"And now, if I can volplane down the rest of the way, I'll be in a
fair position to save myself," mused Tom, as he made a calculation
of the distance he had yet to go. It was far, but he was at a good
height and believed he could do it.
Suddenly his engine stopped, as though with a sigh of regret that it
could no longer serve him, and Tom knew that volplaning alone would
save him now. He was still over the enemy country, and had his
plight been guessed at by the Germans, undoubtedly they would have
sent a machine up to attack him. But they were in ignorance.
There was nothing to do but drift along. Gravity alone urged the
craft on. As he swept over the German trenches Tom was greeted with
a burst of shrapnel, and he was now low enough to be vulnerable to
this. But luck was with him, and though the plane was hit several
times he thought he was unharmed. But in this he was wrong. He
received a glancing wound in one leg, but in the excitement he did
not notice it, and it was not until he had landed that he saw the
blood, and knew what had happened.
On and on, and down and down he volplaned until he was so near his
own lines, and so low down, that he could hear the burst of cheers
from his former comrades.
Then he aimed his craft for a level, grassy place to make a landing,
and as he came to a gradual stop, and was surrounded by a score of
eager aviators, he cried out, as soon as he could speak, "I'm all
right! But look after Jack! He's hurt!"
A surgeon bent hastily over the huddled form, and with the aid of
some men lifted it from the cockpit.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122