"Just a little further and I'll get him." So ran Erwin's thought.
"But I mustn't waste ammunition. There's no knowing when or where I'll
need all I've got. Curse that beast! He shall die or I'll know the
reason why, even if I get into a narrow squeeze myself."
At last he felt that he might begin. He was on the tail of the
biplane, though underneath. To his gratification he also saw that in
nimble activity he was now the superior. And in close fighting it is
the nimble, ducking, dodging, twisting machine that usually has certain
advantage.
Pointing upward, he began to rain bullets and shrapnel into the fleeing
German, his Lewis gun working automatically, and with such precision
that the German shot off at right angles, dived, and strove to come up
underneath his assailant. But he was too slow. After the dive, as the
biplane came up in reverse position Erwin, prepared for this, half
wheeled, and shot obliquely downward, pointed straight at his
adversary. While he darted at a two-mile-a-minute pace, the deadly
Lewis again began vomiting its flaming death straight at the man seated
amidships, who was frantically trying to train his own gun on the
advancing foe.
On came the scouting plane from five hundred yards to less than two
hundred, almost while one drew an average breath. Evidently the German
misunderstood. He thought that the now reckless foe, casting
discretion to the wind, was bent upon something desperate.
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