“If anything should happen to Parker, be sure what you take on before you go after the plane he first tackled, for usually you will find more than one plane about over there on their side.  Don’t forget one thing.  If you find that you are surrounded run for it.  That machine you are to fly will give them a chase, no matter how they are mounted.  Remember, we haven’t many of those, yet, and cannot afford to lose any.”  As he said this, the officer laughed.

Jimmy felt he should have smiled, too, but his head was too full of his job.  He said “Yes, sir,” quite seriously, and turned to give his machine a final tuning up.

Jimmy jumped into the driving seat with a very determined feeling.  He must give a good account of himself, come what might.  He fixed his head-gear a bit tighter, pulled on his gloves, and tried the position of his machine-gun.  There it sat, just above the hood, a bit to the right, almost in front of Jimmy.  He felt a sudden affection for it.  How it would make some Boche sit up if he came into range!

The wheels were blocked with shaped pieces of wood, and Jimmy nodded to his mechanics to start the engine.  One whirl of the shining blades, and the engine started, to roar away in deafening exuberance of power as it warmed to its work.  Something was not quite right.  The rhythm was not just perfect.  Jimmy stopped the engine, ordered a plug changed, and then, the order executed in a jiffy, nodded to his men to once more start the motor.  This time the engine droned out a perfect series of explosions.

The flight sub-commander stepped beside the fuselage as Jimmy shut off the engine, and said:  “I have given detailed instructions to Parker.  You are to watch him and stay with him.  If you by any chance lose him, come back.  Are your maps and instruments all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Then off with you, and good luck.  You will be doing this sort of thing every day before long, but I expect it seems a bit new to you at first.”

“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.”

A final nod to his men—–­the roar once more, louder, more vibrant, more defiant than ever—–­a quick signal of the hand, and the cords attached to the blocks under the wheels were given a jerk.  Jimmy was off on his dangerous mission!

Old force of habit, a relic of earlier days of aeronautics, sent the men to the wings, where they gave the big dragon-fly an unnecessary push.  After a run of a few feet Jimmy raised her suddenly, swiftly, and she darted up almost perpendicularly.  He realized as never before that he was mounted on a machine that could probably outclimb and outtrick any antagonist he was likely to meet.

“This is sure some bus,” he thought to himself.  “I guess she will do all that is asked of her, whatever she runs into.  So it’s up to me.  If I fly her right she will come home, sure.”

As he climbed into the clear sky he could see Parker’s machine ahead, circling higher and higher.  He was glad Parker was going, too.  There was an odd but unmistakable sense of companionship in having Parker up there ahead, though at fifteen thousand feet up or more, and at eight hundred to a thousand feet distant, it seemed silly to think of a man as “near” in case of trouble.  Beside, he was to guard Parker, and no one was to guard him.