Lower still he flew. As
the earth grew more and more distinct its strangeness did not diminish.
Though it was risky, he went lower still, until the tops of trees, the
signs of half ruined houses began to appear. But nothing familiar was
in sight. About this time, with day waning and his anxiety growing,
Erwin was at last rewarded by glimpse of the sinking sun, seen hazily
through a canopy of clouds. There was no mistaking that it was the sun
and Orris found that he must have flown wrongly ever since he had put
the Boche biplane out of commission. Already he was heading westward
when from below there came a series of sharp reports from artillery
evidently close by.
"Surely they cannot be shelling our trenches from way back here. I
must be far behind the enemy lines -- much too far to suit me. Ah, I
what's that?"
That was an unmistakable whistle of bullets too close to be
comfortable. At least one or two perforated his wings. Then Erwin
pointed higher at the same time trying to keep his sense of direction,
imparted by a momentary sight of the western sun. More gun shots:
still more whistling of balls, and all too close to be comforting.
Up, up he went, veering more to the west. All at once came other
gunshots, this time in an extended roar from an area covering perhaps a
mile in extent.
"The Archies are getting too familiar," he grumbled.
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