“Orders are being issued for the Squadron to leave for Eugene, Oregon, where we will establish temporary headquarters,” said Smith. “We will leave tomorrow morning. That is, part of the Squadron will leave in the morning. The motor transport will leave at daybreak. I will take off with ‘B’ Flight at soon after daybreak as we can get away. Bruce, you will leave with your Flight when you have straightened up the airdrome. We will probably be gone all Summer, so make arrangements accordingly. Some of the planes will probably operate from other places than Eugene, but just where I cannot determine until I have a conference with the forestry officials after my arrival. Everybody make the necessary plans to carry out the instructions just outlined.”

That was all there was to the orders. The Squadron Commander of “B” Flight would take off, the enlisted men would leave with the motor transport and “A” Flight would follow as soon as it had closed up the buildings and made the necessary preparations for the safety of the property. Bill Bruce had no idea how long these preparations would take, but he hoped that he would be able to get away on the same day as the rest of the Squadron.

For the remainder of the day the Squadron personnel were busy with the multitudinous details attendant to their departure. Their first task was the removal and storage of the bombs and ammunition which had been installed in the planes for the gunnery practice. The machine guns were taken off and packed away. The radio sets were tested to insure their perfect working condition.

It was no easy job to select the proper equipment and clothing which should be taken along. The personnel did not know the conditions under which they would live in Oregon and accordingly had a very sketchy idea as to what would be required. In this they could get help from no one and each worked out the details according to his own ideas.

The transportation was thoroughly inspected and the necessary spares put aboard each truck. It was decided to leave the searchlight truck at the home station, as it was far too heavy for mountain roads and bridges. The radio trucks were taken along, and with them all ground radio sets. Everyone realized that radio communication would have to be used continuously between the planes and any bases which might be established.

The next morning Bill found that the truck train had departed long before his arrival. All of the Squadron messing facilities, tools and spares for the airplanes and engines, officers’ and men’s personal equipment and surplus flying equipment were in the trucks. A short time afterwards Captain Smith left with “B” Flight.

Bill Bruce immediately started to work, using the officers and men of his Flight to clean up the airdrome and close the hangars and other buildings. It was a long, tedious task, but was finally completed. At eleven o’clock the planes were lined up ready for the take-off. Bill taxied his plane to the end of the field and the others joined him in proper position for taking off in formation. He had five planes in his Flight. One of his pilots was absent on leave and would join the Squadron at Eugene at a later date.

The Flight took off and, once in the air, the planes swung into their proper places. Bill was leading and the other planes placed themselves along the sides of a large “V.” Each plane was slightly above and uncovered the one in its front so that the Flight looked like a flock of ducks as it flew across San Francisco Bay.

The first part of the trip took them to the north end of the bay. They passed over a portion of the fertile Napa Valley and then crossed the coast range at an altitude of about five thousand feet. Here they obtained their first extended view of the broad Sacramento Valley. They flew for miles over the level floor of the valley. Here and there they saw or passed over a small village or a railroad, but the greater portion of the flight was over large ranches.

Their course brought them closer and closer to the Sacramento River. At first it had been well off to their right and could be distinguished only by the trees along its banks, but as they progressed they gradually came closer to it and could make out the bridges over which the roads and railroads passed. They noticed that the towns became more numerous as they flew parallel to the river and railroad.

The Sierra Mountains, with their snow-capped peaks, marked the eastern boundary of the valley. Mount Lassen, the only active volcano in the United States, thrust its head well above the surrounding mountains. Straight ahead of them Mount Shasta seemed to stand as a direction post indicating the proper course for them to fly.

They reached the rough, broken country at the head of the valley and crossed the Sacramento River. Bill here changed his course slightly so that they would pass to the west of Shasta. The hills beneath them became higher and higher and their slopes were thickly covered with rocks. The river wound its way through the hills far to the west, only to appear unexpectedly beneath them as they climbed for more altitude to pass over Castle Crag.

The terrain rose abruptly from the river to the top of Castle Crag. This enormous mass of rock thrust itself almost vertically into the air and culminated in numerous pinnacles of solid rock. It was easy to see how it had obtained its name, for the general impression obtained when looking at it was that of a gigantic stone castle. Its peak was composed of many sharp needle-like points some seven thousand feet above sea level.

On the northern side of the Crag the country dropped abruptly into Shasta Valley. They were close to Mount Shasta by this time, and although flying along at about eight thousand feet, they had to look up into the air to see the snow cap of that peak, which was some fourteen thousand feet above sea level. The sides of the mountain were covered with trees for the first five or six thousand feet above the floor of the valley, but beyond that the timber thinned out until the mountain was bare for the last three or four thousand feet.

At the foot of Mount Shasta they passed over a logging camp nestled in the thick forest. Ahead of them stretched the floor of Shasta Valley, but they could not see the far end as it was covered with clouds. For the next fifty miles Bill wondered what he would do when he reached those clouds. He knew that the valley ended at the range of mountains along which the Oregon-California boundary extended. He could not cross those mountains unless he could get at least four or five thousand feet altitude.

Bill led the Flight toward the railroad, for he knew that it made its way through the mountains and he hoped to follow it. The planes reached the clouds and dropped down to thirty-five hundred feet to get under them. From that point on Bill followed the tracks. On both sides the mountains rose well above the railroad.

As they progressed the ground rose and tended to meet the clouds until they were soon flying along with barely any space between the planes and the timber-covered mountain sides. The railroad tracks followed the course of the stream, which flowed down the valley. The valley became narrower and the tracks climbed higher up on the mountain sides. At one point they passed a train standing on a siding waiting to pass another coming from the opposite direction. The passengers were standing in the vestibules or looking out of the windows at the planes as they passed. The pilots passed so close that they could see the minutest details of the people on the ground. It seemed to Bill that he could almost have touched the train as he passed.

The valley was gradually getting narrower—the trees were higher and the planes had less room for maneuvering. Bill turned around to see how the other members of his Flight were getting along. He was following the middle of the valley and had plenty of space for maneuvering, but the flank planes were too close to the trees for comfort. The Flight was limited in its movements by the clouds above and the V-shaped cut through the mountains below.

As they gained altitudes the valley twisted and turned. Each twist and turn had to be followed with great care by the pilots. The Flight began to string out on account of the confined space in which they were flying, the danger of hitting a mountain side or of running into one of the other planes. The curves of the railroad and the stream became more abrupt until Bill found it difficult to anticipate the next turn he would have to make with his plane.

It was getting harder and harder to follow the railroad. Bill thought that they should soon reach the crest of the mountains and start to go down the other side, as the railroad by this time was almost in the low clouds.

All of a sudden Bill saw that the tracks made a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn ahead of him. The tracks had been steadily climbing to gain altitude, and now in order to gain more they turned back on themselves. Bill knew that he had led his Flight into a blind valley. He must turn around and follow the tracks, but where did they lead?

Bill had to make a wing overturn and come back, head on, at the other planes. Each plane in turn slid over to the side of the valley as Bill approached, but it looked as if he would surely collide with one of them before he passed the last. However, he cleared by inches and was maneuvering to pass the last plane when he saw that the railroad went into a tunnel.

It is bad enough to have to follow a railroad through a twisting, winding valley with barely enough room to handle the plane, but when that railroad runs into a tunnel, then the leader of the Flight is up against it to know just what to do. Bill had this situation confronting him. He did not want to back-track down the valley, for the clouds by this time might have settled down and shut off all possibility of getting out. Something had to be done, however, and must be done at once. The mouth of the tunnel was getting closer and closer.

The side of the mountain disappeared in the clouds above the tunnel. There was no way to tell how high that mountain extended above the bottom of the clouds. Bill could see the trees with their trunks below the clouds and their tops hidden, but that did not help any. He saw a deer, standing at first in an opening between the trees, suddenly turn and bound out of sight when it overcame its fright of the throbbing engines. Bill right there wished that he could change places with that deer.

He headed his plane straight at the mouth of the tunnel and then, just before reaching it, pulled back on the stick and went up into the clouds. Once in the mist, with all view of the ground cut off, he hesitated about what to do next. If he leveled off too soon he would crash against the sides of the mountain. If he held his plane in a climbing position too long, it would fall off into a spin. He tried to hold it at the same angle at which he had entered the clouds and hoped that it was sufficiently steep to follow the contour of the abrupt slope below him.

Bill held his plane in the climb for an appreciable period of time. He thought that he must have crossed over the crest of the Siskiyou Mountains and, accordingly, pushed forward on the stick. One of two things lay below him, either the side of the mountain or a level valley. In one case he would crash into the mountain, but in the other he would come out safely into the open. Which it would be, Bill had no means of knowing.