When I tell you it was sung chanty fashion, with the first, second, and last lines chorused by the mess, I can leave you to imagine the loud-pedal, full, fortissimo effect of the "Hurrahs," and (helped out with feet, with fists, spoons, and anything else handy to resound upon the table) of the final rolling "Cr-r-r-ash." There were three Huns sat on his tail, _Hurrah, hurrah_! But he looped over one and gave him "Hail _Colum-bi-a_!" He shot up the Hun so full of lead That before he knew he was hit he was dead, And our Archie look-out reporting said: One!--CR-R-R-ASH! But all this was later, and is going a little ahead of the story. As the last Hun went reeling down, Ricky, in the official language of the combat reports, "rejoined formation and continued the patrol." He pulled the stick towards him and rose buoyantly, knowing that he was holed over and over again, that bullets, and explosive bullets at that, had ripped and rent and torn the fabrics of his machine, possibly had cut away some strut or stay or part of the frame. But his engine appeared to be all right again, had never misbehaved a moment during the fight, was running now full power and blast; his planes swept smooth and steady along the wind levels, his controls answered exactly to his tender questioning touch. He had won out. He was safe, barring accident, to land back in his own 'drome; and there were two if not three Huns down on his brazen own within the last--how long? At the moment of his upward zoom on the conclusion of the fight he glanced at his clock, could hardly believe what it told him, was only convinced when he recalled that promise to himself to turn back at the end of that minute, and had his belief confirmed by the Flight's count of the time between their first turning back and their covering the distance to join him. His clock marked exactly noon. The whole fight, from the firing of the first shot to the falling away of the last Hun, had taken bare seconds over the one minute. That pilot was right; in air fighting "you don't get time to think." * * * * * Quick is the word and quick is the deed If you would live in the air-fight game; Speed, give 'em speed, and a-top of it--speed! (Man or machine exactly the same). Think and stunt, move, shoot, quickly; or die, Fight quick or die quick; when all is said, There are two kinds of fighters who fly, Only two kinds--the quick, and the dead. VII THE AIR MASTERS