PURSUIT By Andrew A. Caffrey A tale of the American “Balloon Strafers” When headquarters separated Jack Langdon from his pursuit group and sent him to fly two-seaters, headquarters came very close to breaking a stout flying heart. For Langdon, there was nothing to do but pack and go; anything in the way of protest would have netted him nothing, besides being very bad taste. Nevertheless, between high dudgeon and low spirits, the boy hovered and suffered for days. Flying _chasse_--pursuit--was the holding of all that war could give. But piloting a two-seater--any two-seater was just plain hell. You would not ask an Oldfield or a De Palma to drive a ten ton truck, and expect him to like it, would you? Nor would you detail Sande to ride a mechanical nag. Well, Langdon was to air what these others are, or were, to track and turf; and that, thoughtless headquarters should have known. But this same headquarters--Air Service, S.O.S. Tours--was no respecter of individuals. If the observation outfits were short of men, there was only one place to get them--from pursuit. Langdon, when the ax fell, was at Issoudun’s last instruction field--the combat school--Field No. 8. Another day or two and he would have been safe. “Now, look here, Langdon,” the officer in charge of flying at No. 8 had said, when the boy was called upon the carpet and assigned to report at Romorantin for De Havilland training. “We don’t want you to go out of this field tonight feeling rocky against us. We’re not discriminating. Tours called for five. There were only five of you ready to shove off. It’s tough; it’s rough; it’s rotten. You’ve put everything on the ball. You’re an A-1 _chasse_ flyer, and the best hand with a machine gun we’ve ever turned out. The game was made for you, and nobody hates worse than we do to see you leaving pursuit.” “That’s all right, Captain,” Langdon had said. “You’ve been white to me here at No. 8; she’s a _bon_ school. But--and pin this in your hat--I’m not quitting pursuit. They can send me to the two-place hacks, but they can’t make me do two-place missions. “I’m a pursuit man, and no matter where they sink me, I’ll still be a pursuit flyer. They can anchor me to an observation balloon’s cable, or put me on the business end of a shovel, but as long as I have life in me, I’ll fight this war _a la chasse_--right on the other guy’s tail.” Late that night Langdon and his four fellow travelers detrained at Romorantin. Romo’, along with its many other things of air, was the first European home of the American made De Havilland plane. Langdon had only seen one of these big ships before--big to scout flyers. That was when Lieutenant Rube Williamson had flown the first DH from Romo’ to Field 8.