We had been up for about two hours, so, when we landed the whole bunch came rushing out to meet us, including Brereton. It was the only time I ever saw him run. I showed him the line and told him how we got it—the holes in the plane from machine gun bullets convinced him of the truth. I told him I would hazard my little reputation that the doughboys did not have any panels to put out, for if they had displayed them I would certainly have seen them. He was genuinely peeved and after telephoning the location of the line to appease the growing anxiety of the French, we got into Brereton’s car to go to Divisional Headquarters to find out what was the matter with the Infantry. We arrived at Bacarrat, went to the Division Headquarters, and the Signal Officer, in reply to our inquiry, told us quite unconcernedly, that the Division had panels all right, but this had been their first occasion to use them and they had not been issued for the doughboys would get them soiled, or might use them for handkerchiefs or the like. Brereton, of course, was in a rage and we demanded to see the Commanding General of Infantry. On duty at the Infantry Post of Command was a Lieutenant Colonel in the National Army, who had probably held some big job in civilian life, but who was certainly not born a soldier. He said that the General had been awake all night and had just gotten to sleep after the morning raid and so he did not care to awaken him under any circumstances. Brereton began to cuss in great style and said he’d be blamed if he’d send his aviators out any more to be killed unless he got some coöperation from the Infantry and it was a terrible note when the Chief of a Service could not see the General when an all-important matter was pending and that if this Brigade wanted the Air Service to work with them they had better show some willingness to help. He then demanded that the panels be issued at once. The Lieutenant Colonel began to show a little concern, and although he was looking right straight at our wings, he asked, “Are you aviators?” Brereton said, “Yes, of course. What did you think we were?” The old boy then showed some speed; he got hold of the telephone and after saying “Sir” many times in order to appease the wrath of the General who had been so rudely awakened and so as not to increase his disfavor, proceeded to tell him that the Airplane Major was here, and wanted to talk to him. Brereton was forced to laugh at this new title and for some time afterwards we all called him the “Airplane Major.” The General of course realized the gravity of the situation and was also mighty peeved about the failure to provide the troops with panels. The mission ended with the agreement that the panels would be issued immediately and the General expressed his sincere regret at the loss of our aviators, and, I believe, became converted to the fact that the Air Service was also a factor to be considered in winning a war.