It was not easy work, and Tom hardly expected to make a direct hit, but he must have come uncomfortably close to the Boche, for the latter swerved off, and for an instant his plane seemed beyond control. Whether this was due to a wound received by the aviator, or to a trick on his part was not disclosed to Tom. But the machine darted downward and seemed to be content to veer off for a while.
The third plane Tom soon saw was not going to trouble him, as it had not speed equal to his own, so that he really had left only one antagonist with whom to deal. And this plane, containing two men, with whom he had not yet come to close quarters, was racing toward him at great speed.
“I guess there's only one thing to do,” mused Tom, “and that's to run for it. I won't stand any show at all with two of them shooting at me, while I have to manage the machine and the gun too. If I can beat 'em to our lines I'd better do it and run the chance of some of our boys coming out to take care of 'em. I'd better get Jack to a doctor as soon as I can.”
And abandoning the gun to give all his attention to the motor, Tom opened it full and sped on his way. The other machine's occupants saw his plan and tried to stop it with a burst of bullets, but the range was a little too far for effective work.
“Now for a race!” thought Tom, and that is what it turned out to be. Seeing that he was going to try to get away, the Hun plane, which was almost as speedy as the one Tom and Jack had started out in, took after them. The other German craft was left far in the rear, and the one Tom had shot at appeared to be in such difficulties that it was practically out of the fight.
Thus the odds, once so greatly against our heroes, were now greatly reduced, though not yet equal, since Jack was completely out of the game—for how long Tom could only guess, and he seemed to feel cold fingers clutching at his heart when he thought of this.
But Tom soon discovered, by a backward glance over his shoulder now and then, that his machine, barring accidents, would distance the other, and this was what his aim now was. So on and on he sped, watching the German occupied French territory unrolling itself below him, coming nearer and nearer each minute to his own lines and safety.
Behind them, he and Jack—for the latter had done his share before being wounded—had left consternation in the German ranks. The bombs had done considerable damage—as was learned later—and the dropping of packages within the prison camp was fraught with potential danger to an extent at which the Boches could only guess.
On and on sped Tom, sparing time, now and then, to look back at his pursuers, who were, it could not be doubted, doing their best to get within effective range. And, every now and again, Tom would glance at the motionless form of his churn.
But poor Jack never stirred, and Tom was fearing more and more that his chum had made his last flight. As for the Hun aviators, after using up a drum or so of bullets uselessly, they ceased firing and urged their machine on to the uttermost.