The hornet mounted two guns, but in a stern chase like this she could use only the rear weapon. If he could only cripple one of their pursuers by getting the first shot in Jock knew that they would then be on more even terms, despite the fact that the enemy 'planes, having caught them unawares, had got the advantage of them.
"What are they, Jock?" asked the pilot.
"Fighting scouts, I fancy." Then half a minute later he added:
"Yes, Fokkers, both of them, single seaters with the gun forward."
"Are they gaining much?"
"Yes, they're creeping up rapidly. Now they're nose-diving to gain speed. Shall I open fire?"
"Not yet. Wait till they're within six hundred feet before you open. Cripple the leader if you can."
"Here they come. They're about to open on us."
"Biff, ping, ping, rap, rap!" and the Hornet was sprayed from wing to wing with machine gun bullets.
"Good heavens, the machine's like a sieve! She'll not last much longer at this rate," cried Dastral, as he looked round and surveyed the damage done. Then, turning round towards the observer, who was sighting his gun, he shouted wildly: