So on and on he sped,
watching the German occupied French territory unrolling itself below
him, coming nearer and nearer each minute to his own lines and
safety.
Behind them, he and Jack--for the latter had done his share before
being wounded--had left consternation in the German ranks. The
bombs had done considerable damage--as was learned later--and the
dropping of packages within the prison camp was fraught with
potential danger to an extent at which the Boches could only guess.
On and on sped Tom, sparing time, now and then, to look back at his
pursuers, who were, it could not be doubted, doing their best to get
within effective range. And, every now and again, Tom would glance
at the motionless form of his churn.
But poor Jack never stirred, and Tom was fearing more and more that
his chum had made his last flight. As for the Hun aviators, after
using up a drum or so of bullets uselessly, they ceased firing and
urged their machine on to the uttermost.
But Tom had the start of them, and he was also on a higher level, so
that the Germans must climb at an oblique angle to reach him.
And, thanks to this, Tom saw that, if nothing else happened, he
would soon be in comparative safety with the unconscious form of
Jack. The anti-aircraft batteries were firing in vain, as he was
beyond their range, and, far away, he could see the lines of the
French armies, behind which he soon hoped to be.
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