And so GV 7, after a week of gallant and strenuous service, received her death-warrant. At the best of times the life of an aeroplane is a brief one, and in active-service conditions the wastage is simply astounding. Every machine must be of the very best workmanship possible and kept in perfect tune, otherwise it must be scrapped and replaced by another of the vast quantity turned out in the numerous air-craft factories at home. Derek heard the mandate, against which there was no appeal, with genuine regret. In a few days he had gained an affection for his old 'bus, much as a cavalryman does for his charger. Nevertheless he realized that the verdict was a just one. He, too, could not help wondering how the badly-scarred biplane had brought down her crew in safety, for there were thirty-three holes in the wings and tail-planes and seven perforations of the fuselage, while most of the struts were chipped and several of the tension-wires severed. Accordingly the motors were removed, together with the more important fittings. These towed to a safe distance, the doomed battleplane was set on fire. Her late pilot watched her burn. It was a sight that fascinated him. It was as though he had destroyed a favourite dog. He waited until nothing but a charred mass remained, and then made his way back to the newly-erected aerodrome--quite twenty miles farther back than the one abandoned on the night of his first flight across the enemy lines. "I'll have to find the Equipment Officer," thought Derek, "and get him to let me have another 'bus. Wonder where his show is?" Failing to find the desired officer, Derek turned to enquire of a goggled and leather-coated pilot who was literally smothered with grease and castor oil. "Bless me, Daventry! Who on earth expected to run across you in this Johnny Horner hole?" For some moments Derek stared at the apparition in perplexity, unable to recognize either the voice or its owner. "Give it up!" he replied. "Hanged if I can fix you, George." "What! Forgotten poor little Johnny Kaye! An' we vowed life-long friendship an' all that any-old-thing sort of tosh, old bean!" The two pilots shook hands. "I've been here a week on different stunts," continued Kaye. "They don't forget to work you here, by Jove! Not that I mind though. Derek, old man, I had the time of my life yesterday, when two Huns thought they had me cold. Led 'em a pretty dance, and finally persuaded them to collide. One Boche plopped fairly on top of my tail-plane, and I had cold feet pretty badly until I looped and let him slide off. The funny thing was that I hadn't a single round of ammunition left. How long have you been here? You were asking for the Equipment Officer, I believe. There's his show. Smithers is his name. He'll fix you up with anything you want, from a double-seater to a cotter-pin."