Another case of desperate courage that attracted wide-spread comment occurred about the same time. This also related to a bomber who had been over the German trenches. The pilot was about to spiral down for the landing, when his passenger looked out to see if everything was in good order. To his horror, he noticed that two of the bombs were still unreleased, having become caught on the chassis or running-gear of the machine. If they landed in this condition, there was every likelihood that there would be nothing to mark their landing-place but a deep crater in the ground. The two men were desperate. To climb down and unhook the bombs seemed impossible. No one had ever been known to do it. It was like clambering up to the main truck of a sailing vessel in the teeth of a hurricane. It was the only alternative left to them. The passenger mustered up his courage and climbed out on the wing and then down on the running-gear. Holding on with only one hand, he leaned down and carefully loosed the bombs with the other. It was a splendid exhibition of nerve and courage, and it saved the lives of both men. Now and then you meet a pilot who has had a real adventure, but this is something only the most venturesome have to their credit. Not long ago, during an extensive reconnoissance behind the German lines, one of the pilots found himself flying parallel with an important railroad line. Presently he overtook a troop-train going in the same direction. Flying very low, he raked the cars with his machine gun until his magazine was empty. He then caught up with the engine and shot the engineer and fireman with his revolver. A little farther there was a sharp turn in the road, which the train took at full speed. Every car left the rails, and hundreds of soldiers perished when the train crashed down into the ravine below. The pilot confessed that he was sickened by the sight of the disaster, but it was war and he simply had to do it. As far as my own experience at the front is concerned, it was unusually uneventful. My machine was never once hit by shrapnel nor was it attacked by the enemy. In fact, the work was very monotonous, one day being exactly like another. After six weeks I applied to my captain for permission to pass into a fighting escadrille, where the experience I had gained on the slower machines would be very useful and the work more agreeable. To my delight, my request was granted, and forty-eight hours later I received my orders to proceed without delay to the Ecole de Combat at Pau for further training. It seemed rather strange, after weeks of actual service, to be leaving the front to go again to school. I had become so used to the life that the muddy fields and the little tents began to seem like home to me. Now that it was over, the "popotte" served to us in the mess-tent was most palatable, and I knew that I would miss the restraining influence of our system of fines.