The Fokker Eindecker was the first fighter type to assert itself in combat, thanks to its synchronized machine gun. The “Fokker Scourge” swept British and French observation aircraft from the air above German lines in 1914 and early 1915, making it difficult to monitor German movements and putting the allies at a disadvantage on the Western Front.
The Eindecker itself had started out as a reconnaissance machine called the Fokker A.III. It in turn was based on the design of another aircraft – ironically, the French Morane-Saulnier H shoulder-wing monoplane. To counter it, the Royal Flying Corps needed a plane that could be flown and fought in the same way – not by an observer with a flexible mount, or by the pilot firing weapons mounted awkwardly to avoid the propeller arc. The pilot needed to aim the plane like a weapon, pull the trigger and fire directly ahead. But without the synchronizer gear, it was impossible for a tractor biplane to allow this.
The solution was to create a pusher aircraft – put the engine and the propeller behind the pilot, and the machine gun in front. Geoffrey deHavilland had already designed a plane like this – the DH.1 – as a two-seat observation plane; poor performance consigned the 100 examples to service in the Middle East. The configuration was reduced in size and turned into a single-seater, with a Lewis gun mounted in the nose on a flexible mount (the RFC still clung to the idea of a pilot-aimed weapon) that was nearly always fixed to fire straight ahead. This was the DH.2.
The prototype DH.2 went into operational trials in June, 1915, but its pilot was killed in combat in August and the aircraft fell into German hands nearly intact. Production continued, just the same, and in February 1916 24 Squadron RFC deployed entirely equipped with DH.2s. On April 2, the squadron downed its first Eindecker – the DH.2 was more than a match for the Fokker – and by the summer the “Fokker Scourge” was over. During the Battle of the Somme from July to November, 24 Squadron alone downed 44 enemy planes.
The DH.2 had a high accident rate at first (RFC training was terrible for the first few years of the war) and pilots dubbed it “the Spinning Incinerator.” After a little experience, it was found to be easy to fly and maneuverable compared to its opponents. Its one failing was the Lewis gun – the drum magazines held 47 rounds, and when expended had to be changed by the pilot. Unofficial experiments with different drum styles and twin-gun mounts never really solved this problem.
By the first months of 1917, the Germans introduced the Halberstadt D. II and the Albatros D.I, and it was the DH.2’s turn to be outclassed. The aircraft quickly moved into secondary theatres like Macedonia and Palestine, and was employed in training roles. When the British obtained synchronizing gear, the need for a pusher fighter vanished, and 24 and 32 Squadrons converted to the more conventional DH.5 in June 1917.
For more than a half a year, the DH.2 was the dominant force in air combat over the Western Front. This took place even as the British struggled to understand fighter combat; British aces wrote the book on tactics as they went. The Germans published the “Dicta Boelcke” in June 2016; at the same time, innovative British pilots were developing their own theories.
One of those innovators was Irishman Sidney E. Cowan. Born in Downpatrick, Ireland in 1897 as the son of the chief engineering inspector of the Local Government Board for Ireland, he and his two brothers received educations from the prestigious Marlborough College and Trinity College in Dublin. When war broke out, he was an early entry to the air service. On his 18th birthday in August 1915, Cowan received Aviators Certificate 1639, soloing in a Maurice Farman biplane at the Military School at Brooklands and was commissioned as a probationary second lieutenant. In October he became a flying officer and his rank was confirmed in November.
By this time, 24 Squadron had formed, with Cowan one of the first 12 fliers in the unit. When the squadron moved to France, several fatal accidents shook the confidence of the fliers, but Cowan proved through his flying that the machine could be flown safely. “He was the first pilot to really ‘stunt’ this machine, and gradually the squadron gained complete assurance,” said one contemporary account.
On April 24 and 25, Cowan mixed it up with German fighters, with no results. Later in the day on April 25, while escorting a BE.2c on a spotting mission, he was attacked by two Eindeckers from above, but quickly turned the tables on his attackers, spiraling up to his altitude and opening fire on one of them. He soon was within 100 feet of the enemy’s tail and fired off the remainder of his ammunition drum, then switched drums as he got even closer. The short range may have saved the Eindecker, because the DH.2 was bounced around by the Eindecker’s prop wash, throwing off Cowan’s aim. The Eindecker dived for the deck as Cowan changed drums again; then, deciding to focus on the mission, he caught up with the BE.2c to complete the escort.
On May 4, Cowan caught an enemy observation plane and forced it down over German lines, then strafed the pilot and observer as they ran for cover. At that moment, the Gnome Monosuapape engine on his DH.2 stopped – the thumb switch on the stick had jammed! Cowan landed in enemy territory, not far from his victims, but the jolt of landing un-stuck the switch. Under fire, Cowan throttled up and took off, returning home through heavy fire.
June 30 – literally, the eve of the opening of the Battle of the Somme – found Cowan helping to drive off numerous German aircraft seeking to establish the position of British troops. The next day, 20,000 of them would be killed in action – but countless lives were saved by the RFC disrupting reconnaissance flights. The next day saw heated air combat over the sector. Over Peronne, Cowan saw an enemy aircraft and fired at it until it broke back for German lines. Ten minutes later, he spied two more two-seaters coming west and dived on them, firing half a drum into the lead plane, killing or wounding the observer, whose return fire abruptly stopped. He switched fire to the trailing aircraft, expending the rest of his remaining rounds. Regaining altitude and changing ammunition drums even as he ducked fire from the first machine, Cowan turned on his attacker, fired several bursts from close range, and watched the plane do a side-slip tail slide into a cloud, then reappear as it crashed into the ground. He drove off a fourth German plane later in the patrol.
On July 27, Cowan saw a BE.2c that was under attack by five German fighters. He managed to drive off all the enemy planes so the BE.2c could complete its mission. Two days later, during a patrol, Cowan attacked a Roland C.II over Morval and sent it diving to earth for a confirmed victory.
On August 3, while leading four DH.2s, Cowan forced down a German plane hear Sailly and forced two more to crash-land at a nearby airfield. Resuming to the patrol, he identified an LVG B.I and dove to attack. Quickly, the gunner ceased fire and slumped over the side of the fuselage. After a few more bursts, the LVG went into an ever-tightening spiral. Cowan didn’t see it crash, as he went in pursuit of another German observation plane.
Cowan was attacking another LVG on August 9 when return fire hit his plane and he was temporarily blinded by wood splinters. After a short recuperation, he was back in action and on September 16 he shot down another German two-seater in flames over Sailly-Saillisel.
On October 1, Cowan was transferred to become a flight commander in 29 Squadron. “Awful blow yesterday,” wrote 24 Squadron commanding officer Lanoe Hawker, “as my best pilot was promoted and moved to another squadron.”
On November 27, he shot down one of the new Halberstadt D.II fighters for what officially would be his seventh victory, but as he maneuvered for a shot at a second Halberstad he collided with another member of his flight, William Spencer FitzRoy Saundby. The Germans buried Cowan in the cemetery at Ablainzevelle, with a marker in German that read, “In memory of a gallant English officer, Captain S.E. Cowan, killed in air combat.”
Building a DH.2 in 1:72 is a tricky proposition, because of the plane’s unusual configuration, tiny size and heavy use of rigging. For years, the only option was the elderly Revell kit, but in 2003 Eduard put out a new kit in 1:72. One of the editions included masks and photoetched parts. So how hard could it be (he said, employing the literary device of ironic foreshadowing)?
The nacelle (where the pilot and engine are located on the DH.2) comes in five parts: the floor, which is also attached to the lower wings; the cockpit/fuselage sides; a nose cap, with a shelf for the machine gun; and the top of the fuselage. The cabane struts are molded to the fuselage sides, which is a good news/bad news thing, as we’ll see later. The interior is decent, but is missing detail that’s easy to add. One big help for these WWI 1:72 builds is the availability of the instructions on-line for the 1:32 WingNut Wings kits, which are impeccably researched. I also had the very good DH.2 vs. Albatros D.I/D.II from Osprey that has a nice artist’s interpretation of the DH.2 interior.
I started with the cockpit floor. I painted it ModelMaster acrylic wood, and used colored pencils to apply a subtle grain pattern. The molded-on detail on the floor made this a bit challenging, but I think I managed it well enough. The bar across the floor that attaches to the control column was painted a blue-ish iron color. The rudder bar from the kit was carefully cleaned up, painted a dark metal shade, and installed, followed by very fine cables from the rudder bar leading back under the pilot’s seat made from wires stripped from a dead iPhone charger.
Speaking of the seat, I decided to swap the kit’s seat for Barracuda Studio’s wicker seat, which is amazing in its detail. My daughter helpfully pointed out that the painting in the Osprey book had a seat cushion, which I made from Apoxie Sculpt, using a sharpened thumb tack to make the indented cushion buttons. A coat of Shockoladenbraun enamel gave the cushion a leather look. The resin seat was painted tan and carefully given a wash; the cushion went next, followed by Eduard’s fabric-effect seat belts. A Future-based wash popped out the detail on the floor, followed by a flat coat and the addition of the seat.
The sides of the cockpit were painted with Humbrol clear doped linen (CDL) and the frames were picked out in a mixed dark gray color. The internal rigging was emphasized with a pencil, carefully run across the detail to pop it out. The elevator trim quadrant was picked out in aluminum, and the priming pump was painted brass.
With the molded-on detail finished, I started looking for detail to add. Immediately, I noticed that the left side of the cockpit was missing two copper conduits, while the right side was missing the air pressure gauge and the oil pulsator glasses. The copper conduits ran behind the framing in real life; I cut lengths of copper wire to fit between the frames, and lined them up to appear they were solid, continuous lines. The oil pulsators were made from tiny lengths of brass tubing, while the air pressure gauge was created from a spare photoetched part and some small slices of .035 styrene rod.
The floor compass was present, and I painted it black, but it really popped out when I added a decal from Airscale’s WWII 1:72 instrument decals; a Luftwaffe position indicator looks a lot like a compass display in this scale! The kit provided three different instrument panel arrangements; I opted for the earliest configuration, because I wanted a model from the time of the Battle of the Somme. I used my same stupid paint tricks to simulate wood on the deck ahed of the instruments and added some wiring to the backs of the instruments.
I spent extra time on the control column. The stick had a trigger squeeze switch on its front that looked a little like the brake handle on a bicycle’s handlebars. I painted the control column, then made the switch from fine wire, which was CA-glued to the back of the stick. Some very thin lead wire was flattened and wrapped around the stick as the flanges holding the switch’s wire in place, and the final touch was a sliver of .2mm lead wire glued to the top of the stick as the ignition “blip” switch. When it was done, I carefully cemented it to the floor.
With the cockpit dressed up a little, it was time to put the pieced of the nacelle together. The side pieces fit to the floor/lower wing with beveled edges, and these left some notable seams. These were filled with CA glue and the corners were sanded square. The nose cap includes the decking above the rudder pedals where the Lewis gun mounts; this was painted with Testors wood and given similar wood grain patterning with colored pencils. The nose cap and the nacelle sides fit together rather poorly; more CA glue and plenty of careful sanding eliminated the steps and gaps – eventually. I re-scribed some lost detail with a UM scribing tool, using strips of Dymo tape as a guide.
The interior parts were still a little exposed to damage, so I prepared the top of the nacelle by first painting the two leather straps that held the nacelle together. These were then masked and I painted the interior of this piece a mixture of grays. I installed the internal bulkhead, then nestled the upper nacelle around the cabane struts. It fit reasonably well. I used CA glue to eliminate any seams, then sanded the joint clean while taking care to preserve the detail.
The internal bulkhead sat too far back inside the nacelle, so I made a new rear cockpit bulkhead and worked it in behind the seat and CA-glued it in place.
I thought this would be a good time to work on the engine. The cylinder and crankcase are molded as one part, and a spider-like set of pushrods is also supplied, but getting it off the sprue runner proved impossible. Instead, I cut off the collar at the center of the pushrods, added it to the engine and painted the engine a burnt iron color, followed by some drybrushing with a brighter silver color. The kit pushrods were then replaced with lengths of Albion Alloys, giving me stronger and better-looking pushrods.
I then started fishing around for paint schemes for my plane. Cowan is recorded as scoring victories in three planes – 5925, 5964 and 5966. The latter plane was flown by Lanoe Hawker when he was shot down by Manfred von Richtofen – and as a result it’s probably the most frequently built DH.2. I wanted something different. Wingnut Wings includes markings for 6000 with Cowan’s name attached to it, but it was all clear doped linen at the time it was depicted and I wanted a PC-10-painted aircraft. After finding several photos of 5925, I realized that I could build it the way I wanted – these planes were delivered in clear doped linen with gray on metal and wood surfaces, then PC-10 was added to the fabric upper surfaces and the sides of the nacelle, then the PC-10 was added over the gray areas. 5925 survived to become a training plane in England, by which time it was PC-10 over all upper surfaces and sported a big “1” on the nose. That was not the scheme it wore when Cowan flew it – so why not portray it in the interim scheme of clear doped linen, PC-10 and gray?
The first step was to realistically portray clear doped linen. I painted the bottom of each wing with Humbrol Matt 74, a fairly yellow color – but this first coat was darkened slightly with a couple of drops of raw umber. Once dry, I cut thin strips of Tamiya tape and masked off all the structural parts of the wings – ribs, spars, and aileron structures.
Then, straight clear doped linen was sprayed over the wings and tail. I removed the tape, revealing the darker areas representing the structure. I sprayed a couple of coats of thinned clear doped linen over these parts, toning the effect down. What I wanted was the effect of shadows on the lower wings to simulate the effect of light penetrating the fabric and showing through the wooden framework of the wings. It worked out well!
Next, I masked the lower wing and painted the bottom of the nacelle white. I applied the mask included in the Eduard kit for the sawtooth pattern on the bottom of the nacelle and mixed up some Humbrol Matt 116, their version of PC-10. I couldn’t get my tin mixed properly and my tests came out too thin and glossy, so instead I added some brown to olive drab and shot that over the wings and nacelle. Next, I smoothed down the sawtooth mask and added the masks for the fabric sides of the nacelle and sprayed a mixed coat of “battleship gray” to the nacelle. All worked as advertised, although I remasked and sprayed one side of the nacelle to get a tighter line.
All this work came at a price: in the process of handling the model, I managed to break three of the four cabane struts! I thought this could be a terminal issue for this build, but I was careful to recover each broken strut and put it in a small bag with its location written on it (as in, “left rear”). The breaks were clean enough thanks to the 19-year-old styrene, and a bit of gel-type CA glue on one end of the strut was all it took to put it in place (with much checking in every axis to make sure it was on straight). A bit of very careful sanding ensured that the joins were nearly invisible. Project saved!
Flat Spins and Milk Runs 