The flyer conceded that all four of them fired at us, but that they were certainly not trying to kill us but were merely trying to keep us from escaping. This was too sad an excuse to get by. Davis told him that he didn’t care a hang who got the credit for shooting us down—we were down and that was all there was to that subject—but that in the American Army it was considered mighty poor to strike a man when he was already down. The Intelligence Officer was surprised and scornfully asked me if the Americans did not do exactly the same thing. Davis reared back like a rattlesnake about to strike and with eyes flashing fire of indignation and contempt told them that if an American Aviator was caught doing a thing like that—firing on the enemy when he was already down—that the Americans, themselves, would take their own countryman out and, without giving him the pleasure of being shot to death, would tar and feather him and hang him, for to an American, when a fellow was down he was down, and whether we were fighting a war or not, we wouldn’t stand for murdering any one in cold blood. I saw we were getting in Dutch, right off, and so did Davis, for as the Intelligence Officer explained it to the high-spirited flyer we could see his temples throb and his eyes quiver from anger; and his jaws closed with hatefulness and scorn. The Intelligence Officer, realizing that the conversation was getting into deeper channels than was especially desired for the occasion, told the German aviator something and without saluting or otherwise rendering military courtesy, he left the room. There remained only the Intelligence Officer, Davis and myself. The court of inquiry was in session—the suave Prussian on the bench and two obstinate American jailbirds in the pit. The German told us to help ourselves to the cigarettes, and believe me, we realized that it might be the last time we would have such a liberal invitation for, maybe, many months to come. We accepted. Take it from me, we certainly smoked—rapidly, but at the same time languidly. We consumed those cigarettes like a Vacuum Cleaner takes up dust. When we had depleted the supply of twenty the Intelligence Officer produced twenty more. As a hard and fast rule a prisoner should never talk. In this way it is certain that no information will be given out. Once in a great while a prisoner can do some good by talking—I am sure that no American ever told, deliberately, any true information, either voluntarily or under pressure or even threat of execution; but a great deal of dope was gained through subterfuge, or from the ordinary man who foolishly tried to spar against the keen mind of the officer who has made a life study of that particular work. Thus our case was different, for as an Operations Officer of an Army I also was versed in intelligence work. At least, I had an equal chance.