"Follow that bird," said the lieutenant, "and keep going. They will learn something about high flying before they get through with us."
The Albatross was not making much headway in the climbing game. On the other hand, the new Taube was an extraordinary flyer.
"There is only one man aboard of her," said the lieutenant. "Take the glasses, and see if you can make out her number."
Ralph studied the machine for some time. "I am not sure," he said, "but I think it is D 28. No one but the pilot is aboard."
"That's good. He can't hit us head on. Trail him or get ahead of him and keep on ascending," said the lieutenant, now preparing his rapid firer with a new charge.
The Taube suddenly swerved to the right, and let loose a full charge from his gun. It seemed as though one side of the Seraph had the covering of the planes ripped off, for the hail of bullets tore right through the frame. Alfred shook his head as he cleared away several bits of wreckage.
"How high are we?" asked Ralph.
"Two thousand six hundred meters," was the reply.
The lieutenant had his revenge, however, for their own machine was now creeping up and gradually getting a rear position. This was what he had been aiming for. The stream of shots from the Seraph's gun now began to tell. In one despairing attempt the Taube turned fully half way around and answered, but it was evident that something was wrong with the ship.
Suddenly the Seraph darted down. Ralph and the lieutenant looked back in surprise. Alfred's head had dropped to one side, and one arm hung over the side of the chassis.