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To which I would reply in his own memorable words, "Mais oui, mon vieux! Mais OUI!" Nancy, a moonlight night, and "les sales Boches encore." I have been out on the balcony of this old hotel, a famous tourist resort before the war, watching the bombardment and listening to the deep throb of the motors of German Gothas. They have dropped their bombs without doing any serious damage.
On came the Fokkers and Gothas, the black iron crosses painted on the wings of the machines standing out in bold relief in the clear air. The sun glinted on the red craft which were in the lead, and besides Tom, who headed for one of these, a French ace darted down from a height to engage the red planes.
Not till they droppit frae the skies frae Zeppelins and German Gothas ha' armed men stood on British soil in centuries and they, the baby killers frae the skies, were no alarming when they came doon to earth. Now, wull we be changing all the things all our centuries ha' taught us to be good and useful? Maybe we wull.
We're all alike the first week, and staid war correspondents are no exception to the rule. It gets them all. I came on my friend telling this crowd of eager new secretaries of the damage that the Gothas had done the night before. There they stood in a corner of the hotel with open ears, eyes, and mouths.
Another cut a main spar on one of my wings, and another hit my stabilizer, tearing it half in two. One other hit my gas tank and put a hole clear through it. Luckily my gas was low and it did not explode, but, believe me, I was lucky. April 20, 1918. The orderly has just tapped on my window to put down my shade, which means the Gothas are on their way. The guns are starting.
Since the first Zeppelin attack on Paris on March 21, 1915, when two of the air-ships reached the suburbs, killing 23 persons and injuring 30, there have been many raids and attempted raids, but mostly by single machines. The first air raid in force upon the French capital took place on January 31, 1918, when a squadron of Gothas crossed the lines north of Compiegne.
His duty lay closer at hand, for he knew that a swarm of fighting Gothas had started up to engage the attacking squadron, and realized that one or more of these hostile aircraft might suddenly appear close at hand, bent on bringing about their destruction. Besides, constant vigilance was the price of safety in other particulars.
I could tell by the sound of the bombs as they exploded that the Gothas could not be far away; and then, suddenly, we heard the engines quite plainly, and there was a terrific rushing sound I knew only too well. The crash came, but, though the walls rocked and the windows rattled in their sockets, they did not fall.
The Gothas had played havoc with two blocks of buildings on a certain Paris street because of the fact that the bombs they dropped had severed the gas-mains. The result did have a look of desolation I'll have to admit. So far the new secretaries had done no damage.
"Allons!" exclaimed H. "Do you hear the pompiers? The Gothas again!" We stiffened up in our chairs and listened. The trumpets sounded shrilly on the night air of our tranquil Parisian quarter. "Right you are. That means down we go! They might have waited until I finished my chapter, hang them! There's no electricity in our cellar," and I cast aside my book in disgust.
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