The staccato of the Lewis guns mingled with the roar of the motors. Apparently taken completely by surprise, the Hun side-slipped, spun on one wing for several seconds, and then burst into a furnace of smoke and flame.
Boldly into the trailing smoke plunged GV 7, keenly in pursuit of the crippled and falling Hun. Half-blinded by the smoke, and choking from the pungent fumes, Derek held on, until a rapid glance at the altitude-gauge showed him that he was but a few feet above the sea.
Like a meteor, the British battleplane flattened out, and, emerging from the smoke, began to encircle the fiercely-burning wreckage on the sea. It was not until several minutes had elapsed that the vapour cleared, and Derek realized that he had been badly tricked.
The Hun, in diving, had thrown out a novel kind of smoke-bomb, and, surmising that the British biplane would dive in pursuit, the German had climbed to a terrific height, unnoticed by his too eager and credulous antagonist.
"We've been on a dud trail," muttered Derek disgustedly, and, glancing aloft, he saw the faint outlines of the Boche machine, looking much like a tadpole, scurrying home at a rapid pace. The advantage of altitude, and the intervening distance, rendered pursuit impracticable, and, reluctantly, Daventry had to recognize tactical defeat.
He had, however, saved the tramp steamer from destruction, and, since his orders were definite, he now had no option but to resume his flight for the battle-front. Nevertheless the wireless operator was busily employed reporting the presence and direction of a Hun to the aerial-patrol off Dunkirk, and, with luck, the strong Allied Air Squadron ought to be able to intercept the returning raider.
The tramp expressed her gratitude by giving a series of whoops on her siren, and, steadying on her course, headed towards a number of M.L.'s, which, called up by wireless, were hurrying to her aid.
The sun was still above the horizon when Derek "cut out" preparatory to descending at the aerodrome. Miles away the sky was stabbed by countless flashes that more than held their own against the glow of departing day, while the air reverberated with the roar of heavy guns. In spite of the volplaning air-craft's rush through the air, and the shriek of the wind, the ceaseless rumble was plainly audible. Ahead, right and left, as far as the eye could see, the lines of flashes continued. A big engagement, not merely a series of local operations, was in progress.
The Sergeant-Observer actually grinned in his officer's face, for there is such a thing as a companionship of the air that makes small beer of cast-iron methods of discipline.
"We're not too late, after all, sir," he exclaimed through the voice-tube. "They're going it hammer and tongs."