To-day the army moving picture outfit took pictures of us. We had a big show. Thirty bombardment planes went off like clock-work and we followed. We circled and swooped down by the camera. We were taken in groups, then individually, in flying togs, and God knows what-all. They will be shown in the States. If you happen to see them you will recognize my machine by the MAC, painted on the side. Seems quite an important thing to have one's own airplane with two mechanics to take care of it, to help one dress for flights, and to obey orders. A pilot of no matter what grade is like an officer in any other arm. We didn't see any Boche planes on our trip. We were too many. The only way to do is to sneak up on them. I do not get a chance to see much of the biggest battle in the world which is being fought here, for I'm on a fighting machine and the sky is my province. We fly so high that ground details are lacking. Where the battle has raged there is a broad, browned band. It is a great strip of murdered Nature. Trees, houses, and even roads have been blasted completely away. The shell holes are so numerous that they blend into one another and cannot be separately seen. It looks as if shells fell by the thousand every second. There are spurts of smoke at nearly every foot of the brown areas and a thick pall of mist covers it all. There are but holes where the trenches ran, and when one thinks of the poor devils crouching in their inadequate shelters under such a hurricane of flying metal, it increases one's respect for the staying powers of modern man. It's terrible to watch, and I feel sad every time I look down. The only shooting we hear is the tut-tut-tut of our own or enemy plane's machine guns when fighting is at close quarters. The Germans shoot explosive bullets from theirs. I must admit that they have an excellent air fleet even if they do not fight decently. I'm a sergeant now--_sergent_ in French--and I get about two francs more a day and wear a gold band on my cap, which makes old territorials think I'm an officer and occasions salutes which are some bother. A SORTIE