Last Day for Fan Voting

Now over in Alsace-Lorraine, in a Heinie stronghold, a monocled Herr Oberst was pawing the dew of concern from a brow that was as wide as a garden gate. “Ach, mein Herrs,” he gutturaled wearily, “der Marks ve moost haben. Alreadty yedt der Marks dey ben lower by der Cherman Banken. Der troops by der…

Thirty-six hours later Lieutenant Pinkham dropped off a truck near the drome of the Ninth and limped, sore of foot and weary, past a sentry on the edge of the tarmac. The Boonetown exponent of skulduggery had bundled up his flying coat and was carrying it via stick, hobo fashion. “Huh,” grunted the human watch…

Forty-eight hours after Phineas Pinkham had returned from his momentous bat patrol adventure, a new flyer reported for duty at the drome of the Ninth Pursuit Squadron. He announced to Major Rufus Garrity that Lieutenant Clarence Devine was reporting for duty. A few moments after that formality was dispensed with, the C.O. brought the newcomer…

Night flying was not considered good for the health in the days of the Big Fuss. That was before we had radio beams and robot pilots. All a man like Phineas Pinkham had were a stick, two Vickers guns, and a prayer. And now the flyer from Iowa was cruising high over the heads of…

Of course the war had to go on despite the quest of the missing Jerry marks. All the next day the Ninth Pursuit went about its chores in the ozone over Europe and were elated with results. Up to four in the afternoon Garrity’s outfit had knocked off three Drachen hot air weenies, a Rumpler,…