A hail of bullets from machine guns rained down upon them. In almost no time two of these planes went staggering earthward. Blaine, forgetting his almost empty sheaves of Lewis gun ammunition, hung upon the tail of one, while Buck, with side loops and a nose dive, flung himself almost literally on another.
"Holy Moses!" ejaculated Buck as his last full sheaf went into the cartridge roll, and he realized that with this gone he would be absolutely helpless. "I don't want to quit. But if this don't fetch another one, I'll have to. I'll have to anyhow."
In the meantime, the Boche fighting planes had mixed in with the Allied fighters, interrupting their assault upon the bombers. And such an exhibition of diving, darting, nose dipping, looping, and what not had seldom been seen along that extended front.
Realizing the damage to be done by bombs on the unprotected infantry charging below, both Blaine and his comrade kept strictly after the bombing planes. Let those fresh arrivals who had plenty of ammunition attend to the fighting Fokkers and other battling planes that had arrived so inopportunely.
By this time the anti-aircraft guns were getting in their work. With the targets so close, though darting hither and yonder with bewildering speed, two of the German fighting planes were soon zigzagging towards the ground. One fell right in the path of a disorderly advance of the infantry, which happened to be a well-known Canadian battalion. From his perch, his own ammunition exhausted, Blaine saw those troops surge around and over that unlucky plane, then pass on, leaving a flaming wreck behind.
The bombs began to explode. Blaine saw the danger to other troops behind. It so happened that these troops were Sammies and Blaine, with a swoosh, swept down to within a dozen yards right over the heads of these men and the column heard his megaphone bellowing:
"Watch out, bunkies! 'Ware that wrecked plane! She's full of Boche bombs. Watch out — spread out! Give it room! Oh, you doughboys! Rah for Uncle Sam!"
Recognizing the meaning and divining that it must be an American, the
Sammies shouted back as they divided and gave the necessary room:
"Oh, you Spaddy! What you doin' down so low? Rah for you! Bully boy!
Rah, rah, rah! You're all right!"
And on they went, comforted themselves, and comforting the weary, ammunitionless aviator who now recognized that his present job was about over.