He attempted to tilt the aerilons. The operating rods responded stiffly to the action of the levers. The movable tips to the wings were firmly locked. Absolute control of the battleplane was no longer possible.
"There'll be a most unholy smash!" muttered the lad between his clenched teeth.
The next instant the battleplane flattened out, not under the influence of the pilot's guidance, but through some freakish aircurrent. Then, before she could gather momentum for her tail-dive she crashed to earth.
Myriads of white lights flashed in front of Athol's eyes, and then everything became a blank.
* * * * *
When Athol recovered consciousness he found himself in a base hospital. By his bedside stood Desmond Blake and Dick, both swathed in bandages.
"How goes it?" asked Athol feebly.
"The battleplane's done for," replied Dick.
"She's done her bit, and for a wonder we're all here to tell the tale."
"But the Big Push?" persisted the lad.