In WWI, he flew over 100 missions as an observer (a combined spy/gunner in the rear seat of a two-seater). It was hazardous, not only because the Germans were taking special aim at the observers but also because aviation still had a lot of kinks yet to be ironed out. Some had fuel tanks that could skid into the pilot if the flight angle changed too sharply. More than once, Baz had to climb out onto the tail to balance the plane on landing.
Some crashes couldn't be avoided. Baz diagrammed one in a letter home, shown here as duplicated in his daughter's book:
And THAT is for sure a song. The melody it suggests to me is straight out of a dingy French dance hall, which is not the sort of thing I usually write, but which is just fine for an album called Posthistoric that may well be coming out on or about the end date for American civilization. I'm still drafting the lyrics—and kindly refrain from judging my first-draft French grammar—but here's where things stand.