ole. These are the forts;
from above they seem quite harmless.

In a few minutes I shall be over my objective, the small freight house.
The machines in the lead make a half turn so that those behind may
overtake them. As my machine is a slow one, I make directly for my
objective. I am the first to arrive.

The enemy must have expected us, for many of their machines are in the
air moving around at different altitudes ready to attack us. One of
them is coming to welcome me. I turn quickly to see if Allard, the
observer, is wide awake. His machine gun is pointed at the enemy, his
fingers are on the trigger. Good. All is ready.

At 150 yards, the boche biplane suddenly turns its right flank toward
us to allow the gunner to fire. Today such a turn is not necessary,
for such machines carry two guns, one fixed and one behind mounted on a
pivot so as to fire in any direction. I keep my eyes on the enemy.
The black iron crosses are very plainly seen on the rudder and the
fuselage. The fight begins.

The machine guns spit fire, and the boche dives, seeming to have had
enough. I do not follow him, for the way ahead is clear, and I have an
important duty to perform. Through the opening in the floor at my feet
I see the railroad junction, some trains moving and others standing. I
can also see the depots for the freight and munitions.

[Illustration: A two-passenger tractor biplane flying near the
seashore. The oblong black speck directly under the airplane is an
aerial bomb, with guiding fins like a torpedo's, which the bomber, who
is sitting in the rear seat, has just released from the rack under him.
On most planes a machine gun on a swivel is mounted behind the man in
the rear seat. If the plane is a single-seater, the machine gun is
stationary, mounted in front of the pilot, and "synchronized," or
timed, to fire so that the bullets pass between the blades of the
propeller, which is making about 1600 revolutions a minute. In the
lower left-hand corner can be seen the wing tip of the plane from which
the photograph was taken.]

Allard touches my left shoulder and signs for me to keep straight
ahead. Another touch and I know he has dropped the bombs. It is done,
and I have nothing to do but to turn about and make for home.

But now the boches seem to be thick about us. We must be very careful.
But in spite of all, we are surprised and attacked by a Fokker fighting
plane. He fires a volley into us and is