One point I could and did satisfy myself upon--this was no encounter battle. So I ignored our own forces and kept my attention fixed upon ----. Nothing extraordinary met my eye. I saw a camp here and there, and turned my glasses upon them and discovered that they were composed of huts. Hurriedly I counted them, and noted the number in my report, together with the altitude, 12,000 ft. Again the solemn advice of my worthy instructor passed through my brain: “The eyes must constantly turn to each likely spot, and each spot must be examined carefully with the glasses if it offers anything useful for the observer’s report.” I examined each likely spot, and discovered to my delight a broad grass meadow across which ran several pathways of very recent construction. Footpaths, I argued to myself (and I may possibly have been wrong) are not made across fields for the mere pleasure of constructing them. There is more in this than meets the eye. I signaled to my companion and he quickly grasped the situation, and in long sweeping circles, brought her down some 2000 ft. The lower we came the more distinctly I could make out that some sort of emplacement was being built up--the new emplacement for a 17-inch howitzer. I noted the same. An excellent morning’s work. We turn to go home. But the enemy has not appreciated our attentions and most unthoughtfully turns his guns upon us. Then the fun begins. It was bad enough crossing the lines, but child’s-play when compared with this; and besides we are two thousand lower. A perfect inferno of “Archies.” We bank first to one side then to the other; put her nose down for a moment or so, then climb for all we are worth. But it is no good. We are hit! Down goes her nose, down and down. The air whistles past our ears. The earth rushes up to meet us. The discs of the machine-gun topple overboard, so steep has the angle become. ---- must have been hit. Yes! there he is, all huddled up over the joy-stick (control-stick). I give up all hope, when suddenly, the machine starts to right herself. I look around, and find that the rush through the air must have brought him to. He is manfully straining every nerve to get her out of the nose-dive. By a superhuman effort he succeeds. We manage to get across the lines unnoticed save by a few infantrymen, who fire futilely at us, and land a bare hundred yards the other side of our own trenches. ---- makes a beautiful landing, pulls her up dead, and promptly faints in his seat. My first trip! CHAPTER XI SOME ANECDOTES _Somewhere in Belgium, Thursday._