It did. Leaping from his plane, he did a slow crawl, waiting to see if his plane would sink. Three minutes more and it was gone.
Turning, he swam toward that floating thing. What was it? He could not tell. All he knew was that once he reached it he would escape from the bitter, biting chill of the sea.
Chapter XVII
Playing War
Meantime the young Lord had gone streaking after the self-appointed ace of the Huns and his most trusted guard. The Lark and Brand had remained in formation behind their leader. A fast and furious race had followed. The Nazis had climbed to dizzy heights. Turning on the oxygen, the young Lord and the Lark followed on their tails, but always a little too far behind for attack.
Unaccustomed to the climb, Brand was thinking of dropping out. Turning to look back, he caught his breath, stared again, then leveled off for greater speed. He had seen Fiddlin’ Johnny go into a spin and had read in this disaster for his good pal Dave. He went to the rescue but too late. By the time he reached the scene both Dave and pursuer had vanished into the clouds.
Swinging about, he searched the sky for the young Lord and his fighting companion.
“There! There they are!” he exclaimed excitedly. “They win!” He was just in time to see an enemy plane go streaking down all in flames. At the same instant, some distance away, he saw a second enemy craft vanish into a cloud.
“Tough luck,” the young Lord grumbled into his speaker as Brand came up. “We got Wick’s favorite guard but the big boaster got away. Well, better luck next time. Where’s Dave and the Fiddler?”
“Johnny’s gone for good.” Brand’s voice was low and solemn. “He seemed a real fellow. I—I’m sorry. He went down in a spin, quite out of control. He can’t have come out of it. It’s taps for him.”
“Taps for poor old Johnny.” No more shouting today for The Lark. The flight’s scant triumph had cost them too dearly.