"
"Yes," agreed Jack. "Only I wish I could change places with you. I
don't like those big, heavy machines."
But orders are orders, nowhere more so than in the aviation squad,
and soon the two lads, after a hearty if hasty breakfast, were ready
for the day's work. They each realized that when the sun set they
might either be dead, wounded or prisoners. It was a life full of
eventualities.
A little later the two young airmen, in common with their comrades,
were ready. Some were to do patrol work, like Tom--that is fly over
and along the German lines in small swift, fighting planes, to
attack a Hun machine, if any showed, and to give notice of any
attack, either from the air or on the ground. The latter attacks
the airmen would observe in progress and report to the commanders of
infantry or batteries who could take steps to meet the attack, or
even frustrate it.
Tom was assigned to a speedy Spad machine, one of great power and
lightness into which he climbed. He was to fly alone, and on his
machine was a machine gun of the Vickers type, which had to be aimed
by directing, or pointing, the aeroplane itself at the enemy.
After Tom had given a hasty but careful look at his craft, and had
assured himself of the accuracy of the report of his mechanician
that it had oil and petrol, his starter took his place in front of
the propeller.
"Well, Jack," called Tom to his chum, across the field, where Jack
was making his preparations for taking up a photographer in a big
two-seated machine, "I wish you luck.
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