Bill Barnes Air Adventurer, July 1935 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

46 the steps to the bridge. Sandy was still bent over the sights of his rapid-firer. His blue eyes were shining, his blond hair shooting in every direction. “You'll have to take the turret for a few minutes kid, Bill said ‘Cant stand it down there for more than a few minutes.” “We don’t need any turret,’ Sandy said, laughing at Bill’s smudged face. “They have their tails between their legs. They're five miles south of us now and going faster every minute. They don’t seem to like the way we play.” Bill climbed the steps into the turret to join Sandy. Five speeding dots to the south were what remained of the seven planes that had attacked them a few minutes before. He studied the fleeing planes for a moment then gazed downward. There was no sign of the two planes they had torn to pieces with their lead. “I’m going to look the transport over,” Bill said. “You get into the pilot’s seat and take us back to Oran.” “Who were they, Bill?” Sandy asked. Bill spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders. “They don’t want us to get to Mada- gascar, whoever they are,” he said. “It’s part of the picture and it fits the frame. I don't think you'll be bored by any more tedious long-distance flying.” He went down the steps leading to the forward machine-gun cockpit to in- spect the damage done by the enemy’s bullets. | Twenty minutes later, as the city of Oran began to take shape beneath them, he was back on the bridge. “Anything, bad?” Sandy asked. “Nothing that can’t be fixed up to- night,’ Bill answered. He turned an amused eye on Sandy. “I thought you said you hadn’t learned how to use the rapid-firer ?” “T haven’t really learned yet, Bill,” BILL BARNES Sandy said, earnestly. “That was just lick? “You always seem to have a lot of luck,” Bill said dryly. VITI—SURPRISE ATTACK SHORTY, Red Gleason and Cy Hawkins listened to Bill’s report of the attack with troubled eyes as they in- spected the damage done to the carrier- transport. “Where did they come from and where did they go?’ Cy drawled. “Probably from the city of Algiers,” Bill said. “It’s a few hundred miles down the coast. One of the officials in the office of the field phoned there to find out a few minutes ago. I didn’t tell him why I wanted to know. They told him a squadron of ten British planes with private licenses had been there for several days.” ‘And they said two of them had left to-day,’ Sandy added. “And won't be back!” Shorty replied. “T don’t suppose there is any use in asking the authorities to hold them until we can get there?” “No,” Bill said. “There would just be a lot of red tape. We would be held if we told our story. They must have permits to fly over French territory or they would already be in trouble. We'll just have to do what we usually do— wait for the other fellow to show his hand.’ : “by tyne toomurder all ofeus,” Shorty said bitterly. Bill scrutinized Shorty’s angry fea- tures carefully. What he saw bothered him. “We'll go back home if you want to, tella,’ he said. “We’re still all alive and sound.” “That isn’t what I mean,” Shorty said. “I don’t like the idea of the rest of you being open to murder. It isn’t your problem. I’m going on. But I think the rest of you ought to go back. oO CON) clo@olx< CO