As the group of little planes flew by, not more than a hundred yards above them, on the way to a safe landing place half a mile in the rear, another shout of approval went up from the men on the ground. And just over the rear of the top wing of one of the machines a grinning face appeared and a waving arm seemed to send back a genial how-do-you-do. It might have been the signal too, for the tremendous aerial attack that was at that moment launched upon the German gunners and infantrymen, hidden in what they believed the safe and impregnable protection of the town. Tons upon tons of highly explosive bombs were dropped, as the big fleet circled and circled over what once had been a happy and prosperous French village. A constant cloud of thick black smoke went up as incense to Mars, and every attempt of the German airmen to attack the bombers was repulsed with disaster. Finally two swift scout planes detached themselves from the fleet, dashed for nearly a mile northward over the German army, then as suddenly turned and continuing on back beyond the machines they had helped convoy, made straight for where temporary brigade headquarters then stood. In five minutes the orders came to the men who had witnessed these scenes. “The enemy is retreating, leaving only a small rear guard. Advance and take the town. Remain there for further orders.” That meant that they were within sight of rest and recuperation, and every man needed it badly. They were a tired and frazzled but determined lot. They were ravenously hungry, too, for they had not eaten for many, many hours. Detachments of engineers were coming up directly behind them. The enemy artillery was grumbling now from an increasing distance, coming only in a scattered fire, the gunners evidently taking pot luck, without any well-defined idea of where the Americans might be. “Advance!” The order rang out all down the line, and the men went forward on the last lap of the bitter battle for their first objective. [Illustration: “The Khaki-Clad Warriors Surged Into the Town for Hand-to-Hand Combat.”] For half an hour there was some hard fighting, and then the Germans, what remained of them, threw up their hands as the khaki-clad warriors surged into the town for hand-to-hand combat. It was a clean-cut victory, even though at heavy cost. Far to the north could be heard the grumbling rumble of the German guns, but even as the men listened they knew that the course was swinging eastward, ever eastward, to avoid the pitiless pincers that the strategy of Foch and Pershing were beginning to close relentlessly upon them, eastward toward the Rhine! “Dig in!” And the most welcome news of the day, the promise of a night of needed rest, was responded to with alacrity. No chances were being taken with German trickery.