On the 2nd day of April, 1917, stage manager Haig ordered the curtain raised and, with its raising, vengeance was let loose.  Gaps 20 to 30 feet wide were blasted in the barbed wire; some of the mine shafts about Lens were flattened and destroyed; Fritzie’s supply roads were rained upon with a steady hail of hell night and day, preventing the entrance to his trenches not only of ammunition, but also of food, and prevented the withdrawal of any men from his lines; his ammunition dumps were set ablaze, the fires from them lighting up the whole country-side for miles around.  In the air the efficiency of our preparatory work was equally demonstrated.  A new type of flier winged his way back and forth over the sausage-fed warriors, and the ability of our birds to hold the line in the Heavens was amply demonstrated, one British airman, on the 28th of March, five days before the battle began, downing three German eagles in quick succession.  Spellbound I watched the magnificent work of this flier.

Far up as the eye could reach, six British planes in battle formation, the leader of the squad about three hundred yards in advance, four others in a row, the sixth three hundred yards in the rear, winged their way.  Suddenly, the rear bird shot downward, volplaning and looping the loop with as much abandon as if he were in an exhibition park.  I quickly discerned the object of his lightning-like descent.  Hovering over our trenches were three German vultures.  As he dropped, Fritz volleyed at him with his anti-aircraft mouthpieces, but failed to land.  The bird kept on his downward plunge until he reached his objective, and as he dove into the vultures, our anti-aircraft guns, which had been endeavoring to wing the German birds, ceased fire and all eyes were turned heavenward.  With bated breath we watched and waited the outcome.

The Fritzies spread out in circle formation, with a view to surrounding it, each a little higher than the other.  With a lightning-like swoop the British bird, getting right in front of it and turning sharply, let fly his machine gun in rapid fire, Fritz answering energetically.  In less than three minutes’ time, a distinct wabbling was noticeable and the British sparrow, seeing that his work there was done, turned his attention to the others.  His work was surely done; Fritz continued to wabble and then plunged in a deadly drop until he got to the Lens-Arras road, where he made a desperate attempt to alight on the highway; but he got tangled up in the trees, his wings being smashed and remaining in the branches, the body of the plane shooting down into a deep ditch and embedding itself and its two occupants in the mud.  They were dead.  A tremendous cheer greeted this victory over the first opponent.  The other two airmen followed our bird, volleying at him as they flew.  With a quick motion he turned upside down, swooping for the bird on his upper left, and continued to chase and fight him in this position.  The other German bird was off to one side, put-put-put-put-ing! for all he was worth, but his bullets were wasted by reason of the upside down position.  In a run of another 500 yards the work of our lad was finished, his machine gun having done the trick; and Fritz and his pilot being killed, the machine dashed rudderless to the ground, nose first.