DIRECT METHODS
A De Haviland airplane was spiraling down over the level expanse ofLangham Field. As the slim young pilot in the front seat slowlythrottled the big Liberty motor which had carried the ship fromWashington, the passenger peered down interestedly. Twenty-two massivetwin-motored bombers were lined up on the Eastern edge of the field,nose to nose in two lines. They looked like waiting monsters, slothfulbut terrible in their suggestion of power. The sinking sun sent shaftsof light flashing from the metal, and as the dropping De Haviland gavethe two flyers constantly changing angles of vision it seemed as thoughthe ships were alive, so blinding was the play of light from glisteningturn-buckles and the glass covers of the instruments on each motor.
The D. H. landed lightly, the pilot taking unusual care to avoid runninginto the lines of ships which cut off a quarter of the field. He taxiedto the line. Before he had finished running the gas out of his motor hispassenger was out of the back cockpit and had removed the flyingcoveralls he wore. He was in civilian clothes. He took a soft hat fromthe rear, put it on, lit a cigar and waited for the pilot.
When that gentleman had leaped out and lit a cigaret the civilianstretched out his hand.
“Thank you, lieutenant, that was fine. I enjoyed it greatly. Would youmind seeing to it that my suitcase is unstrapped and sent up to GeneralO’Malley’s office? Thank you. That is headquarters up there, is it not?”
“Yes, sir—General O’Malley’s headquarters.”
“See you later, I hope. Good-by.”
He walked briskly down the row of tremendous corrugated iron hangars. Hedid not stop to inspect in detail the overgrown Handley Pages andCapronis and Martin bombers, although his brilliant dark eyes restedcontinuously on the line of ships. De Havilands and S. E. 5 scouts wereconstantly landing and taking off. Once he did stop in his tracks towatch five S. E’s. take off in a V formation, scoot a mile north of thefield, and then line up in single file. One by one they dived—diveduntil the sing of the wires could be heard on the field. As they cameperilously near the ground they would suddenly straighten. At thatinstant an egg-shaped projectile left the ship and hurtled groundward.In a few seconds came the explosion.
“Small bombs,” the civilian told himself as he resumed his walk tobrigade headquarters. “I wonder whether some of them could be used⸺”
A seven-passenger army car stopped beside him. He looked up quickly intothe face of a portly man wearing the insignia of a lieutenant-colonel.
“Can I give you a ride, Mr. Graves?” inquired the colonel, getting outof the car.
“Thank you, but I’m just going up to headquarters. But you have theadvantage of me sir.”
“I met you in Rome in 1918,” stated the colonel. “My name is Sax.”
“You have a better memory than I, colonel. But I was there. Glad to haveseen you again. Good-by.”
He walked on, leaving the colonel to climb back into the car.
“Now that’s funny. I’d give a little piece of change to find out justwhat that fellow’s business is,” muttered the portly officer as hesettled himself in the car.
Graves walked into the small, one-story frame building which had beendignified into Headquarters of the First Provisional Air Brigade, andwalked over to the sergeant-major’s desk. Evidently he knew so