He did not realize this was the most common mistake of green men—ineffectual firing. Nor did he know the Commanding General was speeding to the Toul airdrome in an open Fiat, his glasses trained on the Spad, as best they could, what with the bumping along the road and the quick turns.
The Fokker evidently was aware that his opponent was not an experienced pilot, for he rolled over to get on top. One almost could see the avariciousness on his face. A mastiff setting himself for the rush of the terrier. But the terrier tore in, regardless.
Both guns blazing, Dorman held his nose down until the Fokker rolled and then he brought it up and tried to get into firing position. The Fokker was side-slipping away, then he leveled off and Immelmaned back. Dorman yanked his stick back for a loop, but the Fokker had figured where he would emerge and at the close of the circle there was lead rattling through Dorman’s wings. It spattered his windshield into bits and fanged into the instrument board.
His heart closed with the cold of weakness and fear, and he dived low to free himself of the hail of lead. He knew he had not fought the approach with care, and he bit his teeth and swept to the left in a climbing turn.
For a moment he got above the line of fire and felt relieved; then he half-rolled to get on top. The Fokker raced by a hundred and fifty yards away and Dorman kicked his rudder around savagely and squeezed his trigger again.
The crank arms wouldn’t move. Madly he yanked at the cocking lug. It wouldn’t budge. He yanked again and the wind screamed in his face. Still it refused to move.
The little spot of fear that had burned at him now swelled and gave way to flame. His mouth was dry and he couldn’t swallow. Big George Dorman had a panicky moment. He was helpless. Out ahead the Fokker, like a thing inspired, had banked wide and was coming back.
Dorman put his nose down and came home.
He bounced down into the landing field and as he pulled over to the starting line another Spad was trundled out of the hangar. A pilot was getting in as it came through the door. He had a silk stocking tied around his mouth and nose and the straps of his helmet were dangling below his chin. His uniform coat and his flying coat both were open and Dorman could see his shirt beneath. His boots were only half-laced.
It was Lufbery.