Each aviator at once mounted his own machine, Blaine as squad sergeant in the one he had indicated to Erwin earlier in the day. Erwin took his, while Finzer, Brodno, and a real American lad from Butte, Montana, were assigned to others of these fast, nimble, scouting planes that are really the wasps of the air, carrying their sting with them, always ready and willing to bite. Meanwhile at each machine two mechanics, under the eye of the airman, went carefully over the mechanism until all were satisfied. Up they went, singly or in pairs, gyrating playfully, always climbing, and swooping higher, higher, until to the naked eye they became mere dots in the clear sky. By this time it was noticeable that they had somehow divided into two squads or escadrilles; and at a signal from Commander Byers down below they began maneuvering like two hostile squadrons about to engage in aerial battle. Thereupon ensued a display of battle tactics that would have been bewildering to an unaccustomed spectator. These vicious little fighting planes reminded one more of air insects than of birds. In their forward rushes many of them were doing more than two miles a minute. "Watch out!" said the Commander, his glass at his eyes. "The Sergeant is going to loop." True enough, Blaine's machine took a nose flip. He was riding upside down. Then he was level again. The rest of his squad followed suit, then followed their leader at a daring angle, all of them straight and level again. The first plane in the other line, driven by Erwin, began to loop the loop sidewise, rolling over and over, not unlike a horse rolls over when turned out to grass. The others behind him began much the same tactics while the first line drew away as if preparing for counter moves. Beyond, in the further sky, two opposing machines having detached themselves from the rest were playing with each other like kittens with wings. One was making rapid evolutions, the other following, and clinging to the set course in a series of whirls with its own wing-tip as a pivot. Below, the comments went on from the staff surrounding the Commander, who would say now and then: "Look you there! Was that not fine?" "Hard to beat," seemed to be the general verdict. "Fritz will have to open his eyes tomorrow." And so the show above went on. A flock of little birds chirped and flopped past the group below. What pikers they seemed by comparison, with the show going on above -- far above! And now they were descending in long spirals, each squad by itself, yet preserving the mathematical distance required, both from the opposing squad and at the same time keeping the line prescribed for such tactics during drills at the home grounds.