But this was not evident to the infuriated mail pilot who, coming straight at the helicopter from a swing on wingtip at a higher elevation over the swamp, made a ferocious dive, on wings of vengeance, for the ungainly ship Don piloted.
His intent was clear.
With his “propeller wash,” or slip-stream of turbulent air, he meant to upset the helicopter.
Garry held his breath. He could do nothing.
The mail ship passed just behind the helicopter.
It wavered, tossed, bent far to the side—began to go down—fast!
CHAPTER XXIV
SKY TACTICS
Clearly Don saw, as his helicopter wavered, teetering like a dizzy baby trying to stand alone, the venomous purpose behind that air disturbing swoop.
Chick, staring with wide eyes, his heart stopped, felt the sway and quiver of the cockpit and convulsively snapped the clasp of the safety belt he had released to operate the projector.
Up, in a zoom, after his furious dive, the mail craft’s pilot sent his ship. On wingtip, he came around.