There had been a fight in the upper air and one of the French
machines had not come home.
"Another man to await news of," said the flight lieutenant sadly,
when the report reached him. "That's two in two days."
"No news of Leroy yet?" asked Tom and Jack, as they went out of
headquarters after reporting.
"None, I am sorry to say. It is barely possible that he landed in
some lonely spot and is still hiding out--if he is not killed. But
I understand you two young men had something to request of me. I
can give you some attention now," went on the commander of their
squadron.
"We want to be transferred!" exclaimed Tom. "Now, that Pershing's
men are here--"
"I understand," was the answer. "You want to fight with your
countrymen. Well, I would do the same. I will see if I can get you
transferred, though I shall much regret losing you."
He was as good as his word, and a week later, following some
strenuous fights in the air, Tom and Jack received notice that they
could report to the first United States air squadron, which was then
being formed on that part of the front where the first of Pershing's
men were brigaded with, the French and British armies.
Du Boise, who had brought word back of the fate that had befallen
Harry Leroy, sent for Tom and Jack when it became known that they
were to leave.
"Shall I ever see you again?" he asked wistfully.
"To be sure," was Tom's hearty answer.
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