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I had several trips over the lines and several flights.  Then late in the afternoon of July 25th Lieut. Erwin, Pilot and I had our first "hoop" together.  Our adventurous and lucky career immediately set in.  He was a stranger to me and I stranger to him.  I did know one thing though: that only a few days before, he had brought home a dead observer in the rear cock-pit.  I had seen the precious human blood all over the floor of the cock-pit and splattered over the outside of the fuselage.  The mechanics had washed it off as best they could and put a coat of dark blue paint over the floor of the cock-pit.  I never was very superstitious but I must confess that I didn't feel any too comfortable.  I tried to "kid" myself into believing that two people couldn't die in the same place, and therefore the chances were in my favor.  Since I had never heard of two people dying in the same place I gradually began to believe my own doctrine.
    Anyway I was in the ship and were were whizzing through space faster than 100 miles per hour towards the lines, and about 2000 meters high.  Therefore I had to make my philosophy fit the occasion.
    It was ship No.8, a machine that was destined to take us thru so much excitement and so many narrow escapes that I don't hesitate to say that we always had a third passenger -- and that was God.    
    We had a load of propaganda on board that we were to drop, among other things that we intended to do.  We were just reaching the lines when we saw a "dog-fight" taking place over in a corner of the sky, about over Beauvardes, between 6 or 8 Boche chasse and 5 or 6 Americans.  It was a battle royal.  And out brave and fearless, though inexperienced, American flyers were giving a good account of themselves against their more experienced adversaries.  I almost jumped up and down in the fuselage and clapped my hands with patriotic glee.  Everybody was busy trying to entertain the other fellow.  It seemed that everybody was trying to make everybody welcome.  On second glance we saw the Boche had the American slightly outnumbered, and we couldn't stand for that; so we didn't do a thing but go crashing madly over to them with our bristles up like wild and angry boar.  We didn't propose to see our American brothers overpowered by an enemy in both number and experience.  We had no more than thrown ourselves into the fracas when two of the damn Boche got on our tail and began giving the warmest reception either of us had ever received.  Their tracer bullets were going through every part of the machine.  But it was not idle.  I had a pair of twin Lewis machine guns and they were beauties.  They were working like a streak of greased lightning; and I had them both wide open, sending a double stream of fire into one of the devils that was trying so desperately to get us.  One of the American chasse pilots dove on the other Boche and began entertaining him.  Presently my adversary went down in a steep glide towards his own lines.  But I didn't have time to see if the latter went out of control or whether I had put his motor on the bum and caused him to make forced landing.  About that time we saw a Boche bi-plane (two-seater) observation machine 1500 meters below us going around and around with one of our bi-places that was doing an infantry liaison.  So we immediately started down after the brute.  We were then about 2000 meters altitude, but the boche saw us coming down upon him like the wrath of God from Heaven, which he knew was due him, and immediately beat it for home.
    This was the same flight, I think in which one of the chasse men (of the First Pursuit Group) brought down a Boche Captain, that is, forced him to land on our side of the lines, and having a bullet through his own motor he landed beside the Boche machine, and the conqueror and conquered got in an automobile and rode back to headquarters together.
    Erwin and I climbed back up to about 2000 meters and went over into "Germany", five or six kilometers east of Fere-en-Tardenois, and dropped our propaganda.