Bill Barnes Air Adventurer, July 1935 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

44 five one-inch shells went hurtling into space in three seconds. Bill nodded his head as Sandy turned a surprised, ques- tioning glance toward him. “T wish I had something real to shoot at,” Sandy said. “I don’t know whether my aim is any good or not.” - “Give her a longer burst this time,” Bill said. “If she’s going to tear out we might better know it now. How does it look?” “She’s secure enough, Bill.” Sandy’s fingers clamped down on the firing trip again. The carrier-transport seemed to have struck an unexpected air pocket as it trembled from stem to stern and slid away again. “She certainly kicks like——” Sandy’s voice trailed off as the deafen- ing roar of a half dozen diving airplane motors joined the drone of the twin Diesels. His mouth. dropped open as he raised his eyes and saw seven rugged single-seaters with short, flat wings and lean fuselages diving at them out of the sun. It was not until the noses of those seven gray planes began belching stream- ers of tracers and lead into the monster transport that he found his voice. Bul- lets drummed on the tail surface and through the fuselage of the carrier- transport. A thousand tiny lines ap- peared in the bulletproof glass over Sandy’s head as bullets crashed onto it. “Seven of ’em, Bill!” the screamed. “They’re riddling us.” “Hold everything, kid!’ Bill roared as he jumped for the starboard pilot’s chair and opened the throttle of the twin Diesels wide and pulled back on the wheel. The muscles in his cheeks stood out like knots of rawhide as his hands wrapped around it. His eyes were thin slits of fire as he watched the seven planes dive by them and ease out of the dive to return to the attack. Huis whole body and mind seethed with rage at the murderous attack launched from no- BILL BARNES where and without warning. He could see a hundred places where machine-gun bullets had torn through the wings, fuselage and tail of the new transport. It had, literally been riddled in that first vicious attack. Only the fact that the engines droned on without a miss gave him any satisfaction. He wondered what miracle had kept them from be- ing, struck. | “Let me take the Eaglet out and pin their ears back, Bill!’’ Sandy shouted above the roar of the returning planes. “Sit where you are!’ Bill roared. “I’m going to eighteen thousand and lock the controls. Try to keep them off with vour gun. I’m going down in the re- tractable machine-gun turret after I lock the controls. You'll have to take over if anything happens. If you can get any of them under your sights you'll tear "em to bits.” “Right, Bill,” Sandy said. His voice was cool and calm now. He was watch- ing the leader of the seven planes cir- cling upward to get above them again. But the big transport was sweeping up- ward in tight spirals. It had a good half mile lead as it had turned its nose up. The fleet little single-seaters were rapidly cutting down its advantage. Sandy whirled the rapid-firer around as the first ship dove in on the trans- port. For a brief instant the gray plane came under his sights. The breech of the one-pounder burned against his cheek as he clamped down on its trig- ger. A hali dozen — savage — barks sounded above the throbbing roar of diving motors. Sandy could almost fol- low the course of the projectiles as they sped toward their target. Suddenly the target became a great cloud of black smoke, streaked with dabs of saffron and crimson. Ribbons of bright-orange shot out of it as it broke in all directions. The six planes behind the leader zoomed upward: to get away from the bits of wreckage that flew in all directions. Wings and fuselage oO MICLOO© CO S (C@