f the Somme, or about anything else except _his_ war
and _his_ battle. The earth-world no longer existed for him: the earth
was a place which received the dead and the vanquished. So this is the
way in which he wrote his two sisters, then sojourning in Switzerland
(Fritz meaning any enemy airplane):

Dear Kids,

Some sport: the 17, attacked a Fritz, three shots and gun jammed;
Fritz tumbled. The 18th, _idem_, but in two shots: two Fritzes in
five shots, record.

Day before yesterday, attacked Fritz at 4.30 at ten meters: killed
the passenger and perhaps the rest, prevented from seeing what
happened by a fight at half-past four: the Boche ran.

At 7.40 attacked an Aviatik, carried away by the impetus, passed it
at fifty centimeters; passenger "_couic_" (killed), the machine
fell and was got under control again at fifty meters above the
ground.

At 7.35, attacked an L.V.G.; at fifteen meters; just ready to
shoot, when a bullet in my fingers made me let go the trigger;
reservoir burst, good landing two kilometers from the trenches
between two shell-holes. Inventory of the "taxi": one bullet right
in the face of my Vickers; one perforative bullet in the motor; the
steel stone had gone clear through it as well as the oil reservoir,
the gasoline tank, the cartridge chest, my glove ... where it
stayed in the index finger: result, about as if my finger had been
slightly pinched in a door; not even skinned, only the top of the
nail slightly blackened. At the time I thought two fingers had been
shot. To continue the inventory: one bullet in the reservoir, in
the direction of my left lung, having passed through four
millimeters of copper and had the good sense to stop, but one
wonders why.

One bullet in the edge of the back of my seat, one in the rudder,
and a dozen in the wings. They knocked the "taxi" to pieces with a
hatchet at two o'clock in the morning, under shell-fire. On
landing, received 86 shots of 105, 130 and 150, for nothing. They
will pay the bill.

For a beginning, La Tour has his fourth mention.

A hug for each of you.

Georges.

P.S.--It could not be said now that I am not strong; I stop steel
bullets with the end of my finger.

Is this a letter? At first, it is a bulletin of victory: two airplanes
for five bullets, plus one p