"Now get off at once. It is five minutes since the machine crashed. And be careful now. There are some nasty corners there, and the Germans are shelling the Ginchy lines 'hell for leather' this morning."
Then, catching sight of Cowdie, for whom he had rather a soft place in his rugged heart, the Sergeant-Major added,
"Better take the 'Spare Part' with you. You may need a second man."
"Right, sir."
The next moment the two chums, happy as schoolboys because they were entrusted with a dangerous commission, had the "New Triumph" out of the shed. Then, with Cowdie seated on the carrier, Brat on the saddle, away they went, past the aerodrome sentries, out at the gate, and down the road towards the trenches.
"Zinc-zinc-a-bonck-rep-r-r-r-r!"
But, alas, it was an adventure which was to prove something more than a joy ride, before another two hours were past.
It was a clear sunny morning as they pattered along, wondering much what new venture it was that awaited them. Over there towards Ginchy the air was thick with bursting shells, and the clear, blue sky was marked in a score of places at once by aeroplanes and kite balloons, whilst round about them were splashes of fire, and floating milk-white cloudlets where the shells burst, as the Huns tried to bring down our "birds."
An air-fight was in progress already over Ginchy; two Fokkers which had ventured near the British lines were being countered and chased by several of our Sopwiths. They were two of the very same Fokkers which had chased Dastral and the remnant of "B" Flight after their drums of ammunition were all used up.
But Dastral, where was he at this moment? This was the thought that was uppermost in the minds of the two men as they whizzed down the Ginchy road, leaving Bazentin on their left. For of all the pilots of the --th Squadron, Dastral was the greatest favourite with the men. He was so brilliant and daring that they felt they could not afford to lose him.