Even while he thought, a stray fragment of shell penetrated the fuselage of the triplane and, striking one of the propeller shafts, so bent it that the lightning-like blades began to revolve more slowly, despite all his efforts to increase his motor power.
For the first time Erwin became seriously alarmed. Try as he might, he was in no position to stop to make repairs, nor could he descend with safety. Apparently the only thing for him to do was to speed up as best he could, try to avoid this pursuit and, if it came to close quarters, put up the best fight possible under the circumstances.
This, of course, he did. But the sight of their own planes pursuing, and at the same time signaling to their friends below, caused Erwin at once to become the target for a continuous line of Archies, extending from the front line German trenches way back to the unknown distances in their rear.
When the pursuing planes drew nearer, the shelling from below grew less, while the condition of his own plane was such as to cause alarm. He knew that he was cornered. Cornered, too, in a way seldom happening to the birdmen who became temporarily lost in a raid. He eyed the two nearing scout planes with no little aversion. Not only was his machine going at less speed, despite his efforts, but the difficulty in steering was greater. Apparently if would only obey the rudder slowly, no matter how hard he tried to "get a move on her." As for wheeling, volplaning, spiraling or doing anything that occasioned quick action on his part with rudder or planes, he was nearly helpless.
Meantime the pursuing planes, both Fokker scouting machines, drew still nearer and began to use their machine guns. The balls pattered all about; but as yet neither he nor his plane was hit. He was zigzagging, mounting, spiraling, but all in a much slower fashion than he had been used to do with this same plane before.
"What's the use?" he groaned. "I can't get back at them, even if I am running away. It's got to come. What's the odds? I'll turn and give them one good try for their game, anyhow."
He was already turning in his lame evolutions when something like a big shadow darkened the air for an instant overhead. It passed. Then back came the shadow again, and a voice was megaphoning, not from below or in the rear but from right overhead. It said:
"Hey, you, Orry! You're crippled! I can see that. But why don't you come up higher? Get a move on!"
Erwin knew that voice. It was like a trumpet call to the lad. Fiercely be seized his own megaphone and shouted back, while with one hand and his feet he kept his own flier still going.
"Yes? I'm crippled but all right. I can't rise except slowly. Better go while the going's good! Too many Archies below!"