“Decidedly,” he wrote on June 17 to his sister Odette, “the Boches have quite a special affection for me, and the parts of my ‘coucou’ serve me for a calendar.  Yesterday we flew over Chauny, Tergnier, Laon, Coucy, Soissons.  Up to Chauny my observer had counted 243 shells; Coucy shot 500 to 600; my observer estimated 1000 shots in all.  All we heard was a rolling sound, and then the shells burst everywhere, below us, above, in front, behind, on the right and on the left, for we descended to take some photographs of a place which they did not want us to see.  We could hear the shell-fragments whistling past; there was one that, after piercing the wing, passed within the radius of the propeller without touching it, and then to within fifty centimeters of my face; another entered by the same hole but stayed there, and I will send it to you.  Fragments also struck the rudder, and one the body.” (His journal mentions more.) “My observer, who has been an observer from the beginning, says that he never saw a cannonade like that one, and that he was glad to get back again.  At one moment a bomb-head of 105 millimeters, which we knew by its shape and the color of its explosion, fell on us and just grazed us.  In fact, we often see enormous shells exploding.  It is very curious.  On our return we met Captain Gerard, and my observer told him that I had astounding nerve; zim, boum boum! He said he knew it....  I will send you a photograph of my ‘coucou’ with its nine bruises:  it is superb.”

The next day, June 18, it was his mother who received his confidences.  The enemy had bombarded Villers-Cotterets with a long-distance gun which had to be discovered.  On this occasion he took Lieutenant Colcomb as observer:  “At Coucy, terribly accurate cannonade:  toc, toc, two projectiles in the right wing, one within a meter of me; we went on with our observations in the same place.  Suddenly a formidable crash:  a shell burst 8 to 10 meters under the machine.  Result:  three holes, one strut and one spar spoiled.  We went on for five minutes longer observing the same spot, always encircled, naturally.  Returning, the shooting was less accurate.  On landing, my observer congratulated me for not having moved or zig-zagged, which would have bothered his observation.  We had, in fact, only made very slight and very slow changes of altitude, speed, and direction.  Compliments from him mean something, for nobody has better nerve.  In the evening Captain Gerard, in command of army aviation, called me and said:  ’You are a nervy pilot, all right; you won’t spoil our reputation by lack of pluck—­quite the contrary.  For a beginner!—­’ and he asked me how long I had been a corporal. Y a bon. My ‘coucou’ is superb, with its parts all dated in red.  You can see them all, for those underneath spread up over the sides.  In the air I showed each hole in the wing, as it was hit, to the passenger, and he was enchanted, too.  It’s a thrilling sport.  It is a bore, though, when they burst over our heads, because I cannot see them, though I can hear.  The observer has to give me information in that case.  Just now, le roi n’est pas mon cousin....”