While at breakfast in the prefecture at Laon we heard the cannoneer-sharpshooters when they opened on him; and as we ran to the windows--we Americans, I mean, the German officers breakfasting with us remaining to finish their coffee--we saw a colonel, whom we had met the night before, sitting on a bench in the old prefecture flower garden and looking up into the skies through the glasses that every German officer, of whatsoever degree, carries with him at all times.
He looked and looked; then he lowered his glasses and put them back into their case, and took up the book he had been reading.
"He got away again," said the colonel regretfully, seeing us at the window.

"Plucky fellow, that! I hope we kill him soon.

The airmen say he is a Frenchman, but my guess is that he is English." And then he went on reading.
Getting back to the afternoon before, I must add that it was not a bomb which the flying man threw into the edge of the woods.

He had a surprise for his German adversaries that day.

Soon after we left the stand of the field guns a civilian Red Cross man halted our machines to show us a new device for killing men.