“I’d rather hold on to the rear saddle of a motorbike with an enlisted stiff chewing hard on the handlebars,” he told Langdon. “All of the white haired boy’s good flying is wasted. And I’ll say old F.F.V. can pilot. But what’s the use of being behind him--just going the route, delivering the milk and coming home? There’s more thrill working at kitchen police where you have the ever present danger of cutting your finger while paring spuds, eh?” “Sure,” Langdon agreed. “The C O. gave me these cigs. They’re English. Ain’t they rotten, what?” “I wouldn’t walk a mile,” Samter answered, “unless it was to get away from such smokes.” The next day it rained and the new team worked ship. Langdon and the Trente-Neuf’s head rigger washed out the outer bays of all four wings. Also they took out one of each pair of outside flying wires. “They don’t need all these wires,” the rigger agreed. “Each one of these cables has a breaking strength of more than two thousand pounds. When would you ever get such a load on a wing? Same way with the landing gear. You know how to set these babies down, Lieutenant. I watched you when you brought Akeley in yesterday. You wouldn’t have broken an egg, so we’ll pull out all the extras and that will help to speed the crate up too. “We’ll do some streamlining on her, too. I’m glad to get a chance to see what can be done about pepping up a DH. I always argued that something could be done. They ain’t such dead culls. They’ll maneuver if you’ll help ’em.” Samter and Rictor put hour after hour on the two guns. That DH had surely fallen into good hands. Toward the end of day they flushed the water radiator, drained the old and refilled with new motor oil, cleaned ignition heads, and the ship was set. Then they prayed for a morrow full of flying weather. Next morning, September the twenty-third, Langdon and Samter mooched their way into a real melee above the road from La Harazee, where the 77th Division was convoying guns through to the Bois des Hautes Batis. That fight, by rights, belonged to the pursuit gang. It was no place for a DH. But when Langdon and Samter pulled out, they had done damage enough to justify a bid for confirmation on two enemy planes. Their ship had been hit seven times, and Samter once. But his was just a minor rap, only a little job for the squadron doctor. * * * * * On the day following, the two wild men accounted for three of eight German observation balloons that had hung above the main road through the Vesle. And Langdon and Samter were beginning their traditional climb toward lasting air fame. On October the thirteenth, divisional headquarters called for a rock bound verification on all observations covering that tough stretch of road between Grand Pre and St. Juvin. It had been a hard line to bend--that German stronghold along the northern bank of the Aire: but now, one way or the other, it was not only going to be bent, but broken--and completely.