d up" people.

Few airmen get hardened to the villainous noise of a loud _wouff!_
_wouff!_ at 12,000 feet, especially when it is near enough to be
followed by the shriek of shell-fragments. Nothing disconcerts a man
more as he tries to spy out the land, take photographs, direct artillery
fire, or take aim through a bombsight, than to hear this noise and
perhaps be lifted a hundred feet or so when a shell bursts close
underneath. And one is haunted by the knowledge that, unlike the
indirect fire of the more precise guns, Archie keeps his own eyes on the
target and can observe all swerves and dashes for safety.

To anybody who has seen a machine broken up by a direct hit at some
height between 8,000 and 15,000 feet, Archie becomes a prince among the
demons of destruction. Direct hits are fortunately few, but hits by
stray fragments are unfortunately many. Yet, though the damage on such
occasions is regrettable, it is seldom overwhelming. Given a skilful
pilot and a well-rigged bus, miracles can happen, though a machine
stands no technical chance of staggering home. In the air uncommon
escapes are common enough.

On several occasions, after a direct hit, a wounded British pilot has
brought his craft to safety, with wings and fuselage weirdly ventilated
and half the control wires helpless. Archie wounded a pilot from our
aerodrome in the head and leg, and an opening the size of a duck's egg
was ripped into the petrol tank facing him. The pressure went, and so
did the engine-power. The lines were too distant to be reached in a
glide, so the machine planed down towards Hun territory. The pilot was
growing weak from loss of blood, but it occurred to him that if he stuck
his knee into the hole he might be able to pump up pressure. He tried
this, and the engine came back to life 50 feet from the ground. At this
height he flew, in a semi-conscious condition, twelve miles over enemy
country and crossed the lines with his bus scarcely touched by the
dozens of machine-guns trained on it.

One of our pilots lost most of his rudder, but managed to get back by
juggling with his elevator and ailerons. The fuselage of my own machine
was once set on fire by a chunk of burning H.E. The flames died out
under pressure from gloves and hands, just as they had touched the drums
of ammunition and all but eaten through a longeron.

Escapes from personal injuries have been quite as strange. A piece of
high explosive hit a machine sideways, pa