“Greenhorn” took it all in and said he understood fully. After quite a little delay in getting a serviceable airplane we finally made a stab at getting off. I told Greenhorn to take me to a little town called Avocourt, which was in No-Man’s-Land, and I carefully pointed it out to him on the map. Of course, Avocourt had been destroyed by shell fire and nothing remained but the ruins of the town, but they were plainly discernible from the air. I tested out my wireless and everything was O. K., so I motioned for him to head on up to the lines. I paid very little attention to the ground, intending to sort of take it easy until we got to Avocourt, thus getting a general idea of the lay of the country over which we were flying. I instructed him to let me know by shaking the plane when he came to Avocourt. He seemed to be flying along in good shape so I didn’t concern myself with our location until he finally shook the plane. He pointed down to an extremely large city and motioned his lips “Avocourt.” I looked down below me and recognized very well the historic city of Verdun, as I had flown over this sector one time with the French in the early days. I shook my head and pointed toward Avocourt. “Greenhorn” had missed Avocourt only by about fifteen kilometers. However, the kid was insistent and nodded his head in affirmation of his own decision and he pointed to his map again and pointed down and said “Avocourt.” I swelled out my chest and pointed to myself to impress upon him the lesson that I was running the plane as per our previous conversation and that he was to go in the direction pointed without further argument. He hastily acquiesced and turned the plane in that direction, and from that time on I used the cords attached to his arms to guide him. When we got over Avocourt I attracted his attention, pointed down and said “Avocourt.” He gazed down at the shattered ruins of what was once a town, but said nothing. However, his eyes and face expressed very well the fact that he would never have recognized Avocourt from her photograph. I couldn’t blame him, for from the air a ruined town is highly deceptive and unless one had flown over that sector he could not realize that the effect of artillery destruction could be so complete. In a moment he gave some sort of a shrug of his shoulders to indicate that he was entirely lost, so I signaled to him and gave him his directions. Then, taking my map, I pointed north and said “Montfaucon,” which is easily distinguished from the air for miles, being situated on the crest of a very high hill. “Greenhorn” immediately headed toward Montfaucon, thinking that perhaps I had pointed toward that town with the intention of going there. I did not have this in mind, but since one place was just about as good as another until we found a target I let him go. [Illustration: TANKS GOING INTO ACTION, AND THE TRACKS LEFT BY THEM]