For an instant the heart of each boy stood still. Then things began to
happen. Ned shot straight from his hip, the revolver bullet tearing its
way straight through his coat pocket and wounding the nearest soldier.
Buck grappled closely with the soldier closest to him, beat down the
threatening gun muzzle, felt the discharge scorch his leg in passing,
and rolled over and over on the ground, arms interlocked in deadly
combat.
Alan sprang behind the nearest tree and opened fire on the assailants,
with a revolver in each hand spitting lead as fast he could pull the
trigger.
Muskets belched flame and smoke in a half-circle around them, but Ned
was safely behind a sheltering tree-trunk before the deadly leaden hail
could reach him. Another soldier fell, howling with pain, and a third
clapped one hand to his shoulder where a well-sped bullet from Alan’s
revolver had lodged. The Germans took shelter behind adjacent trees,
as the boys had done, and only Buck and his opponent still rolled out,
exposed to fire. Yet neither the boys or the Germans dared shoot at the
struggling men for fear of wounding one of their own party.
Ned cast a longing, regretful eye at the _Ocean Flyer_ where it stood
not fifty yards away. He blamed himself for their folly in ever leaving
its protecting walls. Besides, he knew that their revolvers were nearly
empty and that they had no spare cartridges in their pockets.
He shouted to Alan in English, which the Germans could not of course
understand, to work his way back towards the airship.
Dodging from tree to tree, the two boys gradually came within about
twenty yards of the _Flyer_. In the meantime, the Germans had divined
their intentions and had followed them closely, keeping up a hot fire
all the time. The intervening distance between the airship and the boys
would have to be covered by a dash across the exposed open ground,
where the Germans could hardly fail to get them.
“Don’t risk it, Ned,” cried Alan.
“One of us absolutely must,” answered the other boy desperately. “We
are all lost if we don’t.”
Then before Alan could protest further, the courageous lad darted from
cover and was bounding across the dangerous open space towards the
_Flyer_.
Twenty German bullets went hissing after him and the entire crowd
pursued with hoarse shouts of rage. Alan bowled over one of them as he
ran, and then himself rushed after Ned. None of the soldiers took time
to pause, aim and shoot. They were too anxious to catch the fleeing
boys.
Up the swaying rope ladder leading to the open portway clambered Ned,
with Alan crowding close on his heels. The former threw himself inside,
but the Germans were too close for Alan to risk it. He felt hot breath
on the back of his neck, heard the man behind him panting heavily, and,
with one foot on the first rung of the ladder, wheeled with clubbed
revolver to defend himself. His arm swung back to dash it into the
man’s face, when--
“_Buck!_” cried he.
It was the reporter, who had finally succeeded in mastering his
assailant and had followed his two chums in their desperate race for
the safety of the _Flyer_.
There was no time for further conversation, however, for the yelling
Germans were now fairly on top of them. Alan’s revolvers snapped
harmlessly. They were empty. Buck fired his remaining four bullets
right into their faces and then struck out with his fists. It looked as
if it were all up with the brave boys until suddenly Ned appeared on
the airship runway overhead. In his hand he held raised a black, round,
metal object about the size of a football.
“Stand back!” he shouted in a terrible tone. “Every one of you Germans
stand back or I swear I will blow you all to pieces with this lyddite
grenade!”
The deadly explosive hung there almost above their heads and every man
of them knew what it was.
Involuntarily they fell back, and in that minute while they hesitated,
Alan and Buck bounded up the companion-ladder into safety in the hold
of the airship. As the metal door clanged shut and locked automatically
behind them, they heard the enraged Germans hammering upon it with the
butts of their muskets.
“To your engines, Buck!” shouted Ned from above. “Quick! Alan, help me
in the pilot house here!”
The starting lever was jammed down into place. The hum of the great
turbines became a roar. The huge propellers swished mightily round and
round. The _Ocean Flyer_ began to slip over the grass, with the frantic
Germans giving ground reluctantly. Then the huge bulk gradually lifted
itself from the earth and skimmed like a swallow heavenwards over the
now dusky tree-tops. German bullets rattled like hail over the metal
sides of the vessel.
Alan smiled grimly at Ned.
“They don’t realize that magnalium alloy is as good as armor plate,” he
said. “Unless a stray bullet happens to snap some mechanical part of
the tail propellers, they’re welcome to shoot as much as they want to
now.”
Ned nodded as he shaped the _Flyer’s_ course towards the north where
the frontier and Muhlbruck lay.