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the Moselle. Putnam and I jumped in motorcycles, scooted [[jauntedly?]] to the hangars and had our machines rolled out. The weather was wretched with but few rifts in the clouds and clouds themselves were at 1000 meters. I circled the field waiting for the others but they were too long coming so I headed toward Nancy and took up a patrol along the river to Port-a-Moussey. Nothing was in sight so I took a further trip along the trench line. The shot-up sections were too plainly evident. When I got into a cloud bank several times by the thick mist suddenly enveloping me, and found