DESTRUCTION OF THE ENEMY
As Don crawled forward to take his place behind the shielded shoulder of
the machine gun, Fred stripped himself of the wireless paraphernalia to
become mechanician while Jack and Andy gave all their time to the
engines and the maneuvering. At the same time they climbed higher,
maintaining the advantage which always is with the upper plane in aerial
battle.
"Get ready, Don," Jack shouted, as the big machine swerved about and
banked steeply for a sudden dive at the machine below.
Before the crew of the latter could even guess what was going to happen,
much less get into position for firing their own gun, mounted forward,
Don opened up with a hail of bullets which cut the lower left wing of
the enemy machine in a dozen places and made her all the more difficult
to maneuver or manage.
A skilled pilot was in charge of her, however, and even with this
damage the giant plane wheeled gracefully, circling for an advantage
which Jack and Andy refused to give. Up, up, up they went, cutting,
crossing, swerving, always seeking for position.
And then like a flash Jack gave the order and they turned on the enemy.
Again Don let go a fusillade that sounded like the rapid rat-a-tat of a
great drum. It was another bull's eye, and one of the bullets apparently
took the pilot in the right arm, for Fred, looking over, saw it drop
limp at his side, while he frantically grasped at levers with his left
hand, and said something sharply to another member of his crew.
The enemy, too, was firing his machine gun at every opportunity, but
thus far the maneuvering of the American plane had been too sudden and
swift to permit of anything like an aim, and the nearest shower of
bullets went harmlessly by, several yards to the right.
Again Jack gave his engines all the petrol they would take, and there
was another skyward spurt at hair-raising speed. No one direction was
maintained for a full minute at a time, however, and even at that the
enemy finally got a head-on opportunity and sent a charge that lodged
several bullets in the outer fusilage. There was an instant change of
course, and a few seconds later Don was given another opportunity to
show what he knew about machine gun firing. He gave a most excellent
accounting.
The rudder of the enemy plane was almost entirely shot away!
A skilful pilot may not necessarily regard that as a disaster, but
already the pilot of the other machine was disabled, and the battle was
raging so furiously that no opportunity offered for another of the crew
to take his place.
With only one able hand and arm to work with the fellow did remarkably
well, but he could not handle the giant plane successfully under such a
handicap.
Even then, and in that desperate situation, Jack and his crew would have
let up in mercy had not the enemy, in a long, circling dive again
renewed the fire.
Jack nodded his head to Andy, and Fred, understanding the signal, got
ready to do his part. They banked at a dangerous, nerve-racking angle,
and then in a long, sweeping curve came down upon the already crippled
machine which could not get out of the way.
Don loosened such a miniature artillery that two of the crew fell over
either mortally wounded or killed outright. The firing never ceased, nor
was the course of the plane changed until it was within fifty yards of
the other machine and it seemed that a fatal collision was imminent.
The final volley tore both wings of the other plane so badly that she
wavered, washed in the wind for a few seconds and then, as a spurt of
flame appeared where fire had started from a leaking petrol tank, she
settled into a swift and disastrous nose dive.
Don saw what happened; the others had too much to do in righting their
own plane at that instant to pay attention to anything else. Jack and
Andy had come literally as near as a hair losing control of their own
plane in making the final attack which disposed of the other. As a
matter of fact, had they not been such masters of their machine, all
might have gone to the fate that the others found as the reward for
their treacherous undertaking.
"What happened?" Jack asked of Don, when the machine again was under
control. He had not realized that they had completely put the other
machine out of business, and seemed somewhat surprised when, on looking
about, he did not find it in pursuit, or dashing away on the defensive.
"It's all over," Don assured them. "You can take it easy now."
They did. They looked over the side of their own machine and saw what
remained of a crushed and broken fusilage--just bits of wood and some
strips of canvas--floating on the surface of the sea.
"They fell straight as an arrow, but in a tail dive, after that final
attack," Don said. "It was really sickening to see them fall. It must
have been four thousand feet at the least."
"Afire?" Jack asked.
"Yes, but completely out of business before the flames broke out," Don
continued. "The pilot got a bullet in the right arm early in the mix-up,
and I guess two of the others never knew what happened to them. When
they struck it was with a splash like that sent up by a depth bomb. As a
matter of fact, I didn't think anything connected with the machine would
ever come to the surface again."
"Guess we'd better circle down and see if by chance any one of them
should be alive and in sight," Jack suggested.
He changed course and they began a circling downward descent. Some
fifty yards away from the floating débris they made a landing. The sea
was comparatively calm and they experienced little difficulty in
settling on its surface without jolt, splash or damage. For several
moments they lay there, looking intently at what remained of that which
once had been Braizewell's powerful twin-motor biplane. There was not a
sign of human life, not an evidence of anything indicating it.
"Don," said Jack, "for the purposes of a full report on this incident
you had better note as exactly as possible the time and place where it
occurred."
"Yes," Don responded, "I had thought of that, and I've already got my
reckonings. It's merely a matter of recording them, which I'll do at
once."
"Too bad for them," Jack said, with genuine sorrow in his voice. "But it
was they or we. There was nothing else to it. They forced the issue and
we had no alternative. I wonder who they were."
"I saw them all, at one time or another during the firing," Don then
informed his companions. "But there was only one I thought I might have
seen somewhere before. But when it was, or where, I'm at a loss to
tell. As a matter of fact, I'm not at all certain that I ever saw him.
But somehow his face seemed familiar."
"Well, we'd better be on our way," said Jack. "No use in staying around
here. Those fellows probably went down so far that, even if they're not
entangled in the wreckage, it's doubtful whether they ever would come up
again."
"I've got it!" ejaculated Don abruptly.
"Keep it then," advised Andy, good-naturedly, despite the latest
excitement they had been through.
"I've got it! That's it, surely," Don repeated again, gazing out
abstractedly, as one will when absorbed in some recollection.
"Got what?" demanded Fred, impatiently. "Better get rid of it if you
have, don't you think?"
"Eh?" Don looked at him blankly. "Oh, yes. Say! Do you know who that
fellow was that I thought I recognized in that plane?"
"No, who?" asked Jack, keenly interested.
"Remember the day I came limping back with a badly crippled plane, after
having been over the German lines, and was just able to make a descent
within our own?"
"Sure!" they exclaimed, all at once.
"That was the fellow I had the battle with. I'm sure of it. I knew I'd
seen him before, and that's when it was."
"Well, he's probably battling with Davy Jones now," said Andy
soothingly. "You've had your revenge, and he'll never fight another air
duel on this earth."