The boy thrilled at the sight, and his eyes followed the fast-flying planes until they were lost to sight behind a thin veil of whitish clouds.
“Of course, I’m pretty sure you know just what kind of work we are doing here,” said George Glenn, “but, notwithstanding, I am going to tell you a few things. Our squadron belongs to what is known as the group de combat, and it has a definite sector to cover.
“A patrol is always kept over the enemy’s lines, not only to prevent the German pilots from entering ours but to make their lives as full of spice and adventure as we possibly can.”
“Still, we have a lot to do besides fighting,” put in Albert. “Sometimes our duty is to protect the two or three-seater bombardment planes, the avions de réglage, or airplanes used by those who regulate the artillery fire, and the observation and photographic planes. The mission of the big ‘birds,’ although they are armed with two guns, and sometimes three, is a purely defensive one.”
“Quite often,” chimed in George, “escorting bombardment and photographic planes, we travel quite a long distance into ‘Germany,’ as we call the other side of the barbed wire entanglements.”
“It must be wonderful!” cried Don.
“Some of our experiences are, I can assure you,” returned George, with a half smile. “Now, Don, here is something the captain is going to tell you, and if you value your life and my piece of mind you will implicitly obey his instructions.”
“Fire away!” said Don.
“It is to stick by the formation—always! The Germans have a habit of pouncing down upon stragglers, and unless the pilot combines skill, resourcefulness and courage in equal proportions, or sheer good luck intervenes, it is apt to be good-night.”
“You can trust me not to get lost,” said Don, with a serious look in his eyes. “But, boys, I want to see my plane—I must see my plane, and, as the captain is right here on the field, I reckon he’ll show it to me.”