A last glimpse! She thought of that moment on the Belle o' Perth when the nearness of death from the submarine attack was so heavy upon them. She had been kinder to him then. She had let him see for a moment that she cared.
Would he remember that weakness on her part when he mounted into the skies at dawn? Or would his last thought of her be as she was when she let him go from her window without a word of cheer?
On Sanderson's part, plodding gloomily campward, he felt as though he had been guilty of a weakness in venturing to see Belinda. He had no right to try to interest the girl in his affairs. How chaotic those affairs might be in another twenty-four hours!
He had learned that afternoon that there was to be a strong air attack over the German lines. For some reason the general in command desired the Germans harassed at this point.
The town was filled with new troops and arriving guns and supplies. The loaded, low-hung wagons ground through the streets and on toward the north. Troops of all kinds marched through—the most of them fresh, lively young fellows who hailed the aviators as they passed their camp with, "Hey, Bill!" "'Ello, Charley!" "Américain Aviateur! Hi! Hi!"
A train of giant mortars had gone up only two days before, mounted on great trucks and drawn by big motor lorries. It seemed as though all the world was in arms and was deploying past that aviation camp.
The preparations for the coming flight of at least three squadrons—perhaps more—were carried on in secret; yet a bustle all through the camps preceded it. The first business was an air reconnaissance. Every pilot wished personally to see that his machine was in the best shape possible, leaving nothing to chance, and very little to the judgment of his mechanicians.
Sanderson's aeroplane was a small Nieuport—one of those called by the French appareils de chasse on account of their great speed (over one hundred miles an hour)—and had long since reached the front. The young American had been favorably marked during the winter as a cool and well-balanced pilot, with plenty of nerve and daring in reserve. His type of machine made him distinctly a fighting aviateur.
As he came back from his call upon the Red Cross nurse, foot-weary and not altogether composed in his mind, it was midnight. Before he reached the château where the members of his escadrille were quartered, he saw the bombarding unit going up—the first of this planned aerial attack on the Germans.
The machines mounted slowly, turning in great circles overhead until they reached the proper altitude—twenty-two of them. Then they vanished with their destructive bombs into the north. These bombs have propellers attached so as to retard their fall; otherwise they might sink too deeply into the earth to do much damage when they explode.