iggers, who brandish
their spades in terrifying manner. "Ha!" I think, "I must fly away." I
fly my wings (did I tell you I had wings?) and rise above the church
tower. Archie has evidently opened fire, for I hear a near-by _wouff_. I
try to dodge, but it is too late. A shell fragment strikes my nose. Much
to my surprise I find I can open my eyes. My nose is sore, one side of
the tent waves gently, and a small apple reposes on my chest.

Having run into the open I discover that the disengaged members of C
Flight are raiding our corner with the sour little apples of the
orchard. We collect ammunition from a tree and drive off the attackers.
A diversion is created by the return of the three photography machines.
We troop across to meet them.

The next scene is the aerodrome once again. We sit in a group and
censor letters. The countryside is quiet, the sun radiates cheerfulness,
and the war seems very remote. But the mechanics of B Flight stand
outside their sheds and look east. It is time the offensive patrol party
were back.

"There they are," says a watcher. Three far-away specks grow larger and
larger. As they draw near, we are able to recognise them as our buses,
by the position of their struts and the distinctive drone of their
engines.

Four machines crossed the lines on the expedition; where is the fourth?
The crew of the other three do not know. They last saw the missing craft
ten miles behind the Boche trenches, where it turned west after sending
up a Very's light to signal the necessity of an immediate return. There
were no Huns in sight, so the cause must have been engine trouble.

The shadows of the lost pilot and observer darken the first ten minutes
at the dinner-table. However, since cheerfulness is beyond godliness, we
will take this to be an anxious occasion with a happy ending. Comes a
welcome message from the orderly officer, saying that the pilot has
phoned. His reason for leaving the patrol was that his engine went dud.
Later it petered out altogether, so that he was forced to glide down and
land near a battery of our howitzers.

The conversational atmosphere now lightens. Some people from another
squadron are our guests, and with them we exchange the latest flying
gossip. The other day, X rammed a machine after his gun had jambed. Y
has been given the Military Cross. Archie has sent west two machines of
the eleventeenth squadron. While on his way home, with no more
ammunition, Z was attacked b