ealising that risk. The story is
written for the close of the year 1917. Its incidents are built upon the
outlook at June, 1915.

It first appeared in an Australian weekly journal, "Construction," in
January, 1915, and already some of its early predictions have been
realised; as, for instance, the entry of Italy in June, the use of
"thermit" shells, and the investigation of "scientific management in
Australian work."

To many readers, some of the predictions may not pleasantly appeal. But
it must be remembered that, being merely predictions, they are not
incapable of being made pleasant in the practical sense. In other words,
should any threaten to develop truth, to materialise, all efforts can be
concentrated in shaping them to the desired end.

Predictions are oftentimes warnings. Many of these are.

The story is written to impress the people, with their great
responsibilities in these wonderful days--when a century of incident is
crowded into a month, when an hour contains sixty minutes of tremendous
possibilities, when each of us should live the minutes, hours, days and
weeks with every fibre strained to give the best that is in us to help
in the present stupendous struggle for the defence of civilisation.

GEORGE A. TAYLOR.
Sydney, Australia, June, 1915.

The map, on pages 6 and 7, shows the lines followed by the German
armies through Belgium and France during August and September, 1914.
The main line of the Allies' attack, through Metz, in August and
September, 1915, culminating in the defeat of Germany (predicted for
the purpose of this story) is also shown.

You can facilitate the early realisation of this prediction by
enlisting NOW.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

They often met before and fought.
To gain supremacy in sport.
They meet again now side by side.
For freedom in the whole world wide.]

CHAPTER I.

Winged!

It was the second day in February, 1915.

I'll not forget it in a hurry. That day I fell into the hands of the
German Army. "Fell," in my case, was the correct word, for my monoplane
was greeted with a volley of shots from some tree-hidden German troops
as I was passing over the north-eastern edge of the Argonne Forest.

I was returning from Saarbruck when I got winged. Bullets whizzed
through the 'plane, and one or two impinged on the engine. I tried to
turn and fly out of range, but a shot had put the rudder out of action.