It is the proud and honest boast of the British Air Services that they never advertise; and what we lack in that respect, our enemy make up for. We have our Immelmanns and our Boelkes, but their identities are hidden under the simple pseudonyms of Lieutenant X---- and Lieutenant Y----. They perform their daring feats, not for their own vainglory, not for the sake of decorations, but from keen sense of duty, love of their work, and for the further honor of the famous corps of which they are units. It is this policy of eternal silence that has so completely shattered the moral of the German airmen in Flanders, and driven them almost entirely from the air. In many ways the air is own cousin to the sea, for there is a chivalry of the sea which has been a tradition for tens of centuries: a freemasonry of good feeling and sportsmanship among those who have their business in great waters. The chivalry of the air is none the less real because it has no traditions to fall back upon. Nature herself has made the man of the sea and the man of the air sportsmen alike; has given them an instinct for “doing the right thing.” The Air Service has, in addition, a quality exclusively its own; I mean its youth. It is just like a healthy schoolboy, intensely alive, active, happy-go-lucky, yet ingenious enough where matters of technic are concerned, and always eager to be out for adventure. But it is just these tremendous dangers which are the breath of life to this splendid schoolboy (even in age he is often little more). There is a sporting touch in this ceaseless duel with fate, in this juggling with life and death. That touch is transmitted to the less figurative duels when there is a tussle in mid-air with a flying Hun, when it is his life or yours. On second thought I withdraw that word Hun in relation to the German airman; I continue to apply it with all the vehemence I can muster to the crews of a baby-killer Zeppelin, but one’s adversary in Albatross or Halberstadt is an adversary worthy of the name. Here, almost alone in all phases of modern warfare, remains the personal touch. Up there in the awful solitude of space two human beings pit their brains and courage one against the other, with death each moment before the eyes of both. It is a strange turn of things that the latest development of modern science has brought about a revival of medieval chivalry, the single combat.