That dive of Garry’s spelled an instant’s respite for Don. With a right foot slightly pressing rudder bar, Garry swung the Dragonfly in a gentle arc, as he went down, so that his path of flight went as far to Don’s side as possible: at the same time he would come back, he felt, into a line that must either bring the mail ’plane and his ship close, or the other, disturbed and disgruntled by his unexpected tactics, must side-slip out of danger.
That was not quite the result.
The mail ship, its control man seeing Garry’s purpose, drew up his nose, kicking rudder and banking—he sent the ship into an upward, sidewise skid.
It accomplished Garry’s purpose. Don, climbing and moving forward at the helicopter’s best speed, was out of the danger zone.
The few seconds of advantage he gained meant safety, because he had the helicopter righted and working under perfect control again.
Garry, cutting the gun, not skilful enough to dare sharp maneuvers, went on for some hundreds of yards before he thought it safe to bank and turn. A swift glance sidewise and backward showed him that the mail ship had come out of its skid, righted and again was executing a wingtip turn.
“Won’t the idiot ever give up?” Garry muttered.
Chick, watching the scene, unable to take part, saw one point of possible advantage, if he could only communicate with Garry.
In its climbing, forward position, the helicopter was close to the same altitude that the mail ship then had. Garry, in his last maneuver, had lost a considerable amount of altitude, and was, thereby, too low for anything but a climb.
Still, as Chick almost instantaneously thought it out, if Garry drove forward on a straight line, the imminent dive of the mail pilot would bring him into danger of a crash with the Dragonfly—if only Chick could get Garry to fly forward, on a level, at once, to get to that essential point where he would be in the required position, the mail pilot must turn.