…... of the Squadron, of the escapes we had, of Mackenzie’s warnings to us when we were about to be picked off by enemy scouts, but I must resist this temptation, or the limited space at my disposal will be exhausted long before I have touched on all I wish. The Squadron suffered a great blow when Mackenzie failed to return one day after an offensive patrol, and we heard from the enemy, after I had dropped a message over the lines
asking for information, that he had crashed fatally and was buried with full military honours. So passed a born leader and a brave man.
Another man who
had outstanding claims to recognition was Little, who, unlike Mackenzie, was not so much a leader as a brilliant lone hand. I feel safe in saying that there have been few better shots, either in the Services or outside, than this man. I have seen him bring down a crow on the wing with a .22 rifle and break bottles thrown into the air while they were still travelling upward; what more deadly foe could be found than such a man, armed with two machine guns firing at the rate of 2,000 rounds per minute? Once Little came within range of an enemy he did not give up until (1) the enemy was shot down, (2) his own engine failed, or (3) he ran out of ammunition. He had in human guise the lighting tendencies of a bull dog-he never let go. Small in stature, keen-eyed, with face set grimly, he seemed the epitome of deadliness; sitting aloft with the eyes of a hawk he dealt death with unfailing precision. Seldom did he return to the aerodrome reporting an 
indecisive combat, for as long as petrol and ammunition held out, Little held on until the enemy’s machine either broke up or burst into Flames.
On one occasion this pilot dived with such persistence on his enemy that he forced the machine to land on our side of the lines. Killed while night flying against the enemy’s Gothas, the country lost one who gained many honours for himself and his Squadron, a very gallant fighter with the courage of a lion.
Determination, pluck and the power to lead were the attributes of Price. Irish and impetuous, he gave much trouble to the enemy for, like Little, he never gave in. Scorning the Aldis telescopic sight for his guns, he would put his head over the side of the machine and watch his tracer bullets riddling the enemy; this gave him no small amount of satisfaction and I can see the sparkle in his eyes as he said to me one day: “Sure I drilled him like a cullender till the blighter burst into Flames." We presume he was killed while shooting down an enemy kite balloon
