the methods. On the
afternoon of September 14 all the officers of our aerodrome were
summoned to an empty shed. There we found our own particular General,
who said more to the point in five minutes than the rumourists had said
in five weeks. There was to be a grand attack next morning. The
immediate objectives were not distant, but their gain would be of
enormous value. Every atom of energy must be concentrated on the task.
It was hoped that an element of surprise would be on our side, helped
by a new engine of war christened the Tank. The nature of this strange
animal, male and female, was then explained.

Next came an exposition of the part allotted to the Flying Corps. No
German machines could be allowed near enough to the lines for any
observation. We must shoot all Hun machines at sight and give them no
rest. Our bombers should make life a burden on the enemy lines of
communication. Infantry and transport were to be worried, whenever
possible, by machine-gun fire from above. Machines would be detailed for
contact work with our infantry. Reconnaissance jobs were to be completed
at all costs, if there seemed the slightest chance of bringing back
useful information.

No more bubbles of hot air were blown around the mess table. Only the
evening was between us and the day of days. The time before dinner was
filled by the testing of machines and the writing of those cheerful,
non-committal letters that precede big happenings at the front. Our
flight had visitors to dinner, but the shadow of to-morrow was too
insistent for the racket customary on a guest night. It was as if the
electricity had been withdrawn from the atmosphere and condensed for use
when required. The dinner talk was curiously restrained. The usual shop
chatter prevailed, leavened by snatches of bantering cynicism from those
infants of the world who thought that to be a beau sabreur of the air
one must juggle verbally with life, death, and Archie shells. Even these
war babies (three of them died very gallantly before we reassembled for
breakfast next day) had bottled most of their exuberance. Understanding
silences were sandwiched between yarns. A wag searched for the Pagliacci
record, and set the gramophone to churn out "Vesti la Giubba." The
guests stayed to listen politely to a few revue melodies, and then
slipped away. The rest turned in immediately, in view of the jobs at
early dawn.

"Night, everybody," said one of the flight-commanders. "Meet yo