"See here, Buzz, I'm tired of snatches of news. Tell me all you know about--about everything. Back here the war seems so far away--and unreal. Except for all these wounded men, and the uniforms, I'd never think of it. No guns, no action, no--no dawn patrols. I feel like a fish out of water. But there must be some little old war going on up there. I've heard about Chateau-Thierry, by piecemeal. Boy! It was the big show starting the very morning I got it, and we didn't even know it. Just my luck to get forced down at a time like that!" "Maybe not so tough," Buzz answered. "A Blighty, if it doesn't cripple, is not so bad. Our casualties have been nearly forty per cent, from one cause or another." "No!" Red exclaimed in surprise. Larkin nodded, dourly. "They sure have! We've been up against von Herzmann's Circus most of the time, and that fellow hasn't any slouches on his roster. That was one of his outfit that cracked your engine." "Really? Did you get him?" Red asked, his face alight with interest. Larkin shook his head. "No luck. I ducked to follow you. But Fouche got him--his first that morning." "That morning? You mean he--" "Got another one, a flamer, just back of Chateau-Thierry. That boy is some flyer! He's an ace already." McGee's delight was genuine. "That's great! Never can tell, can you? I didn't think much of his work." He hesitated, wanting to inquire about the others but held back by that statement of Larkin's to the effect that casualties were above forty per cent. He feared he would ask about someone whose name was now enrolled in that sickening total. "What about--Yancey?" he tried. Larkin laughed. "Oh, that Texas cyclone is as wild as a range horse and is due to get potted any minute. In fact, he's overdue. He's a balloon busting fool, and no one can stop him. He has nine of them to his credit and every time he goes out he comes back with his plane in shreds and just barely holding together. You'd think it would cure him, but he eats shrapnel. Has two planes to his credit, but he doesn't go in for planes. He cuts formation exactly like you used to, Shrimp, and goes off high, wide and lonesome, looking for sausages. He got one just this morning, and I give you my word his ship looked like a sieve when he came in. The Major threatens to ground him if he doesn't quit cutting formation, but he's only bluffing. He's as proud as the rest of us." "So Cowan is all right?" Red asked. "He sure is _all right_," Larkin enthused. "He's an intolerable old fuss budget and hard to get along with when on the ground or out of action, but he's square, he's developed into a real commander, and he's got sand a-plenty. He's coming down to see you to-morrow--and that's going some for Cowan. He likes you a lot." Red colored, and to change the subject, asked, "What about Hampden? Didn't I see him go down just before I caught it?" "Yes. Flamer. Poor devil!"