One plane after another sagged, lamely drooped and went to earth
crippled or in flames. It so happened that Blaine and Erwin nearly met
in, mid-air as each verged close in a final assault on the last balloon.
Seizing his megaphone, Blaine shouted:
"We'll down this one, then home!"
Bang - puff! A burst of flame enveloped the last sausage, and Blaine
was already mounting higher, higher, when he saw Erwin's plane go
zigzagging earthward at a gentle angle. One of his wings had been
shattered, the remnants flopping as they fell. Orris, working at the
controls, partially righted, then staggered on, and finally mounted
upward, showing his chief that he would make the home trip if nothing
further happened.
Blaine himself tried to follow. But something was wrong. He fell,
half gliding, and finally landed with his planes too much shot to up
for the machine to float longer.
"I'm a goner, unless something happens," he thought.
"Where was he? In that last staggering rise the sergeant was vaguely
aware that just beyond some trees under him was an open space of some
kind. Could he make that open space? The front enemy trenches and the
line where the vanished gas bags had swung were behind him.
"Seems to me I saw one of our planes drifting over this way."
On earth it was darker, more misty, more impenetrable than it had been
overhead.
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