The Development of the Airship,
with the Story of the Zepplins Air Raids in the World War
by
CAPTAIN ERNST A. LEHMANN
and
Howard Mingos
CHAPTER IV
WITH HINDENBURG ON THE EASTERN FRONT
On March 20th the captains of three army airships, Z-10, LZ-35 and SL-2, received orders to raid Paris, that night if possible. Searchlights had been installed the month before at Douai, Cambrai, Noyon and other places, to facilitate navigation. When hearing an airship in their vicinity, the attendants were to flash their code name quickly and turn off the light.
The SL-2 was struck while over the trenches on the way out, so she threw her bombs into Compiegne, a French army headquarters, and returned to her hangar at Trier.
Paris had been warned of the approaching Zeppelins, for searchlights were playing in all directions and a battery far to the South of the raiders was firing madly into a cloud that had floated into a searchlight beam. The gunners thought it was a Zeppelin. For reasons best known to themselves, the French kept the capital brilliantly lighted, unlike London, which always was darkened. The river Seine appeared like a black band running through the city. The raiders could see the flashes from the heavy guns in the forts, busy with sending up their big shells which of course invariably dropped back into the city, some in the residential sections, to create considerable damage.
The anti-aircraft batteries proved ineffective, their bursts being largely far below and behind the ships. But as Captain Horn of the X-10 told me, "We had strong headwinds, and were flying at only 8,000 feet. The shooting started 15 miles from the center of the city and it took us an hour and a half to cross and recross the city, all that time in a perfect hell of searchlights and gunfire."
Yet both ships dropped their bombs with good results. Reuter's reporting the destruction of a big munitions factory said: "Half of the building, which was operating at the time, is razed, scattered, split in a thousand pieces. The rest of the factory looks as if it had been caught in an immense vortex. A great hole in the ground is filled with girders, beams and debris." It was also admitted that an electric power generating plant had been struck.
The LZ-35 on leaving the city was pursued by anti-aircraft guns mounted on automobiles, and other cars contained searchlights, but her commander shook off the enemy by deflecting his course over the big forests north of Paris. Passing the lines he was fired at but the ship received only about a hundred holes, and was able to reach home. The Z-10 was not so lucky.
"Dawn was breaking as we reached the battle lines near Noyon," Captain Horn told me. "The French had been waiting for us. It was fortunate that they bad no incendiary projectiles, for despite our height of 10,000 feet -- the highest we could possibly reach -- tbe Z-10 was hit by two complete salvos from a battery that had managed to get the exact range. Shells and shrapnel striking at an angle went through two or three gas cells at a time. One solid shell went through the ship and two shrapnels missed the control car by inches.
"We continued at top speed until the lines were passed. No airplanes pursued us, the artillery evidently thinking they could handle the Z-10 nicely. Or else the pilots did not care to go up into that unhealthy, shell-pestered atmosphere.
"We were losing gas at a terrific rate because half the cells were more like sieves than anything else; and we were glad to see several German planes come out to escort us back and protect us from enemy machines, had they pursued.
"The engineer with two men had been making the rounds continuously, and after we had left the fire zone, he climbed into the control car and reported 5 cells losing gas rapidly with another emptying more slowly. The elevator man reported the Z-10 sinking heavily at more than a foot and a half a second.
"I then brought the ship down to less than 4,000 feet so as to shrink the gas by the increased pressure of the air at lower altitudes, and to cause the remaining gas to stay a little longer in the upper part of the cells where there were not so many holes.
"I knew, however, that we could not reach our hangar at Brussels. We threw out everything to lighten the ship -- machine guns, gasoline and oil tanks, tools and equipment. Then our thick fur coats went overboard, and finally our boots. So long as we could not stay up, we did the next best thing, came down without injury to the crew, in a field near St. Quentin."
In April, 1915, the Kaiser issued another order prohibiting raids on London and this stood until he reversed it late in May. Early in that month I tried to reach Bologne but was held back by strong headwinds. In view of the weather and prospects for a busy summer I decided to overhaul the Z-12 and make ready for better service. So she was not prepared when the new order permitting London raids was issued. As a result the LZ-38 had the field to itself.
After a first attempt on April 29th, in which she succeeded only in reaching Harwich at the mouth of the Thames, which was bombed, LZ-38 two days later got over London and was the first Zeppelin to bomb that city.
A few days later, while rushing the work on our Z-12, Gemmingen and I were ordered to take her to the eastern front and operate under Marshal Hindenburg's forces against Russia.
Throughout the war Hindenburg held a high opinion of the Zeppelins and the ways by which they could, and did, aid his army in several campaigns; though at first his experience with airships paralleled that of the general staff on the western front. Daylight reconnaissance with the pre-war types was not only hazardous but often futile.
At the start three airships had been assigned to operate on the Russian front -- pre-war types which were experimental at best. Yet they made many daylight scouting flights and night raids. The old Z-4 under Captain Quast accomplished wonders when you reflect that she was small, low-powered and inadequately equipped.
This was the Zeppelin which had landed in France in April, 1913, attracting world-wide attention at the time. Her experience then served to illustrate the navigational difficulties which we were up against even during normal periods. She was bound for the German fortress of Metz and shortly after leaving the Zeppelin works at Friedrichshafen ran into thick weather. The wind shifted during the night and, though her commander did not know it, was blowing in the direction opposite to that which had formed the basis for his calculations when be took off. He carried no radio and there was no way to advise him of the shifting wind. Dense fog prevented him learning of it by direct observation, so when the fog lifted the next morning the Zeppelin was over French territory. She might have been turned about and sent back into Germany, but the captain desired to avoid diplomatic complications and a cause for complaint on the part of France, though he was only a few miles from the border. He landed quite voluntarily on French soil near Luneville. This of course gave the French officials an excellent opportunity to inspect the Zeppelin and on one pretext or another they had detained her several days, (until their engineers had learned everything possible about her construction.)
From August to October, 1914, the Z-4 worked under Hindenburg. Captain Quast would set out with machine guns and the crude bombs of that time. Flying only a few hundred feet over the Russian troops he would engage in a pitched battle in which the soldiers on the ground had a huge target. Once he returned with no less than 300 holes in the gas cells. He bombed the forts at Warsaw and several times accounted for important railway junctions near the Polish city. Later, the Z-4 was withdrawn from active service and used as a training ship. A sister craft, Z-5, was less fortunate.
Her captain, Bruener, made a fine flight late in August, bringing back full details of the concentration of enemy troops near Novogeorgievsk. Three days later be bombed an entire regiment of Cossacks in a successful surprise attack and returned with information about the main Russian Army being assembled to oppose Hindenburg. This success made the crew over-daring, a fault that I have observed generally among many flying men.
When the Z-5 attacked the railway yards at Mlawa during the day of August 28th, she was little more than a mile high. The artillery peppered her with shrapnel until she limped off badly damaged, to fall inside the enemy lines near Liepovick. While the crew were trying to burn the wreck, they were captured. Later, they were sent to the prison camps in Siberia. In 1917 one of them escaped and returning to Germany reported the details of how most of the others had died of starvation, disease and abuse. Captain Bruener and a companion escaped. They disguised themselves as peasants and walked across Siberia to China where they were shot to death by Russian police while trying to cross the border.
The third airship in the east was the SchutteLanz-2. She made several successful daylight flights for the Austrian army in the areas of Cholm and Lublin, once staying out 60 hours with an intermediate stop at the fortress of Przemysl. She was then transferred to the western front to replace a ship lost there. This left the east without airships during that first winter, but there was slight need of them at that time for the front was very quiet following Hindenburg's victory of Tannenberg. The marshal was planning his great offensive of 1915.
He requested that as many airships as possible be sent him for the campaign that summer, and in March was given three, my former Sachsen, then under Captain George, the Z-11 and the LZ-34. All three raided Warsaw, Grodno, Kovno and other fortresses, but the Z-11 was wrecked during an emergency landing that May and a few days later the LZ-34 was destroyed while being taken out of a hangar in a cross-wind. Only the old Sachsen remained on the eastern front, so Marshal Hindenburg asked for more airships, explaining that be desired the latest and most efficient types.
Following several requests, the LZ-39 and my Z-12 had been assigned to his command. Our station was at Allenstein, a quaint medieval town nestling among green forests and blue lakes in East Prussia. It had been occupied by the Russians during their temporary advance some months before and as they had planned to locate their advanced main headquarters there, they had not wrecked it as they had Johannisburg, Heidenburg and other cities which had been burned to the foundations.
The German population at Allenstein had fared rather well at the bands of the enemy and many were the stories concerning the Russian occupation. I recall one of a boy of seventeen. He had been the so-called "Piccolo," that is the youngest apprentice waiter at the principal hotel. When the rest of the staff, including the manager, had fled before the invaders he had remained. When a group of Russian officers entered the hotel, he donned a black beard and moustache and greeted them as if he were the proprietor. Then with the aid of an aged cook he set about catering to them. The generals lived at the hotel and it became the favorite resort of the officers. So well did the lad work himself into their good graces that be was able to sell them wines and liquors from "his cellars" at twice the normal prices. I often wonder what became of this enterprising youth who displayed such remarkable nerve.
The day after our arrival Baron Gemmingen and I drove to Loetzen where Marshal Hindenburg had established his headquarters in a hotel. We were received by the extremely able Colonel Hoffman, later general, then adjutant to Ludendorff. Gemmingen had been with Ludendorff on the general staff in Berlin some years before the war, and the two were personal friends. This helped both of us considerably. As officers in a new branch of the military service we would naturally be reluctant to advance our ideas, but Hoffman soon put us at ease and at the proper time we felt quite free to suggest in detail just how the Zeppelins might be employed to best advantage.
During a brief stroll about the little city Hoffman outlined the military situation and we gave him our ideas for operating. Before seeing General Ludendorff we lunched at the home of the general staff officers, among whom were many Austrians who had been assigned to study German methods. The Austrians were then running their own show in the south, but a few months later Hindenburg was to be in absolute charge of all operations in the east.
I was greatly impressed by Ludendorff's reception of us. His gaze was clear and steady, and his tall figure and soldierly bearing lent to his high position added dignity from which his extremely simple uniform could not detract. His manner of receiving us enhanced the respect I already entertained for him as a military leader.
Whatever may have been said, written or believed about General Ludendorff, whatever one may think of his later political activities, be certainly is one of the most energetic and forceful men and brilliant military spirits of his time, and, I am convinced, an unexcelled expert in army strategy and tactics.
"Gemmingen has told me of your qualifications," he said when I was presented, having waited in an ante-room until my comrade and friend had spent some minutes with him. "I welcome you as the first naval officer under my command. Let us go over to the maps."
The tables in a great room near his office were littered with maps and papers, and the walls were papered with still larger maps, all covered with colored lines and stickers. Hoffman and a young captain from the general staff were also there. Ludendorff pointed out the more important places which had been designated as objectives in the new campaign, then he was called away, leaving the others to finish outlining the problem.
The spirit of the man was such that everything, it seemed, revolved about him, and his time was divided into minutes and moments in which he was called upon to take up a subject, deal with it and an instant later plunge into another. He and Hindenburg set the pace for all the others at headquarters.
They were up at 6 in the morning and at their desks until 8 o'clock. Breakfast was followed by a short stroll and they were back receiving incoming reports by nine. At 12:30 they had a simple luncheon, returning at one and working till seven. Then they came back from dinner at 8 or 8:30 and worked until after midnight. Some of the staff officers put in even more strenuous hours.
We were asked to suggest just what we might do to help the army and it was agreed that we should operate at first near Warsaw then destroy the rail connections between the Polish capital and Diinaburg.
That night of our arrival at headquarters, Gemmingen and I were guests at Hindenburg's house. It had been a palatial country home and was a most fitting place for the marshal to receive numbers of visitors. I was amazed at the display of gold and silver insignia and decorations which adorned the uniforms of all the guests except myself. As a plain naval lieutenant I felt quite out of place, for all the others held much higher rank. The Austrian cavalry officers wore dress uniforms the magnificence of which I had never seen.
Shortly before dinner was announced Marshal Hindenburg entered the room and shook hands and exchanged a few words with everybody. Before the adjutant could pronounce my name, be exclaimed jovially:
"Hello, we have the navy with us. Are we going to have some under-sea boats here?"
"At your command, Mr. Field Marshal," I replied; "no, but rather some over-land ships."
He then welcomed Gemmingen and inquired as to Count Zeppelin's health, meanwhile leading us into one of the dining rooms, two of which were required to accommodate the guests. Though my rank should have placed me out at another table, I found myself with Gemmingen at that of our host, with Ludendorff and other German and Austrian generals.
Dinner was finished within fifteen minutes and the marshal took Ludendorff aside for a conference. A half hour later be returned and, after talking with other guests, sat down with Colonel Hoffman, Gemmingen and myself. The conversation as I recall it, was a frank discussion of the situation. It was Hindenburg's opinion then -- June 1915 -- that a decision could not be obtained on the western front until after the Russians had been utterly defeated. He believed that he could accomplish it that summer if given the additional troops which he had requested. How wisely he adjudged the situation was made clear by forthcoming events. When we again met Colonel Hoffman in September, he said that Hindenburg would have enveloped the entire Russian army and thereby achieved the destruction of the Bear's power had he been given the two additional divisions be desired.
Late in June we commenced operating with General von Gallwitz's army. The battle lines were then drawn close to the political frontier and Russia had well-equipped forts extending along the border from Warsaw to Rovno. The river Narew marked the border for miles and also formed an obstacle to our army, which was to attack Warsaw from the rear. To the northeast of Warsaw was Pultusk, strongly fortified. We were ordered to bomb the infantry and field fortifications there just before dawn on the day of attack, thus diverting the enemy and enabling the army to come in and surprise him.
Setting out shortly after midnight we found the entire region blanketed in heavy fog and though we cruised about several hours it did not lift and we had to return. The fog accomplished the same mission, however, for the Germans approached under cover of the mist and succeeded in breaking through the Russian lines.
Meanwhile the attack was general throughout the east. The Germans were pushing forward through the north and the Austro-German army was making progress in the south. Hindenburg used the three Zeppelins most effectively. Our principal task was to harass the retreating foe and disrupt his railway service so that he should not escape the German embrace.
The great trunk lines between Warsaw and Petrograd and especially the one from Warsaw to Diinaburg were at first still in Russian hands and carefully guarded. The only way to reach them was by means of our ships. While the little old Sachsen operated with still excellent success against the forts of Lomza and the LZ-39 against Tluscz and Novogeorgievsk, my Z-12 concentrated on this trunk railway especially on the stations of Malkin and Bialystok. The one thing that temporarily interrupted us was the weather, and that only once. The July nights are very short in that northern latitude. During cloudless weather the moon was too bright to make raiding possible, but by August we were in full swing and our own Z-12 dropped about 9 tons of explosives on those obectives.
Then one night we sailed away from Allenstein with 8 hours fuel supply and nearly 3 tons of bombs intended for Bialystok. I sent the ship over the lines at a mile high without being detected in advance and only infantry fire greeted us.
About 5 miles from the railway yards at Bialystok we could see the city brilliantly lighted and apparently unaware of our approach. Suddenly the whole district was darkened and two batteries alongside the tracks opened fire on us. But we could make out our target and even see heavy trains being shunted back and forth in apparent haste to get them away before we commenced bombing. The shrapnel bursts were so high above us that I decided to remain at the same altitude, for in order to ascend above the danger zone I should have to pass through their barrage. Now and then one of the four searchlights picked us up but the artillery fire came no nearer.
I concluded that they had only ordinary field guns with their bracket-trails planted in ditches to pitch them at an angle. Assuming this to be correct, I felt that they had expected us to attack at least a half mile higher. Therefore they had fixed their guns at such an angle that we were safe below the barrage and they would have no time to change their position.
We spent less than a minute locating the central switch stand, main yards and trains. My small bombs dropped on the sidings wrought considerable damage. I then saw one great long train on the main track with several others alongside. Bringing the ship down to little more than half a mile above it we dropped half our heaviest bombs and immediately realized that we had made a great hit. The trains were loaded with ammunition, hundreds of tons of explosives.
As our bombs struck they blew up one carload after another until that entire junction was a seething hell of flame. Each car as it exploded sent a terrific blast upward, striking our craft with the force of triphammer blows, while the projectiles and fragments came screaming past the Z-12 in an increasingly steady storm. Their noise drowned the roar of our engines.
As the searchlights and batteries were now out of commission we lost no time in going higher to avoid being struck by the missiles from below; and from our position a mile and a half above, the destruction was more plainly seen. Bialystok required no more attention. What had been a most important railway junction was now being entirely demolished along with a fortune in munitions. Turning about we took in two nearby places, a smaller rail junction and a bridge, blowing them up with the remaining ton of bombs. I then noted on our log the enemy loss as the result of one short flight with an airship and 3 tons of bombs. I felt rather elated at our good fortune. We bad been very lucky, not having received a blow. But as I steered a straight course homeward, it developed that our luck was about to change.
The route lay over the Russian stronghold of Ossovets, and I had to take it because we had only enough fuel for the quickest possible flight to Allenstein. As a thick layer of mist and low clouds seemed to be enveloping the swamps and forests I thought we might pass Ossovets without being seen. But they heard our engines and we could see the beams of their searchlights as they broke against the bottom of the clouds. Instead of penetrating them the rays showed the familiar luminous circles and ovals, little patches of light on the thick black carpet which lay a thousand feet or more below our ship as it glided through the night, a black shadow, the motors rattling and their exhausts spitting noisily -- a friendly noise to us.
Now the guns began barking, their muzzles, as we knew, pointed in the direction of the sound from our motors. We paid little attention to them, until without warning our protecting cloud carpet gave out and we passed out over a clear gap which left us exposed. We had not noticed it before because no lighted objects had been visible through it and no searchlight had touched it.
Immediately a searchlight caught us in its glare, lost us for an instant, then caught us again and held on. The gunners were now laying one salvo after another directly in our path. But they seemed to be falling short, and as we had gained the other edge of the cloud bank by then the danger was not so great. But they continued firing blindly and by chance the last salvo burst just behind and above our stern. This meant that our rear gas cells bad been punctured by shrapnel and therefore a gradual loss of buoyancy must result. But as we were now behind our own lines and less than two and a half hours from home, everything should go well.
It was daybreak when we arrived at a point that should have been Allenstein as nearly as I could judge, but we saw nothing. Black, dark fog hid the whole countryside. We could not communicate with those on the surface for we had discarded the wireless in order to carry more bombs. Had there been a kite balloon at the station, it could have been sent up above the mist and we should then have known where to come down. The nearest alternative station was at Konigsberg, but there was little likelihood of finding better weather there. And I had no means of inquiring.
I had been counting on the sun to warm our gas and restore some of the buoyancy, but at 5 o'clock higher clouds obscured it. The situation was becoming serious. We could not go higher with our ship. We could not cruise elsewhere for the tanks contained little fuel and we had to keep the propellers moving fast enough to permit controlling the craft. Holding the nose pointed upward and with all hands busily shifting the ballast, moving the weight toward the bow and trimming the balance, we remained in the neighborhood about two hours, and still there was no sign of the fog lifting.
We had little or nothing to throw over as ballast except the gear and winch of the observation car and other light parts, which would have helped not at all. The consumption of gasoline mounted at a progressive rate for we had to develop more engine power to compensate for the leaking gas; in other words, we had to keep the ship moving forward and nose up to avoid sinking. With the sun obliterated there was no chance of the fog lifting for hours and we had less than 45 minutes fuel supply. I decided to land then and there while I had reasonable control of my ship.
The ensuing ten minutes were among the most disagreeable moments of my life. No commander cares to lose his ship. That prospect, combined with fatigue and the weather, gave me a fair sample of the fortunes of war in an airship. We came down nose first in a long dive through the fog which was as cold and clammy as a mid-winter day. I still hoped it would not lie closely to the surface and trusted to finding one of the small lakes on which we might set the craft with the possibility of only slight damage.
But the fog was on the surface. Our altimeter registered our height as low as any ground in that section could possibly be, but still we dropped, slowly -- about 20 feet a minute -- the great hull soaking up moisture like a sponge and the gas bags shrinking almost visibly as the temperature dropped with our descent. Finally to maintain control I had to throw all engines into full speed instead of slowing down as one would do in a normal landing. I have no idea what the rest of the crew thought about these maneuvers, but they were a cool lot and each man went about his duties, taking orders and executing them as if we were out on a demonstration flight.
I was peering out of the cabin window when a hill covered with trees appeared dead ahead and not two ship lengths distant. We could not rise above it, as at that instant one of the rear engines sputtered and temporarily stopped. So, throwing the rudders hard about, we managed to swerve aside at right angles and glided along the side of the slope almost within arm's length of the trees past which we were racing at 45 miles an hour and less than 40 feet above the surface. If only a lake would appear in sight.
At that instant it did, a small lake. Before we could stop, the Z-12 bad crossed to the opposite side and it had disappeared. I ordered the wheel put hard over and we turned in a wide circle. As we came round again, there was the lake and this time we were prepared. All engines were reversed simultaneously and with propellers whirring top speed astern the ship was stopped.
The rear car settled in the water with a big splash and the forward car followed. But again ill-luck overtook us. The rear car, which was heavier, had landed in shallow water with a jolt that knocked the two rear engines out of commission. Everything else was intact. I now had one forward engine with which to take my 500 feet of ship out of a forest-flanked pond and back to the station.
The lake was big enough for us to turn around on and that was about all I could say for it. Except for the clearing by which we had entered, the trees cut off all means of exit. The propeller on the good engine was down in the water and I tried to use it as a surf ace vessel would use its screw, but could not turn it slowly enough to avoid breaking it, so gave it up. We bad no anchor and the wind bore us around. Finally we managed to get a rope around a lone tree at the water's edge and to that tied the stern. Then we lightened that end of the ship so it would swing clear of the trees when we wanted it to.
Meanwhile, I had sent a man ashore to telephone to the station and bring help wherever he could find it. He appeared quickly with some farmers, one with an axe. An old soldier came up with a troup of Russian prisoners who bad been working in the fields. They made an ideal ground party. We were only ten miles from the station and they were rushing gas and fuel by truck. But we would not need it. The sun was out. It was drying the ship and expanding the remaining gas. Though we had one rear cell empty and two others half gone, I knew we had sufficient buoyancy to get away, if we reduced the crew to 3 or 4, including myself. They came aboard. The Russians and others held the Z-12 in leash by means of ropes until I gave the word. We arose slowly and with the one motor purring sweet music in our ears made direct for Allenstein, landing and docking the ship within half an bour after the start.
A few minutes later a hail squall swept over the hills and valleys. As doors creaked and the shutters banged against the walls of our quarters I rolled into my blankets breathing softly: "The luck of a Zeppelin pilot."
Chapter V: GROWTH OF THE NAVAL AIRSHIP SERVICE | Contents
The International Clearinghouse
for Hydrogen Based Commerce1 6 LATEST
ADVANCESDESIGNING
THE FUTUREHYDROGEN
STORAGEHYDROGEN
VEHICLESCREATING
HYDROGENFUEL
CELLS12 H2 TRUCKS
& BIKESCLIMATE
CHANGE18 HYDROGEN
ON VIDEO