served to their
table--defeats were the bitterberries that the enemy must eat.

This attitude was greatly strengthened by another fortunate victory of a
squadron stationed at Toul. This squadron, while it boasted some
splendid flyers, was quite green and had much to learn. But, despite
this, they too had been victors in their first encounter with the enemy,
and in a manner quite as dramatic as had been McGee's victory. And it
was more widely heralded because the victor was wearing an American
uniform and the victory could be properly called the first score for the
Americans. It came about in this fashion:

A Spring day dawned, cold and foggy, and three members of the squadron
at Toul had gone on patrol. Their ardor was soon dampened by the chill
fog and they returned to their base. Shortly after their return the
alert was sounded and the report came that German planes were coming
over, concealed by the ceiling of fog. In a few moments their motors
could be heard above the town. That minute two Americans left the
ground, climbing rapidly toward the ceiling of fog. Just as they neared
it, two German planes came nosing down. They were barely clear of the
blinding fog cloud when they were attacked by the American pilots. So
swift was the attack, and so accurate the fire, that both German planes
were forced down and the two American pilots were back on the ground in
less than five minutes from the time of their take-off.

Luck? Yes, Luck and Skill--the two things that must walk hand in hand
with every war pilot. But there was no one to be found in all of Toul
who even hinted of luck. Had not the fight taken place in full view of
the townspeople? Had they not witnessed the daring and skill of these
Americans? Luck? Ask the citizens of Toul. Ah, _mais non,
Messieurs!_ they would tell you. The German planes dived--so. Whoosh!
Out of the cloud they came. And there were those precious Americans,
waiting for them--and in just the right place. Is not that skill,
Monsieur? Then, _taka-taka-taka-taka_ went their guns. Only a
minute so. _Voila!_ The Boche are both out of control. Ah, that is
not luck, Monsieur.

All along the front American squadrons accepted the verdict as evidence
of superior flying ability, but McGee and Larkin, with the knowledge
bought by bitter experience, knew that perhaps in the very next
encounter the balance would be in favor of the other fellow. They knew,
too, that over-confidence is an ally singing a