Now weather began to take a hand in events. After a clear day on Sept. 7, rain clouds settled over the Western Front. The 27th managed to get off a couple patrols in the rain on Sept. 8, then only one four-plane patrol on the 9th. By Sept. 10 the rain was in full bloom, and all flights were grounded. Sept. 11 brought more of the same.

Amid the dreary downpour, the logistical battle reached its peak. A steady stream of ammunition and supplies moved up the muddy roads to staging areas. Gun batteries laid in crate after crate of projectiles and charges. Infantry privates slogged through communications trenches under tons of new equipment. On the night of the 11th, American doughboys slept fitfully - many of them for the last time.

The St. Mihiel drive began at 5 a.m. with a barrage of American artillery. It awoke the nervous American pilots at Rembercourt, who were already well aware that something big was about to happen.

As Rickenbacker wrote years after the war: "The good reputation of American seemed bound up in the outcome of that battle."

It may have been America's moment, but the weather was miserable. It started raining the night before, and the ceiling was low. Under such conditions, little would fly, leaving the PBI (Poor Bloody Infantry) no support but the thundering guns. With the exception of Sept. 14, the weather would remain bad throughout the offensive.

At Rembercourt the mood was anxious.

Rickenbacker remembers the scene like this: "Dressing with great haste I ran over through the rain to the mess hall. There I found groups of the fellows all standing about impatiently awaiting the chance to get away. But the weather was certainly too bad to attempt any flight to the lines. We were compelled to wait until daylight to see the true state of the sky.

"About noon word came to us that the attack was progressing quite favorably. None of our machines had been able to get up. It was still raining but the visibility was getting better. We could see that the clouds were nearly a thousand feet above the ground."

Grant's orders to the 27th on the first day were straight out of Hartney's group orders and make no mention of the 27th previously mentioned low-altitude role. Grant scheduled only three patrols for the 12th, sending Flight B out at 6:15 a.m., Flight C at 11:15 and Flight A at 15:00 on 90-minute patrols. Each was to consist of six planes in two three-man formations, with the lower echelon between 2,500 and 3,500 meters and the upper formation between 3,500 and 5,500 meters. Their orders show them patroling the western half of the sector, give primary importance to protecting American balloons and forbid crossing the trenches except to finish an engagement. Recon information - including the location of enemy balloons - was to be reported upon return.

Of course, absolutely none of this took place. Rain grounded all the dawn patrols, and by about 7:30 the pilots were getting antsy. The official report that Grant filed on the afternoon of the 12th lists a morning patrol from 7:29 to 10:05. This is fiction.

Instead, between 7:30 and 7:50 eight pilots of the 27th took off and flew in different directions. Practically each one crosses the trenches - something Grant's written orders prohibited. Somehow - and it's an occurance that repeats itself throughout their short careers - only Luke and Wehner were able to find aerial combat.

Their comrades flew far less-exciting patrols. Dawson saw a line of balloons and avoided them, strafed some troops and ran out of gas. He landed at the French airdrome at Erize, where he refueled and returned to Rembercourt at 10:05. Hewitt merely witnessed some artillery fire before engine trouble forced him home. Clapp managed to avoid everything, filing a vague recon report. Hudson flew around a few times before strafing cars in St. Mihiel.

But Luke and Wehner, flying separately, found Germans. Why? Probably because they were actively looking for them. Joe was engaging his just minutes after he took off - which suggests he knew where he was going. Frank tells a story about chasing an enemy formation before running across his balloon. Perhaps, he, too, and heard of a place where he might find a German drachen.

At the evening meal the night before, Luke had paid little attention to squadronmates until the talk turned to balloons. "I think they're the toughest propositions a pilot has to meet," Vasconcells said. "Any man who gets a balloon has my respect, because he's got to be good or he doesn't get it!"

On the morning of the 12th, as the pilots waited around for the weather to break, Frank turned to Joe.

"Did you hear what Vasconcells said about balloons last night?"

"Yes," Wehner replied. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing much. Only I'm going to get one today."

Mechanics who overheard the conversation smiled and, with a tolerant chuckle, passed the word: "Luke's going to get a sausage. So he says."

Wehner may have had similar intentions. His combat began at 7:40 a.m., before the last of his comrades had even taken off. Spotting a ballon near Montsec and approaching from behind, Joe emptied 100 rounds into it. The crew began winching it down rapidly, and considering the ceiling (no more than 800 meters by that time of day) the job couldn't have taken very long. Joe made another turn, but the drachen was already in its nest. Though it never burned, Joe requested confirmation of a balloon kill when he returned to base.

Luke reported spotting three EAs (he doesn't describe them) near Lavigneville and reports that he flew east after them toward Pont-A-Mousson, where they disappeared toward Metz. Luke was now out of his sector. According to his flight report, it was at this moment that Luke spotted the drachen near Marieulles. In the basket below its dark belly hung Lt. Willi Klemm, an observer on his first trip aloft.

Frank bored in on it, closing to within yards of the balloon before pulling off. It refused to burn. He throttled back and swung around again, aiming his Spad dangerously close before opening up. Again, nothing. A third time, with the frantic ground crew winching their drachen down as fast as humanly possible, Frank Luke's Spad skimmed through the heavy machine-gun fire from around the base of the balloon and gave it one last, long, frustrated burst. Both guns jammed, and Luke broke left to reduce the stoppage while simultaneously wheeling around for another pass.

But the partially deflated balloon had started to burn, and the flames now spread rapidly. In an instant - at exactly 8:09 a.m.- it exploded in a red ball, the flaming bag dropping the short distance to the ground to consume Klemm and the winch crew.

Now the memories of Aug. 16th came into play. Rather than turn his Spad back toward Rembercourt, Frank looked for a place to put down near the American balloon on the other side of the lines at Dieulouard. American infantrymen rose up out of their trenches as the wheels of Luke's Spad splashed through the French mud.

"What's the matter?" a runner asked. "Are you hit? Better get your machine under cover or they'll open up on it."

"Here, sign this," said Luke. "You saw me get that sausage over there, didn't you?" "I'll say I saw it. We all did," replied the soldier. "That thing's been spotting us for three days and our whole gang's waiting to give you a hand."

By this time a considerable group was around Luke. Frank tracked down the observer from the American balloon - Lt. Joseph M. Fox - and had him witness one of his confirmation forms. He had the officers sign the forms in indelible pencil.

"Guess that'll hold 'em," Luke said.

With a pocketful of confirmations, Frank climbed aboard his Spad and tried to take off. No dice. German machine gun had chewed on his plane, leaving it ragged and ruined. Anti-aircraft fire had struck his engine, damaging a connecting rod, and the plane didn't have the power to take off.

Frank spent the day and the rest of the night with the balloon company - something of a mini-vacation - and returned by motorcycle sidecar to Rembercourt at 7:20 a.m. on Sept. 13th. Mechanics from the 27th rode out that night and picked up his Spad. Its condition was a revelation, at least to the mechanics.

Luke's No. 26 Spad was riddled. He poked his fingers through the holes and laughed. The chief mechanic saw no humor.

"Lieutenant, I've seen a lot of planes come in. But when they come in this way, the bird that drives 'em gets it and he gets it fast."

Luke grinned.

"They can't get me. Look at that!" - inserting a finger in the hole through the seat - "Why didn't that one hit me?"

The Spad was a complete washout. Its guns and special gadgets were transferred to a new ship.

Luke's extreme measures in search of confirmation weren't mere paranoia. GHQ wouldn't confirm the balloon until Sept. 26, probably because Luke had poached on the preserves of the flanking commander, a Col. Johnson.

Luke's return on the morning of the 13th must have brought some mixed emotions to his squadronmates. No one from the 27th had seen him since about 7:30 a.m. on the 12th. What did they imagine about his fate? Did some of them fantasize that the braggart had gotten his, proving once again the superiority of their breed?

And suddenly he was back - not joyful as he had been on the 16th, but wry. This time Luke didn't have to explain himself. This time he had it in writing. Others confirmed his victory, and the remains of this Spad showed the combat had been no one-sided surprise attack. Frank had earned that balloon at the risk of his own life.

For Luke's critics, his triumphant return had to be a queasy moment. Frank Luke, the object of their scorn, had returned from combat with proof of his valor and skill.

Their response? Resentment. Nothing is more infuriating than an obnoxious guy who really IS better than you - and proves it.

The record for the rest of the group was undistinguished on Sept. 12. First Pursuit flew 48 sorties, ran into no large formations of German aircraft, and pretty much had the front to themselves. German balloons went up in the morning, but with clouds preventing effective fighter cover, German commanders decided after Luke's attack that it would be better to keep their precious drachens in their nests for the balance of the day. By the end of the day the group could report only two combats: Joe Wehner's balloon, and two planes (both of which, I believe, were downed by Rickenbacker).

On Sept. 12, 139 Squadron CO David Putnam, America's leading ace, was killed. Rickenbacker took the lead on Sept. 15, shooting down his eighth. Lt. Elliott Springs of the 148th on the British front, shot down his ninth later that day. But Luke was about to pass them all.

It is worth remembering here that neither Joe nor Frank were equipped with ballon- busting machine guns on Sept. 12. Nor is it clear when the guns were first mounted on their aircraft. In their accounts of that first day of St. Mihiel one can see why balloon- busting required special equipment. Despite plenty of direct hits, both drachen were slow to ignite. The short-term answer: a special ammo load. Instead of having their armorers load their belts with tracers every third or fifth round, balloon busters loaded their Vickers with nothing but tracers - the so-called "incendiary bullets" one hears so much about.

"One gun was the common aerial Vickers 7mm gun firing service ammunition, every fifth cartridge being a tracer. The other gun being the 11mm Vickers balloon gun firing all incendiary ammunition. There are many instances of our pilots attacking firing good bursts into balloons at close range but failing to burn the balloon due to lack of proper incendiary ammunition, but since the introduction of the balloon gun no such cases have been reported. The sights used have been the ring and head Aldis and Reville seville, but they are hardly necessary in attacking balloons due to the large size of the target and the pilots usually regulated their fire by changing the direction of the plane as their tracers indicated the necessity of a change. It is vitally important that the guns be in good working order and that the ammunition has been carefully selected as a jam at the critical moment may mean the failure of your entire mission.

"In all forms of balloon strafing the balloon was attacked from above along the top surface from head to tail due to the hydrogen being in the upper part of the bag. The surest method of burning the balloon as carried out by our pilots was this: diving on the balloon, the pilot opened fire at about 100 yards with the small gun firing the service ammunition concentrating the fire so as to produce a hole in the bag allowing the hydrogen to escape and unite with the oxygen of the air. When at perhaps 50 or 60 yards he would open fire with the balloon gun firing the incendiaries, these taking greatest effect now once the HO had united from the hole in the bag and the burning bullet passing through the mixture easily ignited the bag."