It is, of course, safe now for the parlor sofa soldier to explain to his audience just how much help the rest of the Army gave him in winning the war. I sometimes pull this gag myself when there is a good chance to get away with it. For those who, during the war, were in the rear waiting for the chance to get to the front it was also healthy to emphatically emphasize just what wonders they would accomplish when fortune favored them by sending them to the lines. There it was entirely a matter of environment for there was no likelihood of those perfectly harmless bluffs being called since there was no possible opportunity at hand to demonstrate the modest announcements of their prowess. But take it from me as the greatest lesson I ever learned, it is the most ill-advised speech possible when one arrives at the front and begins to scatter broadcast promiscuous remarks either about one’s own particular courage or any one else’s lack of it, for, believe me, you will no more than get the words into sound than they will be called and called strong. At the front they have the peculiar faculty of making immediately available full opportunity for demonstrating daring, bravery, or any other manly virtue that the newcomer claims as a part of his makeup.
The now famous 12th Aero Squadron formed, with the 1st Aero Squadron, the first American Observation Group at the front. It was located near a little village called Ourches, about fifteen kilometres northwest of Toul. Upon completion of my training with the French, during which time I had just the one trip over the lines, I was assigned to the 12th Aero Squadron. My time over the lines amounted to only fifty-five minutes. The only thing I knew about sky-spying was what I had read in my books and what I had picked up in our embryonic course of instruction at the schools. Just as soon as I had gotten to the squadron I began to hear wild rumors of how the Commanding Officer was going to send back to the rear all those observers who did not have sufficient experience over the lines and that he expected them all to have had, at least, ten trips over the lines. I immediately realized that I had no chance whatsoever with that standard, so my only hope was that the Commanding Officer would be a nice man and that I could talk him into making an exception in my case. I found out that the squadron was commanded by a young Regular Army officer by the name of Major Lewis Hyde Brereton. No one I could ask seemed to know a lot about him, for the squadron was just being organized and would not operate over the front lines for a couple of days, at least. So I had no dope on the manner of man I was to approach and who fortune had destined should become the leading and controlling influence of my life at the front.