Nungesser's Memorable Early Victories As a Fighter Pilot

Nungesser's Personal Insignia

Charles Nungesser was the stereotypical romanticized World War I flying ace. Apart from his flying exploits, Nungesser was known for his flamboyant personality and love for the proverbial wine, women, and song, not to mention fast cars. After heroic service as a cavalryman and bomber pilot, he got off to a remarkable start as a fighter pilot as describe by air historian Jon Guttman.

Adjutant Charles Eugène Jules Marie Nungesser was an athletic man of the world who had raced cars, boxed, and learned to fly while in Argentina before the war. During the early days of the war, Nungesser had served with distinction with the 2ème Régiment des Hussards, earning the Médaille Militaire before transferring into aviation in November 1914 and earning his military pilot's brevet on 17 March 1915. Assigned to VB.106, he flew 53 bombing missions in a Voisin 3, the front nacelle of which he personalized with a black skull and crossbones. 

In the early morning hours of 31 July, Nungesser and his mechanic, Roger Pochon, went up in a new Voisin 3LA armed with a Hotchkiss machine gun—an unauthorized flight, since he was supposed to be on standby duty that night—but as fortune would have it, they caught five Albatros two-seaters staging a night raid on Nancy and sent one down to crash. For deserting his post, Nungesser was confined to his quarters for eight days. For downing the enemy plane he received the Croix de Guerre and later a transfer to train in Nieuports.

Arriving at N.65 in November 1915, Nungesser was assigned Nieuport 16 N880. Shortly after taking off for a gunnery training flight on 28 November, Nungesser spotted two Albatros two-seaters crossing the lines near Nomeny. Climbing to 8,000 feet and placing the sun at his back, he attacked. One of the Germans fled, but the other put up a spirited fight until Nungesser, using his last ammunition drum at a range of 30 feet, finally drove it down in a dive.

What Nungesser saw next took much of the luster out of his second victory. "The observer, still alive, clung desperately to the mounting ring to which his machine gun was attached," he reported. "Suddenly the mounting ripped loose from the fuselage and was flung into  space, taking with it the helpless crewman. He clawed frantically at the air, his body working convulsively like a man on a trapeze. I had a quick glimpse of his face before he tumbled away through the clouds…it was a mask of horror."  

The observer whose fall Nungesser witnessed was Leutnant Wilhelm von Kalkreuth of Brief A.M., whose body was found at Nomeny. His pilot, Vizefeldwebel August Blank, crashed at Mailly. Nungesser had trouble eating and sleeping for some time after that, but he eventually got over it—and was subsequently made a Chevalier de la Légion d'Honneur. 

Later in the War

Nungesser would go on to become France's third leading ace with 45 victories.  Had he not been in the hospital so often and forced to quit flying before the war’s end, who knows how much longer his list of victories might have become. His list of wounds and injuries that he survived and fought through is simply amazing:

"Skull fracture, brain concussion, internal injuries (multiple), five fractures of the upper jaw, two fractures of lower jaw, piece of anti-aircraft shrapnel imbedded [sic] in right arm, dislocation of knees (left and right), re-dislocation of left knee, bullet wound in mouth, bullet wound in ear, atrophy of tendons in left leg, atrophy of muscles in calf, dislocated clavicle, dislocated wrist, dislocated right ankle, loss of teeth, contusions too numerous to mention."

After the war, Nungesser tried a variety of enterprises, including flying stunt planes for Hollywood movies. In addition, he portrayed himself in a silent film, The Sky Raider, in 1925. Nungesser’s death was as grandiose as his life. He was lost during an attempt to win the Orteig Prize, offered to the first  aviator(s) to fly an aircraft directly across the Atlantic between New York and Paris. He and his navigator, François Coli, departed from Paris a week before Charles Lindbergh’s record-setting flight and after passing Le Havre were never heard from again.

Sources:  Air and Space, 23 September 2015; Relevance: Quarterly Journal of the Great War Society, Summer, 2009