THE AIR BATTLE
“Did you get any of them with your guns?” Jim asked.
“A splinter, perhaps,” Arto answered.
The Flying Buddy made a swift survey of his surroundings, a glance at
the dials in front of him and at the map. His brain was clear and worked
with the precision and cooperation of the brave little machine he was
driving through space. The whole affair seemed unreal, more like a
horrible nightmare than an actuality, this endless flying to get away
from men who were grimly determined to send him to destruction. He could
see that the two swifter machines were gaining steadily, and had it not
been for the woman beside him, Jim’s anxiety would not have been so
great, but somehow she must be saved. The only plan he could form was to
keep in the air as long as he could. They were far from any sort of
settlement which could give them shelter. From the ground the three men
might fight it out with the enemy and have a slim chance, but with
Gonzalas’ wife to be considered, landing was out of the question. She
might not be able to dig in quickly enough, so as long as the wings held
up, they would fly, and of course, every second was bringing them a bit
nearer to safety, but it was like crawling.
Crack, bang, a shot struck the fuselage at the right, and with a swift
kick at the rudder, a bank with the wind which was rising, and a tilt of
the nose, they began to climb again in short spirals which made them a
poor target. Perhaps they might inveigle the gang to use up their
ammunition, but that was hardly possible; they probably carried enough
to bombard a town. The boy wondered if Cardow was with the gang or if he
had gone on to the ancient fastness leaving his lieutenants to finish
the Gonzalas. Jim had a hunch that young Gordon was in one of those
planes and that was the reason the chase had not been abandoned. Up he
climbed, then he noticed that the swifter machine was coming right along
after him, the second followed, both driving in ascending circles not
quite so tight as those Austin was making and he felt a bit as if he
were in the middle of an old-fashioned bed-spring. They climbed faster
and the third machine, which carried the machine-gun, was zooming like a
shot.
“One is under us,” Arto spoke in his ear.
“Thanks.” With a quick flip Jim tipped his nose straight downward and
with engine wide open he cut through the air like a rocket so furiously
that the machines below him ducked to get out of his way. Neither of the
pilots dared risk such a collision, and Austin was not sure that he
would not pull out himself, but they scattered as he came, hell bent,
and below them he leveled, shot back on his course, turned tail as it
were, over the way he had come. It did not take the three long to get
after him, then the boy began to climb, zooming so that the wires
shrieked in the wind and wings groaned under the assault. He gained two
thousand feet, then whirled so short that Mrs. Gonzalas was flung
against him.
“All right,” she smiled, but it was a mighty forced smile and the lad
admired her pluck.
“If the little kid is like her he must be a rip-snorter,” was his mental
comment. He saw that his enemies were so close together when he made the
maneuver they had to make a wide turn or collide with each other. That
gave the Flying Buddy a few brief moments to gain distance and glancing
over the side he saw that they were within a few miles of the plain
which lay like a long ribbon of light sand beyond the edge of the foot
hills. He put on a bit more speed and in a minute they were over the
sandy stretch which would make a better landing place than the jagged
mountains, unless he happened to come down on one of the vast stretches
of cactus which dotted the desert. He knew that there were great beds of
the low growing plant with small leaves but long, sharp thorns; also
there were acres of giant plants as tall as trees with blades strong and
sharp as sword points.
Soon the enemy ships were flying at him in a sort of military formation,
and close together. They were probably signaling messages and a plan of
attack for they must know that the Flying Buddy would slip through their
fingers if he got away with many more tricks. On they came and they
spread out. A fan-like rain of flashes revealed the machine gunner in
the lead, and the shot sprayed Jim’s plane in half a dozen places. She
shivered under the attack, then the boy shut off the motor and let her
slide into a tail spin. For a second she hovered uncertainly, then began
to bob and bow this way and that, but soon she was whirling downward
like a falling leaf. The wind over the desert was strong, holding her
up, but she cut through.
As they made the perilous descent in rings, Austin caught glimpses of
the three pilots watching. He ducked his head forward as if he was at
least badly wounded, and he pulled Mrs. Gonzalas into a limp heap. His
eyes, or one of them was on the control board, and his apparently
lifeless hand close to the instruments. The stick was between his knees
and his heel was on the rudder-bar ready to get into instant action
before they really took a header into the ground, and he prayed
fervently that the men in the rear cock-pit were also “playing dead,” or
behaving becomingly for the occasion. Perhaps the enemy would think
their task was accomplished and rush off toward Amy-Ran. As Arto had
been an aviator in the war he would probably understand the present
maneuver and not only play his own part, but coach his brother. The
pointer on the altimeter spun around, one hundred feet, another, one
hundred and fifty. They were going more quickly.
In the silence of their own machine, the motors of the others could be
heard distinctly, and Jim’s heart skipped a beat as one of them turned
about and rushed off. It was evident that he at least was satisfied that
they had downed their prey and he wasn’t wasting time on postmortems. If
the others, particularly the one carrying the machine gun would only
take things as easily! He flipped the machine on her back and into as
long a glide as possible, which wasn’t at all unnatural. Every airman
had seen planes act that way; as if they hesitated and hovered hoping to
escape the inevitable crash. From that inverted position the boy could
have shouted with joy as he saw the second machine turn swiftly and roar
off toward the mountains. He too was convinced that the work was
finished and he was heading for the fastness as hard as he could go. But
the third plane, although it was circling against the sky toward the
rocks and away from the scene of the smash-up did not pass over the rim.
The altimeter sent its needle around in warning circles; they could not
fall much further, but on they went. They were only five hundred feet
from the ground and Jim tipped a bit for fear the position would injure
Mrs. Gonzalas, whose face was flushed with the blood that had rushed to
her head.
“Stand it a bit longer?” he asked.
“Si,” she answered bravely, but he didn’t require her to endure the
strain more than a moment. They had passed beyond the rim of a low fold
of sand hills, and there the boy felt sure that it would be safe for him
to come to. Even against the white sand, the aviator, whose motor was
racing, could not possibly distinguish from that distance what they were
doing, so he righted the machine, let her glide on, and to his great joy
he saw they would land on the hillside and that would slide them
further. The wheels struck a smooth, hard surface, for which the boy was
mighty thankful. It meant they hadn’t landed in one of the dreaded
cactus beds, also that they wouldn’t sink into the ground. He could hear
the machine getting further away, its engines waking the echoes, so he
gave his own plane the gun to keep it from running into unseen danger.
The wide desert stretched before them, with its dark patches of shadows
undefined in the moonlight. He couldn’t tell whether they were rocks,
dunes, or plants, but wisdom urged him to get above them quickly and he
lost no time. Flying close to the ground, his eyes straining for
threatening obstacles, they raced forward. Occasionally he glanced back
toward the rim of the mountains but saw no one in pursuit. He was too
low to choke off his engine even for a moment, then Arto spoke into his
ear.
“We will observe for their return.”
“Thanks. All right back there?”
“Much right. You are a great flyer. The marvelous Col. Lindbergh, he
comes from America, he would say you are the gooseberries.”
“Aw,” Jim chuckled, “I’m a ham flyer beside Lindy.”
“At least we have gained some distance on them. Mrs. Gonzalas is—”
“Let her speak for herself,” Jim handed over the tube and had to smile
at the words, mostly Spanish but sprinkled with English slang and
correct phrases, which tumbled from her lips. It was evident that she
was telling them of her safety and also letting them know that she was
getting a real kick out of the adventure. At last the conversation was
cut off, and she settled into her seat comfortably prepared to enjoy the
remainder of the trip. Jim guessed that the brothers had done their best
to assure her that danger was passed. The miles were shooting behind
them when suddenly something rose sharply ahead, so with nose in the air
they zoomed for altitude, climbing a thousand feet. He did not glance
back again for he knew they would soon pass beyond the desert stretch
and have to ride high over another spur of the Andes. It had been hot in
the valley, but now as they rose it was getting cooler, and his chart
showed they were coming to the last but highest and widest folds of the
range and he must be on the alert. He hoped that they had eluded the
gang, but he wouldn’t be too sure until they were safely on the ground
with friends around them. Again he thought of the possibility that
Cardow might learn of their escape, and have one or a dozen men waiting
to pick him up before he could reach Cuzco.
Over the mountain range the clouds were forming, some in thick patches
which settled low, like crowns around the rugged peaks, and Jim hoped
that he could stay above the gathering mist until they were beyond the
dangerous section. Thinking it over, he wondered if he had not been
foolish to leave the desert. The plane carried a bottle of water so they
would not have suffered from thirst for a few hours, and in the early
morning he could have hopped off safely, seen the whole world, and the
risk of being rediscovered by any of the gang would have been greatly
lessened. They roared along between the moon and the thickening mist,
and ahead banks of clouds were forming in dark masses as if preparing
for a storm. Austin still planned to get a message to the laboratory men
regarding the plan of Cardow to blow up the great rocks, although it did
not seem likely that Ynilea or some of the observers constantly on watch
could have missed seeing the outlaw men at work regardless of how
carefully they were setting the dynamite.
If Mrs. Gonzalas had not been along, the Flying Buddy would have
suggested to the brothers that they accompany him to the fastness, or
wait for him at some plantation. Jim was rather glad that he was not a
transportation pilot carrying women and children as well as men and
freight from point to point. With just men and luggage a chap could take
a lot of chances, but women had to be looked after so that no harm
befell them. Tonight he had done any number of mighty risky things, but
he had no choice. It was a case of do what he could and do it quickly in
order to get away from the vicious brutes or be pumped full of lead.
“I think I hear a plane,” Arto told him and Jim nearly jumped out of his
skin. Quickly he shut off the motor, and sure enough, not far behind
him, and a bit higher, was another plane. There was no mistake.
It sent out a long penetrating ray of light and if the pilot had not
already picked them up, he would in a very few minutes.
“They come for us again?” Mrs. Gonzalas sat up quickly.
“Reckon so,” Jim answered. He zoomed up with a roar, for he dared not
dive into the protection of the thick mist and fly blind because if his
altimeter went wrong even slightly, they would dash themselves against
one of the hundreds of steep cliffs that stood out like giant walls.
“How do they know?”
“Perhaps one was sent to that place in the desert we were supposed to
make a landing to see if we were alive and they discovered the trick; or
someone may have located us later and given them word by radio. I don’t
know how they managed it.”
“I see only one plane,” she said hopefully. He glanced back.
“That will be less trouble than three.” He tried to grin, but the effort
was not highly successful.
“They gain,” Arto spoke in his ear.
“How many?” Jim thought the plural pronoun must surely mean more than
one machine.
“One only. It has guns.”
“It is better that we did not stay in the desert,” Mrs. Gonzalas
remarked, and then he knew that she too had thought of that possibility.
“Reckon it is,” he nodded.
“I will pray to the Mother of God. She deserts not the men on the sea
and the men in danger,” she spoke earnestly, and Jim was glad that she
could do that. It would make her feel better. He did it himself many
times. Not always when he was in danger. As he thought of it he couldn’t
recall ever praying when things were going wrong, but when they were
flying over some magnificent scene, when he learned some new marvel of
the universe, or when Bob got over being sick, then he had a feeling as
if God was very close. There was a sort of smiling somewhere deep in
him. He never tried to define it any other way; but it suited his
purpose, and now, just thinking about it brought a quiet confidence to
his mind and a steadiness to his body.
“He gains fast.”
Jim glanced up and saw that the plane which was chasing them was not one
of those that had turned back. Probably a more powerful one had been
sent out with orders to bring them down and be sure of it. He took an
instant to read his dials, glanced at the chart and calculated they must
be nearing a valley, but no settlements were marked on it. The huge
machine thundered gaining quickly until finally it was swooping almost
onto them. Austin tried to dive out of its way, but this man did not let
him get away with that trick, so he had to pull up. He tried a loop but
came around near the other fellow, and then above the din of their
motors came the steady spit of bullets, the streaks of flame, and it
seemed as if the plane was hit in a dozen places at once. More shots
racked her from propeller to tail. A bullet cut across the control board
splintering the glass plates. Others ripped holes in the fuselage, and
more poured through the wings. The plane lunged and rocked in spite of
all the boy could do, and as he kicked the rudder-bar he realized that
it was out of commission. Then the shots spit back and forth again, and
a moment later the tank had been struck. Almost instantly it lighted and
the blaze whirled about the machine.
“Get out of your safety strap,” he shouted to Mrs. Gonzalas.
“I am,” she told him in a moment. His own was loose, but he kept his
seat while the machine, absolutely out of control, started down, nose
first.
“Stand up,” he called to her and helped her to her feet. “We want to
stay with this as long as we can.” He glanced at the altimeter, and
after a moment, shouted: “I’ll hold you by the strap. Don’t pull the
rip-ring until I tell you.” By that time the plane was like a blazing
rocket returning to earth.
“I am ready,” she shouted in his ear.
“We want to jump as far as we can.” He glanced about and saw the
brothers poised above the rear cock-pit, standing close together. They
were on the side opposite the enemy machine, which had to keep its
distance for the moment “Now, come!” The plane was tipping and they
dropped off into space.
Jim could feel Mrs. Gonzalas clutch his belt strap and twist
convulsively, then she gave a little scream. “Mio.” The brothers had
waited an instant longer, then they too slipped into space, sprawling
like frogs, but Arto seemed to be close to Pedro and shouting
encouragement to his brother. Down they dropped straight, while the air
carried the machine away from them toward its destroyer.
“Don’t wish you any extra hard luck, old timer, but I hope she makes you
join this coming-down party.”
“Mother of God—”
“Now pull the ring,” Jim called, and she did. In a moment the great
umbrella mushroomed out wide and Mrs. Gonzalas was dangling in safety.
She glanced about in surprise at the ease of her descent, and then began
to look for her husband.
“Mio,” he called softly. It was more by intuition than hearing that she
located the caller for above them the destroyer was circling as close as
it dared.
Jim wished that the parachutes had dark instead of light covers whose
course could be followed through the night. He gave his undivided
attention to his companion, and showed her how to catch hold of the
ropes in order to spill air and direct her progress. She carefully
followed his instructions, and at last they began to settle below the
mist. Austin wasn’t sure that he had been over the valley when they
jumped, and he strained to see what was below them. At first he could
make out nothing but rolling mist, then, to one side, he caught a
glimpse of fire, like a camp fire in the woods and he prayed that they
were not coming down into a pack of the enemies.