"Put the engines on again! It's no good. He doesn't know either! I don't
know _what_ to do!"
The key taps once more the vain appeal. Again and again I fire a white
light. The floor round my feet is strewn with the empty cartridge cases
of brown cardboard. I feel depressed and tired and irritable. What a
silly end to a raid, it seems, to lose yourself right over your own
aerodrome! It is undignified. I am ashamed to have had to ask the
gunlayer where we are. I feel a pretty poor observer.
Then I see in the mist a little ahead of me a white light rise up and
die away.
"Look, Jimmy! A white light! Good! They've seen us at last!"