“And twenty seconds before that you would have been a sieve, if either of us had been a Boche.”
I yielded the point to save further argument.
He had come swooping down fairly suddenly. When I saw him making his way so saucily among the éclatements I felt my confidence returning in increasing waves. I began to use my head, and found that it was possible to make the German gunners guess badly. There was no menace in the sound of shells barking at a distance, and we were soon clear of all of them.
J. B. took me aside the moment I landed. He had one of his fur boots in his hand and was wearing the other. He had also lighted the cork end of his cigarette. To one acquainted with his magisterial orderliness of mind and habit, these signs were eloquent.
“Now, keep this quiet!” he said. “I don't want the others to know it, but I've just had the adventure of my life. I attacked a German. Great Scott! what an opportunity! and I bungled it through being too eager!”
“When was this?”
“Just after the others dove. You remember—”
I told him, briefly, of my experience, adding, “And I didn't know there was a German in sight until I saw the smoke of the tracer bullets.”
“Neither did I, only I didn't see even the smoke.”
This cheered me immensely. “What! you didn't—”