Three uneventful patrols followed in the days ahead. Then, on the afternoon of March 25, Bishop was involved in his first dogfight. He was flying fourth in a four-ship flight of Nieuports led by No. 60 Squadron’s New Zealander commander, Captain Alan John Lance Scott. Their patrol climbed through low clouds and mist toward St. Leger. In clear air at 9,000 feet they came upon three Albatros D.IIIs. It all happened very quickly. Attaching himself to the tail of an Albatros, Bishop dived on it, firing tracers and seeing his bullets strike the enemy for the first time. The Albatros turned over and seemed to fall out of control. With surprising savvy for a rookie flier, Bishop followed him down through the clouds. He knew that this could be a ruse. Sure enough, the German pilot leveled out, but Bishop was right on his tail. Opening up again with his Lewis gun from almost point-blank range, he aimed at the fuselage near the pilot.

Subscribe Today

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

The Albatros fell away again, with Bishop in hot pursuit. This time, following in a 200-mph dive, Bishop was elated to see his first victory completed when the Albatros crashed nose first into a field. But his exaltation turned to desperation when, as he pulled up abruptly from his dive, his engine coughed and died. The Le Rhne had oiled up, and try as he might, Bishop could not get it restarted. He had lost his bearings during the air battle, and when he saw a village in ruins beneath him and heard the ominous rattle of machine-gun fire, he became convinced that he was over enemy territory.

As he pointed the nose of his now silent Nieuport in the direction of what he hoped was friendly territory, Bishop wondered whether his real flying career — just begun — was about to come to an end. The ground came up quickly to meet him. He picked the only clear line he could see among the shell holes and set the little plane down, rolling roughly to a stop. At least he was still alive. Grabbing the only weapon available, his Very pistol flare gun, he leaped down, sprinted to the first available shell hole and dived in head first. In the next tense moments he saw four figures cautiously approaching his position. To his intense relief they were British soldiers. In an instant my whole life outlook changed, he later related in his book Winged Warfare. He soon learned that his landing site had been in German hands only a few hours before.

April 1917 turned out to be Bishop’s month. Bloody April, as it would come to be known, saw the air war intensify to new levels. Bishop’s No. 60 Squadron and Manfred von Richthofen’s Jagdstaffel 11 faced off across a narrow no man’s land. By April 7, Bishop had earned his first decoration — the Military Cross — for two victories on that day, a balloon and an Albatros D.III. On April 8, Easter Sunday, Bishop scored five times in 40 minutes. When he got back to Filescamp Farm, his mechanic called for a tin of blue paint. Although personal identification on British aircraft was officially frowned upon, it was allowed in a very few instances. Bishop’s idol, Albert Ball, had painted the cowling of his Nieuport red. Now, in his new position of squadron ace, Bishop’s Nieuport Serial No. B1566 would sport a blue cowling. By the end of the month, even though the overall air war in April had been decisively in the Germans’ favor, Bishop had claimed 20 victories.

By now he flew with such joyful disregard that an awed comrade described him as incapable of fear. He was made a flight leader, and within a month of his first operational flight he was given the freedom to fly his own roving missions on his days off in addition to his normal quota of patrols.

Bishop had found himself as a combat pilot. He was driven to succeed, and he counted his victories with pride. His extraordinary skill in deflection shooting probably had everything to do with the hours he had spent shooting squirrels and leaning over a pool table as a youth. Although Bishop was admittedly a heavy-handed pilot, that very characteristic seemed to give him the advantage in a dogfight, since he flew his little Nieuport and later the SE-5 with a certain sense of abandon. A natural tactician, he maintained that surprise was the most important factor for success in an air battle and did not hesitate to disengage when the element of surprise had been lost.

Help HistoryNet by bookmarking to