“It’s our only chance,” he grumbled. “Not much of a chance at that. Those Huns are too close. If it wasn’t for those fighters of ours we’d be lost.”
“Lost before you could say it,” Mary agreed. “But Ramsey! Ramsey!” she screamed.
The leader of the Messerschmitts had let loose a burst of fire at Ramsey’s plane but, tilting his ship’s nose, he had gone shooting beneath the enemy to execute a turn that was like a pinwheel and then to send three short, sharp bursts at the flying Hun.
It seemed to Mary as she looked that the Messerschmitt had been sawed squarely in two. It doubled up, began to smoke, then went spinning down.
“I’ll take the controls,” she said. “You man the machine gun. They may come straight at us.”
Hardly had Sparky gripped the machine gun when one of the remaining flying bandits came zooming in.
“He’s got a cannon,” Mary thought. “He’ll get our right engine and then—”
But he didn’t. Seeming to have hopped off from the back of her plane, a two-seated fighter leaped straight at the on-coming enemy.
As if fearing a collision in mid-air, the enemy pilot banked sharply to the left. This left his broadside exposed. At the same instant, both the gunner of the two-seater and Sparky let go a smoking fury of fire. For a moment the enemy appeared to stand still in mid-air. Then its nose turned swiftly downward as it went into a spin.
“Two of them!” Mary exulted. “We’ll have them all in a minute more.”