“I’m going to make the try,” said Henri, “as soon as we join the other force.”
He did make the try next day, and finally persuaded the colonel that under the constant battery fire Billy and himself would be at least as safe in the air as on the march.
“Just think, colonel, what a chance for us to do something worth while, and do it the only way we can. As soldiers we don’t count. As aviators we’re the lucky number.”
When the French commander heard that one of our Aviator Boys had an idea that his eyes were better than those of the military flyers, he amusedly assented to the proposition, but only because of the fact that there was a shortage just then in the aviation corps—two of them only the day before having sailed in the way of a shell from one of the big mortars of the enemy.
“It’s our job!”
This was the joyful announcement of Henri to his flying partner.
The next argument was with the sergeant, but he, too, was compelled to throw up his hands in surrender.
The French aviator who directed the corps told Henri that their detail was for “artillery reconnaissance.”
When Henri translated the name of their job to Billy, the latter said that “gun hunting” would serve just as well, and it could be spoken in one breath. “I haven’t enlisted on either side, mind you,” added Billy. “I am just aching to fly—that’s all.”
The French outfit included a machine “built for two,” and of a make with which the boys were familiar.