t for a contact machine. The pilot and
observer of another bus saw two tanks converging eastward at either end
of a troublesome Boche trench. A German officer, peering round a corner,
drew back quickly when he found one of the new steel beasts advancing.
He hurried to an observation post round a bend in the lines. Arrived
there, he got the shock of his life when he found a second metal monster
waddling towards him. Alarmed and unnerved, he probably ordered a
retirement, for the trench was evacuated immediately. The observer in a
watching aeroplane then delivered a much-condensed synopsis of the
comedy to battalion headquarters, and the trench was peacefully
occupied.

Inevitably the nearness of the enemy to machines hovering over a given
area bred in the airmen concerned a desire to swoop down and panic the
Boche. Movement in a hostile trench was irresistible, and many a pilot
shot off his engine, glided across the lines, and let his observer spray
with bullets the home of the Hun. The introduction of such tactics was
not planned beforehand and carried out to order. It was the outcome of a
new set of circumstances and almost unconscious enterprise. More than
any other aspect of war flying, it is, I believe, this imminence of the
unusual that makes the average war pilot swear greatly by his job, while
other soldiers temper their good work with grousing. His actions are
influenced by the knowledge that somewhere, behind a ridge of clouds, in
the nothingness of space, on the patchwork ground, the True Romance has
hidden a new experience, which can only be found by the venturer with
alert vision, a quick brain, and a fine instinct for opportunity.

The free-lance ground stunt, then, had its origin in the initiative of a
few pilots who recognised a chance, took it, and thus opened yet another
branch in the huge departmental store of aerial tactics. The exploits of
these pioneers were sealed with the stamp of official approval, and
airmen on contact patrol have since been encouraged to relieve boredom
by joyous pounces on Brother Boche.

The star turn last year was performed by a British machine that captured
a trench. The pilot guided it above the said trench for some hundred
yards, while the observer emptied drum after drum of ammunition at the
crouching Germans. A headlong scramble was followed by the appearance of
an irregular line of white billowings. The enemy were waving
handkerchiefs and strips of material in token