Joe Mauser was piloting with his left hand, his right smoothing out a chart on his lap. He growled, "What are they doing there? That's at least a full brigade of cavalry. Here, let me have those glasses."
With his knees gripping the stick, he went into a slow circle, as he stared down at the column of men. "Jack Alshuler," he whistled in surprise. "The marshal's crack heavy cavalry. And several batteries of artillery." He swung the glasses in a wider scope and the whistle turned into a hiss of comprehension. "They're doing a complete circle of the reservation. They're going to hit the Baron from the direction of Phoenicia."
X
Marshal Stonewall Cogswell directed his old fashioned telescope in the direction his chief of staff indicated.
"What is it?" he grunted.
"It's an airplane, sir."
"Over a military reservation with a fracas in progress?"
"Yes, sir." The other put his glasses back on the circling object. "Then what is it, sir? Certainly not a free balloon."
"Balloons," the marshal snorted, as though to himself. "Legal to use. The Union forces had them toward the end of the Civil War. But practically useless in a fracas of movement."