All of a sudden the right waist-gunner wavered at his post, then fell like an empty sack. As if indeed he were just that, Gale dragged him aside, seized his gun, looked to its loading, then stood ready.
A plane flashed past, too far and too fast. It wheeled to come shooting straight at her. Had the pilot contemplated suicide? If so, it was his last thought. Her gun spoke. He crumpled in his place, his engine died, then his plane went whirling down.
But here was another. Approaching with caution, this pilot swung to the right, then sent out a burst of small slugs from a free machine gun. Gale felt a push at her left shoulder. But her eye was on the target. She did not waver but allowing for the enemy’s speed, placed her shots before him. His ship began to smoke, then exploded in mid air.
Then, all of a sudden everything faded into gray fog. Jimmie had headed his plane into a huge cloud that lay on the road home.
“Here!” he said to the co-pilot. “Take the stick. I’ll look things over.”
Already two men were working over the fallen gunner. Jimmie counted his men.
“One casualty,” he murmured. “Not bad.” Then his eyes fell on Gale who was sitting beside her gun. Catching a suspicious blotch of red, he tore at her blouse.
“You’re hit!” he exclaimed.
“Am I?” Her eyes opened wide.
“You know you are, you little fool!” he exploded.