A
bullet smashed on the bar above his head. Who fired? Was the line clear
of people? He stood up to see and sat down again.
In another second the propeller was spinning and he was rushing down the
guides. He gripped the wheel and swung the engine back to lift the stem.
Then it was the people shouted. In a moment he was throbbing with the
quiver of the engine, and the shouts dwindled swiftly behind, rushed down
to silence. The wind whistled over the edges of the screen, and the world
sank away from him very swiftly.
Throb, throb, throb--throb, throb, throb; up he drove. He fancied
himself free of all excitement, felt cool and deliberate. He lifted the
stem still more, opened one valve on his left wing and swept round and
up. He looked down with a steady head, and up. One of the Ostrogite
monoplanes was driving across his course, so that he drove obliquely
towards it and would pass below it at a steep angle. Its little
aeronauts were peering down at him. What did they mean to do? His mind
became active. One, he saw held a weapon pointing, seemed prepared to
fire. What did they think he meant to do? In a moment he understood
their tactics, and his resolution was taken. His momentary lethargy was
past. He opened two more valves to his left, swung round, end on to this
hostile machine, closed his valves, and shot straight at it, stem and
wind-screen shielding him from the shot. They tilted a little as if to
clear him.
Pages:
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296