10, September 1917

Dear Mother,

Often I've wondered if you could form a true conception of the surroundings of our daily life. I imagine the word "Aerodrome" must convey an uncertain picture of where your sons have been spending their time. It is true that this is where our aeroplanes are landed and kept for, but this is our starting point,where we are patiently awaited at the end of our missions. In truth, it has become our home.

If you could picture in your mind a smooth green grass covered field, situated by a two-lane highway with a small village off in the distance. The ground is level, square and the sides of our field are a half mile in length. Four squadrons occupy space here, which means that we house eighty to one hundred planes and as many pilots. Close to the highway are two hangars that comfortably hold ten or twelve small machines, such the type that we recently trained to fly. The mechanics are housed here, where they care for the planes they "belong" to. I myself have three mechanics that care for my machine;seldom does any defect escape their meticulous attention.

Around the edges of the field are ten more hangars, each facing inwards. Not far from these large structures are where the sleeping quarters for the officers are located. The mess hall sits a short distance away, as each squadron holds twenty or so men; the mess is often integrated. The enlisted men, the mechanics, truck drivers, workmen and servants occupy quarters of their own behind the hangars. The astounding number of men that call this place home at any one time number close to one thousand!

An experience flyer can spot the aerodromes from the air miles away. The rough arrangement of the planes and hangars gives it away. It is for this reason we try and camouflage the hangars from the sky. Unfortunately, no field can be in use for long before the enemy discovers it.

We returned from England two weeks ago and so far every day it has rained. Each night we wonder if tomorrow will be the day to fly our first mission. I have faith in our ability to fly, but our planes are not the best or fully equipped. It is very disconcerting to imagine flying above enemy territory when our machine guns have not yet arrived!

It is late Mother, so I shall take my leave. Please give my love to Charlie and say hello to Rose. Convey to her, if you will, how happy I was to hear she flew without wrecking my machine. Rob, as he is known here, also sends his love. He is of course one of the most popular men in the Aerodrome with his kind smiles and practical jokes. Jason has asked to say hello and if you could possibly send word to his parents he is warm and safe. Perhaps on the morrow we shall fly our aeroplanes for first time as Captains of the American Air Service.

Please keep us in your prayers,

Your loving son, Doug

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18 December 1917

Dear Charlie,

I have been grounded (if only we had the opportunity to fly!) on the basis of a cold. It is miserable here, for if the sky is not spewing snow, it is sending rain down in its place. Half the men in the squadron are is the same quandary as I. But of course Rob is as healthy as a horse. He seems almost gleeful to see me in this awful predicament of a stuffy nose and cough. But as you are only too aware,that is the Rob we know and love. If the sky is free of snow and rain, then clouds invade our field,leaving us stumbling around in the fog. Fortunately, if we are unable to fly, neither can the enemy.

We lost a member of our squadron a few days ago when the commanding officer deemed the weather clear enough to send a small platoon into the air for maneuvers. His name Jimmy Bryant and he was only nineteen years old. I can still see his fiery red hair and freckles as he told jokes over breakfast. He was the first casualty of our group, naturally every one was as stricken as I. Sometimes in this lonely place we begin to feel invincible. It is of course the wrong emotion to feel. When pilots let down their guard they make mistakes. I wish I could say that was the way of it for Jimmy, but no one is sure what went wrong. One moment he was flying maneuvers alongside of his companions, the next moment he was gone. Later that evening word was received that confirmed our worst suspicions. His plane was spotted behind the small town of Villeneuve, the bulk of it still smoking from the explosion.

To make matters worse, Christmas is days away and no one wants to be in this God forsaken place. All of us, regardless of our religious upbringing, wish they were home with our families. I must say that tensions were already a bit high before the loss of Jimmy. Now they are almost unbearable. With the weather so severe the men are unable to blow off steam by fighting the Huns. I must admit there have been quite a few fights among the men. Rob was involved in one such altercation, but after they were soaked with frigid water, they stood up shaking hands. If there is one thing Major Lufberry will not tolerate it is dissension among his squadrons.

Some mornings, I awake before dawn so sure that I am lying in my bed at home I can almost smell the bacon sizzling in the griddle downstairs. When the other men begin to stir, I suddenly realize where I am. It is a shocking juxtaposition, one that I hope will not happen often. For the rest of the day I am always fighting waves of homesickness so painful, I am useless for flying.

On a different note, your last letter cheered us some bit. How exciting for Rose to earn her pilots license in such a short time. Only the forth woman to do so in the United States since 1911! You must inform her how proud I am she is helping us retain the business in our time of need. Rose Dawson sounds like a Godsend. I am sorry for the selfish and unkind words I used in the beginning about her character. I suppose if one were to rationalize it I was jealous of her flying my plane over the friendly skies of home. I have come to realize she is helping you and Mother by keeping your minds off this horrid war. For that, to Rose, I am eternally grateful. I must make the confession of Jason informing us Rose Dawson is quite beautiful. Did that help sway my opinion of her? No, although I must admit I am quite intrigued. Her actions these last few months from Mother's letters have spoken of her character more than any one person alone could. I have thought from time to time of writing her to say thank you, but I feel that may be to forward. So through you, Charlie I send my thanks.

If only this war could end tomorrow! I cringe inwardly when I hear of a familiar name from home on the casualty lists. So many good men have already been lost. How many more are sure to follow?

Please excuse my melancholy, Charlie. I can only blame it on my health, the weather and the holiday. Send Mother my love. I shall so look forward to seeing you both again.

Your loving son, Doug

* * * * * * * * * *

6 March 1918

Dear Charlie,

How can I withhold my excitement as I write this letter? It will come as no surprise that I have yet to fly a mission alone, as I have spoken of the horrible winter we have been experiencing which have kept us grounded. Boredom has reigned throughout our aerodrome for the last few months as the snow and rain continued to fall. But we are safe, we are dry and we are well fed; though I say a prayer everyday for my brothers in arms who are not.

Today when we awoke the day was clear and mild. Everybody was anxious that maybe; finally the weather had broken at last. To many of us, it seemed that spring was right around the corner. A false sense of security, I mused to no one in particular as the Major joined us for breakfast.

Everyone was quite surprised when Major Lufberry decided to lead a patrol to look at the war across the German lines. Sitting at the table at breakfast I could see the same look cross every pilot's face. 'Would he call on me?' Luf, as we affectionately call him, is very quiet in his manner and very amusing when he wants to be. This was his fourth year in the French Air Service, which in his career he shut down seventeen Hun aeroplanes before the American Air Service became active in the front. When he called my name, I tried to appear nonchalant, but Rob jabbed me playfully in the ribs, causing me to jump. Luf pretended not to notice, as he ordered me to be ready by eight fifteen.

Precisely at eight o'clock I approached my mechanics. They informed me my Nieuport was in tip-top condition. I asked them to run it out onto the field and warm up her engine as Major Lufberry has a reputation for punctuality. My partners in the air, Rickenbacker and Campbell were already in their flight clothes. I changed and then lit up a cigarette, as to not appear too anxious. Robbie and Jason came over, trying to look as if they were not half-jealous of my chance to fly with Lufberry. They slapped my back as they wished me well, at the same time asking what they should do with my personal effects should I not return.

When Major Lufberry entered the hangar, we were ready. Campbell had already climbed in his plane and I soon followed, climbing into the cockpit of my single seater. Luf spoke to him quietly before coming over to me. All he said was to stick close to him and to stay in formation.

Lufberry ran his motor for a moment, and then his wheels left the ground. Campbell followed then Rickenbacker. I brought up the rear. They were in such a hurry to reach their destination, I was sure I would never catch up.

The sky was a beautiful clear blue as the ruins of Rheims spread beneath my wings. But I had no time to dawdle, or sightsee. I was far behind our formation, as I my plane was not as fast as my companions were. Lufberry must have sensed my trouble as he turned in a tight circle to toke up position not one hundred yards from my wing. It helped keep my mind off the fact the earth was some15,000 feet below me as I tried to follow Lufberry's example.

After almost a half an hour at this dizzy altitude, I managed to take a look over the side of my machine. We had almost reached the Argonne Woods. The trenches in this part of the country are quite old and unused. It was a battered, barren landscape. Not a tree, no fence or any type of vegetation shared the earth with the trench works and the millions of shell holes in the ground. I felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness as I looked over the appalling vista.

Suddenly there was an explosion that seemed to rock the rear of my plane. I was horribly startled and at the same time the shock wave struck my plane and I was tossed about more viciously than I ever imagined possible. Within a few seconds more explosions rocked my machine, with me helpless in its center. How terrifying to learn I was being fired upon by eighteen pounds of shrapnel artillery by the Germans! The memories of the tales of the most accurate battery the allied aviators faced filled my mind. We were only a mile outside of Suippe. I looked down and found the battery quite easily. How frightening to realize they could see me so much more clearly than I could see them!

At any moment I was sure my small plane would be struck by one of those shells. How relieved can I tell you I was to have Major Lufberry near me? I was sure that Rickenbacker and Campbell felt the same way. Every maneuver he made seemed to be a word of encouragement to us inexperienced flyers. I eventually became accustomed to the puffs of black smoke around my machine. I met each explosion with gentle pressure on my stick, righting my plane and smoothing its course.

I realized once again 15,000 feet above the ground how much I loved to fly. The whole ugly aspect that I would eventually shoot down a man with the possibility of also being shot down was out of my mind for a few brief moments. The ugly aspects of war and pitting myself against German aviators were lost to me, if only for a few moments.

Here I was flying above enemy lines, contemplating my fate when I realized Lufberry was leading us home. I glanced at my clock on the dashboard, surprised to see that two hours had passed. Our fuel supplies must have been getting low. These planes are not like the Jenny at home. They fly fast and high and cannot carry a large load of gasoline and oil as every pound works against the speed and climbing power of the machine.

Descending above our aerodrome, I could see this yet unbroken part of the landscape below my wings. We circled the field before shutting down our motors and landing smoothly in the soft dirt of the strip. We quickened the speed of the propellers until we were just outside of our hangar door. It seemed as if every pilot and mechanic stood there watching and waiting as we climbed down from our machines. I picked Rob and Jason out of the crowd almost immediately as they came forward to slap me on my back and shake my hand.

My other companions were acting with bored indifference, telling stories of how they must have used up a year's worth of the Kaiser's riches on ammunition with our jaunt across the lines. We could not keep the surprise off of our faces as Major Lufberry informed us that a few formations of enemy plane passed in our vicinity. Not five hundred yards from where we flew! We were aghast as Major Lufberry enlightened us on the virtues of keeping our eyes open in the air! Our bored indifference disappeared on the spot. We realized later that the Major was only ragging on us out of a sense of duty, to make us aware learning to pay attention at all times to the skies below and above us was our first priority. I only wish you could have seen the look of horror on Rickenbacker face as the Major began to poke his finger through holes shrapnel made in his aeroplane. I also was shaken as I discovered several holes in the tail of my machine. Rob and Jason were quick to point out how ashen my face became. They were quite sure I was going to lose my breakfast right there and then. I could not even find my voice to tell them I was not sure that was not going to happen either!

Flying in observation planes to map trench lines is quite different from flying alone above the German lines. Today was the first day I began to doubt that combat was my cup of tea. Who was I to drag Rob and Jason into this mess the masses deem a world war? But then I suppose if we were not in the air fighting, we would be below, deep in the trenches. It is not quite the hand off I prefer to imagine. I would still prefer to be at home, elbows deep in the engine of my Jenny, flying harmless sacks of mail across the state lines. I suppose it is something to look forward to. The time I can return to the field and resume the normal life of a mail pilot.

If you wish to read Rose my letter, I shall be honored. But if you would please leave out my musings of self-doubt I would be eternally grateful. I would rather be known as brave aviator than a human one. Maybe I shall woo her from across the world with my tales of bravery and adventures against the Huns. Please Charlie, stop laughing, you are wounding my lonely heart!

If the weather holds as planned, Jason and Rob will embark on their first missions across the lines tomorrow. I am sure they will feel as overwhelmed as I was the first time I realized I was flying in combat. I only hope they remember what they learned and keep a clear and steady head.

Robert sends his love as always, which as you know Rob, he always expects me to convey. Ah such the life of the older brother!

Au Revoir, Mon ami Doug

* * * * * * * * * *

19 May 1918

Dear Mother and Charlie,

I am sorry to be writing a joint letter, but I am not up to the task of double duty today. My mentor,Major Raoul Lufberry was shot down today, six miles from our field. I am sure that by the time this letter reaches you, you will have heard of the news, but I wanted ease your minds that the three of us are indeed safe.

How can I relate to you the overwhelming feelings of surrealness as we jumped in our vehicles to find the wreckage not thirty minutes from where our aerodrome stood? Everyone has been walking around in a daze, as though Luf would be returning from a mission at any moment. Our brothers in the air had done their best to avenge the Hun who shot down our fallen brother, but unfortunately, he made his escape.

Tomorrow we shall lay to rest our fallen comrade in our small cemetery. The plot already bares his name and half a dozen of our fellows lay side by side in the clay. So very far away from the homes and families they loved and loved them in return. Today I miss you both and the farm more than ever before. I am no longer sure I can place coherent thoughts to paper so I shall say good-bye for the moment. I suddenly feel the need to mourn with my brother and my friends over the loss of this great aviator and friend.

Your loving son, Doug

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14 AUGUST 1918

MRS. CHARLES ADLER:

WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON, ROBERT ANDREW CALVERT, DIED WITH HONOR IN THE AIR OVER NANCY, FRANCE ON AUGUST 9th 1918 - STOP - WE AT THE DEPARTMENT OF THE ARMY WISH TO OFFER OUR CONDOLENCES TO YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY IN THIS TIME OF NEED - STOP - SERGEANT MAJOR WILLIAM GARRISON, AMERICAN AIR SERVICE - STOP