We were at that moment at a fixed altitude and I saw Armengaud twist to the right and to the left in the fuselage, looking for a safe spot to land——
All at once the wind whistled loudly and we assumed a dangerous slant. At certain moments the machine rocked—it did not seem to be going ahead—then it recovered its nose.
"I do not see a place to put it!" Armengaud cried:
"Douaumont, Douaumont is ours!"
It did not matter to me, although we fell; it was perhaps death, but—Douaumont was ours!
The ground seemed to approach very rapidly; Major Armengaud guided his airplane toward a little prairie north of Dugny, bordered by two gullies. We landed easily on the ground, but our "cuckoo" broke a hidden telephone wire——
"Hein! what do you think about it, Capart?"
"What a spectacle—you're an ace, major!"
I jumped at the same moment under the fuselage to connect the telephone wire he had cut. At the same time the major examined his motor—it was a trivial matter and soon repaired!
At the end of half an hour we got the motor running and once more rose in the air.