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German planes I'd seen. I certainly didn't like the black shells the Huns put near me and I'm not ashamed to confess my w wind was up to a degree. Phew! In the middle of the afternoon of this exquisite day for flying - light fleecy clouds and bright sun, so that you were in another world after 6000 feet - came the short and (not) sweet second twinge of the chords that contract when the inevitable death seems near. It's all laughable afterwards, but at the time with a damned jammed old gun (made in U.S.A. under profiteers contracts, I suppose) I felt far from at ease. A group of us were outside the Operations office when a flock of [["cr-ump!"?]] shells [[betsherod?]] the activities of E.A. and the French anti-aircraft. The bursts were plainly visible, in the clear sky, in the direction of Dieulouard and before the alert came in