"Thus far I have imparted to you nothing of to-night's detail. You must understand that I have been granted a great privilege in being allowed your company to-night, _mon cher ami_. It is the first favor I have ever asked of France. _Voila!_ You are here. Some distance behind the Boche lines a long ammunition and supply train is making its way to the German front. I am to lead an air squadron against it. It will be a bombing raid and very dangerous. We shall start at three o'clock to-morrow morning. The supply train, according to our calculations, will be at a certain point to-morrow morning at four o'clock. It is then that we shall attack. The craft that I shall use will be a Voisin. In it will be only you, my bombardier and myself. Unless an unexpected emergency should arise you will have little to do save be my honored guest. It will be for you the interesting experience, _n'est ce pas_?" "I should rather say so!" Jimmy drew a sharp breath. "It's the bulliest thing that ever happened to me. I can't begin to find words to thank you, sir." "You need not try. I understand; _tres bien_," Voissard assured, a smile touching his firm mouth. With this he dropped the subject of the night's work and directed the conversation toward more impersonal topics. Outside the village, Jimmy was amazed at the activities of the Allied war machine. All along the way they encountered numbers of motor-lorries, trucks and ambulances traveling over the roads in steady streams. Huge tractors puffed and snorted along in advance of strings of farm wagons. Occasionally a racer, carrying staff officers, shot by them. Once they passed a company of French soldiers on the march from one battle section to another. Frequently motorcycles ridden by despatch men chugged by them. In the fields peasant women and children could be seen preparing the ground for spring planting. It was a varied and interesting panorama that Jimmy gazed upon, wide-eyed and curious. Arrived at the escadrille, a new world of wonder was opened to him. He saw rows and rows of hangars, housing countless Allied fighting birds. Though Voissard did not belong to this particular escadrille, he was very much at home there. On the way to the headquarters of the escadrille commander, the Flying Terror was greeted with admiring respect by all whom they chanced to encounter. Everyone appeared to know him, though he ruefully confessed to Jimmy that he could not recall the faces of many of the aviators who claimed his acquaintance.