honoured for the Germans they had brought down. Rockwell and Hall
received the _Medaille Militaire_ and the _Croix de Guerre_, and Thaw,
being a lieutenant, the _Legion d'honneur_ and another "palm" for the
ribbon of the _Croix de Guerre_ he had won previously. Thaw, who came
up from Paris specially for the presentation, still carried his arm in
a sling.

There were also decorations for Chapman, but poor Victor, who so often
had been cited in the Orders of the Day, was not on hand to receive
them.


THE MORNING SORTIE

Our daily routine goes on with little change. Whenever the weather
permits--that is, when it isn't raining, and the clouds aren't too
low--we fly over the Verdun battlefield at the hours dictated by
General Headquarters. As a rule the most successful sorties are those
in the early morning.

We are called while it's still dark. Sleepily I try to reconcile the
French orderly's muttered, _C'est l'heure, monsieur_, that rouses me
from slumber, with the strictly American words and music of "When That
Midnight Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam'" warbled by a particularly
wide-awake pilot in the next room. A few minutes later, having
swallowed some coffee, we motor to the field. The east is turning gray
as the hangar curtains are drawn apart and our machines trundled out
by the mechanicians. All the pilots whose planes are in
commission--save those remaining behind on guard--prepare to leave.
We average from four to six on a sortie, unless too many flights have