In February Goering’s squadron moved to Marcke in Belgium, establishing its headquarters at the seized castle of Baron Jean de Bethune and Goering, in command, was once again lord of the manor, though this time it was not someone else’s. Well, it was, but he did not have to share it with anyone, as he had done in Mauterndorf with his uncle and his mother. Goering did not have everything his own way though. Having tried everything he could to secure Germany’s highest military honour, the
Pour le Merite, he was pipped by Loerzer, who was awarded it a day after he, Goering, had had a Knight’s Cross of the Military Karl Friedrich Merit Order pinned on his chest. Twenty kills were required for the
Pour le Merite and Goering was lagging behind his friend (and rival) by three, then fate intervened and he contracted severe tonsillar abscess, so severe that he was at one point in danger of dying as the abscess cut off his breathing, but once again the Devil was on the case and he survived to return to his squadron. It’s believed that this may have been the first time he was given morphine, something he would end up with an addiction to in later life.
A few days after returning he had to give up the comforts of Castle Marckebecke and move with his squadron to an airfield outside of Douai, not far from where another WWI ace, Manfred von Richthofen, the Red Baron, was stationed with his squadron. He would not be there for long, as he would be shot down and killed within a month, no doubt souring the morale of a German Air Force whose military was already losing the war, the end clearly in sight. At the end of May, Goering was finally awarded the coveted
Pour le Merite, which he had yearned for over the last year or more, though it was now three months later than Loerzer had achieved the honour. Nonetheless, as Goering had yet, at this point, to rack up twenty kills - he was stuck on eighteen - some backhand bureaucracy must have been taking place, with his friends in high places speaking for him. It would in fact be another month before Goering reached the requisite number of victories.
Goering’s personal prestige was further swollen (and no doubt again due to backroom deals) when he replaced Wilhelm Reinhard, Richthofen’s successor, as leader of the Red Baron’s squadron. He soon had competition though, in the shape of the late Red Baron’s brother, Lothar, who, when Goering took leave, assumed command of the squadron his famous sibling had founded and led. Back at Mauterndorf, Goering spent more time with Epenstein than with his fiancee, as her father could see how the war was going to end, and believing his daughter’s prospects poor if she married a defeated fighter ace, laid plans to end the relationship between Marianne and Goering. When he returned to retake command of his squadron - Richthofen having been injured and invalided out - he too could see that the end was in sight.
And yet, for all that, the famous stories of the “knights of the air”, the unspoken chivalry and gentlemanly conduct between enemy fliers do seem to have some basis in truth, as this account from a Danish pilot, Niels Paulli Krause, who was flying with a French squadron and who tangled with Goering reveals:
'One day I was alone on a long mission with my machine and I had taken some photographs when in the distance I could make out a German aeroplane returning from the French lines. As we had to cross paths, I was eager to know who this lone wolf might be. My opponent had also seen me and was heading toward me. We probed a little, circling each another at a great distance. I really had little desire for this circular angling while I was on the way home, but my opponent abruptly began the fight and forced me to respond. We flew around one another, coming ever closer, without finding a clear target. Then suddenly the German machine made a tight turn, almost into a loop, and in an instant its machine gun was trained on me. 'It all happened so suddenly that I was totally unable to respond. All that ran through my head was that [the pilot] must be some great opponent. Then once again the enemy aeroplane made such an incredible and for that time almost impossible manoeuvre that I knew my opponent was ... Goring. 'Every great flyer has ... special tactics. Thus, only Goring could fly like that.
As for me, I fought like I had never fought before ... And yet I clearly recognised that my opponent was better than I. This was no mere cat-and-mouse game, but a battle with a flying genius against whom it was impossible for me to prevail. I do not know how long we circled each other and strained our bracing wires. Linen tatters in my wings showed that I had been hit many times. But the decisive shot had not yet struck. 'Then, in the midst of " . [my gaining the advantage j, my machine gun jammed. I pounded with my fists against the red-hot gun breech, to no avail. I tugged at the ammunition belt, to no avail. My only thought was: "It is all over!" My opponent seemed perplexed that, suddenly, I was no longer shooting at him. He circled around me, noticed me hammering away at the machine gun and understood that I was no longer able to fight. Then suddenly .. . he flew quite close to me, put his hand to his flying helmet in a military salute, and turned toward the German lines .. . '
Were this an account given by Goering we could take it with probably a tablespoonful of salt, as he was, as we have learned already, given to embellishment, especially if it helped him to shine. Although whether an action such as this - letting an enemy pilot escape when he had him right where he wanted him - would be lauded or frowned upon is another matter. But this is not the account of the victor but the vanquished, and there is no percentage for the man to have recounted how he ended up at Goering’s mercy, and the only reason he survived was because the German ace allowed him to. So we must take it at face value, and allow that Goering did in fact at times respect his enemy, if that enemy had earned that respect.
Though perhaps it was expected of the pilots, a sort of gentleman’s code. Conrad Hoster, a retired wartime pilot, explained the agreed procedure:
'In order to make the expression "force down [an aeroplane]" understandable one must mention that aerial combats on the ,t\Testem Front were settled with a certain Ritterlichkeit [chivalry]. The vanquished or wounded adversary was spared the moment he gave up all resistance and sought his salvation in an involuntary landing. Such a moment always occurred when ... totally unexpected, the German pilot made a deft manoeuvre that put him right on his opponent's neck and he had the enemy aeroplane directly in his machine gun's stream of fire. In this situation the opponent knew that the German had only to press the firing button on his guns and in a few seconds his own crate would be fired on and at least his fuel tank would be set on fire or he would be hit. In this circumstance, therefore, the opponent gave up resistance and acquiesced to the victor that he would have to land, i.e., to be "forced down" to the ground at a minimum behind [the victor's] lines”
That, however, is not what Krause maintains happened in his encounter with Goering, which has to lead us to believe that Goering again did as he liked, what he thought was appropriate for the situation, and made his own rules. Again, though Hoster casts doubt on the veracity of the story, he does admit there is no reason for the Dane to have either embellished the story or even told it and had it published, as he was already a decorated war hero and in 1930, when the report was printed, the Nazis were on the rise, with war less than a decade away. Perhaps, having fought through the Great War, he was unwilling to see the world fall into the same trap again, and was trying to show, hoped, that the Germans were trustworthy, not barbarians, not the kind of people who would force another global conflict. On all fronts, of course, he was wrong there, but it may go some way towards explaining his motives. This is, of course, only my opinion, and quite likely wrong.
In October, as Goering was again in Berlin checking out the newest fighter aircraft, the war was already winding down, dragging painfully towards its inevitable conclusion, defeat for Germany and ignominy and humiliating surrender waiting in the wings. This did not stop him partying, but his flying days were drawing to a close. On November 19 1918 he disbanded the squadron, thanking the men for their service and promising their exploits would go down in German history. A short time later he was forced to call off his engagement to Marianne Mauser. His last words, given in December 1918 at a meeting of new officers association, held a dark warning and prediction for the future:
'For four long years, we officers did our duty on the ground, at sea and in the air, and risked our lives for our Fatherland. Now we come home and what do some people do to us? They spit on us and want to take our honour away from us. And I will tell you this: the real [German] people are not responsible for this [conduct]. Each and every one of them was a comrade, irrespective of social standing, for f(;lUr long, difficult years of war. It is not the real people who are to blame; rather, it is the ones who incited them, who stabbed our glorious army in the back and who wanted nothing more than to enrich themselves at the expense of the real people. And for that reason I urge everyone here today to [nurture] the deepest and most abiding hatred against these criminals [who are] against the German people. The day will come - that I know and I ask that you believe it - when these gentlemen are finished and driven out of our Germany. Prepare yourselves, arm yourselves and work toward that day ..
That day, to the world’s sorrow, would not be long in coming.