THE STRAFING OF MÜLLER
His machine ripped out into the sun, a fierce, roaring little fury.
Not a hundred yards away was a fighting machine.
"Ticka—ticka—ticka—ticka—tick!" said Tam's machine gun.
Tam's staring blue eyes were on the sights—he could not miss. The pilot went limp in his seat, the observer took his hand from his gun to grip the controls. Too late; the wide-winged fighter skidded like a motor-bus on a greasy road and fell into the clouds sideways.
But now the enemy was coming at him from all points of the compass.
"Dinna let oor pairtin' grieve ye!" sang Tam and dropped straight through the clouds into the rain and a dim view of a bedraggled earth.
"There's Burley," said Blackie, clad in a long oilskin and a sou'wester as he checked off the home-coming adventurers. "Do you ever notice how his machine always looks lop-sided? There's Galbraith and Mosen
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