To make matters worse, Mannock spent hours at target practice but appeared hesitant when confronting enemy planes over the lines. He recorded his emotions on his first combat patrol in his diary on April 13, 1917: “I went over the lines for the first time, escorting FEs [Farman Experimental F.E.2b reconnaissance planes]. Heavily ‘Archied.’ My feelings very funny.” In fact, the novice pilot who had talked so big in the mess had been very afraid. On subsequent flights Mannock was seen as timid in the face of the enemy—“windy” or “having the wind up,” in pilot’s slang. Some of his squadron mates began to shun him and talk about him behind his back. The squadron was soon divided into his supporters and detractors.

Subscribe Today

• Did you enjoy our article?
• Read more in Aviation History magazine
• Subscribe online and save nearly 40%!!!
 

His detractors could only be silenced by deeds. They got a taste of Mannock’s mettle on April 19 when, while practice diving at a ground target from 2,000 feet, the lower right wing of his Nieuport snapped off and the plane plunged downward. Mannock somehow managed to land the crippled craft safely. After that display of sang-froid and flying skill, the other pilots began to reconsider their opinions of him.

They were further impressed on May 7 when Mannock joined a flight of five others for a strike on German observation balloons. Mannock destroyed a balloon for his first victory that day. But he wrote in his diary: “My fuselage had bullet holes in it, one very near my head, and the wings were more or less riddled. I don’t want to go through such an experience again.”

Still, fired with new confidence, Mannock became more aggressive in the air and was now accepted in the squadron; men who had formerly given him the cold shoulder now bought him drinks in the mess. He sometimes led combat patrols, and on at least two occasions believed he had brought down a German aircraft but did not claim it, as there were no witnesses. His great desire at that point was to gain a “real” victory over an enemy airplane, but this eluded him.

His persistence eventually paid off. On June 7, flying Nieuport B1552 north of Lille, Mannock went after an Albatros D.III at 13,000 feet. He had been flying escort for a squadron of F.E.2b bombers. Coming in from behind, Mannock pumped 60 rounds into the German fighter at 10 yards, and it went down out of control, an action he jubilantly reported back at the base.

Shortly afterward, Mannock suffered an eye injury, and was sent home on a two-week leave. He used his time at home to think about combat tactics, and when he rejoined his unit, he was convinced of his fighting abilities. On July 12, Mannock shot down a DFW C.V two-seater that crashed inside British lines. Delighted with the opportunity to examine his “work” up close, Mannock drove out to the crash site. The observer had survived, but the pilot was dead. Upon returning to base, he spoke about this to his friend Lieutenant William Maclanachan. “It sickened me,” Mannock told him, “but I wanted to see where my shots had gone. Do you know, there were three neat little bullet holes right here”—Mannock indicated the side of his head. In his diary, Mannock added a further detail, a “little black-and-tan terrier—dead—in the observer’s seat. I felt exactly like a murderer.” Nevertheless, he sent another DFW down out of control the next day.

July 1917 would be important for Mannock in many ways. Not only did he score his first concrete kill, but a squadron mate, Captain George L. “Zulu” Lloyd, spoke privately with him, telling him that a few men still doubted his fighting spirit.

“Of course, I’ve been frightened against my will—nervous reaction,” Mannock forthrightly explained. “I’ve now conquered this physical defect and, having conquered myself, I will now conquer the Hun. Air fighting is a science. I have been studying it and have not been unduly worried at not getting Huns at the expense of being reckless.” Lloyd was more than satisfied with this answer. When some men still questioned Mannock’s abilities, it was put down to jealousy.

Help HistoryNet by bookmarking to