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The Story of Bertram von Haas.

Part 3: Songbird.

20 September 1918.

Stretching out joyously, Bertram strolled at a leisurely pace on to the airfield, running his hand along the fuselage of his Fokker as he moved towards its cockpit. Ah, how good it felt to be free of that damned desk! Around him, pilots scrambled to their machine, the piercing alarm shattering the relative peace of the morning. Ltn. Dittmann almost leapt clear into his own machine, immediately firing up the engine and firing Bertram an infuriated look as he slowly lifted himself into his own machine. Over the noise of the engine, Dittmann screamed out "Hurry up, damn you, or we'll miss them!!".

The alarm only ever sounded for two reasons; either the airfield was under attack, or enemy machines had been sighted nearby. This morning it was the latter, and so the pilots of Jasta 13 were ordered to scramble. Bertram fired up his engine - not knowing where they were headed. That knowledge belonged solely to Ltn. Buchner, who was just now taking off. His 10 subordinates, Bertram included, soon followed and together they climbed southwards towards Saint-Mihiel.

Not feeling the urgency of the situation in the least, Bertram grinned as he lifted into the air, as that insufferable desk in the cottage behind him got smaller and further away. Above his head, the deep grey clouds loomed over him and warned him back, the wind swirling in fury and urging him to return to the ground, where he belonged! Staring up into the brutal sky, his grin widened. Oh, no...no, I'm supposed to be up here! he challenged the elements in his head.

Almost in approving response, the sun flashed through the clouds, illuminating the formation of 11 Fokkers. Bertram turned to face it, and as his head turned he caught sight of four of his colleagues splitting away from the formation, scattering to every side. In an instant he knew the enemy was close - but where were they?

Silhouettes flashed across the clouds like black lightning above the heads of his colleagues. Bertram strained his eyes, and tracked one such shape. Under his scrutiny it revealed itself to be a Spad. Ah, there's another! And two more! Bertram grinned, cocking his twin Spandaus. To be given the chance to make a kill so soon after his return to the sky, ah, it was a gift! The deep green nose of his Fokker lazily came around to point at the French machines, and the challenge was set. Immediately, two French pilots reacted, and down they came in dizzying spirals, down to kill him. Bertram weaved his Fokker in between the two machines. In doing so, one flashed past his head, almost close enough for him to reach out and touch! As it passed him by, he took note of the insignia on the side. A swallow against a yellow square. It would make for a pretty trophy.





Flak begun to burst around him, aiming for his pursuers, but this only added to Bertram's mood. What a good fight this would be! Tracers flashed past his machine, and he quickly looked over his shoulder to see one of his opponents behind him. Pulling the stick into his stomach, he looped away from the Spad and begun to circle left. As he gazed over, he saw the two Spads, almost in formation, circling with him. Savouring the thrill of the fight, Bertram begun to sing. Despite the furious wind drowning out his words, he jovially belted out 'Argonnerwald', an old favourite of his. As he danced with the two Frenchmen, he sung of their home country. It almost looked as if they were goaded by his words, as he watched their elevators twitching, straining, to tighten their turns and get behind him to send him hellwards. He responded, tightening his own turn, knowing all the while that his machine was the superior one in this kind of fight. "Argonnerwald, um Mitternacht, Ein Pionier steht auf der Wacht!" The nose of Bertram's Fokker slowly reared around to face the tails of the two Spads.





Finally getting behind his oppoents, he pressed down on the trigger and white-hot tracers flashed towards the rearmost Spad, cutting thin, wispy lines of smoke through the air. The French machines split apart. Ein Sternlein hoch am Himmel stand, Bringt ihm 'nen Gruß aus fernem Heimatland! Tearing through the sky after his prey, Bertram started to close in. Just then he looked over his shoulder, seeing the second Spad now chasing him. He laughed out loud, these two were tricky! Two more machines flashed over his head, but these two were Fokkers. Ach! The fight was spoiled. But the hunt was still on! Und mit dem Spaten in der Hand, Er vorne in der Sappe stand! Bertram jubilantly raised his nose into the sky, avoiding the tracers of another Spad that had now entered the mix. Soon he found himself behind this opponent.





The Spad in front of him dove down towards the earth, Bertram in tow. At the last second, both machines pulled sharply up. Thinking he had escaped, the French pilot straightened out, just long enough for Bertram to take aim, but at the last second he saw the danger and snaked away to the right. Mit Sehnsucht denkt er an sein Lieb: Ob er sie wohl noch einmal wiedersieht? It was too late. Bertram's fire found the Spad, and it begun to shudder and tremble, as if the machine itself knew that it was done for, before falling towards the earth. Bertram's eyes gleamed as it came closer to the trees below, before shattering in a mess of splintered wood and torn fabric. Und donnernd dröhnt die Artill'rie. Wir stehen vor der Infantrie...the words were whisked away by the wind and fell around the now burning wreckage of the Spad. As Bertram turned back towards his airfield, he saw a second Spad, fighting tooth-and-nail against a Fokker in amongst a cloud of flak. His smile flashing white above his flying scarf, he turned his machine towards the combat. He drew nearer, and smiled as he recognised Niethammer going about his work. he was behind the Spad now, but below; he had no shot. In that case...





Granaten schlagen bei uns ein, Der Franzmann will in unsere Stellung 'rein! Tracers flashed into the Spad. In a panic the French pilot attempted to climb away from the two hungry Fokkers below him, however, Bertram was scoring hits. Eventually, the Spad got on top of the two Fokkers, although he had been shot about in doing so. Bertram defiantly lifted his nose and shot another burst into the Spad, causing the pilot to react and turn too hard in the climb. His machine stalled and fell back down into the clutches of the two Germans once more. In a flash Bertram was upon him, his Spandaus roaring into life. Pieces of canvas were cut away from the Frenchman's wings as he desperately twisted every which-way to escape his pursuer. Circling above, Niethammer watched with a curious eye, keen to observe the new upstart pilot's ability in the air. He smiled, pleasantly surprised, as Bertram's tracers found their way into the French pilot's back, and the Spad rolled over with its belly to the sky before falling upside-down into oblivion. Er frug nicht warum und nicht wie,Tat seine Pflicht wie alle sie! Bertram laughed the words to his song as he and Niethammer turned for home.



The two Germans landed together, and Ltn. Niethammer bounded over to Bertram as he lazily climbed down from his Fokker. "von Haas, that was some display! The poor Frenchman hardly stood a chance!". Bertram smiled slyly, and shrugged. "Herr Niethammer, I think I owe you an apology. That Spad was rightfully yours!". The Leutnant laughed, and slapped Bertram on the back. "Ah, but you're right, von Haas...perhaps we must toss a coin for it! Come, let us lunch now, and celebrate your victory!".

As Bertram walked alongside Niethammer, he hummed to the tune of 'Argonnerwald'.


Sorry about your wingmen, Carrick - It's a hell of a war!