“See that long white cloud over to the left?”

“Ye—yes.” Dave’s heart pounded, he scarcely knew why.

“Swing over into it, then stay in it, going straight down it toward the channel. It must be all of four miles long. I—I rather smell a Hun.”

Dave obeyed instructions. The world was again lost to view.

Their journey along that cloud could scarcely have lasted two minutes, but to Dave that seemed a long, long hour. What was beyond the other end of the cloud? Something, he was sure. Did it mean a fight? He hadn’t counted on that. This was not his war. Was he sorry? He did not know. The ways of a human mind are past finding out.

Then, as if their plane had given a sudden leap, they were out of the cloud. And there, off a little to the right, was a dark spot against the blue of the sky.

The Lieutenant made one gesture, a stiff arm, pointing. That was all.

They were a full ten minutes coming within striking distance of that large plane. Every second of that exciting race Dave expected his companion to take over his controls, and all the time he remained silent, impassive.

At last, in a calm, even tone, he spoke: “That’s a Dornier. London took a terrific beating last night. Many women and children were killed or injured. That Dornier’s been taking pictures so they can find fresh spots to bomb. His pictures must not reach Allemond. We must get him.” His words were like rasping steel. Even then he did not take the controls.

A strange, cold wrath took possession of Dave’s entire being. “Women and children killed and injured.” He did not want the Young Lord to take the controls. And he knew what was to be done. He wanted to do it, at all risks.

Dropping a little below the flying level of the Dornier, he added a little speed, then streaked straight on. His heart was pounding, but his head was clear. At last, having risen to the attack, they were within striking distance.

“It’s football,” he was thinking calmly. “That Dornier’s got the ball. But in the end, it’ll be thrown for a loss.”

Even as he thought this, the Dornier banked sharply to soar away to the left. At the same time the air was ripped,—rat—rat—rat. The side shots from the Dornier went wild.

Once again they were after the foe. 

 Prev. P 41/99 next