on their project. At last
permission came. Booth, one of the most experienced aviators on
the western front, was to pilot one of the two triplanes of the
new type that had been allotted to the airdrome, and Joe Little
the other. The four other big bombing machines that were to go
on this mission were to be sent from another air station nearby.
Joe was pleased to be able to take Harry Corwin as his companion,
and none of the twelve men who had been selected for the expedition
worked harder over the plans and the maps than these two Brighton
boys.

At last the night selected for the raid came. It was a study to
see Joe Little inspect a machine before a flight, but on this occasion
he went over the big plane with extra care. He stood by the right
side of the tail for a minute chatting to Harry and then the two
boys went over every detail of the machine. While one fingered the
tail skid bolt the other examined the safety cable on the tail skid.
Stabilizer, elevator, and rudder were gone over carefully. Control
wires were gone over for their full lengths and their pulleys tried.
Brace wires were felt for slackness, from the tail to the inside of
the fuselage. The control wires to the ailerons, the pulleys and
the hinges, nothing escaped the eyes of Joe Little.

Each blade of the propeller he searched for a minute crack. Every
nut and bolt on the propeller he tried.

When in the machine and safely buckled to their seats, Joe ran his
engine a bit, to satisfy himself that she was producing just the
right music. The other five triplanes had been waiting. When Joe
had satisfied himself that his machine was in perfect condition the
word was given for the start. A series of staccato pops announced
that the whole fleet was getting under way and they were soon circling
the hangars and climbing off in the direction of the trenches. The
long journey had begun.

The night was moonlit and the stars were bright. Not a cloud was to
be seen. A fog obscured some of the low ground over which the
squadron had to pass, but they steered by compass, keeping perfect
formation. Finally the silver Rhine wound below them. Turning,
they followed the river until Coblenz was reached, then turned north
again. Germany's great manufacturing centers were passing below
the squadron now, one after another. The countless fires of monster
furnaces and factories, thousand upon thousand, glared into the night.
The tall chimneys and furnac