It had been constructed about the era
when a revival of old-time Olympic games had roused more or less
interest in a modern worldwide participation in the same, as a sort of
antique revival of ancient times. Several celebrations had come off,
notably at Athens, at Paris, and elsewhere. Then the interest died out
but this concrete oval had remained.
After certain minor uses it had fallen into neglect. When war came
that region became more or less ravaged, though somewhat off the track
of the main struggles. And here was Buck hovering over this modern
relic of an old-time futility, while below him was a mysterious plane
trying to rise but apparently not succeeding.
With this train of thought, Bangs got out his remaining signal flares
and flashed one of the code signals most in use among the Allied
aviators along this front. His pulses leaped when it was answered.
Before Buck could do anything more, there came the sounds of a much
nearer explosion somewhat off to the south, fairly jarring the earth
with its impact.
The plane below was now motionless. All at once a series of flashes
came upward that Buck instantly understood as saying:
"You must be of our side. If not, I'll have to take a chance. We are
out of petrol: tank 'prang a leak. Can you help us out?"
"You bet!" flashed back Bangs. "Got enough so that we can both get
home again.
Pages:
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183