"Gentlemen," Major Cowan began, his voice crisp and business-like, "we have been ordered up to La Ferte sous Jouarre, due southwest of the Chateau-Thierry salient."

The exclamation of surprise forced him to pause. McGee gave Larkin a dig in the ribs. "I win," he said. "That's no soft spot."

"But," Major Cowan continued, "for some reason Brigade has seen fit to divide the journey into two parts. Possibly to permit our trucks to reach there ahead of us, but more probably because it lacks faith in our ability to make the change without scattering our ships all along the line of flight. For my part, I have no such fear. I think I know the ability of this pursuit group." He hesitated, to let this sink in. And it was well that he did. Yancey gasped, and began coughing to cover it up. Hank Porter stepped on Hampden's boot with great force. Hampden in turn nudged Siddons, who alone of all the group displayed no emotion.

Never before had these men heard Cowan indulge in compliment. Something had come over him. His moustache actually looked a little more like a _man's_ moustache. In fact, Yancey thought, the blasted thing was almost military.

"However," Cowan continued, "we will fly to a field just south of Epernay to-day. To-morrow morning we will take off and continue a course, almost parallel with the present lines, to La Ferte sous Jouarre. Our destination has been kept confidential until this moment.

From necessity, of course, I have gone over the maps and our course with the flight leaders. They know the way. In case one of them should be forced down, that flight will double up with one of the others. You have little to worry about. Keep your head and remember where you are going.

If forced down, proceed to La Ferte sous Jouarre, on the Paris-Metz road, at the earliest moment. But," he added, slowly, "as I said before, I expect to see us arrive there together, and in order. That is all, gentlemen. Yonder comes the sun. To your ships now, and look sharp as you take off. Remember, this is no joy-ride. Hold your positions."

The pilots broke into a run for their ships, slapping one another on the shoulder as they ran.

"Luck, old war horse."

"Same to you, big feller."

"Hey, Yancey! If you're leading B Flight, give her the gun and high-tail it. The war's waiting!"

"S'long, Hank. Luck, feller."

"Get a waddle on, Mac. The war's lookin' up, eh?"

"I hope to spit in your mess kit."

Laughing, bantering, shouting, they climbed into their planes. The helpers stood at the wings, ready to take out the chocks when the motors had warmed; the mechanics took their places at the props. How envious they were! The little wasps that they had so carefully groomed were going forward to the battle zone, and every mechanic offered up prayer that his ship would function perfectly and make good the hope which Cowan had expressed.

A prop went over, _whish_! The first motor caught and roared.

Another ... another ... bedlam now. No longer any shouting, only a waving of hands, a few last minute adjustments as the motors warmed and sent a mighty dust cloud whirling back to obliterate the spot where the hangar had stood.

Straight ahead, a fiery red ball rose over a slate-colored hedge. A long flight of ravens crossed directly before the rising sun. Huh! Clumsy fellows. And slow. Better come over and take some lessons from some real birds.

Cowan's plane moved forward slowly, roared into life and fairly sprang into the fiery eye of the sun. Numbers two and three followed, skimming the dew drenched gra.s.s like swallows over a lake. Then four and five. By George, this was something like! This was worth waiting for!

The falconer of war had unhooded his new brood of hawks and they mounted up, free of bells and jesses.

2

The flight to the airdrome some six kilometers south of Epernay was made without incident. That is, it was thought to be without incident until Yancey, leading B Flight, reported to Cowan that Siddons had been forced down by some trouble over Vitry. Cowan was evidently displeased. He had hoped for a perfect score.

"What was the matter?" he demanded, the ends of his moustache twitching nervously.

"Don't know, sir. He kept droppin' back. I swung alongside but I couldn't savvy his signals. He kept pointin' back at his tail. I couldn't see anything wrong, but there's a big 'drome at Vitry and he signaled me that he was goin' down. I hung around to watch his landin'

and then hustled back to my flight."

"Fuel up, fly back there and see what's wrong," Cowan ordered. "I've a sneaky suspicion that he wasn't as bad off as he made out."

As Yancey turned toward his ship, McGee came up, smiling with pleasure over the success of the flight.

"Just a minute, Yancey!" Cowan called. "I've changed my mind. You needn't go back."

He drew McGee to one side. "Do you remember pa.s.sing over the French 'drome outside of Vitry?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Your plane is in good order?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Yancey tells me that Siddons was forced down there. I want you to refuel, go back there and see what the trouble was. I have my own ideas."

"Yes?" McGee queried.

"That fellow hates formation flying like the devil hates holy water,"

Cowan answered. "He's a joy-rider. He knows how anxious I am to effect this move without a hitch, and he also knows there'll be no pa.s.ses into Epernay to-night. I've a hunch Vitry looked good to him. I want you to find out."

"Very well, sir."

"I'm sending you," Cowan explained, smiling faintly, "because it doesn't make so much difference if you get lost, since you are merely 'also along', and also because I don't expect you to get lost. Report to me upon your return."

"Yes, sir."

3

The mission was not particularly pleasing to McGee. Chasing around after Siddons was not his idea of a riotous time.

It was some fifty-five kilometers back to Vitry, but with a good tail wind he made it in quick time. The French major in command of the squadron stationed there was exceedingly gracious. Yes, the American had landed, he told McGee, but he had taken off again within the hour. The trouble? Well, he complained that his rudder was jamming, but the mechanics could not find anything wrong. He had said, also, that his motor was running too hot. Perhaps, the major suggested, with an understanding smile, this one had rather fly alone, _hein_? So many of them would--and especially by way of Paris, or other good towns. Yes, he had given his destination--La Ferte sous Jouarre, but is not that on a direct line for Paris, Monsieur? These youthful ones, would they never learn that this was a serious business? But no, Monsieur, they are young, and how can you make one fear discipline who daily faces death?

Poof! It was the grave problem.

McGee left Vitry with his own conclusions. So Siddons had pulled a forced landing in order to go for a joy-ride. Now he was off having a fine time and would claim that his delay at Vitry was so long that he thought it best to head for La Ferte. Well, they would have him there.

He had not reckoned that Cowan would send someone back.

4

Upon McGee's return to the squadron, Cowan was too busy to see him, nor did he send for him until after mess that night. When McGee arrived at the Major's temporary quarters he found him in company with Mullins, the Operations officer, and both were bending over a large map spread out on the table.

Cowan looked up with the quick, exasperated nervousness which he always displayed when interrupted.

"Well!" he barked, crisply.

"You sent for me, sir?"

"Yes, yes. I had forgotten. What about Siddons?"

McGee had decided to shield Siddons to the extent of not reporting the fact that the mechanics at Vitry had found nothing wrong with the plane.

A squealer gains no friends in the Army.