This was the worst adjustment I have ever been guilty of performing. I simply could not watch the target. We went ahead for an hour and fifteen minutes and during that time we fired a total of seventeen salvos, of which I saw but seven, for my mind was not on the work—I was busy with the cloud. At the end of the seventeen salvos, the Huns came out of the sky and started in our direction, then playfully changed their course and flew back into Hunland. I watched them until they were completely out of sight for I knew they would have to go home some time. Actually I was never so relieved in my life, not for the reason that we were safe from further interruption, but from the fact that we had buffaloed them and were the winners of the day’s combat against great odds. But I was certain that it was only a question of time before they would have to leave that cloud for a chasse (pursuit) plane does not carry the same large amount of gasoline as an observation plane, and can not stay in the air as long in a single flight. I was delighted and beaming all over, and especially happy to think, or rather imagine, what was taking place in the trenches below us—those hardboiled doughboys were, perhaps, congratulating themselves that they too were Americans. Our gas was running extremely low and it was getting late in the evening, but with two additional salvos, when my mind was free from “enemy planes,” we succeeded in putting the battery directly on the target. We then signaled for destruction fire and signaled we were going home. Right above the airdrome the motor stopped and we had to glide in. We had used our last drop of gasoline. As the airdrome was only twelve kilometers from the line every one had seen the fight and had seen us stick it out. It was really a joyous time and we all got a real welcome. Even Brereton came across. It was the first and only time in my life I ever heard him compliment any one or anything. What he praised, however, was not “us” but the plane, in that the Antique Rattletrap was not such a bad old bus after all. Then every one got around the plane to count the holes made by the enemy airplane. I did not wait to see how it came out for I wanted to get to my bunk and collect myself. I was told later, however, that twenty-one holes were counted—then the mechanics got tired and quit. IV BRERETON’S FAMOUS FLIGHT