This in itself was almost impossible, so closely had
one train followed the other, a most incautious thing to do.
He felt that his big spread of wings offered too great a bombarding
surface to the forces at the crossroads below, but he was bound to
finish the job so well begun, no matter what resulted to himself and
Stanley.
Still further down he went, and at the pivotal instant began again with
the first rack of bombs. Down they flow, crashing upon car after car.
Though half conscious of something at his rear and left, he did not
dream the cause until, turning, he saw Stanley's pallid face
contracting with pain. The observer was shoving forward the second
rack into the essential groove for firing. Blaine in his baste had
missed fixing it in the notch necessary for accurate discharge. At
untold bodily cost to himself Stanley had again risen and completed the
task, just in time for the second rack to fall along the rear half of
the train, the last bombs crashing into the rear engine pushing the
heavy train from behind.
So far as could be seen from above the wrecking of the two trains was
complete. Amid the din of exploding munitions rose the cries of
hundreds of wounded, dying men, while the debris of the burning
wreckage was strewn up and down the single track for a mile or more.
As Stanley sank back again, more deathlike than ever, Blaine put on all
his power and strove to rise.
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