They drove past him, above, below,
eastward and westward. Far away to the westward was the sound of a
collision, and two falling flares. Far away to the southward a second
squadron was coming. Steadily he beat upward. Presently all the
aeroplanes were below him, but for a moment he doubted the height he had
of them, and did not swoop again. And then he came down upon a second
victim and all its load of soldiers saw him coming. The big machine
heeled and swayed as the fear-maddened men scrambled to the stern for
their weapons. A score of bullets sung through the air, and there flashed
a star in the thick glass wind-screen that protected him. The aeroplane
slowed and dropped to foil his stroke, and dropped too low. Just in time
he saw the wind-wheels of Bromley hill rushing up towards him, and spun
about and up as the aeroplane he had chased crashed among them. All its
voices wove into a felt of yelling. The great fabric seemed to be
standing on end for a second among the heeling and splintering vans, and
then it flew to pieces. Huge splinters came flying through the air, its
engines burst like shells. A hot rush of flame shot overhead into the
darkling sky.
"_Two_!" he cried, with a bomb from overhead bursting as it fell, and
forthwith he was beating up again. A glorious exhilaration possessed him
now, a giant activity. His troubles about humanity, about his inadequacy,
were gone for ever. He was a man in battle rejoicing in his power.
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