C Flight did no duty the next day, nor the day following. Hoyt went up to the 212th and identified Mallory for burial, while Paterson flew back to the Pool for the replacement pilots and a new Camel for Hoyt. In Amiens he heard the first whispered rumours of what was going to happen. Intelligence was ranting for information. Everybody had the story and nobody was right. The hospitals were evacuating as fast as possible. Fresh battalions were being hustled up. It wasn’t a push. Anyone could tell that with half an eye. Something the Hun was doing. The spring offensive a month earlier this year. G. H. Q. was plugging the gaps frantically, replacing and reinforcing and wondering where the hammer would fall and what it would carry with it. Hence the pictures that had cost the lives of P-B and Trent. The air itself trembled with uncertainty, and rumours flew fast and thick. Paterson flew back with the four new pilots and brought the rumours with him. Hoyt had more to barter in exchange. The talk ran riot at dinner. “It’s a Hun push, all right, but where, nobody knows. We’ll have word in a day or so, but it’ll be wrong whatever it is, mark what I say!” And then on the evening of the twentieth things started. A signal came for the major just as they sat down to mess. He went out and presently called out the three flight commanders. When they came back, they took their places thoughtfully. Silence trembled in the room like the hush that precedes the first blasting stroke of a great bell in a cathedral tower. The major swept his eyes down the board. “You will remain at the airdrome to-night, gentlemen, and remain sober. Officers’ luggage is to be packed and placed on lorries which Mr. Harbord is providing for that purpose.” He paused for a moment. “This is a precautionary move, gentlemen. We are to be ready to retire at a moment’s notice. Flight commanders have the map squares of the new airdrome. You can take that up later among yourselves.” He leaned back in his chair and beckoned to the mess sergeant. “Take every officer’s order, sergeant, and bring me the chit.” The talk broke in a wild flood that roared and crackled down the length of the table. The tin walls trembled with the surge of it and the echoes broke in hot discord among the rough pine rafters. Offensive patrols for all three flights, to start at five minutes to four A. M. Air domination must be maintained. Wing’s instructions were to stop everything at all costs. Go out and fight and shut up. Somebody presented the adjutant with the sugar bowl and asked him if he had his umbrella for the trip back. The adjutant had spent eighteen days without soles to his boots in 1914. He and the medical officer stood drinks for the squadron.