"What say you to a trip in her this evening? There'll be plenty of time before dusk, old fellow."
"Yes, I'm quite agreed, even if it's only a joy-ride to try her, for to-morrow we go over there," said the pilot, flinging away the stump of his cigar, and jerking his thumb in the direction of his shoulder.
"Over where?" asked Jock, straightening himself from the stooping position he had assumed, to examine the baffle-plates on the propeller.
"Over the German lines," came the reply.
"Really! You mean it, and so soon?"
"Yes, to-morrow at dawn we go over on a reconnaissance; C.O.'s orders."
"Good!" exclaimed the observer, throwing down a spanner which he still held in his hand.
"And here's a map of the section in front of our lines. We must spend the evening over it."
So that evening, after the machine had been got quite ready for her next flight, they spent four hours over the map, scaling it out, and committing to memory the names of villages, hamlets, rivers, canals, roads and railway lines, so that when they retired to bed, the whole of the map was actually photographed upon their minds.
Morning came at length, and at the first whisper of dawn, having received their detailed orders from the Squadron-Commander, four or five aeroplanes were wheeled out on to the aerodrome, then taxied off quickly and disappeared in the dark. The last of the flight was the hornet, with Dastral and Jock starting on their first real venture over the enemy's lines.