How thrilled we were when cloudland became of a sudden peopled with armed men! When that azure blue became an ocean, with ships of the air scudding in and out of cloudy coves, around billowy headlands, "zuming," spiraling, volplaning, maneuvering for position to hurl broadsides of death. It was all, as it were, a tournament staged for our amusement. Herald of its beginning would be a splash of white against the blue above the German lines. Faintly, then with steadily increased volume in tone, would come to our ears the unmistakable high tenor engine trum of a Foker plane. [Illustration: THE WOUNDED WERE CARRIED TO THE NEAREST SHELTER.] All eyes would intently watch its approach. It was coming over to deal death or destruction of some sort, possibly to attack our anchored observing balloon, just to the rear. Seconds as well as minutes count in such an adventure, and quicker than the eye can count them, puffy balls of white appear above, below and all around on the on-rushing Foker; they are the shrapnel bursts of our vigilant anti-aircraft guns that have now opened briskly from every hill and forest. On it comes!--and now black puffs appear in its path, the dynamite shells of our guns finding their range. Boom! boom! rat-ta-tat-boom-rat-ta-tat is the music that greets our ears and every hill is a tremble under the shock of thousands of rounds of fire. In such an emergency our orders are clear. We must remain perfectly motionless: we will not be seen unless we move about. We must not fire at him; he must know neither our location nor what arms we have. The tons of steel being hurled into the air must meanwhile fall in splinters to the earth. Here is where our steel helmets prove so serviceable, protecting the head not only from falling splinters, but from bullets of the machine gun the Foker flyer is now vigorously firing earthward. Now a new and welcome sound greets our eyes. Coming on the wings of the wind out of the south is the strong deep bass of Liberty Motor music--the all-American made--which, though arriving in quantity late in the war, proved at once its superiority to all others. Our ground guns have driven the Foker high into the air; which, evidently noting that the on-coming ships are merely observing and not fighting planes, comes steadily on! How vividly I recall that stirring afternoon! We were on a hillside, just above Thiacourt, directing the work of a burial detail. As the Foker reached a point directly over us he dove full in our direction. There was nothing for us to do, no shelter to take refuge in, just an unprotected slope of the hill.