Dimly they rose up, up, still up,
six thousand, eight, even ten thousand feet, the last height mainly for
the fighting scouts, the battle and bombing machines keeping lower down.
Over No-Man's-Land they flew towards the battle-torn trenches behind
which lay the Boches. Tiny specks began to rise up far to the eastward
in the German rear. They were the enemy planes coming to meet them.
In number they seemed to be somewhat equal to our own fleet. The
Allies might have fought these, but such was not the present game.
They were there to protect their side; while the Allies were out first
to destroy, to smash the morale of the soldiers below, to shatter and
mutilate and terrorize those in the trenches before our infantry, now
probably starting out, should be where their own conclusive work would
begin.
Those lads whom we have followed through these pages were flying close
together, keeping well to the front, watching signals from the
commander and ready, more than ready, each to do his part. With Blaine
was Stanley, his observer, both closely watching. When over the first
line trenches, they at once let go the first rack of bombs. All the
other planes, in accord with their individual capacity, did the same.
A veritable hell beneath was let loose by that swiftly moving line.
Lower down came the signals and more racks of bombs were let loose. So
swift were their movements that one might hardly see what results were
being obtained; but from the yells, shrieks, explosions and clouds of
debris below, it was evident that the destruction was great.
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