We flew above St. Michel Hill at the moment when our 400 shell fell on Douaumont and on Vaux, throwing up columns of earth and smoke.
From Fort Douaumont rise big voluted shafts of smoke. Fortunately our artillerymen had found the joint in the armor——
Not a boche avion in the air. What matter! This spectacle is so thrilling, that, for the moment, my machine-gun gets very little use——
The poilus themselves must be there in the trenches, waiting the hour of attack. I cannot see them, but my heart and thoughts go out to them.
I had the impression from that very moment the recapture of Fort Douaumont was certain——
We landed in about an hour without a single incident——
DOUAUMONT.
October 24, 1916.
It is maddening. It is raining. At the aviation field where I am, everybody is effervescent. The first results of the day are magnificent, the poilus advanced along the entire line!
Unluckily it is necessary to renounce any thought of flying and the attendant consternation is general. Some "cuckoos" essayed to go up in the driving rain. They kept close to earth—they flew blindly and were shot at a few times——