They shaded their eyes from the blinding glare of the sun with their hands and gazed heavenward, searching the clear blue sky for huge, dark objects flying toward the south and Managua. At that moment, two thousand feet above, the planes of the Tenth Marine Aero Squadron appeared over the ridge of Los Agualo, flying in the direction of the capital in battle formation. “It’s the Marines—our planes!” shouted the sergeant, jumping to his feet and waving his hands frantically above his head as the others rose and followed suit. “Them’s the planes what dey told us wuz coming,” the tall, lanky leatherneck yelled enthusiastically. “Do you think they see us down here?” the little, sandy-haired Marine asked the big fellow who was standing alongside of him. “Sure they do! Don’t we see them?” “Well,” the undersized leatherneck answered doubtfully, “why don’t they do something?” “Whatinell do you want ’em to do—step out on the wings and throw kisses at you?” Two thousand feet above ground, in the plane piloted by Panama, the sergeant and his mechanic, with faces grimed from oil and smoke, peered over the side of the ship, resting their eyes for the first time upon the hilly country below. Panama held the joy stick between his knees as he took out a small white pad from the pocket of his windjammer and scribbling a note upon it, passed the message back to Lefty. “So this is Nicaragua?” Lefty read. “Don’t look so tough to me.” Panama looked back for a reply as Lefty wrote below the sergeant’s message, “I’m afraid this war is a joke!” The two men exchanged knowing smiles as Panama bit off a large chew of tobacco and Lefty continued to observe the ground far below. As they passed over the mountains, he spied the figures of the tired Marine squad and their two pack mules. Unable to distinguish who they were, he reached for the pad and wrote, “Who do you think those men are below?” Panama turned his head, read the message and gazed down from over the side of the ship, straining his eyes in an attempt to distinguish the men. He lifted his head in a moment, glanced back at Lefty and pantomimed to the boy to loan him the pad and pencil, upon which he scribbled, “Looks like a squad of loafing Marines. I’d like to fly low and give their lazy brains something to think about.” Lefty nodded his head in approval, laughing at the same time as he lounged down in the cockpit, closing his eyes in an attempt to grab a half hour’s sleep before they landed at the Managua airport. Below, the Marines turned to each other, rubbing their necks to relieve the strain of gazing so long with their heads upward bent. “Mamma!” exclaimed the sergeant. “Wait till them flyin’ devils open high and wide upon this guy Sandino!” “You said it!” agreed another. “There ain’t goin’ to be much of a war left for us when those guys get started!” The skeptic gazed at the two prophesiers with a lingering look of disdain. “There ain’t no war and there ain’t goin’ to be no war!”