It was an ideal morning for crossing the lines. Convenient cloud banks were excellent havens in case of surprise, and Archie fire was less accurate when the gunners had to contend with a ship that plunged into concealing clouds and out again at the most unexpected places. Of course, those same clouds offered concealment for enemy planes, but a pilot crossing the lines alone is considerably advantaged by such a sky as McGee was now studying approvingly.
As McGee started toward the hangars he saw that some of the ground crew were wheeling out Siddons’ Nieuport. Well, the Major had stuck to his resolution and the order had gone through.
“Where’s Lieutenant Siddons going?” McGee asked the Ack Emma who was making a careful check of the plane.
“Don’t know, sir. Got orders last night to have her ready.”
“Did Sergeant Williams get orders for my plane?”
“Yes, sir. Are you and Siddons goin’ over on patrol, Lieutenant?”
“I can’t answer for Siddons,” McGee evaded. “You’d better ask him.”
“Huh! A lot of good it would do. Honest, Lieutenant, 170that fellow talks less to us than a cigar store Indian talks to the customers–and that’s less than nothin’. He thinks we’re worms!”
McGee was about to offer his sympathies when another crew, under Sergeant Williams, came rolling the Camel out to the line. McGee began checking it over with the same minute care which had doubtless gone a long way toward making him an ace. He left inspection to no man. His air mechanic, knowing this, was equally careful in his work. This diminutive lieutenant was as mild as an April morning so long as all was well, but when something went wrong he could say more than a six foot Major-General.
“All set, Sergeant?” McGee asked, finishing his inspection.