Don kicked rudder, moving the stick to tip the wings. He gunned up, in the bank.
The ship swung, almost on wingtip.
Again almost ahead of the new swing, came that terror from below.
Don saw it. He skidded out of the turn by giving excess rudder, caught the skid, and swiftly adjusted stick and bar to get on a level keel.
His quick wit told him that they were almost exactly at the altitude where those deadly fireworks were bursting.
In their excited, upset state all three youths supposed the rockets were the result of some sort of celebration. The real meaning did not occur to them.
One thing they all realized was that they were over an area of the utmost danger: no mind could foresee the track of bomb or rocket.
“They don’t see us, don’t know we’re up here!” Chick muttered as Don planned his next moves with quick and cool precision. Don had regained his self-control.
“I’ll dive, to get away with the greatest speed!” Don had decided.
Nose down, engine full speed, he dived.