On 26th September 1918 I obtained permission to take off. That date marks one of the toughest days of my fighting career. I remained in the air from morning to night, and if my machine gun had not jammed, I would have added eight planes to my credit.

Our infantryman had advanced several kilometers and menacing Boche patrols were flying above them. The first patrol that I attacked consisted of five Fokkers. Without giving them the time to work out by signals their plan to attack me, I dived into them at full speed, guns blazing. Letting myself then fly on my wing, I turned over completely in order to rocket up behind one of the planes which had already fired at me. But I had also had fired, and two of the German aircraft crashed to earth in the vicinity of Somme-Py. The others, fearing for their safety, had thought it more prudent to take to their heels.

I then gained altitude and saw in the direction of Suippes an enemy plane being fired at by our own anti-aircraft artillery. I headed there at full speed and reached it at an altitude of 18,500 feet above Perthesles-Hurles. With the first burst that I fired at 30 yards, the observer was killed. The defenceless pilot became frightened and his vertical dive was so sudden and steep that his companion, whom I had just sent off to join his ancestors, toppled overboard and almost fell on me at the moment of me finishing my loop. I must admit, an odd feeling at suddenly seeing a body falling in space. The corpse, like a sack, dropped down and little by little seemed to shrink as it approached the ground - but I did not have time to analyze my feelings; it was necessary to fight and win.

Without further delay I charged again. Through a sudden bank, I caught the enemy plane under the tail and sent a few incendiary bullets through his fuselage. A little later, while I expected to see him in flames, one of his wings broke off and the plane came crashing down to the ground.