As he yanked his S.E. around to drive this newcomer off, the fellow for a fraction of a second did the wrong thing, and a burst from Jimmie’s machine-gun found its mark. The plane staggered like a wounded thing and went down out of control.
Jimmie turned quickly in time to see his blue wing-tip fellow engaged by another S.E. They were some distance off, too far for Jimmie to be of any help for the moment.
He looked about for new worlds to conquer. The fight had broken up his patrol. They were scattered widely, and now an anti-aircraft battery was devoting its whole attention to preventing Jimmie from regaining his own side of the lines.
The first burst startled him as it came up alongside and spread out level with him. The w-u-u-m-p of its explosion made his machine shudder, and he saw a ragged hole in the wing about four feet from the fuselage.
“I must fool this fellow,” Jimmie said to himself, and as two more black, greasy palls of smoke followed the first, he changed his direction and steered toward them, knowing that the gunners would change their range slightly before trying again. Then for a few seconds he twisted and turned, lost height and gained it again, till the enemy gunners apparently decided to try for some of the others.
Away to his left Jimmie saw another S.E. picking away at an enemy two-seater. Inasmuch as he had the advantage of height, he decided to help in this little matter. Getting terrific speed from a long dive, he zoomed up under the fat belly of the enemy machine just as the other S.E. was swinging in from the other side. They both opened up with their guns at the same time. The two-seater reared up into the air like a bucking horse, quivered for a moment, slid off on one wing, and a slow curl of black smoke streamed from it as it went spinning downward.
Jimmie’s heart jumped within him as he saw their enemy go down. He yelled at the top of his lungs, trying to drown out the sound of his motor, “Not so bad for a leave day!”
Then Jimmie remembered he must catch the tender before eleven. He looked at his watch and decided that he could just make it if he started for home now. He throttled back his motor a little and made his way north. The wind had drifted him south and east, but always keeping a sharp lookout behind he made his way toward home.
He felt hot and tired now, and began to think of his leave and of the two weeks he would spend in England. He knew old friends would be there, and he began counting up the money he had saved for this vacation from the war.
The erratic shooting of an anti-aircraft group of batteries brought Jimmie’s mind back to the war with a snap. If these gunners were shooting at him they were mighty poor marksmen.