This looked like exciting business for us so when they dragged Hoppy in, I got up and began to pay attention. Meanwhile they had got the next man on the “H” list—Lieutenant Armin F. Herold—whom I knew quite well and he had already been sent out to get the line. I helped lift Hopkins into the ambulance to be taken to the hospital and then went over to get my breakfast. I was about half finished when some one rushed in and said that Herold was also coming in. Of course, we hurried out just as the plane taxied up to the hangar. The mechanics lifted Herold out of the plane with his right leg shattered at the ankle by machine gun bullets fired from the ground. He, of course, had been unable to get the line of our troops, but gamely stated he had gone the limit to find our troops having flown most of the time at about two hundred meters. I saw Brereton looking around for a new crew to send out. I knew my name began with “H,” but I knew also that I had been put on the resting list, and furthermore was sick, according to the doctor, so my mind was perfectly at ease. There were others in our squadron whose names began with “H”—among them, Henderson, Harwood and Hinds, and we were not restricted to “H’s.” But Major Brereton was known to do funny things. I was starting into the mess shack to finish my breakfast when I heard that familiar voice and its equally familiar inflection demand with a tone of final decision, “Where’s Haslett?” I had a creepy feeling run all over my ribs for I knew it was an off-day. Brereton came into the mess hall after me. I certainly had not gone out to seek him. Then he showed the first and only sign of weakness I ever knew him to display—“Haslett,” he said, “do you want to go and finish this mission?” Always before he would have said “Haslett, go and do this mission.” I neither answered “Yes” or “No” for I could not honestly answer “Yes” and I dared not answer “No.” I simply started to get my flying clothes. Johnny Miller, who had been the pilot for Hopkins on the first attempt, and who afterwards was killed at Chateau Thierry, begged Brereton to be permitted to finish the job. Brereton agreed. We got into an A.R. plane and I fairly filled the cockpit with signal rockets for the Infantry. I was determined that there should be no reason for the Infantry claiming that they did not see any rockets. Johnny gave her the gun, but as we left the ground the engine failed. We got the plane back to earth without a crash, although we were quite near to one, and that was a premonition for me. I had always figured that if anything mechanical failed, it was certainly, a sign that I had no business in the air that day. When that engine failed I told myself “Goodbye.” I felt my time had come.