Blizzard

Brigadier-General William A. Mitchell, Assistant Chief of the Army Air Service, is the most picturesque figure the service contains --and it has many a striking personity in its ranks. Aged 45, possessor of an independent fortune, and an entree to all Washington society, a splendid horseman, General Mitchell is the 20th Century equivalent of the "beau sabreur" of Napoleon's time.

One of the first officers in the Army to take up aviation, Mitchell has gone from triumph to triumph, has made a remarkable record as an air tactician with the A. E. F. He is just the energetic, somewhat impetuous partner that his more reflective chief, General Patrick, needs. The U.S. Air Service may be reckoned as extremely fortunate that both its chief executives are practical flyers. General Patrick took up flying at 60 (TIME, July 9, 1923), and travels by air whenever he can. General Mitchell feels as much at home in a plane as he does on a horse. At times when the service is selecting from a number of offerings by the most experienced manufacturers, the best plane for a given purpose, the General makes a habit of himself flying every ship presented. His judgment is to be relied upon. Testing new planes is a justifiable risk, but General Mitchell's latest exploit may perhaps be censured as unnecessarily hazardous.

Last week the Weather Bureau predicted a snow storm. Above, a cold, grey mist hung awfully from the heavens. General Mitchell decided to wait, for snow and fog are the aviator's worst enemies. But the snow was long in coming, the General grew impatient, stamped his feet, railed at the weather, finally climbed into his machine and "took off."

Up a few hundred feet the mist began to shuffle in from all sides, leaving the range of visibility seemingly no larger than a dinner plate. The wind increased in violence, the aeroplane rocked savagely. The first few flakes of snow dashed themselves furiously against the windshield, but the General held on to his course. He was going to a friend's farm for some duck shooting.

Snow began to fall in earnest. On the one hand a strong, gusty wind drove it at the machine, and on the other hand the airplane rushed with sickly velocity to meet it. The earth faded from view. Down went the machine. The earth reappeared. Buffeted by wind and snow the great mechanical bird was tossed like a kite, first up and then down in sudden shocks. The air speed indicator fluctuate violently. The wires screamed, snow streamed through the wing. Death scowled from the skies, for the Archangel Gabriel sat by the brave General's side, protected him from a thousand dangers, and eventually he landed as lightly as a sparrow, safe as a house, pleased as a child with the performance of his airplane.

General Mitchell loves an argument with men in an office as much as he does a fight with the elements in the air. And he is certainly having a scrap with his friendly enemies of the Navy Department. The General, after a thorough study of the workings of the British Air Ministry, is a strong proponent of a United Air Service as likely to avoid duplication of effort and to lead to a stronger and more effective air defense for the U.S. His testimony before the House Committee of Inquiry into the Air Services, his articles in the Saturday Evening Rost and other statements are being bitterly attacked at the moment by the Secretary of the Navy himself, by Admiral Moffett, Chief of the Bureau of Aeronautics and other Navy authorities.