This sally raised a general laugh, and Bob Haines said quietly:  “If a bunch goes out to-morrow and we are all in it, I for one certainly hope that you are in it, too, Richardson.  I do not see any harm in thinking we are better than the German fliers.  I believe we are, and I would like nothing better than to have one good combined go at Brother Boche before we leave this part of the line.”

Bob said this in such a serious tone that Parker, who had come in late and was devouring a huge plate of corned beef.—–­“bully,” as he called it—–­and a big pile of bread and butter, looked up and nodded his approval.  “Me, too,” Parker said, between bites.

“What we want and what we will get may be two very different things,” said Harry Corwin.  “We have never built any castles in the air yet that materialized.  I guess our combined raid, much as we might enjoy it, will be a long time coming.”

Harry was wrong.  Two days later, the flight commander received orders to carry out certain observation work and certain bombing work in the same sector of the enemy’s territory.  The two new triplanes were to be used as a bombing machine and an observation machine respectively.  The flight commander assigned the piloting of the first machine to Richardson and the second to Bob Haines.  To Bob’s delight Dicky Mann was chosen as his observer.  Four of the wasp-like hunter machines, the swiftest planes in the airdrome, were to accompany the two triplanes.  The pilots selected for these four one-man fliers were Parker, Jimmy Hill, Joe Little and Harry Corwin.

The six machines were in the air before the boys realized that they had their wish of two nights before.  The roar of the six engines filled the airdrome.  Circling up, before the planes had risen more than a few hundred feet, they began to take up their respective positions according to instructions.  The two heavier machines hung comparatively low, while the four hunters, light and agile, climbed higher and higher, above and on each side of the larger machines below them.  The great wing spread of the triplanes, and the huge, ugly fuselage of the bombing machine, were in sharp contrast to the dainty, wasp-bodied hunters.

Richardson’s little major sat behind the machine-gun that was mounted on the front of the fuselage of the big bombing machine.  There were sufficient high explosive bombs at his feet and suspended around the cock-pit of the fuselage to do great damage if properly directed.  Dicky Mann was perched out on the very nose of the observation plane.  On one side of him was his Lewis gun, on the other his camera.  The great power of the triplanes had made it possible for the fuselage on each one to be lined with light splinter-proof armoring, which gave the occupants an added sense of security.

The four hunters sailed high out of sight of the two big triplanes.  It was a day of spotted clouds, a day of a sort of hide-and-seek in the air.  Up twenty thousand feet, nearly four miles above ground, the quartette made for the appointed place, then took up their positions and circled round waiting for developments.