His new plane, one of the first of the latest type built entirely in the United States, had already filled his heart with delight, and its wonderful Liberty engine seemed to fulfill a dream that Jack, like all other American fliers, had long cherished.
As he rose higher and higher, circling as he went, the scene quickly began to take on a most impressive appearance. Below him lay the forest in all its grim aspect, with openings here and there, now given up to batteries of artillery that were pounding the foe with constant energy.
Clouds of smoke arising in many places told of bursting shells, the destruction of munition dumps, or it might even be some little burning hamlet that had served the Huns at bay for a fortress, but which had been blown almost entirely off the face of the earth by the red hurricane the expert Yankee gunners set loose.
It was easy for Jack to tell where the German battleline lay. He had been up so recently that he knew to a fraction just how far back the enemy force had staggered after the engagement of the preceding day.
And it was straight toward that line he now headed, for his work awaited him in that quarter. Hun planes were soaring like great hawks, swooping down from time to time, and engaging some of the machines bearing the American eagle as their totem.