On this morning the first indication that they had that their time was
up was the swooping down of a cluster of birds of death on all sides.
The weather was foggy, a stiff wind blowing and the basket swinging
from side to side. This was the first time an attempt had been made to
float a balloon in the Ypres salient, as the danger was too obvious to
take the risk. However, as I say, the chance was taken. It so happened
that our guns were taking a breathing spell, and we stood on the top of
our gun pit eagerly watching the fall of the balloon and its escape. The
road along which the armored truck had run ran at one point quite close
to the German lines, and the airplanes were now coming thicker every
moment and bombing it from every quarter. Telephone and telegraph wires
running from trenches to headquarters and all parts of the lines
intervened between the balloon and safety, and there was nothing for
them but to cut the wires to let the bag get through. Each minute the
danger increased, but the men in the truck scrambled up the poles,
nipped the wire with their nippers, and the balloon passed through.
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