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In the moment that he determined upon a course of action he saw another group of planes come streaming out of the cloud to the south. Curtains! The whole sky was full of planes. Then, as they swerved sharply, he saw the sunlight play on the allied cockade. And how they came! Spads, French Spads! Going up to the front, perhaps, as a covering flight for the observation crates far below.

Major Cowan, that freckle-faced kid up there is a night flying fool and I'm his twin brother. Get out of my way. Oh, greaseballs! Hey, you Ack Emmas! Roll out one of those Spads and " "Lieutenant!" Cowan barked. "You forget yourself. If you want to do night fighting go over to your own group and use your own plane! You forget yourself. I am still in command here!"

The celerity with which his group abandoned the project and followed in his wake gave glowing tribute to the true value and leadership of that youth who flew the green and gold plane. With him as leader, they would have taken a toll, despite the unexpected arrival of the Spads.

Larkin, he thought, but he would at least give them pause, and by so doing not only provide Cowan with a chance to wake up and manoeuver, but it would give the oncoming Spads the one thing they needed time! The lightning-like movements and happenings of an aerial dog fight cannot be followed or seen by any one man. Fortunate indeed is that pilot who can keep track of what is going on around him.

But then, war brings together strange bedfellows and establishes new standards. McGee dismissed the matter from his mind as the car swung into the narrow streets of the darkened town. "Where can I drop you?" he asked. "Going by the café down on the main drag?" Hampden asked. "Right." "That will be fine. I hope to see you again soon, Lieutenant." "Thanks. The Spads are due to arrive on Monday.

They even learned, from Cowan, how Siddons, working with the French, had plotted trapping von Herzmann that day when the squadron was attacked for the first time. The lucky arrival of the French Spads, they now knew, was not a matter of luck at all, but a daring plan to overwhelm the greedy German war eagle and rid the air of him. Yes, Siddons had courage and brains.

McGee saw the planes of another American squadron working up toward the front on his left. High above his flight was a large group of French Spads. He watched them, turning his head aloft from time to time. They seemed to be hovering over him and following his course. Far ahead, and below, he could see enemy observation balloons straining at their cables.

I went down the lines for a quarter of an hour, meeting two Sopwiths and a Letord, but no Spads. You were almost certain to be higher than I, but my old packet was doing its best at four thousand, and getting overheated with the exertion. Had to throttle down and pique several times to cool off. Then I saw you at least I thought it was you about four kilometres inside the German lines.

But these white flakes began to multiply; they were, in fact, an enemy patrol, which had succeeded in crossing the lines and was now above us. We counted two, three, four machines, which the sparks of our exploding shells promptly surrounded, while three French Spads rose at full speed to meet them.

A newly arrived American squadron was stationed at the field, jubilant over the fact that they were trying their skill on the fast climbing, fast flying single-seater Spads. Five of these swift little hawks were now on the line, making ready for a formation flight.