Subjoined to this order was a list of items which might be more or less helpful in locating his destination, and so forth.
Notwithstanding the very explicit character of these instructions, it is plain that they left much to the flier’s judgment and resource. I suspect that Slade’s superiors were in possession of secret information which they did not think it necessary to give the volunteer, but which might have afforded him some reassurance in so hazardous a trip. For one thing, I understand it was known at the time that the news of the ridiculous loss of the Hun machine had been suppressed within the enemy lines. Whether this was the work of the authorities of the prison camp in collusion with the German flier, I do not know, but enemy prisoners (even officers) taken by the French and Americans professed complete ignorance of this inglorious loss of one of their machines. Perhaps it was this that determined the use of the Hun plane in this delicate business.
Captain Whitloss says that Slade repeated his instructions word for word in a “kind of dull, monotonous tone” correcting himself even in the most trifling details, then signed the formidable documents in a scrawling hand. I saw this signature. It was written in a firm, but very careless, hand and read simply Tom Slade. After that he played checkers until three in the afternoon when, upon verbal orders, he left the airdrome. (Orders regarding time of departure are seldom known in advance.)
Alighting in Suippes, he was outfitted with the shabby garment of a German flier—remnant, I suppose, of some hapless enemy captive. He showed no surprise to find here that his “credentials” consisted merely of a tarnished brass button.
“Will I give him this?” was all he said.
Suippes is (or was) just a couple of miles behind the line and here Slade remained through the early part of the evening, pitching ball until it was too dark and then watching the boys playing cards in the Y. M. C. A. hut. A little after ten o’clock he was ordered out upon his perilous errand.
Of the flight itself I know nothing, for I never saw Slade, and he was never thereafter able to make a satisfactory report. But the proof of the pudding is in the eating.
The night was crisp and clear with a strong breeze blowing out of the north, and the sky thick with stars. It was the same night that Aiken fell to his death from a height of nearly 3,000 feet and the descent of his machine, I am told, was plainly seen. So the conditions attending Slade’s departure were propitious for his purpose. Indeed, if they had not been so his start would have been deferred, I suppose. At 10.25 he was reported passing over St. Estey, flying low, his propeller making that distinctive intermittent whir which is characteristic of German aircraft. St. Estey is right in the “front of the front,” just within the first line trenches. It is told that a group of German prisoners there at the time rejoiced that one of their fliers was getting back home safely and that one of them raised his hand toward the plane and called, “Prosit!”
So Tom Slade went forth upon his dangerous business with the best of good wishes on the part of his enemies!