Here we will leave him for the
present.
When Erwin at last brought his plane down beside the half ruined
chateau, he found both Stanley and Blaine stooping over a prostrate
form soon identified as that of the German aviator. Near by was the
Fokker, somewhat disabled, but not in such bad condition. The man
himself had just expired.
"What do you think that chap asked us to do," said Blaine, regarding
the dead man solemnly. "It sort of mellowed me towards him, after His
father and mother live in Chicago, worked for some meat packers, and
his dad is making some money there. When he found that the bullets
that had hit him as well as his machine weren't goin' to let him live
much longer, he asked if either of us got back to our lines, to write
tell his mother. He gave me the name and I put it down in my pocket
pad book. He talked in good English and altogether seemed quite like
some of our home folks. He got into aviation over here and liked it.
But he's out of all that now and to make him feel better both Stan and
I promised to do as he wished.
"He said his machine was all right; and if anything was the matter with
ours we might fix up his and make a get-away. Course there ain't
nothin' much the matter with mine, though yours may be crippled --
hullo! What's that?"
The loud report of an exploding bomb sounded as it fell not far away.
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