rise, avail himself of any protective
covering which may exist, and incur great risks. The opposing forces are
overwhelmingly against him. The modern rifle, if fired vertically into
the air, will hurl the bullet to a height of about 5,000 feet, while
the weapons which have been designed to combat aircraft have a range of
10,000 feet or more.

At the latter altitude aggressive tactics are useless. The airman is
unable to obtain a clear sharp view of the country beneath owing to the
interference offered to vision by atmospheric haze, even in the dearest
of weather. In order to obtain reasonable accuracy of aim the corsair
of the sky must fly at about 400 feet. In this respect, however, the
aeroplane is at a decided advantage, as compared with the dirigible. The
machine offers a considerably smaller target and moves with much greater
speed. Experience of the war has shown that to attempt to hurl bombs
from an extreme height is merely a waste of ammunition. True, they do a
certain amount of damage, but this is due to luck, not judgment.

For success in aerial bomb operations the human element is mainly
responsible. The daring airman is likely to achieve the greatest
results, as events have proved, especially when his raid is sudden and
takes the enemy by surprise. The raids carried out by Marix, Collet,
Briggs, Babington, Sippe and many others have established this fact
incontrovertibly. In all these operations the airmen succeeded because
of their intrepidity and their decision to take advantage of cover,
otherwise a prevailing mist or low-lying clouds. Flight-Lieutenant
Collet approached the Zeppelin shed at Dusseldorf at an altitude of
6,000 feet. There was a bank of mist below, which he encountered at
1,500 feet. He traversed the depth of this layer and emerged therefrom
at a height of only 400 feet above the ground. His objective was barely
a quarter of a mile ahead. Travelling at high speed he launched his
bombs with what proved to be deadly precision, and disappeared
into cover almost before the enemy had grasped his intentions.
Lieutenant-Commander, now Flight-Commander, Marix was even more daring.
Apparently he had no mist in which to conceal himself but trusted almost
entirely to the speed of his machine, which probably at times notched 90
miles per hour. Although his advent was detected and he was greeted with
a spirited fusillade he clung to his determined idea. He headed straight
for the Zeppelin shed, launche