n
readiness for a fight. Knowing by experience that if he starts
manoeuvring round a Hun he will not break away while there is the
slightest chance of a victory, I remind him, by means of a note-book
leaf, that since our job is a reconnaissance, the R.F.C. law is to
return quickly with our more or less valuable information, and to
abstain from such luxuries as unnecessary fights, unless a chance can be
seized over British ground. Although he does not seem too pleased at the
reminder he puts down the nose of the machine, so as to cross the lines
in the shortest possible time.

The first Hun scout continues the dive to within three hundred yards, at
which range I fire a few short bursts, by way of an announcement to the
Boche that we are ready for him and protected from the rear. He flattens
out and sits behind our tail at a respectful distance, until the second
scout has joined him. The two separate and prepare to swoop down one
from each side.

But we are now passing the trenches, and just as one of our attackers
begins to dive, a formation of de Havilands (British pusher scouts)
arrives to investigate. The second Boche plants himself between us and
the newcomers, while his companion continues to near until he is a
hundred and fifty yards from us. At this range I rattle through the rest
of the ammunition drum, and the Hun swerves aside. We now recognise the
machine as an Albatross scout or "German spad," a most successful type
that only entered the lists a fortnight beforehand. Finding that they
have to reckon with five de Havilands, the two Huns turn sharply and
race eastward, their superior speed saving them from pursuit.

We pass through the clouds for the last time on the trip, and fly home
very soberly, while I piece together my hurried notes. The Squadron
Commander meets us in the aerodrome with congratulations and a desire
for information.

"Seen anything?" he asks.

"Fourteen trains and some M.T.," I reply.

"And a few thousand clouds," adds the flight-commander.

By the time I have returned from the delivery of my report at G.H.Q.,
the wing office has sent orders that we are to receive a mild censure
for carrying out a reconnaissance with only one machine. The Squadron
Commander grins as he delivers the reproof, so that we do not feel
altogether crushed.

"Don't do it again," he concludes.

As we have not the least desire to do it again, the order is likely to
be obeyed.

CHAPTER VII.

END