"Let's hope it isn't wasted," rejoined Blake, ordering the motors to be run "all out."
In the darkness the battleplane passed high above the opposing lines of trenches, their outlines rendered distinctly visible by the flashes of rapid rifle and machine gun fire, and the occasional glare of star-shells, punctuated by the high-explosive projectiles.
"Give them a call up, sergeant," ordered the pilot.
O'Rafferty brought the wireless into use, unwinding eighty feet of "aerial" that trailed behind the swiftly-moving battleplane. In answer to the message a blaze of electric arc lamps appeared upon the flying-ground.
Almost before the sergeant had wound in the aerial the battleplane was ready for her earthward glide. Flattening out to a nicety she landed within twenty feet of the door of the hangar, and was immediately surrounded by a throng of eager flying men.
"Instructions have been carried out, sir," reported Blake to the Wing Commander. "Three, possibly four, Zepps have been destroyed."
"Any casualties?" asked the commander.
"Mr. Hawke missing, and believed a prisoner, sir. We had to make an involuntary landing, and were rushed by a German patrol. In the circumstances no attempt at rescue was possible."
"And where is Lieutenant Fauvart?" continued the Wing Commander.
Desmond Blake smiled grimly.