mber of wings,
with an aircraft depot, are directed by a brigadier, whom one treats with
still deeper respect when he pays a visit of inspection; the whole is
directed by the General-Officer-Commanding-the-Flying-Corps-in-the-Field,
one-of-the-best, who treats us like brothers.

We, in umpty squadron, are of the G.H.Q. wing, our work being long
reconnaissance and offensive patrols over that part of the Somme basin
where bands of Hun aircraft rove thickest. Our home is a wide aerodrome,
flanked by a village that comprises about thirty decrepit cottages and a
beautiful little old church. Our tents are pitched in a pleasant
orchard, which is strewn with sour apples and field kitchens. For the
rest, we are a happy family, and the sole blot on our arcadian existence
is the daily journey east to meet Brother Boche and his hired bully
Archibald.

After which explanatory stuff I will proceed to what will interest you
more,--the excitements and tediousness of flights over enemy country.
Three hours ago I returned from a patrol round Mossy-Face Wood, where
one seldom fails to meet black-crossed birds of prey, so I will begin
with the subject of a hunt for the Flying Deutschman.

There are two kinds of fighting air patrol, the defensive and the
offensive, the pleasantly exciting and the excitingly unpleasant. The
two species of patrol have of late kept the great majority of German
craft away from our lines.

Airmen who look for trouble over enemy country seldom fail to find it,
for nothing enrages the Boche more than the overhead drone of allied
aircraft. Here, then, are some average happenings on an offensive
patrol, as I have known them.

We cross the lines at our maximum height, for it is of great advantage
to be above an enemy when attacking. Our high altitude is also useful
in that it makes us a small target for Herr Archie, which is distinctly
important, as we are going to sit over him for the next few hours.

Archie only takes a few seconds to make up his mind about our height and
range. He is not far wrong either, as witness the ugly black bursts
slightly ahead, creeping nearer and nearer. Now there are two bursts
uncomfortably close to the leader's machine, and its pilot and observer
hear that ominous _wouff!_ The pilot dips and swerves. Another _wouff!_
and he is watching a burst that might have got him, had he kept a
straight course.

Again the Archies try for the leader. This time their shells are well
away, i