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^[[October 2, 1973.]]

Dear Wanda, Jessica and Ted:

As we finished at the observers' school each of us was sent to serve for a few weeks at the front with the French.  That began in March of 1918, and early in May the first ones sent out were recalled.  The American observation squadrons began to be formed and put into action.  I was one of 30 observers sent out from Amanty under an order dated April 6.  The prospect of becoming a target scared me rather more than I had expected, but I tried not to let it show.  I had asked for and trained for that kind of job.  I took comfort in the thought that my first excursions over the lines would be with experienced pilots, and on some relatively peaceful sector of the front.

At that point in time (notice how I pick up modern expressions) the whole stretch of front held by the French was quiet.  With the Russians out of the war, the Germans and Austrians had been able during the winter to move all their forces to the west.  They had virtually knocked out the Italians.  They had mauled the British badly in early spring offensives.  The French knew their turn would come, but not when or where.  As it turned out, the sector to which I was sent remained quiet until a week or so after I had left.  Then hell broke loose.

Nine of us were assigned to the Fourth French Army, and reported to its air service headquarters at Chalons-sur-Marne.  There we were divided among three autos that took different roads toward the front.  With me were John Roulhac, a Sewanee man from Memphis, and Sam Bowman, a Princeton man from somewhere in Ohio.  We took the road that leads northwestward toward Reims, slightly more than fifty miles from Chalons.  Between them lies level farming country, some of the best in France.  We were in Champagne.  About fifteen miles short of Reims we stopped at a big estate on the left of the road, the Ferme d'Alger or Algiers Farm.  It had a flying field occupied by the 40th Salmson squadron.

The  manor house was used as a billet for the officers and also housed the office of the squadron. Rouuhac and I shared a big bedroom, in which we set up our army cots.  Each morning about 7:30 there was a knock on our door.  It was a middle-aged orderly in a baggy blue uniform, bringing our breakfasts.  We got to big slices of toasted