But even at that on the morning of September 30th the Flying Corps had no reason for being in the air unless the mission was of grave urgency, and fortunately ours was urgent for I was still adjusting our artillery on important enemy moving targets. Here is how my greatest accomplishment happened: I arrived at the hangars shortly after daybreak and found Davis, who was assigned to fly with me, ready and waiting. I had never flown with him before, but I had heard of him and his reputation, and it was a relief to know I was to get a genuine pilot, such as Lieutenant Raymond Davis, whom we called “Uncle Joe Davis, of Danville,” since he hailed from the same well-known town as Uncle Joe Cannon. At first, the weather was impossible, so, we had to wait for the atmosphere to clear a trifle and for the clouds to lift some, as a high ceiling in heavy artillery adjustments is not only advantageous but necessary. So, we hung around and hobnobbed and got acquainted. At about eight o’clock we decided we would try it—for the importance of impeding the retreat of the enemy as much as possible was imperative. The advance through the Argonne was proving itself to be a hard enough tussle for the doughboys, and we all felt that they certainly merited all the assistance it was possible for aviation to give them. Luck was not our way, for it was not until after trying four different planes, all of which failed for one reason or another, that we found a bus that would buzz. It looked like an off-day, for the gale was so sweeping that we almost had a serious accident even in taking off. There is safety in height, so, when we got up three or four hundred feet our morale also went up a trifle. The ground station signaled that my radio wireless was O.K., so I jokingly called to Davis, “All aboard for Hunland.” He answered “Check,” and we headed toward the line for our last mission of the great war.