Snow continued to fall heavily, blanketing the sky and forming a thin layer of ice around the aircraft's fuselage. Major Godfrey, wearing his flight goggles, steeled himself against the biting wind as he led a squadron of "Nieuport 10" planes towards the German lines.
The sight of the twin machine guns mounted on the front of his plane felt surreal to Godfrey. Just two weeks ago, he'd been performing air shows in Lyon; now, he was a squadron leader in the French Second Flying Battalion's Third Squadron.
When first approached for recruitment, Godfrey had declined. He told the lieutenant who came to find him, "I'm not interested in joining the military, sir. I enjoy my freedom, and I'd go mad being ordered around all day."
He'd added, "If I wanted to join, I would have already signed up with Charles' flying squadron."
The lieutenant, however, handed him a draft notice. "I suggest you reconsider, sir. Otherwise, you'll find yourself drafted as an infantryman."
This was Joffre's strategy: if he couldn't recruit men with potential for aviation, he'd make sure Charles couldn't, either.
In the end, Godfrey chose the former, or rather, he had no choice. Upon enlisting, he started as a second lieutenant, assigned as an instructor to teach novice recruits the basics of piloting.
The Third Squadron had initially comprised 36 men, but within two weeks, only 28 remained. Flying a plane was far riskier than driving a car; any mistake could lead to a deadly nosedive.
But to the military, these losses were insignificant; they simply added a number to the casualty list, notified the families, and issued a compensation of 260 francs. As for Godfrey, he was promoted to major and given command of the surviving 28 pilots to commence their first mission.
He'd argued with Colonel Iger, "These men barely know the basics. Some might even crash trying to land—this mission is too dangerous."
"We don't have time, Major!" Colonel Iger's tone was unyielding. "Look at the front line; just yesterday, we lost five reconnaissance planes to the Germans, and we've done nothing in response." Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on No(ᴠ)ᴇlFire.nᴇt
"What about Charles' planes?" Godfrey asked. "They've managed to defeat the Germans numerous times; why not send them?"
"It's simple!" Iger pointed to the map spread across the table. "Our front spans over three hundred kilometers, with 51 infantry divisions stationed along it, and more arriving daily—including units from Africa. Charles only commands a single squadron, so it's up to us, Major. We can only rely on ourselves."
Lies, shameless lies, thought Godfrey. He understood this was about seizing control over the air force from Charles. They wanted to establish an independent Army aviation corps as quickly as possible, even if it meant taking extreme measures.
Yet orders were orders, and Godfrey had no choice but to obey. So, Godfrey and his squadron of 29 planes lifted off from the airstrip, assigned to patrol over the Somme and shoot down any German planes they encountered, be they fighters or scouts.
"To my knowledge, the Germans usually operate in groups of four or eight," Iger had said. "As long as you stick together, you'll be fine!"
Godfrey shook his head. Iger thought aerial combat was no different from ground warfare, where numbers and bravery could win the day.
Godfrey's squadron leader, Lieutenant Colanca, signaled to him, pointing out a few German "Taube" reconnaissance planes fleeing in the distance.
Without a second thought, Godfrey signaled to the squadron to pursue. A perfect chance for the rookies to practice, and it'd make a nice report for Iger, he thought.
But as they drew closer, Godfrey began to sense something amiss. The "Taubes" weren't maneuvering to evade them, even though they were well-suited to dodge with sharp turns and outmaneuver the Nieuport 10s' speed advantage.
"What's stopping them from turning? What's their goal?" he muttered.
Looking around, his eyes drifted up towards the clouds above, and his expression changed. He quickly signaled to call off the chase, but his rookies, fixated on their prey, pushed their throttles to the limit, oblivious to his warning.
He shouted, but the howling wind drowned out his voice.
It was just as he feared. Suddenly, more than a dozen German planes burst from the clouds, descending in formation with the snow, unleashing streams of bullets on the Nieuports.
Three Nieuport 10s were downed almost immediately, one of them exploding mid-air and breaking apart.
The French squadron fell into chaos, scattering in all directions like flies under attack. The German planes calmly pursued them, picking them off one by one.
The sky was filled with gunfire as Nieuport 10s, black smoke trailing behind them, spiraled toward the ground. Some planes had their wings or tails sheared off, spinning out of control before smashing into the earth.
Godfrey was frozen in terror at the first attack, stunned by the horror unfolding around him. He had never faced combat and could scarcely believe what was happening. Luckily, when a German plane dove toward him, his survival instincts kicked in. He snapped back to reality, frantically maneuvering his plane to evade.
There was no thought of strategy or skill—just raw reflexes.
Major Godfrey fought to gain altitude, knowing that height was his only chance to escape.
Suddenly, two Nieuports collided mid-air, both chasing the same German plane. The collision was horrific; an explosion filled the sky with fiery wreckage that rained down on the ground.
Weaving through the smoking debris, Godfrey narrowly avoided disaster, only to find himself facing an incoming German aircraft.
He recognized it as a German "Albatros B," a model he'd seen once before in Germany during an air show. Back then, it was a civilian model in development. Now, it was an enemy fighter.
Clenching his jaw, Godfrey pushed his throttle forward, closing in on the Albatros. With a firm squeeze of the trigger, he unleashed a hail of bullets, shredding the wooden fuselage.
Moments later, the Albatros tilted, trailing black smoke as it plummeted earthward.
This was Godfrey's first confirmed kill—and the only German plane that the Third Squadron managed to bring down in the entire battle.
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