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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76083 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                                PURSUIT
+
+                          By Andrew A. Caffrey
+
+               A tale of the American “Balloon Strafers”
+
+
+When headquarters separated Jack Langdon from his pursuit group and sent
+him to fly two-seaters, headquarters came very close to breaking a stout
+flying heart. For Langdon, there was nothing to do but pack and go;
+anything in the way of protest would have netted him nothing, besides
+being very bad taste. Nevertheless, between high dudgeon and low
+spirits, the boy hovered and suffered for days.
+
+Flying _chasse_--pursuit--was the holding of all that war could give.
+But piloting a two-seater--any two-seater was just plain hell. You would
+not ask an Oldfield or a De Palma to drive a ten ton truck, and expect
+him to like it, would you? Nor would you detail Sande to ride a
+mechanical nag. Well, Langdon was to air what these others are, or were,
+to track and turf; and that, thoughtless headquarters should have known.
+But this same headquarters--Air Service, S.O.S. Tours--was no respecter
+of individuals. If the observation outfits were short of men, there was
+only one place to get them--from pursuit.
+
+Langdon, when the ax fell, was at Issoudun’s last instruction field--the
+combat school--Field No. 8. Another day or two and he would have been
+safe.
+
+“Now, look here, Langdon,” the officer in charge of flying at No. 8 had
+said, when the boy was called upon the carpet and assigned to report at
+Romorantin for De Havilland training. “We don’t want you to go out of
+this field tonight feeling rocky against us. We’re not discriminating.
+Tours called for five. There were only five of you ready to shove off.
+It’s tough; it’s rough; it’s rotten. You’ve put everything on the ball.
+You’re an A-1 _chasse_ flyer, and the best hand with a machine gun we’ve
+ever turned out. The game was made for you, and nobody hates worse than
+we do to see you leaving pursuit.”
+
+“That’s all right, Captain,” Langdon had said. “You’ve been white to me
+here at No. 8; she’s a _bon_ school. But--and pin this in your hat--I’m
+not quitting pursuit. They can send me to the two-place hacks, but they
+can’t make me do two-place missions.
+
+“I’m a pursuit man, and no matter where they sink me, I’ll still be a
+pursuit flyer. They can anchor me to an observation balloon’s cable, or
+put me on the business end of a shovel, but as long as I have life in
+me, I’ll fight this war _a la chasse_--right on the other guy’s tail.”
+
+Late that night Langdon and his four fellow travelers detrained at
+Romorantin. Romo’, along with its many other things of air, was the
+first European home of the American made De Havilland plane. Langdon had
+only seen one of these big ships before--big to scout flyers. That was
+when Lieutenant Rube Williamson had flown the first DH from Romo’ to
+Field 8.
+
+“Oh, these big crates are all right, I guess,” Rube had told the gang.
+“But a DH is a DH, and can never be a _chasse_ machine, you know. No
+matter how you figure, bunch, a ten ton truck is a ten ton truck and, if
+the truth must be known, that’s how these DH babies handle--like heavy
+duty trucks on old rubber. They’ve got lotsa power, but little pep; and
+less of that old maneuverability stuff than an Otis elevator. But let me
+tell you, cadets, when the nose of this hack gets away from you, it’d
+shame an elevator with the cables cut. Whew! They’re planting them every
+day at Romo’.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+At Romo’, Langdon and his mates reported for DH instruction.
+
+“Are these DH’s bad?”
+
+The instructor was fast on retort.
+
+“Boy, I’ll say they’re bad! These here culls just ain’t got no
+conscience a-tall, nohow. For my own part, I’m going to quit air for the
+Tank Corps. As a rule, when these crocks hit the sod, nothing’s above
+ground but the rudder, waving like a flag over a hole in the ice. I came
+here with ten friends. Four of them are up there on the hill--boxed.”
+
+“Ten friends?” Langdon mused, as though this had something to do with
+the business at hand. “Nobody in the world has ten friends.”
+
+“That’s how it looks to you,” the instructor answered. “Any guys that
+are sent up here to fly DH’s sure have no friends! And that’s why you
+won’t mind being bumped off ... Anyway, let’s see what you boys can do
+with these arks. Who’s who here? Let’s get a look at your monikers. When
+I call your name, step stiffly to the front, stand at rigid attention
+and answer--‘Here, kind sir.’ Lieutenant John J. Langdon!”
+
+“On the job, kind sir,” the new arrival answered. “And I’m a guy as
+ain’t got no friends.”
+
+“Langdon?” the instructor repeated. “I’ve heard of you,
+Lieutenant--never mind the salute. Weren’t you the bird who flew Major
+Greene from Mitchel Field clean to Hazelhurst, upside down, and told him
+that you were trying to get a look at your landing gear--that you
+thought you had blown a tire on the takeoff?”
+
+“The same dizzy guy,” Langdon said. “And wasn’t it strange? I couldn’t
+get a look at those wheels; and that was why I flew the major all the
+way back to Mitchel in the same way, upside down. Till I’d tried it, you
+couldn’t tell me that a pilot wouldn’t see the bottom of his plane by
+turning the bottom up. Is it not all strange, kind sir?”
+
+“It sure is,” the instructor agreed. “But lend an ear, Lieutenant. We
+have a commanding officer here who likes to ride in DH’s. One of these
+days I’ll manage to get you and him in the air in the same ship. Do you
+begin to see light?”
+
+“That’s one of my worst troubles, kind sir. My eyes take in too much
+light. The docs have a fancy name for it. But, anyway, it causes me to
+see--or think I see--fun in things that strike others as being drab. For
+instance, after that flight at Mitchel, Major Greene said that it was
+his first trip in the air.”
+
+“And the records,” the instructor smiled, “prove that it was his last.
+Now, ten years later, the record still stands.”
+
+After one turn of the field with Langdon on the controls, the instructor
+gave him an O.K. He simply said, as he stepped from the plane:
+
+“You’re jake, Lieutenant, but if I were you, I wouldn’t land these DH’s
+out of a loop like that. Hell, Langdon, life’s sweet, even at an
+observation school. Come on now, go on living. Maybe you’ll get a
+shipment back to _chasse_. Others have done it, and the war is young.
+You know your air, and that’s no small item. But the good ones, Langdon,
+are the ones we pack in large boxes. And the other kind, damn ’em, we
+can’t get rid of. You know, there are observers here, Langdon, who just
+won’t qualify. They’re afraid of the Front and won’t leave Romo’. And
+just so long as their observation work is below grade, we can’t ship
+them out. What’s the use? They wouldn’t be worth a damn to any
+squadron....
+
+“Now, just a minute. A mighty thought strikes me. Langdon, I’m going to
+put some of these dumb johns behind you. Maybe you can show them their
+objective. If you’ll fly ’em the way you just flew me, the Front will
+look like an old ladies’ home to the most timid of these goldbricks. Oh,
+just one more word before you take off. Don’t fly as close to other
+planes as you flew to that one a little while ago. That was Colonel
+Kingsley. He’s from Tours. Man, you were too near.”
+
+“That was all right,” Langdon assured the instructor. “I wasn’t trying
+to pull anything fast. I just wanted to learn something. You see, I’m
+accustomed to flying rotary motors with propellers turning at about 1400
+revs. Well, this Liberty was doing about 1700 revs per minute and I just
+wanted to get a peek at that other bird’s instrument board. It was all
+right; his was turning the same. But 1700 r.p.m. seemed mighty fast.”
+
+“Hell!” the instructor said. “I hope your clock never stops, or you
+might try to get a peek at some other pilot’s wrist watch. But go ahead,
+take off. See you later ... We’re going to like each other, Langdon.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+With a full tank, good for four hours’ flight, the new DH pilot went
+back into the sky. Off toward Vierzon, at sunset, he spotted something
+that made his heart glad. There, with about twenty thousand feet under
+them, was a Nieuport “27” patrol, from Field 8. He knew that they were
+from No. 8 because, coming in close, all five Nieuports revealed ship
+numbers with which he was familiar. All of them were students; not an
+instructor’s ship was among the lot.
+
+Langdon felt fine. He climbed on the front man’s tail, broke the
+formation and tried to induce the bird to go “round and round”. The lead
+man was not looking for combat with a DH. He went into a dive and waved
+Langdon away. But the merry one followed. Then, with his power running
+wild, the retreating Nieuport flyer burned out his rotary engine.
+Langdon saw the propeller stop. Then he leveled off and started to climb
+back to the rest of the flight. A man with a dead engine is no man at
+all.
+
+One of the remaining four, when Langdon closed down on their rear again,
+deliberately killed his motor and went into a spin. The other three,
+somewhat bewildered, remained to mill a bit. But when Langdon’s
+propeller came near to biting chips out of one of their rudders, that
+Nieuport also called it a day. Enough is enough. Langdon saw the machine
+start down for a landing.
+
+Jack Langdon had discovered something. What had started as fun, took on
+the magnitude of worthwhile research. He had learned that a DH, rightly
+flown, could combat--could go round and round--with a _chasse_ plane.
+
+The remaining two Field No. 8 ships had followed their disabled mates to
+earth. Jack Langdon hung around to make sure that five safe landings had
+been made; then he laughed, sang a bit and looked about for new worlds
+to conquer.
+
+West of Bourges, he found a Farman “pusher” from the French school at
+Châteauroux. It was drifting along at eight thousand feet. Langdon came
+up from the rear and had his left wingtip nestled in close to the
+Frenchman’s outriggers, before the Châteauroux flyer noticed that he was
+not alone. Then a badly frightened face under a large crash helmet
+stared, wild eyed, across that short space. Langdon’s heart skipped a
+beat with the shock. The face under the helmet was a boy’s.
+
+“You damn’ bully,” Jack Langdon said to himself. “Get t’hell gone from
+here before you scare this game little frog to death.”
+
+He throttled his power, dropped his right wing and slipped away from the
+Farman. Then he turned back, headed into the last rays of the sun and
+cut for Romo’. There was joy in his heart, and he was making himself all
+kinds of fine promises.
+
+These DH’s, he decided, were not the poorest things in the air, and if a
+young fellow were to apply his best talents-- Well, chances were, he
+could manage to make himself felt.
+
+“Yes, sir,” he said, talking aloud. “I’ll talk with the riggers. See
+what they think about washing some of the incidence out of these wings.
+Bet with the outer wing bays washed flat, there’d be no drag and the old
+crate would swing around on a dollar. And that will speed her up a lot,
+too. No question at all. If we flatten these surfaces out, we’ll add
+eight to ten miles per hour. What _can_ be done, is _going_ to be done,
+or I’m a wet bird. In the meantime, unless they put the screws on me,
+I’ll combat everything that flies in this neck of the tall timber.”
+
+Early the next day, though, they did climb Langdon’s frame. They climbed
+him twice. Once on account of the complaint that Field No. 8 sent
+through from Issoudun; again because of a wail that came up from
+Châteauroux.
+
+“I don’t blame the French kid in the hayrack Farman,” Langdon told the
+officer in charge of flying, upon whose carpet he was arraigned. “But
+those dudes from No. 8 should hang their heads in shame. The idea of
+refusing combat with a DH! Those five birds should be forced to stand a
+court-martial, sir. Why not make this an issue, sir?”
+
+“By hell, Lieutenant, there’s food for thought there! But look here,
+Langdon--be careful not to climb any of these two-place Sopwiths that
+you see fluttering around here; any Sops, Avros or Caudrons. They’re
+always full of fat majors and lean colonels, to say nothing of a few
+supernumerary generals of sundry ranks. And if you ride any of them, the
+war ends for you. We have one cadet in the guard house now. He dared to
+come in with a dead stick when a major was trying to take off.”
+
+“Well, what the hell should he have done?” Langdon asked. “Stay up there
+with a dead motor till the major decided to take off?”
+
+“That was the cadet’s problem,” the officer in charge of flying stated.
+“And he didn’t get the right answer. The major gave his own ship the gun
+and crashed into the cadet’s plane. Don’t you work up any problems here,
+Langdon, unless you can see the solution beforehand. A pilot in the
+guardhouse is no flyer at all.”
+
+“I’m immune, sir. You know how blacksmiths and guardhouse keepers laugh
+at love, or something like that? Well, I’ve fallen in love with DH’s.
+That’s strange, I know; but it’s a fact. Me and the DH’s are getting
+together, and we’re going some place.”
+
+“I’ll give you a push toward the Front, Langdon, as soon as I see a
+chance. Now get into the air and pile up as many hours as you can.
+That’s what counts. These forty and fifty hour pilots are not lasting
+long on the Front.”
+
+“I’ve had two hundred hours, sir, and I’m ripe for the bow. All my old
+bunch are fighting the Battle of Paris right now, and here am I poling
+DH’s for the everlasting glory of the S.O.S. The thing ain’t right, sir,
+no matter how you figure.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the day he flew different missions with two of the instructor’s
+worst goldbricking observers. Each time Langdon arrived over the
+practice objective--Neung, Orleans, Chinon, Blois--he would yell back--
+
+“Do you get it?”
+
+“Too high,” the student observer would invariably sing out. And, as a
+rule, the approach altitude would be above fifteen thousand feet. “Too
+high, Lieutenant.”
+
+“Hold everything! We’ll fix that all right,” Langdon would assure the
+victim. Then he would put the rambling DH into a tight power spin and
+cut down the altitude so fast that no rear seat observer would care to
+be present a second time. Or, if he did not spin, he would execute a
+vertical sideslip that, by rights, belonged to much smaller and trimmer
+craft. At any rate, each man he took up finished his observation class
+in one quick lesson. The unfortunate goldbrick would come back to Romo’,
+pea green and dead eyed.
+
+“Can he fly?” these boys who had liked Romo’ so well would say. “Can he!
+Oh, hell, give me air.”
+
+But no more air with Langdon. Within the week, he had every goldbrick
+off the instructor’s hands.
+
+“But I don’t want you to get too good, Langdon,” the instructor would
+warn. “They’ll keep you right here for the duration if you do. Then
+you’ll have to pull something raw to get moved. For instance, stop
+rolling your wheels across the shop roofs. You think they don’t see it,
+but the headquarters gang have been watching you. You know how they like
+to be entertained. Don’t show ’em anything. But here’s good news:
+
+“I’ve got you lined up for a mission to Paris. You’re going to lead a
+ferrying group close to the big town and deliver ten DH’s for Front line
+squadrons. No, you don’t get a smell of the Front. Your mission ends
+when you deliver the ferry at Orly. But you’re going to get a chance to
+_oo-la-la_, kid.”
+
+“Strange, but that leaves me cold,” Langdon replied. “I don’t want to
+fight that Guerre de Paree till after I’ve won the right to spread my
+line on the boulevards. Then I’ll strut. And don’t think that I don’t
+want to. Boy, I’m saving up for the biggest pair of chest wings that’s
+ever been worn on a Yank blouse. And that’s some big. And I’ve got me a
+swagger stick, too. It has a spark plug in the end of it, and a machine
+gun cartridge on the tip. You see, I’m a regulation Yank. All set and
+a-rarin’ to go--when the right time comes. Yes, sir, Paris is going to
+sit up and rub a pair of bleary eyes. Yankee Doodle’s going to ride
+right into town and on the make, too.
+
+“But how about giving me a final _lâche_ and kicking one _bon pilote_
+toward the Promised Land?”
+
+“No can do right now, Langdon. But I’ll tell you what might be done. If
+a call for DH men comes down the line while you’re up Orly way, I’ll get
+a wire to you there and have your orders sent along. If you’re traveling
+light, take your personal junk by air on the ferry trip.”
+
+“I’ll do that,” Langdon said. “The other pair of socks won’t be any kind
+of a load for a DH’s observation pit. When do I head this ferry?”
+
+“Tomorrow. That is, if the new planes are all assembled by that time.
+They’re all on the floor in final assembly now. In the meantime, be a
+good guy, Langdon. Watch your step. And if you run across any Issoudun
+Nieuports, Spads or Morane Saulniers--well, snub the whole gang. What’s
+a bunch of _chasse_ pilots to a guy who can do his _chasse_ in a DH?
+Stick to your class, kid.”
+
+“Damn’ tootin’!” Langdon said, and went out to fly--and snub everything
+on wings.
+
+At 2 p.m, the next day, Langdon stood in the cockpit of the point DH of
+a grounded V of ten such planes. The nine who were to follow him were,
+to a man, of Langdon’s type, eager for anything, and anxious to get
+under way on this cross country hop. Cross country flying, at that time,
+rated high among the glories that went to make the romance of air. It
+was all adventure. Impatiently, the waiting nine goosed their motors and
+watched for the second when Langdon’s hand should fall. At 2:05, the
+leader slid into his seat, cracked his throttle, lifted his tail and
+took off. Two by two, in an ever mounting cloud of dust, the others took
+up the slack, filled in on Langdon’s rear and roared into flight. A turn
+of the field, and the shabby V formation went into the north. All ten
+did not get to Orly that day. Langdon watched three of the boys make
+safe landings with dead, or dying, motors, at Neuville, Etampes and
+Juvisy.
+
+“Guess that’s all right by me,” he mused, after he and the others had
+circled about the unfortunate each time. “Those boys either had motor
+trouble or they know chickens in these towns. If it’s motor trouble,
+it’s common and unavoidable; and if it’s chicken, it’s class and _pour
+d’honneur d’Air Service d’Ame-rique_. And either way, or both, I’m for
+’em. Just three little jobs for Field Service; and Field Service must
+have something to do.”
+
+Through benefit of Field Service they were all at Orly next noon.
+
+“I’m going to hold you boys here for a few days,” the commanding officer
+said when they reported for return railroad transportation. “We expect
+to have a flock of ships going back to Romo’ for repair. And you’re the
+men to ferry them. Enjoy yourselves.
+
+“How’re you boys fixed for francs?” And the commanding officer, who was
+young himself once, smiled.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the second day of their lay-over, orders for the Front came through
+for Langdon and two of his ferry mates. A Roman holiday was held, and
+the three borrowed scout planes to celebrate. Langdon flew his through
+the _Arche de Triomphe_ at high noon, wearing a high hat. He got away
+with it, and nothing much was said.
+
+“But,” the Orly flying officer reminded him, “you’d have rotted in
+Prison Camp No. 2 had things been messed up in the _Place de l’Arche de
+Triomphe.”_
+
+“Ain’t it the truth, sir?” Langdon had agreed. “Nowadays failure doesn’t
+pay. Yes, sir, a guy’s crazy to slip up.”
+
+“Tomorrow, Lieutenant Langdon, “the Orly official went on, “you three
+transfers, with you in charge, will ferry three of these new DH’s up to
+the Trente-Neuf squadron’s ’drome. You’ll get their location last thing
+before taking off. It’s an American group in an American sector--a
+sector all bought and paid for. Major John Mack’s in charge up there.
+Boy, you’re in luck--drawing a C O. like Mack. He’s one of the gang and
+actually flies. Pilots from the front seat too, and without a second
+lieutenant hidden away on the rear controls. Give the major a hello for
+me, Lieutenant. Get the numbers on those three ships and look ’em over.
+If you want anything around here, ask for it--and see if you get it! Or
+if you want anything, take it--and see if we care!”
+
+The next day was fine. It was life’s rosiest for three willing Yanks.
+Birds were singing, poppies blowing and the skies were high and clear.
+
+“Follow me,” Langdon said.
+
+The ferry up was without event; and the Trente-Neuf’s ’drome was where a
+blind man could find it. Later, Langdon and his mates were to learn that
+German airmen also located the place without much trouble.
+
+“You boys,” Major Mack said, “can see the highway commissioner and take
+out registration papers on those machines you ferried up. We’ve lost a
+few men in the past week--flu, you know--and it won’t be many hours
+before you’re out on your own. The Trente-Neuf welcomes you. It isn’t
+much of a name, but the outfit’s top-notch. Also, remember it’s your
+home; and a home’s what you make it--between drinks. And right now and
+here--no drinking, boys, except at mess and between meals.
+
+“Look around now. Get to know the mechanics. Treat ’em right--the
+mechanics--and they’ll treat you right. Don’t ever forget to remember
+that air battles are won on the ground. You know, they say a celebrity
+is only a dub to his valet. That’s the way up here. A cocky pilot
+finishes fast and quick on these strange airways. I know because I’ve
+lost several pilots in battle who were never game enough to get out of
+the weeds. Why, to get them, an enemy pilot would have to use telepathy.
+
+“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, boys, and report for mess in clothes.
+That’s all the orders we have here. If you salute me, I’ll credit you
+with a gold star. If you don’t salute me, I’ll never hold it against
+you. This old uniform of mine is a disgraceful affair and by all rights
+does not rate a salaam. Go; come when you’re in trouble.”
+
+The three saluted us though it were a pleasure, and went out.
+
+“If the Trente-Neuf is like its C.O,” Langdon said to his flying mates,
+“this dump’s going to be a home. Guess we can work here.”
+
+For anybody looking for work, the place could supply the limit. Having
+heard that the air branch was the eyes of the Army, the Artillery,
+Infantry--and even the Medical Corps, through force of bad habit--were
+incessantly asking for observations. They did not care much what was
+observed, but they liked to keep the Air Service in hot water. These old
+line branches know how easy it is to loaf when it rains, or the fog gets
+too heavy; so they figure that, being the highest branch of the Service,
+aviation should do its stuff while others sleep. And the young branch,
+extending itself to the limit, made those observations; flew when flying
+was out of the question, and sacrificed men when men were scarce.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+That evening, by low candles in the Trente-Neuf’s mess, Langdon and his
+two mates met the outfit. Except for one, it was easy to know. That one,
+Lieutenant Charles Mudd, F.F.V., A.S., U.S.R., was hard for Langdon to
+meet because he had met him before.
+
+F.F.V. Mudd and Langdon had both been assigned to the 10th Aero Squadron
+for shipment overseas. Together, at Mitchel Field, they had reported in
+to the 10th’s old topkick, Sergeant Benton; and upon reporting, when the
+10th’s C.O. was absent, the Old Man had had them sign the register.
+Langdon had signed first, and in a self-conscious way.
+
+“Put down your rank, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Dad Benton had said. “There’s
+no misters in this man’s Army. Put down your ‘Lieutenant, First’, and
+your ‘A.S., U.S.R’.”
+
+Next, Lieutenant Mudd signed. But first he found a resting place for his
+swagger stick, and deposited his gold tipped cigaret on the edge of
+Dad’s blotter. And when that baby signed, he signed--and how!
+
+“First Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd, F.F.V., A.S., U.S.R.”
+
+“What the hell’s all this ‘F.F.V.’ stuff?” the old sergeant quizzed.
+
+“That, suh, is, First Families of Virginia,” Lieutenant Charles Surry
+Mudd answered.
+
+Of course, his tone of voice was the tone that should be used when a
+lieutenant speaks to an enlisted man. And it went just about as far as
+the talk of a lieutenant usually goes with an enlisted man. The old
+sergeant, with a stroke of the broad pen, struck out the F.F.V.
+
+“There are no F.F.V’s in this man’s Army, Lieutenant Mudd.”
+
+Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd stepped back. His pale face grew even
+paler. The sensitive lips and chin quivered, and the flesh above his
+knees prickled within their well tailored confines. His breath came
+hard, his eyes flooded, then the proud youth fell to chewing his lower
+lip. The Army, uncouth thing that it is, had taken him for another ride.
+
+Finally, deciding against mixing with a lowly sergeant, Lieutenant Mudd
+retrieved his swagger stick and cigaret, and strode to the door. He
+hesitated upon the threshold long enough to say--
+
+“I’ll report this, Sawgent.”
+
+“Report and be damned,” the old topkick mused, and closed the register.
+
+More than a quarter of a century in the service of Uncle Sam had placed
+Sergeant Dad Benton in a position where lieutenants, and even higher
+rankers, were of no more importance than the most lowly 10th Aero buck.
+With the ever expanding bubble that was the war of T7, wise heads of
+Dad’s caliber were only too few. Newly made captains, suddenly advanced
+majors and dizzy colonels came hurriedly into the old man’s council to
+ascertain just what gentlemen of their rank should do under this, that
+and the other condition. And they got their answers.
+
+“You’ll find the answer to that, sir,” the old man would say, after
+twisting his long mustaches for maybe as much as ten seconds, “on page
+so and so, paragraph this or that in your Blue Book.”
+
+And how any man, even in twenty-seven years, could memorize--page and
+paragraph--as large a volume as Army Regulations, is beyond the
+understanding of one who could never remember which of two was the right
+foot.
+
+So you can see, First Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd’s report, if made,
+caused no ripple on the already troubled waters of Mitchel Field. And
+Mudd’s report, very likely, was turned in because, in the several weeks
+of his stay with the 10th, the lieutenant was hard to get along with. He
+wanted salutes from the enlisted men. Enlisted men, though, seldom
+salute those who fail to command their spontaneous respect; and Mudd was
+out of luck.
+
+Shortly after the 10th’s arrival upon an active field in France, a plane
+crew sent Mudd into the air with an almost empty gasoline tank, two
+flying-wire turnbuckles unsafetied and a landing gear wheel loosed and
+ready to fall off. When the motor died at five thousand feet, Mudd came
+down for a landing. When he hit the ground, the right wheel bounced
+through his lower off-side wing and went places. The small pursuit
+plane, a Nieuport 27, with one wheel missing, somersaulted three times,
+by the count, and Mudd came up from the wreckage like an angry hen from
+a messed up nest. Shades of Southern hospitality and gentility! What a
+yell went up!
+
+However, the 10th Aero was a good outfit. It was also a mighty useful
+outfit and had an important top sergeant in its orderly room.
+
+“The whole damn’ affair must have been just an accident,” Dad Benton
+convinced the benzine board appointed to smell into Mudd’s rotten
+charges. “Why, these 10th boys are worked to death. Sixty-odd pursuit
+planes in the air for five periods a day. Of course now and then
+something is going to go wrong.”
+
+The benzine board made its report. Headquarters made a move. Mudd was
+the pawn. And because the 10th gang ran with every other gang at
+Issoudun’s many fields, headquarters made the move big enough to put
+Mudd out of danger for all time. He, First Lieutenant Charles Surry
+Mudd, F.F.V., was sent to observation, away from Issoudun.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Now, with the Trente-Neuf, Langdon and Mudd were in the same outfit once
+again.
+
+“How are they breaking, F.F.V?” Langdon asked.
+
+Mudd gazed through Langdon and went to his place at table. A quiver of
+anticipation went through the room. And that told Langdon that
+Lieutenant Mudd had not changed one whit.
+
+“You’ll remember, Lieutenant Langdon,” Mudd said, when he was seated,
+“my Army salutation is Lieutenant Mudd.”
+
+“The hell you tell!” Langdon smiled. “Where at is your F.F.V., Charles?”
+
+Mudd gave his attention to the meal. The table tried hard to smother its
+mirth, and Langdon explained--
+
+“Lieutenant Mudd and I made our transport with the same outfit, attached
+to the 10th Aero--”
+
+“The swine!” Mudd snarled.
+
+“The best damn’ air unit in France,” Langdon said. “That is, with the
+exception of the Trente-Neuf.”
+
+“That’s the spirit, Lieutenant Langdon!” Major Mack cheered from his end
+of the long table. “The old outfit is always good, but the new outfit,
+to be an outfit, must always be _the_ outfit ... stand, devils-- To the
+Trente-Neuf!”
+
+“This Trente-Neuf,” a man at Langdon’s right said, after the toast, “is
+a jake outfit, Langdon. There’s only one thing wrong with it.”
+
+He stopped talking and stared at Mudd.
+
+“There was only one thing wrong with the 10th,” Langdon told the man,
+“and it was the same thing. An outfit’s mistakes are its own, and the
+unpardonable mistake is the mistake made when an outfit makes the
+mistake of not rectifying its mistakes. Am I right?”
+
+“No mistake,” the other agreed.
+
+Next morning, Langdon went out on his first mission behind Mudd. That
+is, because of seniority, F.F.V. was in the front plane of a three ship
+flight. Now, this thing of following F.F.V. Mudd was not the worst
+medicine on earth, and Langdon had no kick coming. Mudd was a flying
+man, and that seems strange. None, no matter what his idea of manhood,
+could ever deny Mudd his place in air, and for more than two months now,
+he had been taking missions out and, what was more important, he was
+bringing them back. Maybe that was why the Trente-Neuf had not taken
+steps to clean up this one mistake.
+
+Mudd was one of those conscientious flight leaders who gave flying
+orders like a pedagogue and then expected every man to do his duty.
+There was no fun to be found behind him. The objective was the
+objective, and not fun. His unit took no long chances. If enemy planes
+were above, Mudd toured all France on their four hour DH tanks, then
+came back. Came back, got the pictures or observations, and went hell
+bent for home. A pilot might just as well have been touring France with
+the “Y”. And on more than one occasion, he had been told so; but not by
+Major Mack. No matter what the major might have thought personally, he
+stood firmly behind Mudd because of results shown. The business of an
+observation squadron is observation. Let the pursuit groups do the
+combat stuff.
+
+This first Front line flight of Langdon’s was the quietest thing
+imaginable. Not an enemy craft crossed their skies. He wondered where
+these comebacks from the Front got all their stuff about dog fights,
+painted circuses and German infested ceilings. And as he followed Mudd,
+above territory that should have been bad, he recalled what Rube
+Williamson had told them, back at Issoudun.
+
+“Hun planes! Never saw a single Hun plane in two weeks’ flying. Maybe
+they’re there for some, but they were not there for me.” And now they
+were not there for Langdon.
+
+At the end of the eastward mission, Mudd, with the observations on the
+cuff, signaled for a turn and back home push. Then, for about ten
+minutes, Langdon kept the other two planes close in where they belonged
+and began to look about to see what he could see. They came above a road
+that was jammed with the properties of Germany’s late summer try.
+Without a great deal of thought, Langdon parted company, dropped down
+from Mudd’s six thousand feet elevation and went to strafing the enemy
+activities.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was fun. It was war. It was more like it. He turned to his
+observer--a Lieutenant Akeley--and winked. Akeley stood up on his stool,
+bent over Langdon’s shoulder, and yelled:
+
+“Go back and give ’em hell! When you come in above that little burg
+where they were eating--where all the smoke was--sideslip and let me get
+a crack at ’em with my gun. Hop to it!”
+
+Langdon looked for his two companion planes. Mudd and the other had gone
+ahead. For a moment he might have hesitated. This thing of pulling a
+private strafe while detailed on a mission would not be considered
+exactly good. But being a strong youth, Langdon weakened. He flew a turn
+and went back along the German supply road.
+
+Where he found the field kitchens smoking, Langdon climbed to about five
+hundred feet. From that altitude, with the nose of his plane high, he
+slipped right and gave Akeley his chance with the rear gun. At the same
+time, watching his slip, he also watched Akeley and cheered the gunner
+above the roar of slipping struts and wires. At a hundred feet or less,
+he kicked out of the slip, redressed his ship, whaled full motor to the
+craft and flew across the concentration of troops--and through a hail of
+rifle fire ... Akeley went back to the Trente-Neuf a corpse in Langdon’s
+rear pit.
+
+At sunset, Jack Langdon sat upon his heels before a hangar, smoked, and
+tried to figure out the whole thing. Within the hangar at his back,
+under a tarpaulin, was the quiet Akeley. A short distance away, where
+the sun’s light was yet available, Trente-Neuf mechanics worked at
+patching thirty-seven holes in Langdon’s DH. The mechanics talked and
+wondered why that new bird, Langdon, did not get bumped too.
+
+Within his quarters, till the evening’s dusk gave way to dark,
+Lieutenant Mudd, martinet at heart, worked assiduously upon his report.
+He missed supper in its completion; then with the several pages in hand,
+the conscientious one straightened his blouse, put a rag to his boots,
+strapped on his Sam Browne and went toward Major Mack’s room. On the
+way, Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd detoured only once, and this detour
+sent him past the enlisted men’s quarters where the loungers were forced
+to snap into it and deliver the salute.
+
+“Too bad, Lieutenant Mudd,” Mack said as he received the report. “Hell,
+I liked Akeley. We’ll miss him. The whole Trente-Neuf will miss his
+mandolin of evenings.”
+
+“It was murder!” Mudd snarled. “This man Langdon-- It was murder, sir!”
+
+“But Sergeant Rictor--” the armorer of the Trente-Neuf--“reported that
+Bob had fired several hundred rounds. His gun was still warm when
+Lieutenant Langdon returned,” Major Mack protested. “And you know Bob
+Akeley, Lieutenant. If he had a chance to go out like that, in action,
+why, the boy was at a feast with a fork in each hand.”
+
+This glorification of personal thrill was not for Mudd. Wordless, white
+and a-tremble, he weaved on the threshold and tried again and again for
+words. In the end, he said:
+
+“You have my full report, sir. A flight leader must have unbending
+discipline, sir.”
+
+Major Mack walked toward the window. Then, because there was nothing
+else he could do, he walked back.
+
+“Lieutenant Mudd,” he said. “Send Lieutenant Langdon to me.”
+
+Major Mack was still pacing when Langdon knocked, came in and reported.
+The Major eyed the pilot and paced once more to the east window, then he
+paced back and eyed Langdon once more.
+
+“What have you got to say, Lieutenant?” the superior finally asked.
+
+“Not a word, sir.” Langdon fought hard to swallow his grief. “I know
+I’ve pulled a star boner. Guess I’ve had my war--been hired, fed and
+fired all in a day, sir.”
+
+“Whose idea was it, Langdon?”
+
+“Mine, sir. As yet, I can’t always remember that I have another man
+behind me. Observers weren’t in my first schooling, sir.”
+
+“Even if the thing were excusable, Lieutenant, you should have asked
+Akeley what he thought of the plan.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Maybe you did.”
+
+“No, sir. I just got the idea that I could do damage on that road, so I
+shoved down the nose and went. Then we got together, Akeley and I. He
+said--“‘Go back and give ’em hell!’ And we went.”
+
+“I thought that was it!” Major Mack smiled. “Langdon, ever since Bob
+Akeley came to this squadron, at least twice a day he’s been in here
+trying to talk me into turning the squadron to pursuit. Of course we
+can’t sanction such doings, Langdon. And for my own part, I wouldn’t
+pull such a strafe. No, I’m a little too old and slow on the controls.
+You see, I like to have a little more space between my wheels and the
+ground. But I’m not so old as to be unable to appreciate the finesse of
+the thing and, Lieutenant, if we could roll back time, and circumstance
+would place Langdon in Mack’s place, and Mack in Langdon’s-- Well, that
+road would have been strafed today. Maybe not as good, but after a
+fashion at least.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Now, Lieutenant, I’m neither going to call out a firing squad nor mark
+you on the ground. Between you and me, aviation, as the eyes of
+artillery, doesn’t carry even the weight of a good joke. I’m an old
+artillerist myself, Langdon, and I know. So if we can wage any kind of a
+war of our own, I’m not going to stand in the way of progress. You
+understand, Langdon, I am not authorizing, sanctioning or legalizing
+future side trips; but in your own right, you are in command of one ship
+while off the ground. Orders, the best orders ever made, were only made
+to be broken. And so long as they are broken without going into the red,
+when it’s all over, there’s no kick coming. In other and fewer words--be
+sure you’re right, then go ahead and don’t slip up. The quick are always
+right in war, Langdon. But it is far better that the quick be dead than
+be wrong.
+
+“Now, there’s one observer in the Trente-Neuf with whom I want you to
+become well acquainted. It is Lieutenant Samter. Samter, during such
+times as Bob Akeley wasn’t pestering me, has spent much wind trying to
+show me where and how this outfit might run up a big record in combat
+victories. He’s of the opinion that an observer should only observe when
+there’s no fighting to be done. And he can do things with that rear
+machine gun, Langdon. Sergeant Rictor tells me that Samter has shown him
+more trick stuff than he’s ever seen before. And Sergeant Rictor has
+been an armorer for upward of fifteen years. If you and Samter find that
+you have much in common, come to me and we’ll talk it over. No reason at
+all why he shouldn’t hold down your rear stool on all flights . . .
+English fags, they are. Take a couple with you, Lieutenant.”
+
+Late into that night, Langdon and Samter talked. And they discovered
+that they had just about everything in common, including a rotten
+opinion of one Charles Surry Mudd, F.F.V. Lieutenant Samter had been
+riding behind Mudd a great deal of late, and the war had lost its
+flavor.
+
+“I’d rather hold on to the rear saddle of a motorbike with an enlisted
+stiff chewing hard on the handlebars,” he told Langdon. “All of the
+white haired boy’s good flying is wasted. And I’ll say old F.F.V. can
+pilot. But what’s the use of being behind him--just going the route,
+delivering the milk and coming home? There’s more thrill working at
+kitchen police where you have the ever present danger of cutting your
+finger while paring spuds, eh?”
+
+“Sure,” Langdon agreed. “The C O. gave me these cigs. They’re English.
+Ain’t they rotten, what?”
+
+“I wouldn’t walk a mile,” Samter answered, “unless it was to get away
+from such smokes.”
+
+The next day it rained and the new team worked ship. Langdon and the
+Trente-Neuf’s head rigger washed out the outer bays of all four wings.
+Also they took out one of each pair of outside flying wires.
+
+“They don’t need all these wires,” the rigger agreed. “Each one of these
+cables has a breaking strength of more than two thousand pounds. When
+would you ever get such a load on a wing? Same way with the landing
+gear. You know how to set these babies down, Lieutenant. I watched you
+when you brought Akeley in yesterday. You wouldn’t have broken an egg,
+so we’ll pull out all the extras and that will help to speed the crate
+up too.
+
+“We’ll do some streamlining on her, too. I’m glad to get a chance to see
+what can be done about pepping up a DH. I always argued that something
+could be done. They ain’t such dead culls. They’ll maneuver if you’ll
+help ’em.”
+
+Samter and Rictor put hour after hour on the two guns. That DH had
+surely fallen into good hands. Toward the end of day they flushed the
+water radiator, drained the old and refilled with new motor oil, cleaned
+ignition heads, and the ship was set. Then they prayed for a morrow full
+of flying weather.
+
+Next morning, September the twenty-third, Langdon and Samter mooched
+their way into a real melee above the road from La Harazee, where the
+77th Division was convoying guns through to the Bois des Hautes Batis.
+That fight, by rights, belonged to the pursuit gang. It was no place for
+a DH. But when Langdon and Samter pulled out, they had done damage
+enough to justify a bid for confirmation on two enemy planes. Their ship
+had been hit seven times, and Samter once. But his was just a minor rap,
+only a little job for the squadron doctor.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the day following, the two wild men accounted for three of eight
+German observation balloons that had hung above the main road through
+the Vesle. And Langdon and Samter were beginning their traditional climb
+toward lasting air fame.
+
+On October the thirteenth, divisional headquarters called for a rock
+bound verification on all observations covering that tough stretch of
+road between Grand Pre and St. Juvin. It had been a hard line to
+bend--that German stronghold along the northern bank of the Aire: but
+now, one way or the other, it was not only going to be bent, but
+broken--and completely.
+
+Mudd, with four following ships, and covered from above by twelve
+pursuit planes, went out to do the job. They were nearly above Grand Pre
+before hell broke loose; and they were past St. Juvin and making a
+turnabout before the first Hun ship broke the high defense and took a DH
+off the Trente-Neuf’s rear.
+
+With his remaining three, stiff lipped and obstinate, Mudd flew his turn
+and went down the St. Juvin-Grand Pre line for a return whirl. Then a
+second DH fell, and Langdon broke out with combat, quit formation, and
+won another Boche ship from the milling group.
+
+Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd worked long and late upon another report.
+Then Major Mack paced late and long into the night and tried hard to be
+a good fellow and, at the same time, a good soldier. Which is a thing
+well nigh impossible. In the end, he called all six who had returned.
+All of Mudd’s five companions, including Mudd’s own observer, swore by
+all that might have been holy that Langdon, in quitting formation and
+taking on combat, had only done so to cover the successful retreat of
+the camera planes. And Charles Surry, F.F.V., went into the night
+talking to himself and kicking stones. That war was a war for him.
+
+Langdon and Samter, listening to the guns that were pouring it into
+Grand Pre and the road to the east, waited impatiently for the morrow.
+
+“This damn’ swagger stick dude of a muddy Mudd!” Samter said from his
+shakedown. “If the simple minded, simpering juvenile does anything more
+to tear down our meat house, Jack, I’ll work him over with a prop wrench
+on my own time. Reports for the major! He’ll make one more report to the
+Old Man and I’ll land on him so hard that his brains, if any, will
+detonate and blow some he-man color into his insipid map.
+
+“F.F.V.--Far From Vodka, Finest Fish Vender, Faint Falsetto Voice--I’ll
+F.F.V. the white haired, white livered rat!”
+
+“Check--a madman,” Langdon laughed. “Roll over, Samter, and tear off
+some sleep. Charles F.F.V. is the least of our many worries. And he’s a
+good enough gun. One Wing. The only thing is, you and I are fighting a
+different war. On the level, Mudd’s scrap is gamer than ours. His is an
+impersonal _guerre;_ and he doesn’t even keep a diary.”
+
+“A good drunk is what Mudd needs,” Samter decided. “A trip to town, a
+big town, a good drunk and--”
+
+“That’s a two or three motored ship, and she’s mighty close,” Langdon
+said, as they caught the throb and pump of a night flyer. “Wish we were
+doing night missions, too.”
+
+“Ambitious guy,” Samter said to his inflated pillow. “When would Mudd
+find time to write lengthy reports?”
+
+“It really doesn’t make much difference,” Langdon said to his blanket,
+“because nobody ever reads them anyway.”
+
+During the following days, as the line pushed up through Champigneulle,
+St. Georges, Alliepont and on to Verpel, the two wild men, for the
+greater part, went it alone. Major Mack heard Mudd’s bleat often, but
+the major was too busy to bother himself with such minor distractions.
+This war was what men like Mack had lived a life for. Mudd could not be
+expected to sec this; and Mack made no effort toward proselyting F.F.V’s
+conversion to the cause of Langdon, Samter--and, if the truth must be
+known, Mack.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Major was on the wing a great deal during those busy days. With his
+own eyes, he saw Langdon knock an enemy craft out of the skies behind
+Buzancy, and follow a second out of sight toward Stonne and the Meuse.
+
+“Yes, sir,” Major Mack told Mudd upon his return to the ’drome. “That
+heller of a Langdon went down on a Fokker. And when the Hun fell into a
+spin, after Langdon’s first burst, the kid sideslipped right with him
+and Samter poured his load from the rear gun. They had the poor devil
+burning through the last two thousand feet. The second plane they picked
+on was doing observations near Harricourt.”
+
+“But it’s not consistent, sir!” Lieutenant Mudd insisted.
+
+“But hell, Lieutenant,” Mack said, “it is strictly American, you know.
+And when we take this out of the Yank youth, we’re eternally lost.”
+
+So Major Mack continued to make allowances for one of his planes which
+had no more right in an observation outfit, than has a free balloon in a
+pursuit squadron.
+
+On the third of November Langdon got a German ship which was busily
+strafing roads near Authe; and on the fourth he accounted for a like
+worker near Oches.
+
+“The damn’ gorillas--strafing our troops!” he said to Samter, as they
+regassed their ship at ten o’clock that morning.
+
+Then, reserviced, the two went directly into the air and strafed roads
+as far back as La Neuville and Raucourt.
+
+In his own way, Mudd was making history through the long hours of those
+crowded days. Time and again, even with his overhead defense shot to
+pieces, he made requested observations along the Meuse. He located
+ambushes near La Bessage and Le Vivier and dropped warning notes to the
+infantry. On a hill above a graveyard in Raucourt, there was a machine
+gun and anti-aircraft nest. Mudd wiped it out. Twice in four days he
+brought dead observers home in his rear pit. And on one of those trips
+he had landed his burning plane on the long hillside slope before
+Champigneulle.
+
+“But why the hell doesn’t he stay and fight?” Samter argued. “Every slug
+hole in his linen is frayed to the front. Dead observers are of no use
+to anybody. They’re not worth a dollar a thousand ... Langdon, if I ever
+see a slug coming into the rear of your crate, I’ll spray you with my
+own gun just to teach you a lesson.”
+
+“And I’ll pile you up surer’n hell if you do!” Langdon promised.
+
+There was no freebooting on the seventh. Artillery and infantry wanted
+to learn all there was to be known of the bridges on, and the terrain
+adjacent, the Meuse. Headquarters told the Trente-Neuf to “go get it”.
+And, behind Mudd, Langdon and four other pilots--three of them
+green--took off.
+
+At Villers Devant Mouzon, a detachment of engineers were doing their
+best to throw a path across the Meuse. The German machine gun nests and
+snipers were making of the job a nasty detail, till Mudd’s flight put an
+end to those ambushes.
+
+At Remilly, a like detachment was having a still harder time. And the
+covering aerial defense was no enviable task. Before the first four hour
+patrol had ended, two of Mudd’s new men had limped back to the ’drome
+with motor trouble, and one had been driven down a few kilometers east
+of the river by an enemy pursuit plane. Mudd and Langdon, close at hand,
+had seen that Trente-Neuf pilot burn his ship before he was taken
+prisoner by ground troops. Then, still behind the lines, the two had
+turned back toward the river.
+
+There was a heavy sky that day, November 7, and anything in the way of
+altitude had been out of the question. But now, here and there, the blue
+was breaking through and showing a higher ceiling. Suddenly, out of this
+clearer sky, a bi-motored enemy craft crossed their line of flight.
+Langdon jumped it. After a few seconds of thought, outclassed by the
+faster Yank, the enemy ship turned east. And the eager Langdon hung on.
+Mudd, after a moment, followed. Samter, as Langdon came down on the big
+ship’s tail again, thumped Langdon on the back and pointed to Mudd.
+
+“Old F.F.V. himself,” Samter yelled. “He’s going to pile on with us. Now
+there _will_ be a war!”
+
+But war and a personal battle were not Mudd’s concerns. Coming east from
+the Meuse, he had spotted two Hun pursuit planes that had seen Langdon
+and the bomber.
+
+Mudd was pretty well off to the south, and the pair of single-seater
+Germans came down on Langdon before he could work into position. With
+the first burst of lead, Samter crumpled, shot through both legs. He
+fought to stay, clinging tenaciously to his machine gun mount. He pulled
+a belt from his flying suit, passed it through and around the gun scarf
+and worked his way to a standing position. Langdon had dived and
+slipped; now he zoomed and flew a wing-over. They came back under the
+pursuing planes--and Samter got one as they went by.
+
+In a moment Langdon was crowding down on the bomber and single pursuit
+ship again. And just when he came into position, his gun jammed. The
+German seemed to realize his predicament; they passed the laugh from
+ship to ship. That was a mistake on their part; it made Langdon angry.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The speed of the chase was the speed of the big ship out front. The
+combat plane easily maintained a position between the pursuing DH and
+the huge German, thus further increasing Langdon’s rage.
+
+For a few minutes, as they flew in line, the American thought hard. Then
+he gained a little altitude, and with it under him, he threw full power
+to his motor, went into a long dive and closed the distance between him
+and the pursuit plane. Before the German knew what was up, Langdon had
+hooked his left lower wingtip into the right side of the lighter craft.
+The latter’s single interwing N-strut came out, and half his lower wing
+went with it. That pilot was finished with the war.
+
+But Langdon’s ship could not go through such a high speed collision
+without damage. He had counted on losing a few feet of wingtip. If only
+that much were wiped off, a pilot could carry the difference of lateral
+stability by using full rudder on the opposite side from the wing so
+damaged. Also the use of aileron would help offset the loss of wing
+lift. But he had lost more than was good for the wing balance of any
+plane. He was in a bad situation.
+
+They had crashed at five thousand feet. Fighting to hold up the clipped
+lower left wing, he flew a flat turn to the right, covered a great deal
+of space and started back for the Meuse. But, even with full right
+rudder and his control stick clear to the side, he was losing altitude.
+He had to lose altitude in order to remain at all level. Two or three
+times, in the following five minutes, he came very close to falling into
+a spin. Each time, he dived, gained high speed and fought the craft out
+of its wing drag.
+
+Here and there along the Chiers River, the anti-aircraft outfits were
+sending up feelers for Langdon. Even the machinegun crews were putting
+steel through his ship as he crossed the highest spots.
+
+Finally he had Mairy just ahead and off to the right. It looked as
+though he would come to earth and pile up some place between the town
+and the Meuse; and as yet, the east bank of the river was in enemy
+hands. The war was just about over for two willing young men and....
+
+Langdon had been watching Mairy, to his right. All of a sudden the
+weight came off his weak left side. He stared, full of bewilderment, for
+Mudd’s right wings were tucked under his damaged panels and carrying the
+load. That, for Langdon and Samter, was the grandest moment of life.
+
+Both motors now roared full on. They lost no more altitude and the river
+became more than just a possibility.
+
+Samter, still hanging on his belt, shook his head and fainted. Langdon
+made sure that it was Lieutenant Charles F.F.V., shook his head and
+tended strictly to his flying. The Meuse came closer, and Archie came up
+oftener. The war was as good as over for the enemy, but they still had a
+goodly amount of ammunition on hand and they were throwing most of it
+toward Langdon and Mudd. But that did not worry Langdon now. The river
+was only a matter of short kilometers. Soon F.F.V. would be working on
+his report.
+
+“And he’s got me with my suspenders cut,” Langdon found time to reflect.
+“Hell, who ever heard of such a dumb thing as an intentional collision
+on the wing! Collisions are strictly for high rankers and to be made
+only upon takeoff and landing.
+
+“They’ll ground me for this sure. I might even draw a bobtail. And old
+kid Charlie Mudd....”
+
+As suddenly as he had arrived, Mudd left. A rifle shot from the east
+bank of the Meuse had found him. His plane, with dead hands and feet on
+the controls, spun into the river.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+From the dressing station where Langdon sat, richly swathed in iodine
+soaked wrappings, he could watch the engineers fishing for a pilot and
+observer where the rudder of a plane waved above the surface of the
+Meuse. On a cot, where a few medical men had been busy for an hour,
+Samter was showing the first signs of returning consciousness. Now and
+then the observer had said, in delirium:
+
+“F.F.V. Old F.F.V., himself.”
+
+“We used to have one of them in this corps,” a medical private said. “He
+was from Norfolk, I think. That F.F.V. stuff stands for First Families
+of Virginia.”
+
+“Right you are,” Langdon mused, from where he sat.
+
+“Wrong as hell,” Samter mused. “It stands for Fell Flying Valiantly.”
+
+
+[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April 15, 1929 issue
+of _Adventure_ magazine.]
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76083 ***
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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76083 ***</div>
+<h1>PURSUIT</h1>
+
+<div class='ce'>
+<div>By Andrew A. Caffrey</div>
+<div style='margin-bottom:1.6em;font-style:italic;'>A tale of the American “Balloon Strafers” </div>
+</div>
+<img src="images/illus-fpc.jpg" alt="Description of image" style="float: left; width: 20%;
+margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
+<p>When headquarters separated Jack Langdon from his pursuit group and sent
+him to fly two-seaters, headquarters came very close to breaking a stout
+flying heart. For Langdon, there was nothing to do but pack and go;
+anything in the way of protest would have netted him nothing, besides
+being very bad taste. Nevertheless, between high dudgeon and low
+spirits, the boy hovered and suffered for days.</p>
+
+<p>Flying <i>chasse</i>—pursuit—was the holding of all that war could give.
+But piloting a two-seater—any two-seater was just plain hell. You would
+not ask an Oldfield or a De Palma to drive a ten ton truck, and expect
+him to like it, would you? Nor would you detail Sande to ride a
+mechanical nag. Well, Langdon was to air what these others are, or were,
+to track and turf; and that, thoughtless headquarters should have known.
+But this same headquarters—Air Service, S.O.S. Tours—was no respecter
+of individuals. If the observation outfits were short of men, there was
+only one place to get them—from pursuit.</p>
+
+<p>Langdon, when the ax fell, was at Issoudun’s last instruction field—the
+combat school—Field No. 8. Another day or two and he would have been
+safe.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, look here, Langdon,” the officer in charge of flying at No. 8 had
+said, when the boy was called upon the carpet and assigned to report at
+Romorantin for De Havilland training. “We don’t want you to go out of
+this field tonight feeling rocky against us. We’re not discriminating.
+Tours called for five. There were only five of you ready to shove off.
+It’s tough; it’s rough; it’s rotten. You’ve put everything on the ball.
+You’re an A-1 <i>chasse</i> flyer, and the best hand with a machine gun we’ve
+ever turned out. The game was made for you, and nobody hates worse than
+we do to see you leaving pursuit.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s all right, Captain,” Langdon had said. “You’ve been white to me
+here at No. 8; she’s a <i>bon</i> school. But—and pin this in your hat—I’m
+not quitting pursuit. They can send me to the two-place hacks, but they
+can’t make me do two-place missions.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m a pursuit man, and no matter where they sink me, I’ll still be a
+pursuit flyer. They can anchor me to an observation balloon’s cable, or
+put me on the business end of a shovel, but as long as I have life in
+me, I’ll fight this war <i>a la chasse</i>—right on the other guy’s tail.”</p>
+
+<p>Late that night Langdon and his four fellow travelers detrained at
+Romorantin. Romo’, along with its many other things of air, was the
+first European home of the American made De Havilland plane. Langdon had
+only seen one of these big ships before—big to scout flyers. That was
+when Lieutenant Rube Williamson had flown the first DH from Romo’ to
+Field 8.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, these big crates are all right, I guess,” Rube had told the gang.
+“But a DH is a DH, and can never be a <i>chasse</i> machine, you know. No
+matter how you figure, bunch, a ten ton truck is a ten ton truck and, if
+the truth must be known, that’s how these DH babies handle—like heavy
+duty trucks on old rubber. They’ve got lotsa power, but little pep; and
+less of that old maneuverability stuff than an Otis elevator. But let me
+tell you, cadets, when the nose of this hack gets away from you, it’d
+shame an elevator with the cables cut. Whew! They’re planting them every
+day at Romo’.”</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>At Romo’, Langdon and his mates reported for DH instruction.</p>
+
+<p>“Are these DH’s bad?”</p>
+
+<p>The instructor was fast on retort.</p>
+
+<p>“Boy, I’ll say they’re bad! These here culls just ain’t got no
+conscience a-tall, nohow. For my own part, I’m going to quit air for the
+Tank Corps. As a rule, when these crocks hit the sod, nothing’s above
+ground but the rudder, waving like a flag over a hole in the ice. I came
+here with ten friends. Four of them are up there on the hill—boxed.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ten friends?” Langdon mused, as though this had something to do with
+the business at hand. “Nobody in the world has ten friends.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s how it looks to you,” the instructor answered. “Any guys that
+are sent up here to fly DH’s sure have no friends! And that’s why you
+won’t mind being bumped off ... Anyway, let’s see what you boys can do
+with these arks. Who’s who here? Let’s get a look at your monikers. When
+I call your name, step stiffly to the front, stand at rigid attention
+and answer—‘Here, kind sir.’ Lieutenant John J. Langdon!”</p>
+
+<p>“On the job, kind sir,” the new arrival answered. “And I’m a guy as
+ain’t got no friends.”</p>
+
+<p>“Langdon?” the instructor repeated. “I’ve heard of you,
+Lieutenant—never mind the salute. Weren’t you the bird who flew Major
+Greene from Mitchel Field clean to Hazelhurst, upside down, and told him
+that you were trying to get a look at your landing gear—that you
+thought you had blown a tire on the takeoff?”</p>
+
+<p>“The same dizzy guy,” Langdon said. “And wasn’t it strange? I couldn’t
+get a look at those wheels; and that was why I flew the major all the
+way back to Mitchel in the same way, upside down. Till I’d tried it, you
+couldn’t tell me that a pilot wouldn’t see the bottom of his plane by
+turning the bottom up. Is it not all strange, kind sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“It sure is,” the instructor agreed. “But lend an ear, Lieutenant. We
+have a commanding officer here who likes to ride in DH’s. One of these
+days I’ll manage to get you and him in the air in the same ship. Do you
+begin to see light?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s one of my worst troubles, kind sir. My eyes take in too much
+light. The docs have a fancy name for it. But, anyway, it causes me to
+see—or think I see—fun in things that strike others as being drab. For
+instance, after that flight at Mitchel, Major Greene said that it was
+his first trip in the air.”</p>
+
+<p>“And the records,” the instructor smiled, “prove that it was his last.
+Now, ten years later, the record still stands.”</p>
+
+<p>After one turn of the field with Langdon on the controls, the instructor
+gave him an O.K. He simply said, as he stepped from the plane:</p>
+
+<p>“You’re jake, Lieutenant, but if I were you, I wouldn’t land these DH’s
+out of a loop like that. Hell, Langdon, life’s sweet, even at an
+observation school. Come on now, go on living. Maybe you’ll get a
+shipment back to <i>chasse</i>. Others have done it, and the war is young.
+You know your air, and that’s no small item. But the good ones, Langdon,
+are the ones we pack in large boxes. And the other kind, damn ’em, we
+can’t get rid of. You know, there are observers here, Langdon, who just
+won’t qualify. They’re afraid of the Front and won’t leave Romo’. And
+just so long as their observation work is below grade, we can’t ship
+them out. What’s the use? They wouldn’t be worth a damn to any
+squadron....</p>
+
+<p>“Now, just a minute. A mighty thought strikes me. Langdon, I’m going to
+put some of these dumb johns behind you. Maybe you can show them their
+objective. If you’ll fly ’em the way you just flew me, the Front will
+look like an old ladies’ home to the most timid of these goldbricks. Oh,
+just one more word before you take off. Don’t fly as close to other
+planes as you flew to that one a little while ago. That was Colonel
+Kingsley. He’s from Tours. Man, you were too near.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was all right,” Langdon assured the instructor. “I wasn’t trying
+to pull anything fast. I just wanted to learn something. You see, I’m
+accustomed to flying rotary motors with propellers turning at about 1400
+revs. Well, this Liberty was doing about 1700 revs per minute and I just
+wanted to get a peek at that other bird’s instrument board. It was all
+right; his was turning the same. But 1700 r.p.m. seemed mighty fast.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hell!” the instructor said. “I hope your clock never stops, or you
+might try to get a peek at some other pilot’s wrist watch. But go ahead,
+take off. See you later ... We’re going to like each other, Langdon.”</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>With a full tank, good for four hours’ flight, the new DH pilot went
+back into the sky. Off toward Vierzon, at sunset, he spotted something
+that made his heart glad. There, with about twenty thousand feet under
+them, was a Nieuport “27” patrol, from Field 8. He knew that they were
+from No. 8 because, coming in close, all five Nieuports revealed ship
+numbers with which he was familiar. All of them were students; not an
+instructor’s ship was among the lot.</p>
+
+<p>Langdon felt fine. He climbed on the front man’s tail, broke the
+formation and tried to induce the bird to go “round and round”. The lead
+man was not looking for combat with a DH. He went into a dive and waved
+Langdon away. But the merry one followed. Then, with his power running
+wild, the retreating Nieuport flyer burned out his rotary engine.
+Langdon saw the propeller stop. Then he leveled off and started to climb
+back to the rest of the flight. A man with a dead engine is no man at
+all.</p>
+
+<p>One of the remaining four, when Langdon closed down on their rear again,
+deliberately killed his motor and went into a spin. The other three,
+somewhat bewildered, remained to mill a bit. But when Langdon’s
+propeller came near to biting chips out of one of their rudders, that
+Nieuport also called it a day. Enough is enough. Langdon saw the machine
+start down for a landing.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Langdon had discovered something. What had started as fun, took on
+the magnitude of worthwhile research. He had learned that a DH, rightly
+flown, could combat—could go round and round—with a <i>chasse</i> plane.</p>
+
+<p>The remaining two Field No. 8 ships had followed their disabled mates to
+earth. Jack Langdon hung around to make sure that five safe landings had
+been made; then he laughed, sang a bit and looked about for new worlds
+to conquer.</p>
+
+<p>West of Bourges, he found a Farman “pusher” from the French school at
+Châteauroux. It was drifting along at eight thousand feet. Langdon came
+up from the rear and had his left wingtip nestled in close to the
+Frenchman’s outriggers, before the Châteauroux flyer noticed that he was
+not alone. Then a badly frightened face under a large crash helmet
+stared, wild eyed, across that short space. Langdon’s heart skipped a
+beat with the shock. The face under the helmet was a boy’s.</p>
+
+<p>“You damn’ bully,” Jack Langdon said to himself. “Get t’hell gone from
+here before you scare this game little frog to death.”</p>
+
+<p>He throttled his power, dropped his right wing and slipped away from the
+Farman. Then he turned back, headed into the last rays of the sun and
+cut for Romo’. There was joy in his heart, and he was making himself all
+kinds of fine promises.</p>
+
+<p>These DH’s, he decided, were not the poorest things in the air, and if a
+young fellow were to apply his best talents— Well, chances were, he
+could manage to make himself felt.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir,” he said, talking aloud. “I’ll talk with the riggers. See
+what they think about washing some of the incidence out of these wings.
+Bet with the outer wing bays washed flat, there’d be no drag and the old
+crate would swing around on a dollar. And that will speed her up a lot,
+too. No question at all. If we flatten these surfaces out, we’ll add
+eight to ten miles per hour. What <i>can</i> be done, is <i>going</i> to be done,
+or I’m a wet bird. In the meantime, unless they put the screws on me,
+I’ll combat everything that flies in this neck of the tall timber.”</p>
+
+<p>Early the next day, though, they did climb Langdon’s frame. They climbed
+him twice. Once on account of the complaint that Field No. 8 sent
+through from Issoudun; again because of a wail that came up from
+Châteauroux.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t blame the French kid in the hayrack Farman,” Langdon told the
+officer in charge of flying, upon whose carpet he was arraigned. “But
+those dudes from No. 8 should hang their heads in shame. The idea of
+refusing combat with a DH! Those five birds should be forced to stand a
+court-martial, sir. Why not make this an issue, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“By hell, Lieutenant, there’s food for thought there! But look here,
+Langdon—be careful not to climb any of these two-place Sopwiths that
+you see fluttering around here; any Sops, Avros or Caudrons. They’re
+always full of fat majors and lean colonels, to say nothing of a few
+supernumerary generals of sundry ranks. And if you ride any of them, the
+war ends for you. We have one cadet in the guard house now. He dared to
+come in with a dead stick when a major was trying to take off.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what the hell should he have done?” Langdon asked. “Stay up there
+with a dead motor till the major decided to take off?”</p>
+
+<p>“That was the cadet’s problem,” the officer in charge of flying stated.
+“And he didn’t get the right answer. The major gave his own ship the gun
+and crashed into the cadet’s plane. Don’t you work up any problems here,
+Langdon, unless you can see the solution beforehand. A pilot in the
+guardhouse is no flyer at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m immune, sir. You know how blacksmiths and guardhouse keepers laugh
+at love, or something like that? Well, I’ve fallen in love with DH’s.
+That’s strange, I know; but it’s a fact. Me and the DH’s are getting
+together, and we’re going some place.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll give you a push toward the Front, Langdon, as soon as I see a
+chance. Now get into the air and pile up as many hours as you can.
+That’s what counts. These forty and fifty hour pilots are not lasting
+long on the Front.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve had two hundred hours, sir, and I’m ripe for the bow. All my old
+bunch are fighting the Battle of Paris right now, and here am I poling
+DH’s for the everlasting glory of the S.O.S. The thing ain’t right, sir,
+no matter how you figure.”</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>During the day he flew different missions with two of the instructor’s
+worst goldbricking observers. Each time Langdon arrived over the
+practice objective—Neung, Orleans, Chinon, Blois—he would yell back—</p>
+
+<p>“Do you get it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Too high,” the student observer would invariably sing out. And, as a
+rule, the approach altitude would be above fifteen thousand feet. “Too
+high, Lieutenant.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hold everything! We’ll fix that all right,” Langdon would assure the
+victim. Then he would put the rambling DH into a tight power spin and
+cut down the altitude so fast that no rear seat observer would care to
+be present a second time. Or, if he did not spin, he would execute a
+vertical sideslip that, by rights, belonged to much smaller and trimmer
+craft. At any rate, each man he took up finished his observation class
+in one quick lesson. The unfortunate goldbrick would come back to Romo’,
+pea green and dead eyed.</p>
+
+<p>“Can he fly?” these boys who had liked Romo’ so well would say. “Can he!
+Oh, hell, give me air.”</p>
+
+<p>But no more air with Langdon. Within the week, he had every goldbrick
+off the instructor’s hands.</p>
+
+<p>“But I don’t want you to get too good, Langdon,” the instructor would
+warn. “They’ll keep you right here for the duration if you do. Then
+you’ll have to pull something raw to get moved. For instance, stop
+rolling your wheels across the shop roofs. You think they don’t see it,
+but the headquarters gang have been watching you. You know how they like
+to be entertained. Don’t show ’em anything. But here’s good news:</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got you lined up for a mission to Paris. You’re going to lead a
+ferrying group close to the big town and deliver ten DH’s for Front line
+squadrons. No, you don’t get a smell of the Front. Your mission ends
+when you deliver the ferry at Orly. But you’re going to get a chance to
+<i>oo-la-la</i>, kid.”</p>
+
+<p>“Strange, but that leaves me cold,” Langdon replied. “I don’t want to
+fight that Guerre de Paree till after I’ve won the right to spread my
+line on the boulevards. Then I’ll strut. And don’t think that I don’t
+want to. Boy, I’m saving up for the biggest pair of chest wings that’s
+ever been worn on a Yank blouse. And that’s some big. And I’ve got me a
+swagger stick, too. It has a spark plug in the end of it, and a machine
+gun cartridge on the tip. You see, I’m a regulation Yank. All set and
+a-rarin’ to go—when the right time comes. Yes, sir, Paris is going to
+sit up and rub a pair of bleary eyes. Yankee Doodle’s going to ride
+right into town and on the make, too.</p>
+
+<p>“But how about giving me a final <i>lâche</i> and kicking one <i>bon pilote</i>
+toward the Promised Land?”</p>
+
+<p>“No can do right now, Langdon. But I’ll tell you what might be done. If
+a call for DH men comes down the line while you’re up Orly way, I’ll get
+a wire to you there and have your orders sent along. If you’re traveling
+light, take your personal junk by air on the ferry trip.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll do that,” Langdon said. “The other pair of socks won’t be any kind
+of a load for a DH’s observation pit. When do I head this ferry?”</p>
+
+<p>“Tomorrow. That is, if the new planes are all assembled by that time.
+They’re all on the floor in final assembly now. In the meantime, be a
+good guy, Langdon. Watch your step. And if you run across any Issoudun
+Nieuports, Spads or Morane Saulniers—well, snub the whole gang. What’s
+a bunch of <i>chasse</i> pilots to a guy who can do his <i>chasse</i> in a DH?
+Stick to your class, kid.”</p>
+
+<p>“Damn’ tootin’!” Langdon said, and went out to fly—and snub everything
+on wings.</p>
+
+<p>At 2 p.m, the next day, Langdon stood in the cockpit of the point DH of
+a grounded V of ten such planes. The nine who were to follow him were,
+to a man, of Langdon’s type, eager for anything, and anxious to get
+under way on this cross country hop. Cross country flying, at that time,
+rated high among the glories that went to make the romance of air. It
+was all adventure. Impatiently, the waiting nine goosed their motors and
+watched for the second when Langdon’s hand should fall. At 2:05, the
+leader slid into his seat, cracked his throttle, lifted his tail and
+took off. Two by two, in an ever mounting cloud of dust, the others took
+up the slack, filled in on Langdon’s rear and roared into flight. A turn
+of the field, and the shabby V formation went into the north. All ten
+did not get to Orly that day. Langdon watched three of the boys make
+safe landings with dead, or dying, motors, at Neuville, Etampes and
+Juvisy.</p>
+
+<p>“Guess that’s all right by me,” he mused, after he and the others had
+circled about the unfortunate each time. “Those boys either had motor
+trouble or they know chickens in these towns. If it’s motor trouble,
+it’s common and unavoidable; and if it’s chicken, it’s class and <i>pour
+d’honneur d’Air Service d’Ame-rique</i>. And either way, or both, I’m for
+’em. Just three little jobs for Field Service; and Field Service must
+have something to do.”</p>
+
+<p>Through benefit of Field Service they were all at Orly next noon.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to hold you boys here for a few days,” the commanding officer
+said when they reported for return railroad transportation. “We expect
+to have a flock of ships going back to Romo’ for repair. And you’re the
+men to ferry them. Enjoy yourselves.</p>
+
+<p>“How’re you boys fixed for francs?” And the commanding officer, who was
+young himself once, smiled.</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>On the second day of their lay-over, orders for the Front came through
+for Langdon and two of his ferry mates. A Roman holiday was held, and
+the three borrowed scout planes to celebrate. Langdon flew his through
+the <i>Arche de Triomphe</i> at high noon, wearing a high hat. He got away
+with it, and nothing much was said.</p>
+
+<p>“But,” the Orly flying officer reminded him, “you’d have rotted in
+Prison Camp No. 2 had things been messed up in the <i>Place de l’Arche de
+Triomphe.”</i></p>
+
+<p>“Ain’t it the truth, sir?” Langdon had agreed. “Nowadays failure doesn’t
+pay. Yes, sir, a guy’s crazy to slip up.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tomorrow, Lieutenant Langdon, “the Orly official went on, “you three
+transfers, with you in charge, will ferry three of these new DH’s up to
+the Trente-Neuf squadron’s ’drome. You’ll get their location last thing
+before taking off. It’s an American group in an American sector—a
+sector all bought and paid for. Major John Mack’s in charge up there.
+Boy, you’re in luck—drawing a C O. like Mack. He’s one of the gang and
+actually flies. Pilots from the front seat too, and without a second
+lieutenant hidden away on the rear controls. Give the major a hello for
+me, Lieutenant. Get the numbers on those three ships and look ’em over.
+If you want anything around here, ask for it—and see if you get it! Or
+if you want anything, take it—and see if we care!”</p>
+
+<p>The next day was fine. It was life’s rosiest for three willing Yanks.
+Birds were singing, poppies blowing and the skies were high and clear.</p>
+
+<p>“Follow me,” Langdon said.</p>
+
+<p>The ferry up was without event; and the Trente-Neuf’s ’drome was where a
+blind man could find it. Later, Langdon and his mates were to learn that
+German airmen also located the place without much trouble.</p>
+
+<p>“You boys,” Major Mack said, “can see the highway commissioner and take
+out registration papers on those machines you ferried up. We’ve lost a
+few men in the past week—flu, you know—and it won’t be many hours
+before you’re out on your own. The Trente-Neuf welcomes you. It isn’t
+much of a name, but the outfit’s top-notch. Also, remember it’s your
+home; and a home’s what you make it—between drinks. And right now and
+here—no drinking, boys, except at mess and between meals.</p>
+
+<p>“Look around now. Get to know the mechanics. Treat ’em right—the
+mechanics—and they’ll treat you right. Don’t ever forget to remember
+that air battles are won on the ground. You know, they say a celebrity
+is only a dub to his valet. That’s the way up here. A cocky pilot
+finishes fast and quick on these strange airways. I know because I’ve
+lost several pilots in battle who were never game enough to get out of
+the weeds. Why, to get them, an enemy pilot would have to use telepathy.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, boys, and report for mess in clothes.
+That’s all the orders we have here. If you salute me, I’ll credit you
+with a gold star. If you don’t salute me, I’ll never hold it against
+you. This old uniform of mine is a disgraceful affair and by all rights
+does not rate a salaam. Go; come when you’re in trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>The three saluted us though it were a pleasure, and went out.</p>
+
+<p>“If the Trente-Neuf is like its C.O,” Langdon said to his flying mates,
+“this dump’s going to be a home. Guess we can work here.”</p>
+
+<p>For anybody looking for work, the place could supply the limit. Having
+heard that the air branch was the eyes of the Army, the Artillery,
+Infantry—and even the Medical Corps, through force of bad habit—were
+incessantly asking for observations. They did not care much what was
+observed, but they liked to keep the Air Service in hot water. These old
+line branches know how easy it is to loaf when it rains, or the fog gets
+too heavy; so they figure that, being the highest branch of the Service,
+aviation should do its stuff while others sleep. And the young branch,
+extending itself to the limit, made those observations; flew when flying
+was out of the question, and sacrificed men when men were scarce.</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>That evening, by low candles in the Trente-Neuf’s mess, Langdon and his
+two mates met the outfit. Except for one, it was easy to know. That one,
+Lieutenant Charles Mudd, F.F.V., A.S., U.S.R., was hard for Langdon to
+meet because he had met him before.</p>
+
+<p>F.F.V. Mudd and Langdon had both been assigned to the 10th Aero Squadron
+for shipment overseas. Together, at Mitchel Field, they had reported in
+to the 10th’s old topkick, Sergeant Benton; and upon reporting, when the
+10th’s C.O. was absent, the Old Man had had them sign the register.
+Langdon had signed first, and in a self-conscious way.</p>
+
+<p>“Put down your rank, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Dad Benton had said. “There’s
+no misters in this man’s Army. Put down your ‘Lieutenant, First’, and
+your ‘A.S., U.S.R’.”</p>
+
+<p>Next, Lieutenant Mudd signed. But first he found a resting place for his
+swagger stick, and deposited his gold tipped cigaret on the edge of
+Dad’s blotter. And when that baby signed, he signed—and how!</p>
+
+<p>“First Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd, F.F.V., A.S., U.S.R.”</p>
+
+<p>“What the hell’s all this ‘F.F.V.’ stuff?” the old sergeant quizzed.</p>
+
+<p>“That, suh, is, First Families of Virginia,” Lieutenant Charles Surry
+Mudd answered.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, his tone of voice was the tone that should be used when a
+lieutenant speaks to an enlisted man. And it went just about as far as
+the talk of a lieutenant usually goes with an enlisted man. The old
+sergeant, with a stroke of the broad pen, struck out the F.F.V.</p>
+
+<p>“There are no F.F.V’s in this man’s Army, Lieutenant Mudd.”</p>
+
+<p>Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd stepped back. His pale face grew even
+paler. The sensitive lips and chin quivered, and the flesh above his
+knees prickled within their well tailored confines. His breath came
+hard, his eyes flooded, then the proud youth fell to chewing his lower
+lip. The Army, uncouth thing that it is, had taken him for another ride.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, deciding against mixing with a lowly sergeant, Lieutenant Mudd
+retrieved his swagger stick and cigaret, and strode to the door. He
+hesitated upon the threshold long enough to say—</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll report this, Sawgent.”</p>
+
+<p>“Report and be damned,” the old topkick mused, and closed the register.</p>
+
+<p>More than a quarter of a century in the service of Uncle Sam had placed
+Sergeant Dad Benton in a position where lieutenants, and even higher
+rankers, were of no more importance than the most lowly 10th Aero buck.
+With the ever expanding bubble that was the war of T7, wise heads of
+Dad’s caliber were only too few. Newly made captains, suddenly advanced
+majors and dizzy colonels came hurriedly into the old man’s council to
+ascertain just what gentlemen of their rank should do under this, that
+and the other condition. And they got their answers.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll find the answer to that, sir,” the old man would say, after
+twisting his long mustaches for maybe as much as ten seconds, “on page
+so and so, paragraph this or that in your Blue Book.”</p>
+
+<p>And how any man, even in twenty-seven years, could memorize—page and
+paragraph—as large a volume as Army Regulations, is beyond the
+understanding of one who could never remember which of two was the right
+foot.</p>
+
+<p>So you can see, First Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd’s report, if made,
+caused no ripple on the already troubled waters of Mitchel Field. And
+Mudd’s report, very likely, was turned in because, in the several weeks
+of his stay with the 10th, the lieutenant was hard to get along with. He
+wanted salutes from the enlisted men. Enlisted men, though, seldom
+salute those who fail to command their spontaneous respect; and Mudd was
+out of luck.</p>
+
+<p>Shortly after the 10th’s arrival upon an active field in France, a plane
+crew sent Mudd into the air with an almost empty gasoline tank, two
+flying-wire turnbuckles unsafetied and a landing gear wheel loosed and
+ready to fall off. When the motor died at five thousand feet, Mudd came
+down for a landing. When he hit the ground, the right wheel bounced
+through his lower off-side wing and went places. The small pursuit
+plane, a Nieuport 27, with one wheel missing, somersaulted three times,
+by the count, and Mudd came up from the wreckage like an angry hen from
+a messed up nest. Shades of Southern hospitality and gentility! What a
+yell went up!</p>
+
+<p>However, the 10th Aero was a good outfit. It was also a mighty useful
+outfit and had an important top sergeant in its orderly room.</p>
+
+<p>“The whole damn’ affair must have been just an accident,” Dad Benton
+convinced the benzine board appointed to smell into Mudd’s rotten
+charges. “Why, these 10th boys are worked to death. Sixty-odd pursuit
+planes in the air for five periods a day. Of course now and then
+something is going to go wrong.”</p>
+
+<p>The benzine board made its report. Headquarters made a move. Mudd was
+the pawn. And because the 10th gang ran with every other gang at
+Issoudun’s many fields, headquarters made the move big enough to put
+Mudd out of danger for all time. He, First Lieutenant Charles Surry
+Mudd, F.F.V., was sent to observation, away from Issoudun.</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>Now, with the Trente-Neuf, Langdon and Mudd were in the same outfit once
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“How are they breaking, F.F.V?” Langdon asked.</p>
+
+<p>Mudd gazed through Langdon and went to his place at table. A quiver of
+anticipation went through the room. And that told Langdon that
+Lieutenant Mudd had not changed one whit.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll remember, Lieutenant Langdon,” Mudd said, when he was seated,
+“my Army salutation is Lieutenant Mudd.”</p>
+
+<p>“The hell you tell!” Langdon smiled. “Where at is your F.F.V., Charles?”</p>
+
+<p>Mudd gave his attention to the meal. The table tried hard to smother its
+mirth, and Langdon explained—</p>
+
+<p>“Lieutenant Mudd and I made our transport with the same outfit, attached
+to the 10th Aero—”</p>
+
+<p>“The swine!” Mudd snarled.</p>
+
+<p>“The best damn’ air unit in France,” Langdon said. “That is, with the
+exception of the Trente-Neuf.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the spirit, Lieutenant Langdon!” Major Mack cheered from his end
+of the long table. “The old outfit is always good, but the new outfit,
+to be an outfit, must always be <i>the</i> outfit ... stand, devils— To the
+Trente-Neuf!”</p>
+
+<p>“This Trente-Neuf,” a man at Langdon’s right said, after the toast, “is
+a jake outfit, Langdon. There’s only one thing wrong with it.”</p>
+
+<p>He stopped talking and stared at Mudd.</p>
+
+<p>“There was only one thing wrong with the 10th,” Langdon told the man,
+“and it was the same thing. An outfit’s mistakes are its own, and the
+unpardonable mistake is the mistake made when an outfit makes the
+mistake of not rectifying its mistakes. Am I right?”</p>
+
+<p>“No mistake,” the other agreed.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning, Langdon went out on his first mission behind Mudd. That
+is, because of seniority, F.F.V. was in the front plane of a three ship
+flight. Now, this thing of following F.F.V. Mudd was not the worst
+medicine on earth, and Langdon had no kick coming. Mudd was a flying
+man, and that seems strange. None, no matter what his idea of manhood,
+could ever deny Mudd his place in air, and for more than two months now,
+he had been taking missions out and, what was more important, he was
+bringing them back. Maybe that was why the Trente-Neuf had not taken
+steps to clean up this one mistake.</p>
+
+<p>Mudd was one of those conscientious flight leaders who gave flying
+orders like a pedagogue and then expected every man to do his duty.
+There was no fun to be found behind him. The objective was the
+objective, and not fun. His unit took no long chances. If enemy planes
+were above, Mudd toured all France on their four hour DH tanks, then
+came back. Came back, got the pictures or observations, and went hell
+bent for home. A pilot might just as well have been touring France with
+the “Y”. And on more than one occasion, he had been told so; but not by
+Major Mack. No matter what the major might have thought personally, he
+stood firmly behind Mudd because of results shown. The business of an
+observation squadron is observation. Let the pursuit groups do the
+combat stuff.</p>
+
+<p>This first Front line flight of Langdon’s was the quietest thing
+imaginable. Not an enemy craft crossed their skies. He wondered where
+these comebacks from the Front got all their stuff about dog fights,
+painted circuses and German infested ceilings. And as he followed Mudd,
+above territory that should have been bad, he recalled what Rube
+Williamson had told them, back at Issoudun.</p>
+
+<p>“Hun planes! Never saw a single Hun plane in two weeks’ flying. Maybe
+they’re there for some, but they were not there for me.” And now they
+were not there for Langdon.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the eastward mission, Mudd, with the observations on the
+cuff, signaled for a turn and back home push. Then, for about ten
+minutes, Langdon kept the other two planes close in where they belonged
+and began to look about to see what he could see. They came above a road
+that was jammed with the properties of Germany’s late summer try.
+Without a great deal of thought, Langdon parted company, dropped down
+from Mudd’s six thousand feet elevation and went to strafing the enemy
+activities.</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>It was fun. It was war. It was more like it. He turned to his
+observer—a Lieutenant Akeley—and winked. Akeley stood up on his stool,
+bent over Langdon’s shoulder, and yelled:</p>
+
+<p>“Go back and give ’em hell! When you come in above that little burg
+where they were eating—where all the smoke was—sideslip and let me get
+a crack at ’em with my gun. Hop to it!”</p>
+
+<p>Langdon looked for his two companion planes. Mudd and the other had gone
+ahead. For a moment he might have hesitated. This thing of pulling a
+private strafe while detailed on a mission would not be considered
+exactly good. But being a strong youth, Langdon weakened. He flew a turn
+and went back along the German supply road.</p>
+
+<p>Where he found the field kitchens smoking, Langdon climbed to about five
+hundred feet. From that altitude, with the nose of his plane high, he
+slipped right and gave Akeley his chance with the rear gun. At the same
+time, watching his slip, he also watched Akeley and cheered the gunner
+above the roar of slipping struts and wires. At a hundred feet or less,
+he kicked out of the slip, redressed his ship, whaled full motor to the
+craft and flew across the concentration of troops—and through a hail of
+rifle fire ... Akeley went back to the Trente-Neuf a corpse in Langdon’s
+rear pit.</p>
+
+<p>At sunset, Jack Langdon sat upon his heels before a hangar, smoked, and
+tried to figure out the whole thing. Within the hangar at his back,
+under a tarpaulin, was the quiet Akeley. A short distance away, where
+the sun’s light was yet available, Trente-Neuf mechanics worked at
+patching thirty-seven holes in Langdon’s DH. The mechanics talked and
+wondered why that new bird, Langdon, did not get bumped too.</p>
+
+<p>Within his quarters, till the evening’s dusk gave way to dark,
+Lieutenant Mudd, martinet at heart, worked assiduously upon his report.
+He missed supper in its completion; then with the several pages in hand,
+the conscientious one straightened his blouse, put a rag to his boots,
+strapped on his Sam Browne and went toward Major Mack’s room. On the
+way, Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd detoured only once, and this detour
+sent him past the enlisted men’s quarters where the loungers were forced
+to snap into it and deliver the salute.</p>
+
+<p>“Too bad, Lieutenant Mudd,” Mack said as he received the report. “Hell,
+I liked Akeley. We’ll miss him. The whole Trente-Neuf will miss his
+mandolin of evenings.”</p>
+
+<p>“It was murder!” Mudd snarled. “This man Langdon— It was murder, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>“But Sergeant Rictor—” the armorer of the Trente-Neuf—“reported that
+Bob had fired several hundred rounds. His gun was still warm when
+Lieutenant Langdon returned,” Major Mack protested. “And you know Bob
+Akeley, Lieutenant. If he had a chance to go out like that, in action,
+why, the boy was at a feast with a fork in each hand.”</p>
+
+<p>This glorification of personal thrill was not for Mudd. Wordless, white
+and a-tremble, he weaved on the threshold and tried again and again for
+words. In the end, he said:</p>
+
+<p>“You have my full report, sir. A flight leader must have unbending
+discipline, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>Major Mack walked toward the window. Then, because there was nothing
+else he could do, he walked back.</p>
+
+<p>“Lieutenant Mudd,” he said. “Send Lieutenant Langdon to me.”</p>
+
+<p>Major Mack was still pacing when Langdon knocked, came in and reported.
+The Major eyed the pilot and paced once more to the east window, then he
+paced back and eyed Langdon once more.</p>
+
+<p>“What have you got to say, Lieutenant?” the superior finally asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Not a word, sir.” Langdon fought hard to swallow his grief. “I know
+I’ve pulled a star boner. Guess I’ve had my war—been hired, fed and
+fired all in a day, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Whose idea was it, Langdon?”</p>
+
+<p>“Mine, sir. As yet, I can’t always remember that I have another man
+behind me. Observers weren’t in my first schooling, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Even if the thing were excusable, Lieutenant, you should have asked
+Akeley what he thought of the plan.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe you did.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir. I just got the idea that I could do damage on that road, so I
+shoved down the nose and went. Then we got together, Akeley and I. He
+said—“‘Go back and give ’em hell!’ And we went.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought that was it!” Major Mack smiled. “Langdon, ever since Bob
+Akeley came to this squadron, at least twice a day he’s been in here
+trying to talk me into turning the squadron to pursuit. Of course we
+can’t sanction such doings, Langdon. And for my own part, I wouldn’t
+pull such a strafe. No, I’m a little too old and slow on the controls.
+You see, I like to have a little more space between my wheels and the
+ground. But I’m not so old as to be unable to appreciate the finesse of
+the thing and, Lieutenant, if we could roll back time, and circumstance
+would place Langdon in Mack’s place, and Mack in Langdon’s— Well, that
+road would have been strafed today. Maybe not as good, but after a
+fashion at least.</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>“Now, Lieutenant, I’m neither going to call out a firing squad nor mark
+you on the ground. Between you and me, aviation, as the eyes of
+artillery, doesn’t carry even the weight of a good joke. I’m an old
+artillerist myself, Langdon, and I know. So if we can wage any kind of a
+war of our own, I’m not going to stand in the way of progress. You
+understand, Langdon, I am not authorizing, sanctioning or legalizing
+future side trips; but in your own right, you are in command of one ship
+while off the ground. Orders, the best orders ever made, were only made
+to be broken. And so long as they are broken without going into the red,
+when it’s all over, there’s no kick coming. In other and fewer words—be
+sure you’re right, then go ahead and don’t slip up. The quick are always
+right in war, Langdon. But it is far better that the quick be dead than
+be wrong.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, there’s one observer in the Trente-Neuf with whom I want you to
+become well acquainted. It is Lieutenant Samter. Samter, during such
+times as Bob Akeley wasn’t pestering me, has spent much wind trying to
+show me where and how this outfit might run up a big record in combat
+victories. He’s of the opinion that an observer should only observe when
+there’s no fighting to be done. And he can do things with that rear
+machine gun, Langdon. Sergeant Rictor tells me that Samter has shown him
+more trick stuff than he’s ever seen before. And Sergeant Rictor has
+been an armorer for upward of fifteen years. If you and Samter find that
+you have much in common, come to me and we’ll talk it over. No reason at
+all why he shouldn’t hold down your rear stool on all flights . . .
+English fags, they are. Take a couple with you, Lieutenant.”</p>
+
+<p>Late into that night, Langdon and Samter talked. And they discovered
+that they had just about everything in common, including a rotten
+opinion of one Charles Surry Mudd, F.F.V. Lieutenant Samter had been
+riding behind Mudd a great deal of late, and the war had lost its
+flavor.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d rather hold on to the rear saddle of a motorbike with an enlisted
+stiff chewing hard on the handlebars,” he told Langdon. “All of the
+white haired boy’s good flying is wasted. And I’ll say old F.F.V. can
+pilot. But what’s the use of being behind him—just going the route,
+delivering the milk and coming home? There’s more thrill working at
+kitchen police where you have the ever present danger of cutting your
+finger while paring spuds, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” Langdon agreed. “The C O. gave me these cigs. They’re English.
+Ain’t they rotten, what?”</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t walk a mile,” Samter answered, “unless it was to get away
+from such smokes.”</p>
+
+<p>The next day it rained and the new team worked ship. Langdon and the
+Trente-Neuf’s head rigger washed out the outer bays of all four wings.
+Also they took out one of each pair of outside flying wires.</p>
+
+<p>“They don’t need all these wires,” the rigger agreed. “Each one of these
+cables has a breaking strength of more than two thousand pounds. When
+would you ever get such a load on a wing? Same way with the landing
+gear. You know how to set these babies down, Lieutenant. I watched you
+when you brought Akeley in yesterday. You wouldn’t have broken an egg,
+so we’ll pull out all the extras and that will help to speed the crate
+up too.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll do some streamlining on her, too. I’m glad to get a chance to see
+what can be done about pepping up a DH. I always argued that something
+could be done. They ain’t such dead culls. They’ll maneuver if you’ll
+help ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>Samter and Rictor put hour after hour on the two guns. That DH had
+surely fallen into good hands. Toward the end of day they flushed the
+water radiator, drained the old and refilled with new motor oil, cleaned
+ignition heads, and the ship was set. Then they prayed for a morrow full
+of flying weather.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning, September the twenty-third, Langdon and Samter mooched
+their way into a real melee above the road from La Harazee, where the
+77th Division was convoying guns through to the Bois des Hautes Batis.
+That fight, by rights, belonged to the pursuit gang. It was no place for
+a DH. But when Langdon and Samter pulled out, they had done damage
+enough to justify a bid for confirmation on two enemy planes. Their ship
+had been hit seven times, and Samter once. But his was just a minor rap,
+only a little job for the squadron doctor.</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>On the day following, the two wild men accounted for three of eight
+German observation balloons that had hung above the main road through
+the Vesle. And Langdon and Samter were beginning their traditional climb
+toward lasting air fame.</p>
+
+<p>On October the thirteenth, divisional headquarters called for a rock
+bound verification on all observations covering that tough stretch of
+road between Grand Pre and St. Juvin. It had been a hard line to
+bend—that German stronghold along the northern bank of the Aire: but
+now, one way or the other, it was not only going to be bent, but
+broken—and completely.</p>
+
+<p>Mudd, with four following ships, and covered from above by twelve
+pursuit planes, went out to do the job. They were nearly above Grand Pre
+before hell broke loose; and they were past St. Juvin and making a
+turnabout before the first Hun ship broke the high defense and took a DH
+off the Trente-Neuf’s rear.</p>
+
+<p>With his remaining three, stiff lipped and obstinate, Mudd flew his turn
+and went down the St. Juvin-Grand Pre line for a return whirl. Then a
+second DH fell, and Langdon broke out with combat, quit formation, and
+won another Boche ship from the milling group.</p>
+
+<p>Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd worked long and late upon another report.
+Then Major Mack paced late and long into the night and tried hard to be
+a good fellow and, at the same time, a good soldier. Which is a thing
+well nigh impossible. In the end, he called all six who had returned.
+All of Mudd’s five companions, including Mudd’s own observer, swore by
+all that might have been holy that Langdon, in quitting formation and
+taking on combat, had only done so to cover the successful retreat of
+the camera planes. And Charles Surry, F.F.V., went into the night
+talking to himself and kicking stones. That war was a war for him.</p>
+
+<p>Langdon and Samter, listening to the guns that were pouring it into
+Grand Pre and the road to the east, waited impatiently for the morrow.</p>
+
+<p>“This damn’ swagger stick dude of a muddy Mudd!” Samter said from his
+shakedown. “If the simple minded, simpering juvenile does anything more
+to tear down our meat house, Jack, I’ll work him over with a prop wrench
+on my own time. Reports for the major! He’ll make one more report to the
+Old Man and I’ll land on him so hard that his brains, if any, will
+detonate and blow some he-man color into his insipid map.</p>
+
+<p>“F.F.V.—Far From Vodka, Finest Fish Vender, Faint Falsetto Voice—I’ll
+F.F.V. the white haired, white livered rat!”</p>
+
+<p>“Check—a madman,” Langdon laughed. “Roll over, Samter, and tear off
+some sleep. Charles F.F.V. is the least of our many worries. And he’s a
+good enough gun. One Wing. The only thing is, you and I are fighting a
+different war. On the level, Mudd’s scrap is gamer than ours. His is an
+impersonal <i>guerre;</i> and he doesn’t even keep a diary.”</p>
+
+<p>“A good drunk is what Mudd needs,” Samter decided. “A trip to town, a
+big town, a good drunk and—”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s a two or three motored ship, and she’s mighty close,” Langdon
+said, as they caught the throb and pump of a night flyer. “Wish we were
+doing night missions, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ambitious guy,” Samter said to his inflated pillow. “When would Mudd
+find time to write lengthy reports?”</p>
+
+<p>“It really doesn’t make much difference,” Langdon said to his blanket,
+“because nobody ever reads them anyway.”</p>
+
+<p>During the following days, as the line pushed up through Champigneulle,
+St. Georges, Alliepont and on to Verpel, the two wild men, for the
+greater part, went it alone. Major Mack heard Mudd’s bleat often, but
+the major was too busy to bother himself with such minor distractions.
+This war was what men like Mack had lived a life for. Mudd could not be
+expected to sec this; and Mack made no effort toward proselyting F.F.V’s
+conversion to the cause of Langdon, Samter—and, if the truth must be
+known, Mack.</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>The Major was on the wing a great deal during those busy days. With his
+own eyes, he saw Langdon knock an enemy craft out of the skies behind
+Buzancy, and follow a second out of sight toward Stonne and the Meuse.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir,” Major Mack told Mudd upon his return to the ’drome. “That
+heller of a Langdon went down on a Fokker. And when the Hun fell into a
+spin, after Langdon’s first burst, the kid sideslipped right with him
+and Samter poured his load from the rear gun. They had the poor devil
+burning through the last two thousand feet. The second plane they picked
+on was doing observations near Harricourt.”</p>
+
+<p>“But it’s not consistent, sir!” Lieutenant Mudd insisted.</p>
+
+<p>“But hell, Lieutenant,” Mack said, “it is strictly American, you know.
+And when we take this out of the Yank youth, we’re eternally lost.”</p>
+
+<p>So Major Mack continued to make allowances for one of his planes which
+had no more right in an observation outfit, than has a free balloon in a
+pursuit squadron.</p>
+
+<p>On the third of November Langdon got a German ship which was busily
+strafing roads near Authe; and on the fourth he accounted for a like
+worker near Oches.</p>
+
+<p>“The damn’ gorillas—strafing our troops!” he said to Samter, as they
+regassed their ship at ten o’clock that morning.</p>
+
+<p>Then, reserviced, the two went directly into the air and strafed roads
+as far back as La Neuville and Raucourt.</p>
+
+<p>In his own way, Mudd was making history through the long hours of those
+crowded days. Time and again, even with his overhead defense shot to
+pieces, he made requested observations along the Meuse. He located
+ambushes near La Bessage and Le Vivier and dropped warning notes to the
+infantry. On a hill above a graveyard in Raucourt, there was a machine
+gun and anti-aircraft nest. Mudd wiped it out. Twice in four days he
+brought dead observers home in his rear pit. And on one of those trips
+he had landed his burning plane on the long hillside slope before
+Champigneulle.</p>
+
+<p>“But why the hell doesn’t he stay and fight?” Samter argued. “Every slug
+hole in his linen is frayed to the front. Dead observers are of no use
+to anybody. They’re not worth a dollar a thousand ... Langdon, if I ever
+see a slug coming into the rear of your crate, I’ll spray you with my
+own gun just to teach you a lesson.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I’ll pile you up surer’n hell if you do!” Langdon promised.</p>
+
+<p>There was no freebooting on the seventh. Artillery and infantry wanted
+to learn all there was to be known of the bridges on, and the terrain
+adjacent, the Meuse. Headquarters told the Trente-Neuf to “go get it”.
+And, behind Mudd, Langdon and four other pilots—three of them
+green—took off.</p>
+
+<p>At Villers Devant Mouzon, a detachment of engineers were doing their
+best to throw a path across the Meuse. The German machine gun nests and
+snipers were making of the job a nasty detail, till Mudd’s flight put an
+end to those ambushes.</p>
+
+<p>At Remilly, a like detachment was having a still harder time. And the
+covering aerial defense was no enviable task. Before the first four hour
+patrol had ended, two of Mudd’s new men had limped back to the ’drome
+with motor trouble, and one had been driven down a few kilometers east
+of the river by an enemy pursuit plane. Mudd and Langdon, close at hand,
+had seen that Trente-Neuf pilot burn his ship before he was taken
+prisoner by ground troops. Then, still behind the lines, the two had
+turned back toward the river.</p>
+
+<p>There was a heavy sky that day, November 7, and anything in the way of
+altitude had been out of the question. But now, here and there, the blue
+was breaking through and showing a higher ceiling. Suddenly, out of this
+clearer sky, a bi-motored enemy craft crossed their line of flight.
+Langdon jumped it. After a few seconds of thought, outclassed by the
+faster Yank, the enemy ship turned east. And the eager Langdon hung on.
+Mudd, after a moment, followed. Samter, as Langdon came down on the big
+ship’s tail again, thumped Langdon on the back and pointed to Mudd.</p>
+
+<p>“Old F.F.V. himself,” Samter yelled. “He’s going to pile on with us. Now
+there <i>will</i> be a war!”</p>
+
+<p>But war and a personal battle were not Mudd’s concerns. Coming east from
+the Meuse, he had spotted two Hun pursuit planes that had seen Langdon
+and the bomber.</p>
+
+<p>Mudd was pretty well off to the south, and the pair of single-seater
+Germans came down on Langdon before he could work into position. With
+the first burst of lead, Samter crumpled, shot through both legs. He
+fought to stay, clinging tenaciously to his machine gun mount. He pulled
+a belt from his flying suit, passed it through and around the gun scarf
+and worked his way to a standing position. Langdon had dived and
+slipped; now he zoomed and flew a wing-over. They came back under the
+pursuing planes—and Samter got one as they went by.</p>
+
+<p>In a moment Langdon was crowding down on the bomber and single pursuit
+ship again. And just when he came into position, his gun jammed. The
+German seemed to realize his predicament; they passed the laugh from
+ship to ship. That was a mistake on their part; it made Langdon angry.</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>The speed of the chase was the speed of the big ship out front. The
+combat plane easily maintained a position between the pursuing DH and
+the huge German, thus further increasing Langdon’s rage.</p>
+
+<p>For a few minutes, as they flew in line, the American thought hard. Then
+he gained a little altitude, and with it under him, he threw full power
+to his motor, went into a long dive and closed the distance between him
+and the pursuit plane. Before the German knew what was up, Langdon had
+hooked his left lower wingtip into the right side of the lighter craft.
+The latter’s single interwing N-strut came out, and half his lower wing
+went with it. That pilot was finished with the war.</p>
+
+<p>But Langdon’s ship could not go through such a high speed collision
+without damage. He had counted on losing a few feet of wingtip. If only
+that much were wiped off, a pilot could carry the difference of lateral
+stability by using full rudder on the opposite side from the wing so
+damaged. Also the use of aileron would help offset the loss of wing
+lift. But he had lost more than was good for the wing balance of any
+plane. He was in a bad situation.</p>
+
+<p>They had crashed at five thousand feet. Fighting to hold up the clipped
+lower left wing, he flew a flat turn to the right, covered a great deal
+of space and started back for the Meuse. But, even with full right
+rudder and his control stick clear to the side, he was losing altitude.
+He had to lose altitude in order to remain at all level. Two or three
+times, in the following five minutes, he came very close to falling into
+a spin. Each time, he dived, gained high speed and fought the craft out
+of its wing drag.</p>
+
+<p>Here and there along the Chiers River, the anti-aircraft outfits were
+sending up feelers for Langdon. Even the machinegun crews were putting
+steel through his ship as he crossed the highest spots.</p>
+
+<p>Finally he had Mairy just ahead and off to the right. It looked as
+though he would come to earth and pile up some place between the town
+and the Meuse; and as yet, the east bank of the river was in enemy
+hands. The war was just about over for two willing young men and....</p>
+
+<p>Langdon had been watching Mairy, to his right. All of a sudden the
+weight came off his weak left side. He stared, full of bewilderment, for
+Mudd’s right wings were tucked under his damaged panels and carrying the
+load. That, for Langdon and Samter, was the grandest moment of life.</p>
+
+<p>Both motors now roared full on. They lost no more altitude and the river
+became more than just a possibility.</p>
+
+<p>Samter, still hanging on his belt, shook his head and fainted. Langdon
+made sure that it was Lieutenant Charles F.F.V., shook his head and
+tended strictly to his flying. The Meuse came closer, and Archie came up
+oftener. The war was as good as over for the enemy, but they still had a
+goodly amount of ammunition on hand and they were throwing most of it
+toward Langdon and Mudd. But that did not worry Langdon now. The river
+was only a matter of short kilometers. Soon F.F.V. would be working on
+his report.</p>
+
+<p>“And he’s got me with my suspenders cut,” Langdon found time to reflect.
+“Hell, who ever heard of such a dumb thing as an intentional collision
+on the wing! Collisions are strictly for high rankers and to be made
+only upon takeoff and landing.</p>
+
+<p>“They’ll ground me for this sure. I might even draw a bobtail. And old
+kid Charlie Mudd....”</p>
+
+<p>As suddenly as he had arrived, Mudd left. A rifle shot from the east
+bank of the Meuse had found him. His plane, with dead hands and feet on
+the controls, spun into the river.</p>
+
+<div style='height:1em;'></div>
+<p>From the dressing station where Langdon sat, richly swathed in iodine
+soaked wrappings, he could watch the engineers fishing for a pilot and
+observer where the rudder of a plane waved above the surface of the
+Meuse. On a cot, where a few medical men had been busy for an hour,
+Samter was showing the first signs of returning consciousness. Now and
+then the observer had said, in delirium:</p>
+
+<p>“F.F.V. Old F.F.V., himself.”</p>
+
+<p>“We used to have one of them in this corps,” a medical private said. “He
+was from Norfolk, I think. That F.F.V. stuff stands for First Families
+of Virginia.”</p>
+
+<p>“Right you are,” Langdon mused, from where he sat.</p>
+
+<p>“Wrong as hell,” Samter mused. “It stands for Fell Flying Valiantly.”</p>
+
+<div class='tn'>
+Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April 15, 1929 issue
+of <i>Adventure</i> magazine.
+</div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76083 ***</div>
+</body>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+book #76083 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76083)