No sooner had he conceived this rather desperate plan then he commenced once more to volplane toward the earth. He had a glimpse of a man’s face thrust out from the side of the car, which had started on at wild speed, as if the driver realized that the monster plane was swooping particularly at him, with some object in view.
“Be ready to use the gun, Jack!” yelled the pilot. “When I give the sign fire at his rear tires if you can. That man has what we want, and we’ve just got to take it from him. Understand?”
“Sure!” shouted Jack, changing his position in order to be ready to carry out his orders.
The car was bouncing along the road at a mad rate, but this seemed nothing in comparison with the speed with which the plane came on. Tom slowed up when he believed they were close enough. He left the rest to his comrade, knowing full well that Jack had shown considerable proficiency in using the rapid-fire gun when they were training at the French military field, and while engaging that Boche pilot more recently.
It was not an easy target—that moving car, plunging from side to side of the winding road, partly through accident, or it might be from fear on the part of the driver that he was about to be bombarded.
Keeping his gun low enough not to spatter the upper part of the car, Jack fired. With the “chatter” of the gun the bullets commenced to splash like hail around the rear tires of the speeding car. Jack kept shooting low. He was in deadly fear lest by some mischance he puncture the petrol tank of the automobile. And even though they wrecked the car of what avail would their victory be if in the end they found only an empty reservoir?
Tom could see ahead a short distance. He kept a keen lookout, for after they had stopped the car it would be necessary for them to make a successful landing; and he knew full well what difficulties must then confront him as the pilot. Any sort of accident, and it would be all over with them. Either they would be killed, or at the best find themselves prisoners of the Boches.
Jack now began to get his range better. All the while they were hovering about the height of an ordinary house above the fleeing car, and keeping somewhat in the rear. It was certainly the queerest pursuit that any one could well imagine, and no wonder the man who was trying his best to escape believed his last hour had come.
Then one of the missiles accomplished its work, and a tire went flat.
The car zigzagged worse than ever, and its speed was cut down. The pilot managed to guide the machine, however, and keep it on the road until the speed was very low; and then it went into the ditch with a crash.