The conditions of visibility are not good, and the fog instead of diminishing as we ascend becomes gradually more opaque. A swift, boisterous wind shakes the wings of the plane which slopes to the right and to the left according to the movements of the pilot. At times the entire machine vibrates and we feel ourselves so closely bound in its flight that often we believe its wings are attached to our very shoulders. As I look back at the oil guides I see the sparks from the exhaust tube escaping rapidly like a swarm of fireflies swept by the wind. The tube of the silencer which is fastened onto the motor, although the exhaust remains at present completely open, is red and incandescent. I ask myself anxiously what will happen, when, having crossed the enemy’s lines, we shall have to make use of the silencer. I look at the altimeter; we have already arisen to a height of three thousand feet, and beneath us are outlined the walls and towers of Treviso. The tracks of the Treviso-Venice railroad sparkle in the light of the moon, and on the fields in the small pools of stagnant water, the light is reflected. Several searchlights placed about the city turn like sentinels of the air, but their rays do not strike us for they are not searching in our direction. The white clouds slide above our heads hiding at intervals the moon which appears again and again between the wings of the aeroplane. The fog becomes ever denser. The wind increases, changing at times into sudden gusts, rapid vortices, and brief eddies. I hold my head low so as to offer as little resistance as possible to the blowing currents, and Bottecchia does likewise, pressing close to me. The calm hands of the pilot tightly gripped on the “joy-stick” move from right to left with automatic gestures. The motor does not seem to be operating well, and I whose sense of smell has become extremely sensitive to the odor of burning rubber—since the day when following an encounter my plane took fire near the ground—sniff about attentively to discover if there is anything burning. The indicator still marks 1400 revolutions. This is a reassuring sign. We are at 6900 feet. I do not believe we have to climb any higher, and tapping Gelmetti on the shoulder, I point out to him the direction of the front.