As he drew away he saw the enormous enemy machine-gun aimed at
him. A bullet grazed his head. He dived under the Boche, who retreated.
"All the same," Guynemer added gaily, "if I ever get into a terrible
financial fix and have to become a cab-driver, I shall have memories
which are far from ordinary: a tire exploding at 3400 meters, an
interlocking at 3000 meters. That rotten Boche only owed his life to a
spring being slightly out of order, as was shown by the autopsy on the
machine-gun. For my eighth combat, this was decidedly annoying...."
It was annoying, but what could be done? Nothing, in fact, but return to
one's apprenticeship. He was perfectly satisfied with his work as a
pilot, but it was necessary to avoid these too frequent jammings which
saved the enemy. At Stanislas College Guynemer was known as an excellent
shot. He began to practice again with his rifle, and with the
machine-gun; above all, he carefully examined every part of this
delicate weapon, taking it apart and putting it together, and increasing
his practice. He became a gunsmith. And there lies the secret of his
genius: he never gave up anything, nor ever acknowledged himself beaten.
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