On his return to the aviation camp, in the absence of his own longed-for victories, he took pleasure in describing those of others.  He knew nothing of rivalry or envy.  He wrote his sister Odette the following description of a combat waged by Captain Brocard, who surprised a Boche from the rear, approached him to within fifteen meters without being seen, and, just at the moment when the enemy pilot turned round his head, sent him seven cartridges from his machine-gun:  “Result:  one ball in the ear, and another through the middle of his chest.  You can imagine whether the fall of the machine was instantaneous or not.  There was nothing left of the pilot but one chin, one ear, one mouth, a torso and material enough to reconstitute two arms.  As to the “coucou” (burned), nothing was left but the motor and a few bits of iron.  The passenger was emptied out during the fall....”  It cannot be said that he had much consideration for the nerves of young girls.  He treated them as if they were warriors who could understand everything relating to battles.  He wrote with the same freedom that Shakespeare’s characters use in speech.

Until the middle of September he piloted two-seated airplanes, carrying one passenger, either as observer or combatant.  At last he went up in his one-seated Nieuport, reveling in the intoxication of being alone, that intoxication well known to lovers of the mountains and the air.  Is it the sensation of liberty, the freedom from all the usual material bonds, the feeling of coming into possession of these deserts of space or ice where the traveler covers leagues without meeting anybody, the forgetfulness of all that interferes with one’s own personal object?  Such solitaries do not easily accommodate themselves to company which seems to them to encroach upon their domain, and steal a part of their enjoyment.  Guynemer never enjoyed anything so much as these lonely rounds in which he took possession of the whole sky, and woe to the enemy who ventured into this immensity, which was now his park.

On September 29, and October 1, 1915, he was sent on special missions.  These special missions were generally confided to Vedrines, who had accomplished seven.  The time is not yet ripe for a revelation of their details, but they were particularly dangerous, for it was necessary to land in occupied territory and return.  Guynemer’s first mission required three hours’ flying.  He ascended in a storm, just as the countermand arrived owing to the unfavorable weather.  When he descended, volplaning, at daybreak, with slackened, noiseless motor, and landed on our invaded territory, his heart beat fast.  Some peasants going to their work in the fields saw him as he ascended again, and recognizing the tricolor, showed much surprise, and then extended their hands to him.  This mission won for Sergeant Guynemer—­he had been promoted sergeant shortly before—­his second mention:  “Has proved his courage, energy and sang-froid by accomplishing, as a volunteer, an important and difficult special mission in stormy weather.”—­“This palm is worth while,” he wrote in a letter to his parents, “for the mission was hard.”  On his way back an English aviator shot at him, but on recognizing him signaled elaborate excuses.