heels together, salute smartly and explain to the General that I was the Operations Officer for the Corps Air Service, whereupon I thought he would certainly have some deference for me on account of the important position I was holding with such low rank. My greatest hope was that he would be reasonable and would take my statement regarding the situation as final and authoritative, without further argument. I concluded that the best way would be to impress him with the knowledge I had on the particular subject and not give him a chance to come back. To do this I must be absolutely firm and convincing in what I had to say, but at the same time, way down deep in my heart I felt it was a hopeless task, for these “higher ups” are inclined to consider nothing but results—and since we could not give him the results he wanted, he would conclude that the Air Service had failed, and as the line units had done on several other similar occasions, they would merely remark, “the same old story,” shrug their shoulders and pass it up. I, of course, expected to find the General down in his dug-out, being heavily shelled, but I was determined to show him that I was a real hero by walking right through the shell-fire and calmly explaining to him why we couldn’t help him. This last decision really required nerve on my part, for if there is any one thing I cannot stand, it is shell-fire on the ground. It did not worry me so much in the air, for there seemed to be such a good chance to dodge, but on the ground—well, I had been caught in it several times and, in each instance, I made the necessary distance to safety in considerable less than record time on the fastest tracks. I picked up a stray doughboy to guide me to the Post of Command. To my absolute surprise I found that everything was apparently quiet. However, the surroundings bore the unmistakable evidence that the region had undergone a very heavy and prolonged bombardment. I could not understand this; in fact, I was certain that we had come to the wrong Post of Command. “Orderly,” I said to a lad standing at the door, “is this the P. C. of General Blank?” using the proper code name. “That’s right, Sir,” he smartly answered. “When did the bombardment stop?” I demanded. “About two o’clock, Sir,” he replied. “May I see the General?” I asked. “What is the name, Sir?” “Just tell the General or Chief of Staff that Lieutenant Haslett of the Air Service would like to see either of them at their convenience. There is nothing urgent.” The orderly stepped inside and almost immediately a Lieutenant came out. “I’m the General’s aide,” he said, extending his hand. “The General will see you at once. Come right in.”