else if one wishes to fly! I wait, I wait, and I wait some more. Eighty percent of flying is made up of waiting and levelheadedness. * What had happened was Frau Holle had shaken out her down-feather pillows and the entire airfield was covered in deep snow. Flight was impossible. All week long each morning I got up and thought, surely the snow must be gone by now! Disappointed I went back to the house in the afternoon. Finally the weather improved in February, and on the first I happily sat in my Dove and went up for the first time into the marvelously cold winter air. The weather remained fair on these days and day after day I received inexhaustible training. It was important to me that I get out soon. And I was very proud when I was allowed to solo on the third day. Just when I had flown alone for two days my tireless instructor, Werner Weiting, came up to me on a beautiful Saturday afternoon and said, "Now First Lieutenant, how would you like to take your pilot's exam? That would make for a fine little record!" "Yes, sure. I'm ready!" Two minutes later I sat in the machine and joyfully turned my little Dove in the prescribed maneuvers. It was pure pleasure to tumble about in the winter air. And as I was lucky enough to make a perfect final landing and my instructor proudly congratulated me and shook my hand, I was in fine humor, feeling the inner sense of satisfaction and good fortune. Now I was a pilot. School time was over. I was free to go up to my heart's content any time on my own in a large, hundred horsepower machine. * Translator's Note: My father, a professional pilot in the mid twentieth century, defined aviation as hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror!

I was pleased to prepare for a special assignment. Rumpler had brought out a new single wing aircraft which was built especially for high altitude. It was now possible with this aircraft to reach a new world record for high aviation flight. The famous pilot Linnekogel was supposed to fly this plane and he asked me to fly with him as his observer. Naturally I said yes! On one of the last days in February we made our first attempt. Thickly covered up to protect us against the severe cold we sat in our airplane. We saw many people looking at us with envy. We soared as quickly as a dragonfly being pursued by a bird. With a watch in my hand I observed the altitude and after just fifteen minutes we achieved a height of two thousand meters, at the time an extrordniary accomplishment. But now things moved slowly. The air was quite unsettled and we were tossed about like a feather in a hefty wind gust. After an hour we finally reached four thousand meters when the motor started to sputter and start. For a few seconds the plane stopped moving with a jerk. While spiralling to the ground we achieved greater velocity and a few minutes later the airplane stood intact on the airfield. The cold had become too intense. The motor had simply frozen. These impediments hadn't been considered earlier. The modifications were quickly made. A few days later we started again and this time we had greater luck. We ascended quietly and soundly into the heights. Four thousand meters; four thousand, two hundred; four thousand, five hundred meters. Thank God, the record was finally broken. The cold was almost unbearable and I believe that even the thickest furs wouldn't have helped in the frigid air.

Four thousand eight hundred; four thousand nine hundred meters! Only four hundred more meters and the goal would be achieved. However, as though hexed, the airplane sputtered with only one more meter to climb. Nothing helped. The fuel ran out and the motor suddenly siezed up, this time at an altitude of four thousand, nine hundred meters. Without a drop of gas we went down intact basically frozen to a clump of ice. We hadn't achieved everything we wanted to, but we had one beautiful little victory: a German record for high altitude had been established. This victory spurred us on to attain the ultimate goal. By the beginning of March the weather was finally clear enough for us to make a new attempt. Even more warmly clothed than last time, and provided with a thermometer but without oxygen equipment, we left the air park for a third attempt. The initial altitude was easily achieved. Huge clouds sailed across the sky and the temperature was frigid. As we went above the cloud cover and encountered sparkling sunshine we experienced a marvelous event. Suddenly before us and magnificently lit by the sun was a zeppelin which had just risen to flight altitude. What a magnificent encounter at over three thousand meters! Far away from all human endeavor and high above the cares and woes of everyday existence these two machines bore witness to Germany's strength and ability. We circled our big brother a few times and gestured with our hands to wish them a silent "Best of Luck!" Then we returned to our serious task. We had to work ceaseless in order to achieve our goal. After an hour we had achieved four thousand, eight hundred meters.

Then we reached four thousand, nine hundred meters. My barograph read almost five thousand. The propeller hummed its steady melody. Calmly and steadily Linnekogel made his circles. The thermometer already read minus thirty-seven degrees Celsius but we didn't heed the cold. However the air was rather thin. A light feeling of tiredness overcame me and my lungs worked in short, quick surges. Any movement was difficult and even turning around to look at the pilot sitting behind me was a great effort. In the meantime the sky had become clear and the bank of clouds had moved on. Below us we could see Berlin and its surroundings. At this high altitude the world capital looked no bigger than the palm of my hand. There was a dark fleck but one could clearly follow Unter den Linden Street and the enclosed Charlottenburg Avenue. Distracted by this wonderful view I hadn't paid attention to the watch or the barograph for some time. Filled with foreboding I recovered from my dereliction of duty. Twenty minutes had gone by since I had last checked that my barograph indicated five thousand meters and by now the goal must have been reached. However my instrument still indicated five thousand. At this Linnekogle started to gesture towards me to find the air park as he pointed his hand down. No, that was still too wrong for me. Anxiously I turned around and since Linnekogel didn't see this I not so gently kicked him in the shin. Then I put my splayed five fingers in from of my nose and pointed my hand upward. That was supposed to indicate higher, higher, we're just at five thousand meters.

Linnekogel just laughed, took my hand, shooj it vigorously, then gestured with his right hand two times five. At first I thought he was crazy and then this conclusion was supported as Linnekogel stopped the engine and we glided all the way back in a straight line to the air field in Johannisthal. (At the time we were right over Potsdam.) Fortunately sixteen minutes later we were standing in front of the Rumpler factory being cheerfully greeted by onlookers. It had been achieved! The world altitude record was broken with an altitude of five thousand, five hundred meters. [18,000 feet] The entire trip had taken one hour and forty-five minutes. We stood proudly among our earthbound human beings. Linnekogel was indeed right. My barograph was frozen whereas Linnkogels, which was better wrapped and kept warmer, had held up better. Days passed and the time came for me to leave the homeland. The newly built dove for my assignment in Tsingtau was nearing completion. I had a strange feeling as I flew my new plane after the terms for acceptance were fulfilled. It seemed to me the most beautiful airplane in the world. But my ambition still wasn't satisfied. Before my journey to the Far East I still had to conduct a long overland flight in Germany. I was fortunate. My request to speak to Mr. Rumpler was granted and he lent me his own airplane so I could fly around Germany for many more days. My field pilot exam was quickly arranged and at the end of March at seven in the morning I sat in my fully equipped Dove. Ahead of me as observer sat my good friend, long-time first lieutenant Strehle from the war academy.

This was the first time he sat in an airplane but I believe the memory of this flight would last him a lifetime. The takeoff was magnificent. Proudly I made by banked turns until I had ascended five hundred meters in a northerly direction. Everything worked out just fine. I crossed the Havel River. Nauen came into sight then suddenly it started to get hazy. Ten minutes later the real trouble began. Thick fog enveloped us. You could no longer see the ground. This made my first overland flight a difficult trial. However as carefree as only a young pilot can be I thought to myself, Just have courage, things will turn out fine. So calmly I flew through the thick fog guided by my compass to the north. Hamburg was our destination. After two hours at an altitude of three hundred meters I could finally see the ground again and who could describe my joy as I spotted a large, beautiful field. In full glided flight, just as though I were over an airfield, I touched down and stood uninjured in a newly ploughed field. People came up by the dozens and I was elated when I found out that I was on good Mecklenburg soil just ahead of all the things I had to find in accordance with my observer's and my reckoning. It was a celebration day and we had provided these good people with some fine Sunday entertainment. Once this was declared, we wanted to do more, but the wet ground held so firmly onto the wheels that a takeoff was out of the question. Amid the joy and laughter, amid the gees and wows, and amid the many vulgar jests, which we ignored, the willing onlookers pulled the giant bird over the field. And after a few trees were cut down we went over a graveyard and onto solid ground.

Despite the fact that we wanted to take off, they wouldn't let us leave until after we had fortified ourselves with some excellent coffee and bundt cake. After much hand shaking and cries of hurrah and handkerchief waving we took off and steered north. The joy only lasted a short time. Fiftenn minutes later we were back in dense fog. After two hours the situation became quite unpleasant since the damned motor started to sputter and shake, sometimes going three hundred revolutions too slow or two hundred revolutions too fast. I examined all my instruments and valves and noticed in shock that the fuel supply was rapidly dwindling. The best I could do was hold my plane steady and glide down to three hundred meters. And then, oh horrors! The fog lifted a bit but where was I? In the middle of the Alster River with a stalling engine and only three hundred meters in altitude and no idea where the Fuhlsbüttel Airfield was. There was only one solution: calmness and determination. One thought seized me: to stay out of the city and harm no innocent people. On a piece of paper I wrote to my observer: "We must land within five minutes, otherwise we'll be out of fuel and taking a bath!" My observer searched down below and suddenly he joyfully gestured below to a graveyard. Good Comrade! He didn't quite understand the position we found ourselves in and what a poor joke his arm gesture represented. We were already down two hundred meters. The motor jerked erratically and the fuel gauge indicated ten liters but I was content. Luckily we were out of the city.

Even if a smooth landing in the tangled garden were impossible at least no other human life would be put in danger. In such a situation every second was an eternity. Thoughts and considerations rushed by with incredible speed. If one didn't remain calm and demonstrate an iron will one was lost. Suddenly my observer began swinging his hand and pointing down below. And in my mind I still see his glittering eyes glistening before me though his pilot goggles. Shimmering before us and lit by the setting sun through the fog were the hangars of Fuhlsbüttel. Hurray! We reached our destination. How to describe my joy! With the last liter of fuel I made a victory lap around the airfield and after a steep glide I settled my Dove lightly and securely onto the field. My first thought was to fling my arms around my observer's neck. The good fellow had no idea how much danger we were in and he was astonished when I related it to him. Just thinking about this first overland flight made me realize what flying entailed. I felt a chill go through me. The failure was soon after determined. The lower portion of the carburator was ruptured and the fuel drained through the crack which was then widened by the jerking of the engine. Ergo the rapid loss of fuel and erratic motion of the motor. To this day it's a mystery to me why the carburator didn't catch fire. After we spent three days with beloved friends in Bremen a new carburator arrived in Hamburg. Now we wanted to go on. Next stop: Schwerin in Mecklenburg.

Caption under photograph reads: Plüschow in his "Dove"

On a rainy, stormy afternoon I sat in my fully equipped plane. A pull on the lever and fully fueled, we soared off. Today I only fly in such weather when it's absolutely necessary. But back then I had the naiveté and above all else the enthusiasm of a fledgling aviator. But a run of luck doesn't last long. The heavily loaded plane wouldn't ascend, the winds aloft pushed it back and forth like a game ball, and I would gladly have turned back but the lack of altitude made it impossible. And now the first houses of Hamburg were upon us. Impossible to pass over them! I was sixty meters high and I saw no fields below me. A quick decision: Cut the gas! Land! At the same moment I encountered a down draft. I felt the plane being pulled down and then I thought: You'll be smashed down into the ground. I gave the plane full gas and pulled up on the stick in order to soften the impact. But at the same moment I felt a jerking motion behind me and the plane set itself on its nose as if an invisible hand had grabbed the landing gear. What happened next only took a fraction of a second. I pulled up on the elevator control, cut the gas, and hit hard. I held the stick firmly and flew with my head pressed hard against the fuselage. Deathly stillness surrounded me. Deep darkness and terrifying silence. Through a stream of biting liquid flowing over my face I came back to consciousness. With my legs sticking up, my body compacted and my face against my chest I laid still. A thought seared through me:

You've crashed. The plane could burst into flames any minute. You and your observer could be killed! I reached over to find the ignition switch in my compressed position. I finally found it and to my relief turned it off. Awareness of my surroundings returned to me slowly and I thought about my poor observer. He sat ahead of me and would have been crushed by the first hit if the fuselage hadn't held up with the impact. When there was no movement up front I finally asked in a strained voice since I was so twisted that I could barely breathe: "Strehl, are you still alive?" A pause and dreadful stillness. When I asked a second time he responded: "Yes! but what just happened? It's so dark here that I thought something bad must have happened." Oh, how I exulted. I shouted out in satisfaction: "Stehl, dear fellow. We're alive, that's the main thing. Are your bones still intact?" The fine, tall fellow was dreadfully cramped in that small space. I waited for him to reply. "I don't know. Hopefully that will be established later." Then it was quiet again. Fuel was still flowing out of the hundred and seventy liter tank and after a while, which seemed like an eternity to me, someone knocked and a voice echoed: "Is anyone still alive in there?" "Just," I shouted. "But if you don't hurry we'll suffocate in here." The airplane's fuselage was lifted. I heard some shoveling and finally fresh air seeped through. "Stop," cried Strehle, "Lift it in another direction. You're breaking my arm off!"

The helpers tried it from the other side and finally my seat was lifted off me. I was free and lying softly on the wonderfully fragrant planting bed. Then tall Strehle crawled out. It hasn't been often that I've been so happy to shake a the hand of a man who's been a true companion. Stormy weather! Looked bad. The plane completely smashed and bored about a meter into the moist manure heap. The fuselage broken in three places. The wings just a pile of wood, canvas and wire. Yet with this crash two men walked away intact and happy. Strehle only sprained his backbone a bit and I only broke two ribs. That was it. I'll never badmouth a manure pile again in my lifetime. May it and its descendents be blessed for eternity! Sad and limping, we completed the rest of our journey via rail. However these were days of light and sunshine, warmth and good humor, and the biggest, fullest and most incredibly beautiful flowers. Then duty called and the journey began.

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Imaging and translation by Susan Kriegbaum-Hanks