“Here’s a stick that might look like a gun from up above,” said the artful Billy; “I’m going to lie down and keep waving it like I was taking aim. It can’t do any harm that I see, and may make them keep off some, hey, Frank?”
“Do as you please, Billy,” he was told.
Truth to tell Frank was hard put to it just then to know what their plan of campaign ought to be. The next time the Germans hurled one of their bombs the man in the speeding Taube would be apt to discount that sudden stoppage of the van, and try to drop his explosive so that it might strike them as their momentum ceased.
“Slow up somewhat,” he told the chauffeur. “And this time when I grip your arm put on every ounce of speed you can give. We’ll change our tactics.”
“Bully for you, Frank; a change of base is always a good thing!” said Billy, already lying down and starting to move his pretended gun around.
Once again the aëroplane was directly behind them. It was evidently a part of the scheme of their foes to follow after them, trying to keep in the same general course, so that the man who hurled the bomb would only have to consider the proper second to let it go.
They had also come down still lower, so that every movement could be seen distinctly.
Undoubtedly none of those boys would ever forget the grim appearance of those airmen bending forward to peer down at the fleeting motor truck on that road in Northern France. There was a peculiar grimness connected with their looks, togged out as they were in their customary air cruising clothes, and with goggles shielding their eyes that gave them a strange look.
Once again did Frank decide properly when the man was in the act of hurling the bomb. His fingers closed upon the arm of the van driver, who immediately started the cumbersome vehicle to moving forward as fast as the engine was capable of sending it.
A third crash made the air quiver, and brought out a shout from the irrepressible Billy.