When our flight commander came in we knew by his smiling face that he
had something interesting for us. "Make a careful inspection," he said.
"The staff counts on you to destroy a station of great importance. Take
oil and essence enough for four hours' flight. Each of you will carry
five 90's and one 155. If you do not wholly destroy the place during
the first attack, rest, go back to-morrow and finish your work. You
will get explicit orders before you start."
Our service is not confined to the defense of Paris. We are not the G.
V. C. of the skies. We had no idea where we were going; but our chief
was in such good spirits that we looked for a fine adventure. So full
of ardor, we all, pilots and engineers, inspected our great flyers.
Then, in view of resting for our work, we turned in for the night. When
someone knocked violently on my door I sprang up broad awake.
"Get up, sergeant!" cried a voice. "It is nearly three o'clock! You
will be late!"
The motors were turning on the ground. I dressed hastily and went
out.... Brr! it was cold. The field lay like a shadow in the
moonlight; the sky was of ideal clearness; a light fog was rising
from the damp ground. Our whole assembly, pilots and observers, went
into the little shack used as our flight bureau. Then came a great
hand-clasping, farewells--silence.
The commander pointed out our route and we traced it on our charts. Now
we knew where we were going and what we had to do.
There were our machines in the half-light, drawn up in line of battle.
Every pilot cast a swift glance at his craft as he went aboard. They
tested the motors. The grinding of the motors had slowed down; there
was an instant of relative calm. An order passed from pilot to pilot:
"Start from right to left, thirty seconds headway!"
A long rattle broke the silence; an avion glided over the ground and
went up: _Our Chief!_ I was second. I heard my friends wishing me luck.
I rolled on at full speed, rose, and rushed out, into the darkness.
When I had been flying ten minutes I realized that something was the
matter. My motor was not "giving." The altimeter marked 1,800 meters.
I saw the trenches stretching like cobwebs across the ground. I tried
to rise--_Impossible!_ I was less than 2,000 meters above the earth; I
was under orders; it was up to me to get to my destination and destroy
the object I had been sent to destroy; and my motor would not raise me
one foot. For one moment sickly doubt assailed me. I crossed the line
and, instantly, my craft was a target. The explosion of the bombs was
so violent and the bombs were so near, and there was so many of them,
that the air was in a tumult. My machine oscillated. The noise was
head-splitting; the muzzles of their 77's formed a bar of fire. I was
taking heavy risks, but what else could I do? _I must get there and do
my work._
The 105 was going; so were the 77's, upward like a bit of fireworks,
hurrying along towards the zenith until his lamps were like little
stars. On the following day we set out again to do our work. _We had
been sent to destroy._