"So?" The German's face was a picture of pained surprise. "So the attack comes here? Gott! Had I known--had _we_ known." He paused, obviously pained, then again resumed his jesting poise. "You can be sure, Major, that I regret I am not on the receiving end of your artillery preparation and that I shall be unable to meet your squadron with my Circus to-morrow morning over the lines." "I dare say," was Cowan's reply as he turned to the sergeant in charge of the Military Police detail. "Sergeant, take charge of the prisoner and deliver him to First Corps Headquarters. And make sure that he does not escape." The sergeant saluted, grinning expansively. "He's got a fat chance to get away from _me_, sir," he said. "I'm the spy bustin'est baby in this man's army." "You will treat him with courtesy," Cowan ordered. "He is a brave man." "Yes, sir," the sergeant replied. "So was Nathan Hale, sir--but he got shot just the same." CHAPTER XIII The Last of the Big Shows 1 The following morning had no dawning. A light rain had fallen during the night and a heavy, obliterating fog arose from the wet earth, blanketing hill and valley alike. So dense was it that troops in the front lines, peeping over the top in anxious nervousness as they awaited the zero hour, saw nothing but a wall of white that made the shell-tortured land before them more mysterious than any dream of battle ever fancied. What did it hold? Where were the German lines? And just what had been the effect of this five hour tornado of screaming shells? Machine guns, under cover of the fog, were boldly mounted on the trench parapets. They danced and chattered on their tripods as they pounded forth streams of lead upon the unseen enemy positions. Zero hour at last! Along the line officers blew shrill whistles, or some, calmer than the others, gave the signal with a confidently shouted, "Let's go!" Over the trench tops poured thousands of khaki clad warriors, sallying forth in the most resolute endeavor ever attempted by American troops. They had not advanced ten feet from the trenches before the fog swallowed them, magically, and many were never to retrace their steps. The big show they had so long waited for was here with an ear-splitting, nerve-racking tempest of thundering guns. The Big Parade! 2 At any other time the air forces would have stayed safely at home, not daring to take wing on such a day when the ceiling was scarcely higher than a man's head. But now they must go out, at any cost, blindly flying and vainly seeking some view of the advancing troops. But they went out singly, for to attempt formation flight on such a morning would be to court disaster and death. McGee and Larkin were the first of the squadron to take off for the front, the interval between their time of departure being sufficient to avoid any meeting as they climbed.