"My Camel carried no ground flares. Twice signaled for landing lights with no response. Circled field. Entire personnel was gathered around burning E.A. and making no effort to extinguish fire, which by this time had nearly consumed plane. Forced to land in dark. Wiped out landing gear and shattered prop. "Recommendation: That all commands advise ground crews that a live pilot is of more importance than a dead enemy." Having finished, he looked up at those who had followed him into headquarters. They were gathered in little groups, excitedly discussing the victory, which had actually been the first encounter they had witnessed. Fortunately, the victory had been on their side and they were considerably bucked. It seemed dead easy. Why, one man had gone aloft, bagged a plane, thwarted the plans of the enemy and was back on the ground before you could tell about it. The war was looking up! And this instructor was no slouch. What this squadron wouldn't do to the enemy when an over-cautious Chief of Air Service said "Let's go!" Hearing their comments, McGee smiled. He knew, better than they, the great element of luck in his victory. The enemy, whose aim it had been to thoroughly frighten and subdue this green squadron, had succeeded instead in greatly increasing their confidence in themselves. The enemy had come to sow destruction; they had actually planted a seed that sprang instantly from the ground, bearing the bold and sturdy flower of self-confidence. Old dogs of war had been unleashed, and now a new pack was yelping on the trail. "Where is Major Cowan?" McGee asked. "Over at the hospital tent," someone answered. "Oh, I see. Perhaps it's just as well. He might not care to sign a confirmation after reading my recommendation. Which one of you will give me a confirmation?" As one man they surged forward. "Just a minute!" Red laughed. "I said which one. On second thought I guess I'd better leave that to the C.O. First victory from his squadron, you know." "His squadron nothing!" Yancey growled. "You don't belong to us--yet." "No, but I'm here by assignment; I wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings." He chuckled. "I'm afraid, though, that the last paragraph in this report has a sort of stinger in it." "Let's see it," Hampden urged. McGee handed him the report. Hampden read it, whistled softly and passed it to Yancey, who read quite as slowly as he talked. A look of disappointment spread over his face. "It's a report, I reckon," he said slowly, "but it's about as satisfyin' as a mess of potato chips would be to a hungry cowhand. It's as thin as skimmed milk. Say, who won this fight? You or the other fellow?" "I believe that report will give me the credit," McGee answered. "Maybe. And that last paragraph will win somebody a bawlin' out. Cowan will ask you to change that. Looks like inefficiency on somebody's part."