No sooner had the Marines landed at Managua, the capital of the little nation, merely in the roles of governmental police, than Sandino officially declared war upon them, killing three of their number in a surprise attack. Back in the States, as word reached the public of the brutal murdering of American Marines, both the press and the people demanded that Washington either recall her sea soldiers or declare open war upon Sandino and his rebels, sending reenforcements immediately. With the official report of more casualties in the Marine ranks and the further threatening attacks upon Americans that imperiled our industrial possessions, reenforcements were sent south and open warfare was declared upon the Sandino bandits. When the Chief of Staff, the representative from the Navy Department and the Chief of Marine Aviation gathered in the office of the Major General, the Commander of the Marines explained the object of the meeting. “Colonel, I have here a memorandum from the Secretary of the Navy,” he said, handing the Chief of Aviation a communication typed on official stationery. “The Secretary states that the President of Nicaragua has made an urgent request for a squadron of airplanes.” The Lieutenant Colonel gazed down upon the official communication handed to him by the Major General as a sober shadow cast itself over his face. “What is the opinion of the Marine Commander?” the Chief of Aviation asked. “Is he in accord with the President’s request?” “The President’s appeal meets with the approval of the Commanding Officer of the Second Brigade, now stationed in that country, who further advises that a squadron of planes would be a decisive help in combating the outlaws.” The representative from the Navy Department turned and faced the Lieutenant Colonel, interrupting with the explanation: “It is almost impossible to suppress Sandino and his bandits with land forces due to the nature of the country.” “So I have been informed,” the Chief of Aviation replied. “It is a hilly and dangerous country, certain death to any invader unfamiliar with the lay of the land.” The Major General rested back in his chair. A tired, care-worn look plainly overshadowed his face. Due to the trying events of the past few weeks, he had aged considerably. In his heart, he wished the whole unpleasant mess would suddenly come to an end. “Have you a squadron prepared to depart immediately?” he asked the Lieutenant Colonel. “Yes, sir. Observation Squadron Ten is available at once.” The Major General smiled complacently as his mind recollected some of the past glorious deeds of the pride of the Marine air forces, Observation Squadron Ten. He raised himself in his chair, once more alive with active interest. “The Flying Devils—that outfit can go anywhere! What will be their route, Colonel?” The Air Chief rose, crossed the room to a case and returned with a large map, spreading it out upon the table so that all might view the course of his finger.