the machine.

But apart from active fighting, take such a common experience as what is
called "a long reconnaissance." Pilot and observer receive their orders
to reconnoitre "thoroughly" a certain area. It may be winter, and the
cold at the height of many thousand feet may be formidable indeed. No
matter. The thing is done, and, after hours in the freezing air, the
machine makes for home; through a winter evening, perhaps, as we saw the
two splendid biplanes, near the northern section of the line, sailing
far above our heads into the sunset, that first day of our journey. The
reconnaissance is over, and here is the first-hand testimony of one who
has taken part in many, as to what it means in endurance and fatigue:

"Both pilot and observer are stiff with the cold. In winter it is often
necessary to help them out of the machine and attend to the chilled
parts of the body to avoid frost-bite. Their faces are drawn with the
continual strain. They are deaf from the roar of the engine. Their eyes
are bloodshot, and their whole bodies are racked with every imaginable
ache. For the next few hours they are good for nothing but rest, though
sleep is generally hard to get. But before turning in the observer must
make his report and hand it in to the proper quarter."

So much for the nights which are rather for observation than fighting,
though fighting constantly attends them. But the set battles in the air,
squadron with squadron, man with man, the bombers in the centre, the
fighting machines surrounding and protecting them, are becoming more
wonderful, more daring, more complicated every month. "You'll see"--I
recall once more the words of our Flight-Commander, spoken amid the
noise and movement of a score of practising machines, five weeks before
the battle of Arras--"when the great move begins _we shall get the