Believe me, I came out of that cockpit. I grabbed my machine guns and swung the tourrelle upon which the guns were mounted full around several times, up and down, under my tail; in fact, in every conceivable direction, for I was absolutely convinced that we were in a real scrap. Finally I got a glimpse of Brereton’s beaming countenance. He was in a perfect uproar of laughter. The incident had its intended effect, for always afterward when Brereton would shake the plane, no matter how slightly, I would come out of the cockpit right off, just as the ground squirrel comes out of his hole when you give him sufficient water, but with an uncomparable difference in rapidity. So when I fired my guns poor “Greenhorn” was pitifully fussed. I could see he was losing his nerve, but I pointed in the direction of the fight and, obedient to my instructions, he headed the plane that way. It would never have done to have withdrawn after getting this far, for in so doing he would never again have been worth anything in the air. We were still quite a distance from the show. I was looking over the top wing to get a line on the fight. They were still at it and it was just getting good. It seemed to be the ordinary aerial dog fight in which one allied plane is on the tail of the enemy plane and two of the enemy planes are on the allies’ tails, and three of the allies on the tails of the two enemies, and so on—all going round and round, exactly like a dog chasing its own tail. Suddenly one of the planes dropped from the combat and, making a steep dive, it burst into flames and fell toward earth. I shook the plane violently and, pointing toward the falling plane, I joyously cried to the “Greenhorn,” “Boche! Boche!” He was not so enthusiastic as might have been expected and I had no more than gotten the words out of my mouth when another plane started falling—also out of control. At this point “Greenhorn” again suddenly headed his plane toward home. In a rage I shook the plane violently and with fury in my face I again pointed toward the fight. He shook his head. I became more infuriated and again pointed toward the fight, but the “Greenhorn” just as furiously shook his head and determinedly kept on going toward home.