“We accompanied the raiders, and witnessed pretty much all that was done,” Frank told him. “After the fleet of aircraft had turned homeward again we started across country to take a look at Lille, and see what you people were up to over in this region. We also meant that M’sieu should have the worth of his money and learn all the big airship could do.”
“Wonderful, and you so young at that!” exclaimed the soldier; “but then I understand American boys are equal to such things. But what happened to send you down as though you were a bird with a crippled wing?”
“A stray shot must have punctured our petrol tank and allowed the fuel to drain out, for we suddenly discovered we had none. Only through great luck were we able to push ahead, and escape falling back of the German lines.”
“That would have been a misfortune in several ways, I take it,” said the officer.
“Just after we fell, and were trying to see if any of us had been hurt, we were fired on from the old windmill base, and it was only by crawling along a depression that we finally managed to escape.”
“So that was where those shots came from?” cried Captain Marsden. “We wondered if they had any connection with the dropping of the aëroplane. What do you wish us to do for you, boys?”
“Excuse me,” Frank remarked, “but hearing you say you belonged to a Sussex regiment made me remember that a very good friend of ours, in Dunkirk just at present, Major Nixon, also came from that part of England.”
“What, Tom Nixon!” exclaimed the soldier, his face lighting up again; “one of my best friends, and with whom I’ve followed the hounds dozens of times after the fox. If you are comrades of his, I would esteem it a privilege to help you out in any way possible.”
“The chief concern we have,” Frank told him, “is that we must manage in some way to get our machine, after we’ve taken it to pieces, transported back to the hangar at Dunkirk.”
“But suppose we could supply you with sufficient petrol to take you there; would that help you out, or is the machine wrecked too badly?”