II: One Day to Fly…
Goering’s aviation career began in probably a way he would have not considered optimum, but it did present a solution to the problem of his arthritis. Visiting him in hospital, Loezer offered him the chance to be his observer, which would mean he could keep the wrappings on his feet and would not need to use his legs to pilot the aircraft. This suited Goering perfectly, and he trained at the flight training school with his friend. However when it came time for him to join the flying corps his commanding officer refused to give permission (unsure why) so Goering went there anyway. He could have faced court-martial for this flagrant breach of orders, but as ever, Dr. Epenstein stepped in to speak for him, declaring him unfit for trench warfare and recommending his enrolment in the Darmstadt aviation facility.
Being a pilot - even one in training - must have appealed to Goering, as traditionally aviators were seen as a cut above the common foot-soldier, the “knights of the sky”, and Goering had from an early age believed himself superior to his fellows. However life was not all roses in the Darmstadt, as Goering had to learn to photograph and also calculate distances and angles, the main role of a pilot at the onset of World War I being as an observer to direct artillery fire. Nevertheless, at the end of August he was ready for the front lines, and reported for duty with Loezer. When the Crown Prince Wilhelm became interested in aircraft, he regularly spoke and invited to the palace the young fliers, and in effect became a sort of patron for them throughout the war, further bolstering Goering’s overinflated image of his own importance. Not that in some ways he could not be said to have deserved it, being awarded an Iron Cross First Class (three years before Hitler attained his own) for a daring bombing raid conducted over Verdun, which destroyed an important gun turret.
It’s interesting, as a side note, to read about the infancy of fighter aircraft, which were generally looked on as a kind of novelty in the First World War by the derisive army. Used initially, as explained above, as reconnaissance and spotter planes to help artillery zero in, and as patrols, they graduated to being bombers, but there was no sophistication involved; the bombs were dropped by hand over the side of the aircraft. There was no targeting mechanism, nothing like radar, and it would be pure luck if one hit anything. Men would also fire guns from the aircraft, but these would not be mounted on the plane. Such technology was nowhere near ready to even be thought of yet. The propeller of the aircraft would always pose a problem so firing had to be carried out to the rear and sides by the observer. One enterprising lieutenant did try to affix a machine gun to his plane, but to his dismay it was far too heavy for his light nimble aircraft.
Kudos must then be given to the pilots and observers in these flimsy little flying machines, going up to face enemy fire (from the ground - the Allies were as handicapped as regards armament as the Germans were) with nothing more than a pistol or a rifle, or a hand-dropped bomb, took extreme courage and nerves of steel. Of course, later in the war the problem of fixed machine guns would be solved and the world would have its first proper fighter aircraft - on both sides - but in the initial stages, it really was almost a farce. You can imagine (though I highly doubt this happened) two pilots, each trying to hold the aircraft steady while the observers fired at each other! Hardly the duelling knights of the air, eh?
The breakthrough came in 1915, and probably somewhat to Goering’s chagrin was not the result of German but Dutch ingenuity. Anthony Fokker had worked out how to use an interrupter gear to prevent the machine-gun firing whenever the propeller blades were directly in front of it. Due to this innovation, the pilot himself could now fire a mounted machine-gun and the need for observers began to decline as the German Air Force took delivery of more and more single-seat aircraft. Anxious of course to be an actual pilot, and recognising that his former role was disappearing quickly, Goering applied to train as a pilot and excelled at it. It would be several months however before he could chalk up his first confirmed kill, as 1915 drew to a close.
During the Battle of Verdun Goering flew first fighters and then bombers, gaining not only experience but praise as a highly skilled pilot. He ferried officers to their destinations, made reconnaissance and observation flights, and also engaged with the enemy, scoring his first few kills, though some of these may have been doubtful as no actual impact of the enemy fighter was ever recorded. Again, the weather would intrude though, as just as Hitler and the List Regiment were unable (as were their adversaries) to fight in the muck of Flanders during winter, rain kept Goering’s squadron grounded; aircraft were of course at that time open, which is to say, there was no covering on the cockpit, and any pilot trying to fly in bad weather would risk his life, possibly blinded by the freezing wind, battered by the rain or even perhaps plucked from the cockpit if the wind was strong enough. Suffice to say, that until cockpits were enclosed there was no flying in bad weather.
In addition to medals like the Iron Cross and Knight’s Cross, Goering also earned the Ehrenbecker, or Goblet of Honour, which was something I think akin to an Academy Award, presented to pilots for bravery and accomplishment. As 1915 gave way to 1916 his friend and comrade Loezer was wounded and invalided out; surely not, but at the same time you would wonder if Goering didn’t take a tiny bit of selfish pleasure or revenge in this, as Loezer had been assigned to the Fokker monoplane, which both he and Goering greatly admired and which was far more nimble and manoeuvrable than their own more clunky Albatrosses, seven months before Goering was, and has as a result managed to rack up two more enemy kills. Once again, it seems the devil stepped in to save one of the men who would so plague the world in later life, when he and his co-pilot were saved from death even though an artillery shell blew the engine - including the propeller - right off the aircraft!
While recuperating on leave, Goering was invited to his godfather’s castle, Mautendorf, where he was reunited with his mother - with him Epenstein’s new young wife who wished to make peace - and also found love when he met Marianne Mauser. He asked for her hand in marriage, but due to his lack of lands Goering was not the sort of prospect her father was looking for in a suitor, though he grudgingly agreed to a secret engagement. His hope and belief was that the kind of work Goering was engaged in was dangerous enough that the war would probably take him, and so he would never get to marry his daughter.
Goering, however, would not only survive the war but come out of it a flying ace and a legendary folk hero, which would have fit in well with his ambitions and his rock-solid belief in himself, bordering often on arrogance. In May 1917 he was appointed squadron leader, having claimed at this point seven enemy kills, however by then British flight engineers had superceded their German counterparts, and the new aircraft rolling off the assembly lines - famous names like Sopwith Pup, SE5 and Spad - were far superior to the ageing Albatrosses flown by the German Air Force. That was, however, about to change.