As Belinda was told, during the confusion of the hospital's evacuation the squadron of American flying men had made a splendid record in the action. One pilot had been lost with his machine. But it was not Frank Sanderson. It was the latter, however, who earned the title of "ace" in the earlier days of the battle.
His own Nieuport was pretty well riddled in his exploits, and he was forced to accept the loan of another aeroplane or remain idle while his machine was undergoing repairs.
Idleness, while his brother aviators were in the air, was farthest from Frank Sanderson's desire. Although the slight wounds he had received on the first day of the general engagement made him both stiff and sore, he was quite able to pilot a machine. And there was something of importance in the wind—a bold strategy—in which he desired to have a part.
The aviation camps were moved back. There were engagements every day between the French and German aircrafts. The first air attack by the Lafayette Escadrille and the other squadrons of the French Flying Corps here in the field had stirred up a veritable hornet's nest along the sector.
It had become a duel between the flying men of the two armies. At dawn, or before, the battleplanes mounted into the air behind the lines, and attack and counter-attack was the order during most of the day. There was usually a breathing space at noon, or thereabout, for the remous are more frequent then, and no aviator cares to manipulate an aircraft in attack while these "holes in the air" are present.
When the retreat had begun Frank Sanderson had been personally unable to look for Belinda. He was told the members of the Red Cross unit had all escaped from the hospital in which she worked, save the médecin chef himself, who had lingered behind to be killed by a shell.
The French retreat was, however, suddenly halted. A corps of Petain's "iron men" reinforced the broken but sullen ranks of the first-line fighters. These veterans stemmed the tide of Germans. Neither steel nor lead, gas nor liquid fire, could make these Verdun heroes give way before the hated enemy. The two lines were deadlocked on the front of this sector while the French and British, on either flank, slowly advanced to crush the German hordes.
Such strategy, however, was quite unseen by the ordinary fighting men. Even from the altitude scaled by the airmen the wisdom and the farsight of commanders were not understood.
Like the veriest private in the ranks, the aviators obeyed orders—nothing more. Frank Sanderson went up with his squadron and "did his bit" as best he could.
It was in a raid upon the German captive balloons—the first successful attack ever made upon the "saucisses"—that the young American aviator took a special part and in which he won honor.