Whatever Boelcke Told Us Was Taken As

I Honored The Fallen Enemy By Placing A Stone On His Beautiful Grave.

In The Heat Of The Russian Summer A Sleeping Car Is The Most Horrible Instrument Of Martyrdom Imaginable.

When One Has Shot Down One's First, Second Or Third Opponent, Then One Begins To Find Out How The Trick Is Done.

Fighter Pilots Rove In The Area Allotted To Them In Any Way They Like, And When They Spot An Enemy They Attack And Shoot Them Down.... Everything Else Is Rubbish.

The Quality Of The Box Matters Little. Success Depends Upon The Man Who Sits In It.