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MEN DIE IN FAULTY PLANES

The machine I've been flying has been condemned, so I expect to be sent back to get another one, a brand new one that has never been on the front. Twenty-five pilots in the last month have been killed by wings dropping off. I've seen twelve go and it surely takes the old pep out of you. I was above one and saw his wing crumple, then fall. A man is so utterly helpless he must merely sit there and wait to be killed, and when you're flying the same type of machine it doesn't help your confidence any. I was glad they condemned mine, for I've put my old "cuckoo" through some awful tests and it's about ready to fall apart.

We expect to change soon and go up to a new offensive in FIf I get through that I'm going to change over to the American army. They have offered me a commission and I think I'll take it. My fingers are cramped and my feet have long since been numb. Now I'm going to wrap up in my fur leathers and go to bed. This is war.

FIGHTS WITH FLYING CIRCUS

Feb. 1, 1918.-Had a great time this last week, and made six long bombardments. For the first three times we had no trouble getting across whatsoever. Coming out the last three times we got some real competition. It was in the form of the flying circus or "tangoes," which consists of fifteen of the best pilots in Germany, commanded by Baron von Richthofen, who seems a good sort, for when you fight him and you both miss he waves and we wave back. We had been at it consistently for four days, and so they sent these birds down opposite us to stop us. We had been in Germany for some distance and had reached our objective and bombed it. There was a heavy fog below us, so I took a couple of turns to make sure we could see our objective. We dropped our bombs and then I turned to the right to see the damage. I had to take a large turn, for the "archies" were shooting pretty close. I looked for my escadrille, and saw these machines way off in the distance. I started for them and soon caught up with them. Then I swerved and dipped up to them, for I thought them a little strange. I got up closer, and, wow! all three dived at me like a rock and bullets flew by me, cutting my plane, so I pulled up at them, fired, swerved so my gunner could let them have it also and then saw the iron cross flash by, so I knew it was the Huns. I started getting altitude and went up high and then the boches got the sun between them and my plane and came again, but I thought this would happen and "peaked." They went under me and that left me on top, so I gave them about 120 bullets, and one went for home. The other two came by again and I went into a tight spiral so my gunner could pump at them-but nothing doing. They beat it home and so did I, for it had been three to one.

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1. French Cuirassier being fed by Belgian woman. 2. Major Richardson of the British Army and two of his bloodhounds used to find wounded soldiers on Belgian battlefields. (International News Service.)

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[graphic][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed]

Above-Red Cross men tenderly caring for the wounded. The services of the American Red Cross were invaluable to the army in France and won the admiration of all the Allies.

Below-Wounded man making his way painfully back to the rear, with grim determination to keep going and all the grit of the typical American soldier. (Official Photos by Signal Corps, U. S. A.)

[graphic]

Canadian troops resting in a trench on the hard-won Wotan line of the Germans, which was captured on the previous day after a desperate struggle that resulted in the rout of the enemy. (Canadian official photograph.)

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A Boche concrete gunpit used by its captors. Many of these strongholds were constructed so massively that the enemy could not destroy them even when they retired.

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