Another Fokker dived at Larkin, his Spandaus rattling. His aim was wild and he overshot Larkin’s steep dive. But in that dive, which brought him all too close, Larkin caught sight of the insignia on the plane–a German eagle perched on a lettered scroll. It was von Herzmann’s Circus!
Larkin’s heart leaped. He kicked his left rudder savagely and wheeled left, thundering after the green and gold plane that was streaking homeward. Get that plane, get that plane! ran through his mind. All else faded. The presence of other planes, and his original plan, all were lost sight of in the pulse-quickening realization that he had crippled the plane of the famous ace in that first burst. Now to get him and bring him down! Von Herzmann was not one to cut and run unless there was an urgent reason for it. He was trying to tool a crippled plane back across the lines. Larkin, determined to make the most of this golden opportunity, forthwith lost sight of all else.
Ta-ka-ta-ka-ta-ka-ta-ka! Crash! Splinters flew from Larkin’s cowling and two gashes suddenly appeared in the fabric of his left wing. So! The crippled eagle had loyal kingbirds for protectors, and they had plunged, pecking, at the Camel pursuing their leader.
152Larkin dived clear of the streaming bullets, zoomed upward into a half loop and rolled into position to fire at the leading attacker. The German was slow and Larkin poured a stream of lead into the cockpit. He saw the pilot stiffen, as one who has received a sudden shock or surprise, and then slump down. The plane thundered on for a moment, then nosed down, out of control.
Ta-ka-ta-ka-ta-ka-ta-ka! Larkin saw tracers zipping past the nose of the plane. He side-slipped, out of the line of fire, and glanced back. Two more kingbirds coming to the relief of the fleeing eagle.
Ta-ka-ta-ka–the Spandaus again began their monotonous, metallic stutter. Into the cockpit of Larkin’s plane streamed a half dozen deadly pellets. Two of them pinged against the instrument board, another passed completely through the cockpit, just in front of his stomach. He felt suddenly cold at the nearness of death as he zoomed steeply into a quivering stall and slipped off into a spin.
He was conscious of the fact that both the Fokkers were thundering after him. Then a Camel, with the speed of a thunderbolt, flashed across his line of vision. He could see the Lewis gun quivering with little excited jumps as it poured out lead. Good old McGee! He always turned up when needed most.
Larkin neutralized the stick, then ruddered hard left against the spin, and thus stopped the tail spin. 153Then, gaining speed by a quick dive, he looped with a suddenness that brought the Camel squarely on the tail of the remaining pursuer who was diving steeply. Both guns began jumping with delight as Larkin thumbed the releases. What luck! Square in the ring sight! The telltale tracers poked their white fingers into the vitals of the Fokker tri-plane. A serpent-like tongue of red licked out, fluttering for a moment like a wind blown candle flame, and then leaped afresh in an enveloping burst of flame and smoke.
Two!
He glanced around. McGee was in a merry game with the other kingbird. Round and round they plunged in steep spirals, each trying to get a glimpse of the other across the sights. A tight, breath-taking game, but one which cannot last long. The circle becomes too small, the pace too swift. It was a game in which, Larkin knew, the tri-plane Fokker could excel the Camel, granting that the pilots were of equal skill.