ltogether puny and
absurd during the few seconds when it was within sight. The winding
Somme was dull and dirty as the desolation of its surrounding basin.
Some four thousand feet above the ground a few clouds moved restlessly
at the bidding of the wind.

Passing a few small woods, we arrived without interruption over the
railway junction of Boislens. With arms free of the machine to avoid
unnecessary vibration, the observers trained their glasses on the
station and estimated the amount of rolling stock. A close search of the
railway arteries only revealed one train. I grabbed pencil and
note-book and wrote: "Boislens, 3.5 P.M. 6 R.S., 1 train going
S.W."

Just west of our old friend Mossy-Face were two rows of flagrantly new
trenches. As this is one of the points where the enemy made a stand
after their 1917 spring retreat, it can be assumed that even as far back
as last October they were preparing new lines of defence, Hindenburg or
otherwise. Not far west of these defence works were two troublesome
aerodromes at Bertincourt and Velu, both of which places have since been
captured.

A hunt for an aerodrome followed. V., who knew the neighbourhood well,
having passed above it some two-score times, was quick to spot a group
of hitherto unnoted sheds north of Boislens, towards Mossy-Face. He
circled over them to let me plot the pin-point position on the map and
sketch the aerodrome and its surroundings. The Hun pilots, with thoughts
of a possible bomb-raid, began to take their machines into the air for
safety.

"Got 'em all?" Thus V., shouting through the rubber speaking-tube, one
end of which was fixed inside my flying-cap, so that it always rested
against my ear.

"Correct. Get on with the good work."

The good work led us over a region for ever associated with British
arms. Some of the towns brought bitter memories of that anxious August
three years back. Thus Nimporte, which saw a desperate but successful
stand on one flank of the contemptible little army to gain time for the
main body; Ventregris, scene of a cavalry charge that was a glorious
tragedy; Labas, where a battery of horse-gunners made for itself an
imperishable name; Siegecourt, where the British might have retired into
a trap but didn't; and Le Recul itself, whence they slipped away just in
time.

In the station at Nimporte a train was waiting to move off, and two more
were on their way to the military base of Pluspres. Both attempted to
hide t