m. guns (47th battery of the 31st
regiment of artillery), and who were already crowding around the enemy's
body, rushed upon and surrounded Guynemer. But the commander, Captain
Allain Launay, mustered his men, ordered a salute to Guynemer, made a
speech to his command, and said: "We shall now fire a volley in honor of
Sergeant Guynemer." The salvo demolished a small house where some Boches
had taken refuge. Through the binoculars they could be seen to scatter
when the first shell struck their shelter.

"They owe that to me, too!" cried the enthusiastic urchin.

Meanwhile Captain Allain Launay had patiently ripped the captain's
stripes from his cap, and when he had finished handed them to Guynemer:

"Promise me to wear them when you are appointed captain."

This victory was not questioned, and there was even some discussion
about making this youngster a Knight of the Legion of Honor. But even
when he had been promoted sergeant there had been some objection, owing
to his youth. "Nevertheless," Guynemer had observed angrily, "I am not
too young to be hit by the enemy's shells." This time another objection
arose: If he receives the "cross" for this victory, what can be given
him for succeeding ones? The proud little Roland rebelled, revolted,
rose up like a cock on its spurs. He did not see that everybody already
foresaw his destiny. He would have his "cross," he would have it, and he
would not wait long for it, either. He would know how to wring it out of
them.

Six days later, December 14, with his comrade, the sober and calm
Bucquet, he attacked two Fokkers, one of which was dashed to pieces in
its fall, while the other damaged his own machine. A letter to his
father described the combat in his own brief and direct manner, without
a superfluous word: "Combat with two Fokkers. The first, trapped, and
his passenger killed, dived upon me without having seen me. Result: 35
bullets at close quarters and '_couic_' [his finish]! The fall was seen
by four other airplanes (3 plus 1 makes 4, and perhaps that will win me
the 'cross'). Then combat with the second Fokker, a one-seated machine
shooting through the propeller, as rapid and easily handled as mine. We
fought at ten meters, both turning vertically to try to get behind.

"My spring was slack: compelled to shoot with one hand above my head, I
was handicapped; I was able to shoot twenty-one times in ten seconds.
Once we almost telescoped, and I jumped over him--his head