under the barrier fire, wires from the front lines are cut. Sometimes
it falls to our lot to guard these machines from Germans eager to
swoop down on their backs. Sailing about high above a busy flock of
them makes one feel like an old mother hen protecting her chicks.


"NAVIGATING" IN A SEA OF CLOUDS

The pilot of an _avion de chasse_ must not concern himself with the
ground, which to him is useful only for learning his whereabouts.
The earth is all-important to the men in the observation,
artillery-regulating, and bombardment machines, but the fighting
aviator has an entirely different sphere. His domain is the blue
heavens, the glistening rolls of clouds below the fleecy banks
towering above, the vague aerial horizon, and he must watch it as
carefully as a navigator watches the storm-tossed sea.

On days when the clouds form almost a solid flooring, one feels very
much at sea, and wonders if one is in the navy instead of aviation.
The diminutive Nieuports skirt the white expanse like torpedo boats in
an arctic sea, and sometimes, far across the cloud-waves, one sights
an enemy escadrille, moving as a fleet.

Principally our work consists of keeping German airmen away from our
lines, and in attacking them when opportunity offers. We traverse the
brown band and enter enemy territory to the accompaniment of an
antiaircraft cannonade. Most of the shots are wild, however, and we
pay little attention to them. When the shrapnel comes uncomfortably
close, one shifts position slightly to evade the range. One glances up
to see if there is another machine higher than one's own. Low and far