"If possible, yes. I don't hanker after a German prison camp. It would sure kill Stanley, if he isn't dead already."
By the time they had their brief preparations completed, the fire, steadily approaching, struck the edge of an opening through the woods and suddenly burst into tremendous flame, with an accompanying report.
"Wait, Lafe," cautioned Buck, for both were in their seats. "Let, me rise first. I'll mosey towards that fire. As for you and Stan — you make your get-away. Sooner you get back to the home plate, the more you'll be apt to do for Stan. Stan's a bully chap — durn 'im."
Up into the air rose the Nieuport, while Buck was thus delivering himself. Over towards the line of fires and the shadowy circling of planes he went while Blaine himself made an attempt to rise. What was the latter's consternation to find that his plane would not rise sufficient to clear the concrete oval by which the open space was surrounded!
"What will I do now?" Blaine almost gasped. "Must be something wrong with the machinery that I failed to notice."
Another explosion, much nearer, that seemed to tear up trees within the forest. At the same time he distinctly saw Buck's machine circling round and round, high up in the air, and directly over where the last explosion had occurred. It looked puzzling. But Lafe had no time just then to observe Buck's doings except that, during the last flash, the concrete oval had given way.
Meantime the biplane was trying to lift itself a trifle higher, and happened to be beaded towards where the explosions were occurring.
"Damn if he ain't droppin' bombs, too," Blaine gasped, then quickly solved the riddle of Buck's maneuvers.
Without waiting further, but applying all his power, Blaine drove the biplane forward at full speed, at the same time using both forward and rear steering blades to assist further elevation of the prow.
"Will we make it?" he asked himself. "If we do, what will we do then?"