"If only the chaps in high places would stop figuring so much in this war!" Dave groaned.
"Quite!" Freddy Farmer echoed the truth bitterly. "But bemoaning the lack of common sense in the average High Command won't help us now. If the blighter comes back for another fling, Dave, you'll just have to—"
"Don't bother telling me!" Dave shouted. "Here he comes—from the left and up! Hang onto your seats!"
The last had hardly left Dave's lips before he was hauling the Lockheed straight up on its tail. Before the plane reached stalling speed, however, he kicked it over on wing and then sent it dropping nose first toward the black carpet below that was the ground. No sooner had he kicked the plane over on wing than he switched off both engines, and shoved the compensator throttle open wide, so that no carbon sparks or exhaust light of any kind would etch their path downward through the night.
Meanwhile the mysterious attacker had opened fire again, but Dave's quick action at the controls caused the unknown killer to miss by a wide margin. The flickering ribbon of tracers didn't even come close. And at the end of another three or four seconds the Lockheed was well on its way earthward and out of sight.
"See that bird as he banged on by us?" Dave cried, when he was able to talk again. "It looked to me like a small Beechcraft. Or maybe it was a Waco. But he's carrying two guns—and he wants us mighty badly. Heck, if there were only guns aboard this crate. I had a beautiful broadside bead on him."
"Yes, I saw his silhouette as he tore by," Freddy said through clenched teeth. "But I didn't recognize his type. I don't know the Yank planes very well, though. But I say, Dave! Watch our altitude, you know!"
"You're telling me!" Dave grunted. "I'm watching it plenty, and praying, too. There must be some of those mountains under us by now. I think we've got a couple of thousand feet to play around in, but no more than that. I'm flat gliding her as much as I can, but keep those eagle X-ray eyes of yours on the job, Freddy. And yell if you see a mountain peak looming up."
"Mountain peak!" Colonel Welsh cried excitedly. "For pity's sake, keep above them, Dawson. Start those engines and get us some altitude!"
"That would be risking more than this glide, sir," Dave told him. "That bird up there has been spotting us by our exhaust plumes, and aiming blindly. So long as we show no light at all he stands to lose us completely. But if we open up the engines and show exhaust light he's going to be able to take another crack. And—well, third time never fails, you know, and stuff. Our best bet is to try and lose him before we get too low. He has a ship that can travel, but if we get a little lead on him we'll be all right."