What a horrible morning; Chenley is dead. We were attacked by two Fokkers as we crossed the Lys River. The Bristols assigned to protect us never saw the threat nor intervened. We tried to keep up a coordinated defense with our rear gunners but it was no use. My engine was shot out and Chris and I had to put down in the rear of our trenches. I watched as Cheney and Weller glided in trailing smoke and cheered when they made a safe landing nearby. But when we got over there Cheney was gone; shot through the chest. Somehow he held on long enough to save Weller and get the plane on the ground. He's a bloody hero! Weller is overcome with emotion and can barely talk, but did sob out that he got one of the attackers. That brings us little solace tonight and everyone in the squadron is in a sorrowful mood.