So one by one these adventurers of the night skies, their eyes bright with excitement, stamp proudly into the mess, and I feel jealous of the glorious joy of life which is theirs, the sense of safety after passing through so many great dangers. The last German machine has long since landed in his distant aerodrome. Two alone of our machines are to return. I walk casually up and down a ditch near the "band-stand," throwing stones at shadowy rats playing in the darkness, when suddenly I hear a voice say-- "There are two lights low down right over there ... yes! I can hear the engine. He's getting very low! My God! Did you hear that! _He's crashed!"_ At once a mad wave of activity sweeps over everybody. Being duty officer I at once rush to the garage. "Ambulance away at once! Send two tenders with Pyrenes at once! Take axes and saws--get lanterns--go across the fields!" Car after car starts up and thunders across the little wooden bridge. Over the fields hurry the men with saws and axes and fire-extinguishers. Their lanterns sway and flicker for a while like fireflies, and then disappear. The cold heartless beam of the aerodrome searchlight lies parallel to the ground, splitting the darkness in the surmised direction of the disaster. Somewhere out there in the gloom of the empty fields lies the wrecked machine. Even as we walk up and down in restless vain excitement they may be dead, or mangled and dying, these friends of ours. We do not know who it is. Our one desire is to save, save, save. "My God! I wonder who it is! Thank Heaven, there is no fire yet! Can you see flames, look-out? No? Thank Heaven!" A terrible and bitter silence lies around. We have no news. Minute after minute passes with awful slowness. The black night holds a secret which almost distracts us. Nobody returns. There is nothing we can do. We must wait, wait. Half an hour passes, and at last we see the headlights of a car which comes slowly up the road, crosses the bridge, and moves up to the mess. Carefully from the back seat are assisted two men. One has his head bandaged with a white linen band. The other, wearing only a tunic and a shirt, runs into the C.O.'s office on slim white legs. "No one badly hurt," is the report. "Machine absolute crash. Darley's head was under one of the engines, which pressed it more and more into the ground. He was pretty lucky not to be killed! The Wing Commander's head was under the other engine. It took twenty men to lift it off, and he was afraid we would lift it before we had enough men. He did not want it dropped back again! He had petrol pouring over his face, and was quite drunk when we found him. He was singing! Lucky the machine didn't catch fire. If it had ... well!"