The two fighting airmen had left Vauciennes at two o'clock in the
afternoon, and at quarter-past three they landed, conquerors, at
Carrière l'Evêque. From their opposing camps the infantry had followed
the fight with their eyes. The Germans, made furious by defeat,
cannonaded the landing-place. Georges, who was too thin for his clothes,
and whose leather pantaloons lined with sheepskin, which he wore over
his breeches, slipped and impeded his walking, sat down under the
exploding shells and calmly took them off. Then he placed the machine in
a position of greater safety, but broke the propeller on a pile of hay.
During this time a crowd had come running and now surrounded the
victors. Artillery officers escorted them off, sentinels saluted them, a
colonel offered them champagne. Guerder was taken first into the
commanding officer's post, and on being questioned about the maneuver
that won the victory excused himself with modesty:

"That was the pilot's affair."

Guynemer, who had stolen in, was willing to talk.

"Who is this?" asked the colonel.

"That's the pilot."

"You? How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"And the gunner?"

"Twenty-two."