A Precarious War
The unique award of a Pour le Mérite to a Balloon Observer of the First World War is detailed by Dr. Immanuel Voigt in an astonishing tale of courage in the face of extreme danger.
During mid-october 1917, in Northern France, the Battle of the Aisne was in its final phase. One of its hotspots was what the Germans knew as the ‘Damenweg’, or Chemin de Dames, where Leutnant d.r. Peter Rieper was deployed with his ‘Ballonzug’ to observe for the artillery. To Rieper, it would have seemed that 17 October was turning out just like any other day. It would ultimately play out quite differently.
At 06.00hrs, according to the usual practice, Leutnant Rieper climbed into his wicker basket and readied for another duty aloft. Meanwhile, the weather was already promising ideal working conditions. With a few short bursts, the motor winch which was attached by steel cable to the balloon, let the balloon further and further up into the sky. Having reached the pre-determined altitude, the officer started immediately to adjust the fire of German batteries onto the observed targets. At about noon, Rieper received a warning via telephone that four enemy aircraft were approaching him. Minutes later, as predicted, four aircraft dipped through a gap in the clouds and came straight towards him. Reacting quickly, Rieper tore off the receiver strapped to his head, fixed the belt of the parachute across his stomach and got ready by straddling the edge of the basket:
‘And just then, one of the devils is diving down on me with an eerie hum. An incendiary rocket whizzes past only a few metres to my left and a second one, which, after hitting the right side of the rear of the balloon, exits again at its underside. Good luck? Fat chance! Well, now the balloon’s topside is on fire and that means: get out as quickly as possible!”
However, just as Rieper prepared to plunge over the side, he realised with horror that one of the ropes of his parachute had caught on something. By now, he was dangling along the side of the basket, holding himself with one hand. Of all things, the rope had caught in the spring catch of the field telephone. His only solution was to climb back into the basket and attempt to free the rope - only about 1.5cms in diameter - from its entanglement. This operation was complicated by the thick fur-lined gloves he was wearing, but just seconds before the fiercely burning outer skin of the balloon collapsed, falling towards the ground veilled in a cloud of black smoke, Rieper was successful. He baled out and descended slowly, making a successful landing in a bog: Leutnant Rieper had made his first parachute jump from his balloon. It would not be his last.
CELEBRATED BALLOON OBSERVER
The aerial heroes,who reached the status of today’s film and rock music stars in First World War Germany, still form a popular field of historical research. The subject is largely explored by aviation enthusiasts and amateur historians.
■ This impressive photograph conveys a good idea of the size of the Parseval-sigsfeld balloon. (Brett Butterworth)
Often, they carry out groundbreaking and valuable work, but sadly there are very few German historians interested in the military history of balloons; the research focus is usually centered on fighter pilots and their exploits. The ‘Feldluftschiffer’, German balloon troops, were dismissively designated as the ‘bloated competition’, the ‘aufgeblasene Konkurrenz’, by other branches of the German Luftstreitkräfte. Thus, they have so far seen little research. Yet the young men in their wicker baskets, hanging under ‘Gasblasen’ (gas bladders) and ‘Luftgurken’ (aerial cucumbers), did a particularly dangerous job as observers for the artillery. Among their number, the name of Peter Rieper stands out as the only Feldluftschiffer decorated with the coveted Order of the Pour le Mérite, the ‘Blue Max’.
Previously, few biographical details of Rieper have been known, and publications from the 1930s and 1940s are incomplete, only illuminating his career up to the publication date of the respective book. Even modern publications are sadly afflicted by errors and gaps, although Peter Rieper did, in fact, leave a multitude of documents about his military experiences. He wrote short pieces which were published in German newspapers during the war, and after 1918 he wrote several essays about his experiences as a balloon observer, including ‘Im brennenden Ballon’ (In the Burning Balloon) published in G P Neumanns 1923 book ‘In der Luft unbesiegt’, and in a more elaborate form under the title ‘Im brennenden Fesselballon’ in Walther Eberhadt’s 1930 ‘Unsere Luftstreitkräfte 1914-18’. Rieper’s topic is then repeated in Ernst Schäffer’s 1932 ‘Pour le Mérite’ and in Werner von Langsdorff’s ‘Flieger am Feind’. Apart from the 1918 ‘Im Fesselballon’, by the German balloon observer Ernst Struck, Rieper’s essays are the only known extensive surviving portrayals by former German Feldluftschiffer. So how might one get access to further information on Rieper’s life?
In the course of his PHD studies, the author managed to locate a descendant of the former officer in Northern Germany and a meeting took place during the autumn of 2012. Being kindly welcomed, the author was given access to the impressive family archive of Peter Rieper. Apart from several unpublished photographs, and a number of newspaper cuttings, it included Rieper’s field post letters and his original Pour le Mérite with its award document. This was a find of the kind which can no longer be commonly made. With the archive, and through testimony of the family, a full picture of Peter Rieper emerged, making it possible to tell the story of Germany’s most celebrated balloon observer.
DUELLING SCARS
Peter Rieper’s roots can be found in the ‘Altes Land’, the Old Country, a region near Hamburg famed for its fruit cultivation. The son of farmer Johann Rieper and his wife Rebecka (nee Moje), he was born on 13 April 1887 in Wisch, right behind the Elbe Dyke. Today, the town is part of the municipality of Jork in the district of Stade.
Peter spent his childhood at his parents house in Wisch, and from 1897 attended the grammar school in Altona where he graduated with an Abitur in March 1906. Chemistry studies at the University of Jena, with excursions to Munich and Marburg, were to follow. In Jena, he was a member of the duelling fencing fraternity, ‘Teutonia’, proof of which lay in several duelling scars (‘Schmisse’) on his left cheek.
That he enjoyed life at university to the fullest is proven by two disciplinary procedures recorded in the university archive. In the first instance, he caused ‘mischief in the detention room’ by ‘ringing the detention room bell’. At a later date, for ‘failing his common academic duties’. Both files are so fragile they cannot be accessed in full, but the title of the second file: ‘The insult of Dr. Rössler and his wife’ points more towards a libel case!
In any event, Peter Rieper enjoyed his time in Jena so much that he graduated there with a PHD in 1912. In the following autumn, Dr. Peter Rieper served his compulsory military service as a one-year-volunteer with the Prussian Feld-artillerie-regiment Nr. 74 in Torgau, subsequently finding employment as a chemical assistant in the Weißenfels sugar factory, working here until the outbreak of the First World War.
At the end of his compulsory service, Rieper had been discharged with the rank of Vizewachtmeister der Reserve, and as such he was deployed on the Western Front shortly after the outbreak of war, serving with the 1st Battery of his former regiment.
KITE FLYERS
On 24 August 1914, Rieper was was hit by shrapnel from a British artillery shell which badly wounded him in the chest and stomach. Two shrapnel balls remained in his body for the rest of his life, one near his spine, the other close to his appendix. After convalescence, Rieper returned to his regiment in early November and was promoted to Leutnant der Reserve on 24 December 1914. Up until July 1915, he fought with his unit as part of 6. Armee in the area of Arras and the Loretto Heights, before transferring to Feldluftschiffer-abteilung 7, although the precise date is unknown. Then, to Jüterbog a four-week period of training as an artillery observer followed.
■ This absolutely stunning portrait of a German balloon observer Leutnant offers a clear view of his personal equipment. To protect against the elements, he is clad in leather and has a face mask hanging around his neck which offers protection from breathing in the cold air. He is also carrying high quality binoculars and has already linked himself up to the parachute attached to the side of the observer’s basket. (Brett Butterworth. Colour by Luc Heinrich)
From here on, he served solely on the Western Front: at Loretto, the Somme and the Chemin de Dames. There, Rieper did not solely climb into the sky in the basket of a balloon. On very windy days, where ballooning was difficult, observation was conducted by ‘Drachen’ or, to use the English term: kite.
What sounds hazardous was actually a thoroughly sophisticated system, and one which was used with great success. The Drachen was basically a large box kite constructed from plywood and covered with linen fabric. With several box kites linked together, they were able to lift an observer’s basket, weighing about 30 kg, plus an observer and all the required equipment. To do so, the kites were linked to the main cable of the motor winch and pulled into the sky one after the other. With five to twelve kites used in this manner, it was possible to reach a maximum altitude of 300 to 400 meters, where the contraptions offered a far smaller target for enemy artillery than did a balloon.
From 1915/16, observers carried parachutes when going up by kite, but the main danger was not being shot down or crashing. Far greater was the threat that the main cable would rip when the wind got too strong. In November 1916, at the Somme, Leutnant Rieper managed to reach an altitude of 770 meters with such a construction. The wind, however, was so strong that one kite after the other was ripped to shreds until Rieper landed four hours later, with only one remaining kite.
IN COMMAND
That the operations conducted in the basket of an observation balloon were frightening is very clear from Rieper’s reports. It was also a somewhat precarious war, and being fired on with timed fuses must have been a particularly unpleasant experience:
‘It is admittedly not nice, when one sits - as a lonely man – 1,300 or 1,500 metres up there, being bludgeoned with 15 cm time-fused shells. These things create a terrific noise when they burst behind, above or under the balloon. One does indeed feel quite helpless and can’t do anything but change one’s height constantly, climbing and rising up between 700 and 1,500 metres, or by being alternately pulled down and released again by the motor winch, so that the wicked enemy can’t follow-up with the regulation of detonation altitudes. Also, one doesn’t want to please the Frenchman by allowing oneself to be winched down to the ground and abandon the observation.’
It is not entirely clear exactly when, but in the spring of 1918, Rieper transferred to Feldluftschiffer-abteilung 21, this was shortly before a reorganisation of the Feldluftschiffertruppe (lit: field balloon troops) had taken place when permanent staffs for the FeldluftschifferAbteilungen and Ballonzüge were created. The latter could be attached to different staff at whichever section of the front they were needed. A staff had a nominal strength of four officers and 30 NCOS and men, along with 12 horses, three four-in-hand horse carts and four motor vehicles.
Peter Rieper was put in command of Ballonzug 19, with a
regular strength of three officers, 112 NCOS and men. The Zug/platoon was kept mobile by 25 horses, eight horse carts and four motor vehicles. As commander, Rieper was responsible for frictionless service at the mooring point, and for keeping up contact with all duty stations required for balloon observation. As an officer, he commanded his unit during the German Spring Offensive of 1918 (also known as ‘Kaiserschlacht’ or ‘Unternehmen Michael’) and the battles which followed.
During Operation Michael, Rieper’s balloons were attached to 18. Armee on the left wing of the attack. In May 1918, when the offensive had stalled, Ballonzug 19 was transferred to the neighbouring sector in Champagne, which was held by 7. Armee. There, it was to take part in yet another offensive at the Chemin de Dames, north of the Aisne, codenamed ‘Blücher’.
INCENDIARY BULLETS
On 3 June 1918, Rieper received an extensive observation order. On the previous day, six German observation balloons had been shot down in his sector and now it would be Rieper’s task to replace them. After guiding the fire of a heavy battery onto an enemy machine gunner, the ground crew reported that enemy aircraft had been sighted in the vicinity. Due to the constantly rising threat from enemy aircraft, the Germans side had attached two machine guns and two 37mm revolver-cannon (plus crew) to each
Ballonzug for anti-aircraft work. This, however, only slightly mitigated the huge balloon losses.
Far quicker than Rieper preferred, enemy aircraft started circling his balloon. Machine guns started crackling, and in his headphones he just heard the words: ‘Jump out Herr Leut…’ when another burst ripped through the air. To avoid getting caught up in them, Rieper pulled the cables out of the battery box and straddled the edge of the basket. Then, another burst of fire. Suddenly, his right arm, which he had just used to grab the basket, was hit, the bullet breaking the bone. Rieper knew he had no time to waste as the enemy was firing incendiary bullets and it would only be a matter of time until the balloon erupted in flames:
‘I let myself slide down the basket, and after a few uncertain moments I feel the jolt when the parachute opens.’
His descent ended quickly and much harder than planned, and due to his broken arm Rieper had been unable to pulll himself up in his parachute harness. To crown it all, his fibula had broken on impact and the wind grabbed hold of his parachute, dragging him along. Unable to use the release catch with only one arm, he was dragged several hundred metres over the ground. Only then, a number of German infantryman managed to free him from his plight. His second bale-out from a burning balloon hadn’t been as lucky as the first.
Rieper’s balloon was jointly credited to Alphonse-rené Malfanti, Paul Guérin and Pierre Cardon of the French Escadrille SPA 81.
One does indeed feel quite helpless and can’t do anything but change one’s height constantly, climbing and rising up between 700 and 1,500 metres, or by being alternately pulled down and released again by the motor winch, so that the wicked enemy can’t follow-up with the regulation of detonation altitudes.”
Leutnant Peter Rieper, 1917
‘EXCEPTIONAL PERSONAL COURAGE’
A long stay in Reservelazarett 3 (reserve hospital) in Altona then followed. It was there, on 9 July 1918, that he received a telegraph from the Kogenluft, the commanding general of the air forces, General Ernst von Hoeppner:
‘His Majesty the Kaiser and King, in recognition of your excellent services, has awarded you with Order Pour le Mérite. You are the first Feldluftschiffer to be decorated with this prestigious order. I am delighted to be able to congratulate you for receiving this high decoration. You played a major and excellent part in the recent great successes of the Luftstreitkräfte - I wish you a speedy convalescence from the severe wound you suffered and that you will be able to continue your successful work on the front.’
A short time later, Rieper also received the official award document of the Order, dated 7 July 1918. Without his knowledge, the commander of artillery of 37. Division had recommended him for the Pour le Mérite. It was stated that:
‘Leutnant der Reserve Rieper has played a groundbreaking part in the use and perfection of balloon observation. Carried by a never resting zeal for action, by exceptional personal courage and a spirit to overcome the greatest difficulties, he has, during this current offensive, and under total personal commitment, achieved seemingly impossible results in the suppression of the enemy’s artillery.’
It continued to claim that Rieper had greatly eased the burden of the troops in his sector, standing daily in the observation basket without regard for his own health. It closed with the words:
‘...his reputation of being one of the most dashing and successful balloon platoon commanders is widely known on the Western Front. The high award could go to nobody worthier than the probably forever crippled hero.’
As a matter of fact, Rieper’s severe wound resulted in long hospitalisation. When he finally returned to France
in October 1918, he did not participate any further at an operational level. In the final weeks before the end of the war, Rieper was employed as an instructor at the balloon observer school in Namur. Along with the Pour le Mérite, he had been decorated with both classes of the Iron Cross, the Knight’s Cross with Swords of the Royal House Order of Hohenzollern and the black Wound Badge.
Yet he seems to have anticipated that Germany had no chance of winning the war - a fact which seems to have depressed him quite extensively. On 28 October 1918, about two weeks before the war ended, he wrote to Annemarie Martin, later his wife:
‘Tomorrow, or in two days, I will return to my replacement unit in Düsseldorf and I hope that I will still get 14 days or 3 weeks leave to go home, as I only had three days of leave after my release from hospital. After that, I will probably return to the field and my old platoon. If the war is not over by then. Yes, sinister days are heading towards us. I still can’t quite get to grips with it. I don’t like to read newspapers anymore. Who, only four months ago, when we advanced over the Marne, would have thought that such a reversal would be possible! When I recently heard the church bells ringing loudly here, it felt as if my dear German Fatherland was being carried to the grave and I just wanted to loudly start crying. One can’t shake such thoughts and is unable to think about anything else. Now we can only clench our teeth and calmly suffer what the great redeemer has ordained. I wish that you will once again find hapiness in your life!’
Carried by a never resting zeal for action, by exceptional personal courage and a spirit to overcome the greatest difficulties, he has during this current offensive, under total commitment of his person, achieved seemingly impossible results in the suppression of the enemy’s artillery.” Official Document for Award of Pour le Mérite to Peter Rieper, 7 July 1918.
COLLAPSE OF THE OLD WORLD
The armistice was signed when the highly decorated Leutnant Rieper was on convalescent leave in Jork and it seems that the end, when it came, was nevertheless a surprise. Like many other officers, Peter Rieper felt unable to overcome the defeat. On 14 November, he wrote:
‘Here in the countryside one has for now hardly noticed the red storm tide, but for the fact that everyone on leave is out without weapons and cockades. I have been walking round in civilian dress for three days now. I was lucky to stumble across an old civilian suit of mine, because all my things are still in Stöbnitz. After these terrible events, I can’t wear my uniform with pride anymore as I used to, and I am also not wanting to have my awards ripped off. And without these, I won’t show myself voluntarily.’
These words radiate the pride of the Leutnant and Pour-le-mérite holder who could not or did not want to understand that the men of the workers and soldiers councils took shoulder boards, cockades and awards from the officers. Rieper’s world had collapsed. For him, the events were a nightmare from which he wanted to wake but couldn‘t:
‘You are right Annemieze, for the moment one wants to believe that all this is just a wicked dream and pretend that it isn’t real. But it is! Today, and on previous days, my heart is wanting to break apart when I see one fleet of torpedo boats destroyed and the other passing by on their way to Hamburg flying the red flag. Yesterday, I saw 48 vessels
of our once proud Imperial Fleet. How different one had imagined the return of the marvelous ships after the glorious peace! Imagine the waving and brandishing of handkerchiefs here on our dykes. But instead of a multitude of colourful pennants across the topmast, there is only the one terrible red flag. And instead of a multitude of cheering people on the dykes, there are just a few, with silent desperation in their hearts. In addition to that, the downright dishonouring conditions of the armistice! I, who up until receiving my last wound, have only ever perceived a victorious German Army, are least able to fathom this.’
Life however had to continue, even for Peter Rieper. To distract himself from the situation in Germany, the former
officer buried himself in work and returned to his former position in the sugar factory at Stöbnitz. But deep inside he was haunted by events around him. On 9 December, he wrote:
‘I think that, without this intense work, I would have gone mad if I had read the newspapers, or had witnessed the final, terrible events and collapse on the front myself. But this way, I have no time to think about it. In the last 14 days I have been in the factory from 6:00 am to 11:00 pm, I have picked up no newspaper and when I come home between 11:00 and 11:30 pm, I am so tired that there is no time to focus on any thoughts. And that is a good thing, because when I have only five minutes for myself in my flat, then the gloomy thoughts are there. And that is self-destroying. And when I take up my photographs from my time in Jena, the memories make me want to cry as well. The only thing that offers relief is work and it greatly helps me overcome all that. I am especially happy that I haven’t touched a newspaper yet - even though I have once been such an avid reader.’
FLAK OFFICER
Several years in the young republic passed, and on 7 June 1922, Rieper was retrospectively promoted to Oberleutnant der Reserve while taking the post of director in his company. His stance towards the National Socialists is difficult to judge, but like most other former officers, he held deeply patriotic views. From 1924 to 1933, he was a member of the ‘Stahlhelm’ and wasn’t entirely unsympathetic to the Nazi cause, but never joined the NSDAP. He was, however, according to his own account, a member of the National Socialist People’s Welfare (NSV) and was active in the SA between 1934 and 1936.
Interestingly, he also socialised with several men (including Carl Wentzel-teutschenthal) who were later involved in the attempt on Hitler’s life on 20 July 1944.
A few years after the creation of the ‘new’ Luftwaffe in 1935, Rieper was reactivated. In 1936, he voluntarily participated in a field exercise of I./flak-regiment 10, and in the following character assessment written by the course leader, Hauptmann Kretschmann, it stated Rieper had ‘a noble character’ and ‘a mature and self-contained personality’, all of which would enable him to act as ‘leader of a reserve unit’.
His official entry into the Flak arm of the Luftwaffe took place on 1 December 1937, together with promotion to Hauptmann. After another exercise in 1938, this time with I./flak-regiment 3, he was described as ‘dutiful and reliable’ and as a superior who ‘knows how to assert himself’. At the start of the Second World War, Rieper was promoted to Major der Reserve, and shortly afterwards to Oberstleutnant zur Verfügung (at disposal) before being given command of Leichte Flak-abteilung 74, based in the Ruhr basin. His active service on the homefront, however, had already ended in October 1939, allowing the officer to return to the sugar factory in Stöbnitz.
He died unexpectedly on 15 March 1942 in Berlin, aged 55 years, from complications caused by a ruptured appendix. He was buried on the Stadtgottesacker in Halle on the Saale, with the participation of much of the local population and with full military honours. His grave still exists at his burial place.
Just like the service arm he originally served in, his name today is mostly forgotten. For Rieper, there was none of the glamour which was associated with the fighter pilot ‘Blue Max’ recipients.