Air Stories — page 70: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AIR STORIES seemed unimportant compared with the problem of quenching the flames. A final, desperate exertion and he managed to reach the flame with a lucky flick of his cap. But the little red flower bloomed again and again, and it seemed ages before he had it really out. For a few seconds Nobby Clarke lay relaxed ; sometimes on his stomach, sometimes on his back and again on one side or the other as the ’plane gyrated madly and uncontrolled about the sky. Then, the first awful danger overcome, a second confronted him : that of making a safe landing or, alternatively, carrying on the scrap, for he had suddenly realised that somewhere nearby a gentleman in a Roland doubtless awaited his reap- pearance—though why he had held his fire for so long, defeated him entirely. Nobby tried to edge backwards, but found it impossible. He seemed to be streamlined the wrong way. Meanwhile, the muffled sound of the engine dinned in his ears, labouring heavily one moment as if the ’plane were climbing steeply, and rising again to a shrill scream as the craft dived earthwards. It was on one of these latter occasions, when the ’plane was diving on its back, that Nobby felt the pressure slightly relax. It was probably due to the pull of gravity at his feet and to the fact that his back was now pressing against the base of the triangle formed by two cross-bracing wires and an intet-longeron strut, instead of his tummy being firmly wedged in the apex, as when the ’plane was flying right side up. Exerting all the strength he could muster in his constricted quarters, Nobby arched his back and forced his body downwards. There was a sudden report —later they found the inter-longeron strut had snapped—and he slipped free. With an agility none would ever have suspected him of possessing, he fell back into his seat, took one hasty glance over the side, and gave himself up for lost. Rushing past and towards him—he was never afterwards quite certain which, or if it were not both together—was a green field : so close that it seemed he had only to stretch forth a hand and the grass would ripple between his fingers. Confused, and with his head spinning from the smoke and his exertions, he eased the stick back instinctively, while his other hand shoved open the throttle to give more effect to the supporting surfaces. The green expanse, now horribly close, reluctantly gave place to blue sky. Nobby took one hasty glance round, saw a clear spot and promptly cut the engine switch. He felt the wheels bump slightly, eased the stick forward to dampen the rebound, and sank back with closed eyes, perspiration streaming down his face. OBBY CLARKE was never able to say how long he remained in his stupor of exhaustion, but he was quite emphatic that if life and freedom had depended upon his opening his eyes and doing something about it, death or capture would assuredly have been his lot. In fact, it was the unexpected sound of a voice beside him which woke him from his daze. ‘* Nice work, my friend,’’ remarked the voice, almost in his ear. ‘‘ Very nicely done indeed.’’ Nobby Clarke opened his eyes slowly, incuriously. Turning his head, he saw a face from which the goggles had been lifted to the flying-cap, smiling at him approvingly. He leaned towards the speaker and slowly grinned back. ‘*A spot of luck, what ? ’’ he croaked hoarsely, for his lungs were still smoke- laden. ‘‘ How the blazes it happened, I’m hanged if I know. Give me a hand, will you? It’s a pretty tight fit in here.’’ The newcomer swung himself astride the fuselage and Nobby felt muscular arms beneath his shoulders. A couple of minutes later he was on the ground, leaning against the side of the fuselage. He fumbled for cigarettes and held out his case. ‘* Have a gasper ? ’’ he invited ; then as he saw the man before him in full detail for the first time, he closed the case with a snap. 164 EO LOO) (©