n. All the others, great and
small, raucous-voiced and shrill-voiced, fire at any hour, night or day.
Aeroplanes rarely go up at night; and when no aeroplanes are up,
Archibald has no interest in the war. But he is alert at the first flush of
dawn, on the look-out for game with the avidity of a pointer dog; for
aviators are also up early.

Why he was named Archibald nobody knows. As his full name is
Archibald the Archer, possibly it comes from some association with
the idea of archery. If there were ten thousand anti-aircraft guns in the
British army, every one would be known as Archibald.

When the British Expeditionary Force went to France it had none. All
the British could do was to bang away at Taubes with thousands of
rounds of rifle-bullets, which might fall in their own lines, and with the
field guns.

It was pie in those days for the Taubes! Easy to keep out of the range
of both rifles and guns and observe well! If the Germans did not know
the progress of the British retreat from on high it was their own fault.
Now, the business of firing at Taubes is left entirely to Archibald.
When you see how hard it is for Archibald, after all his practice, to get
a Taube, you understand how foolish it was for the field guns to try to
get one.

Archibald, who is quite the "swaggerist" of the gun tribe, has his own
private car built especially for him. Such of the cavalry's former part
as the planes do not play he plays. He keeps off the enemy's scouts.
Do you seek team-work, spirit of corps, and smartness in this theatre
of France, where all the old glamour of war is supposed to be
lacking? You will find it in the attendants of Archibald. They have
pride, elan, alertness, pepper, and all the other appetizers and
condiments. They are as neat as a private yacht's crew, and as lively
as an infield of a major league team. The Archibaldians are naturally
bound to think rather well of themselves.

Watch them there, every man knowing his part, as they send their
shells after the Taube! There is not enough waste motion among the
lot to tip over the range-finder, or the telescopes, or the score board,
or any of the other paraphernalia assisting the man who is looking
through the sight in knowing where to aim next, as a screw answers
softly to his touch.

Is the sport of war dead? Not for Archibald! Here you see your target
--which is so rare these days when British infantrymen have stormed
and taken trenches without ever seei