A German 'plane is being "archied" to the north, and there is a barrage of "archies" being put up behind it to give our 'planes time to rise to attack it. Two of them are climbing up to it now over our heads. They climb very steep. They are very fast 'planes. They are on the level of the Hun very quickly: they are above it. The barrage has ceased, because the Hun is trying to risk running through rather than waiting to fight two Nieuports. But one has intercepted him and is coming for him in the direction of the line. The other is diving on him from above. There is the spasmodic rattle of Lewis guns. The Hun is firing thick on the man rushing him. He has done it, too; for suddenly our man swerves and banks in a way that is plainly involuntary, and then begins to fall, banking irregularly. Suddenly the flames begin to spurt from her body. As suddenly she seems to regain control and dives steep for earth, flames streaming from the wings and in a comet-tail behind. She tears down at a horrible angle. Then you know in a moment that this is not steering, but a nose-dive to death, and that it is controlled by no pilot. We can hear the roar of flame. She is nearer to us, making for us. She crashes horribly a hundred yards away and roars and crackles. The delicate wings and body are gone long before we reach her; there is only a quiet smouldering amongst the cracked and twisted frame, and the sickening smell of burnt flesh and of oil-fumes. The Hun has escaped--at least, we fear he will escape. He and our other man are small specks in the blue above the German line. They cannot "archie" them together. Our man turns, and grows. Then he gets it--the deadly white puffs on every hand of him. But he comes through, and proceeds to patrol. SECTION C.--FRENCH PROVINCIAL LIFE CHAPTER I A MORNING IN PICARDY