Yet there was no alternative that he could perceive. The mere idea of getting captured by Uhlans again gave him goose flesh. As if he read his thoughts de Garros said:
“You run no more of zee reesk in zee flight than you do on zee ground. Not so much. At night I fly high and I promise you I will not make any attacks.”
“You’re on,” said Jack, extending his hand.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A FLIGHT OF TERROR.
“Take zees. You need zem. We fly fast. Très vite.”
De Garros was speaking as he handed Jack a pair of goggles. It was dusk and they, having finished an excellent meal from the aviator’s provision pannier, were about to start on their flight across the war-smitten country.
Already the flying man, aided to the best of Jack’s ability, had gone over the aircraft, testing every part of it. Everything was in perfect order, from the big Gnome eight-cylindered, self-contained motor, mounted with the big propeller forward, to the last bolt on the dragonfly tail.
Just before full darkness fell, which might have involved them in an accident in rising, de Garros gave the word to get on board. They clambered aboard, Jack with a heart that beat and nerves that throbbed rather more than was comfortable.
There are few people who do not feel a trifle “queer” before their first flight above the earth, and in Jack’s case the conditions of danger were multiplied a hundred-fold, for before they had cleared the woods and risen to a safe height they might be the target for German rifles and quick firers. De Garros wore a metal helmet padded inside. Jack had to be content with an old cap that happened to be in the aeroplane, left there by some machinist.