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Page 84
John was quite sure that the _Arrow_ could escape by immediate flight,
but he knew that Lannes would never desert the _Omnibus_, and its
passengers, and he felt the same way. The subject was not even mentioned
by either.
The German machines, approaching rapidly, spread out like a fan, the
heavier one with the machine gun in the center. John could see the man
at the rapid firer, but he did not yet open with it. The _Arrow_ and the
_Omnibus_ were wavering like feathers in a storm and closer range was
needed. John sat with his own rifle across his knee and then looked at
Wharton in the _Omnibus_ scarcely a hundred yards away. The figure of
Wharton was tense and rigid. His rifle was raised and his eyes never
left the man at the machine gun.
"I forgot to tell you, Philip," said John, "that Wharton is a great
sharpshooter. It's natural to him, and I don't believe the shifting
platform will interfere with his aim."
"Then I hope that he never has done better sharp-shooting than he will
do today. Ah, there goes the machine gun!"
There was a rapid rat-a-tat, not so clear and distinct as it would have
been at the same distance on ground, and a stream of bullets poured from
the machine gun. But they passed between the _Arrow_ and the _Omnibus_,
and only cut the unoffending air. Meanwhile Wharton was watching. A
wrath, cold but consuming, had taken hold of him. The fact that he was
high above the earth, perched in a swaying unstable seat was forgotten.
He had eyes and thought only for the murderous machine gun and the man
who worked it. An instinctive marksman, he and his rifle were now as
one, and of all the birds of prey in the air at that moment Wharton was
the most dangerous.
The machine gun was silent for a minute. The riflemen in the Taubes on
the wings of the attacking force fired a few shots, but all of them went
wild. John, tense and silent, sat with his own rifle raised, but half of
the time he watched Wharton.
The two forces came a little nearer. Again the machine gun poured forth
its stream of bullets. Two glanced off the sides of the _Omnibus_, and
then John saw Wharton's rifle leap to his shoulder. The movement and the
flash of the weapon were so near together that be seemed to take no aim.
Yet his bullet sped true. The man at the machine gun, who was standing
in a stooped position, threw up his hands, fell backward and out of the
plane. A thrill of horror shot through John, and he shut his eyes a
moment to keep from seeing that falling body.
"What has happened?" asked Lannes, who had not looked around.
"Wharton has shot the man at the machine gun clean out of the aeroplane.
He must be falling yet."
"Ghastly, but necessary. Has anybody taken the slain man's place?"
"Yes, another has sprung to the gun! But he's gone! Wharton has shot him
too! He's fallen on the floor of the car, and he lies quite still."
"Your friend is indeed a sharpshooter. How many men are left in the
plane?"
"Only one! No, good God, there's none! Wharton has shot the third man
also, and now the machine goes whirling and falling through space!"
"I said that friend of yours must be a sharpshooter," said Lannes, in a
tone of awe, "but he must be more! He must be the king of all riflemen.
It's evident that the _Omnibus_ knows how to defend herself. I'll swing
in a little, and you can take a shot or two."
John fired once, without hitting anything but the air, which made no
complaint, but the battle was over. Horrified by the fate that had
overtaken their comrades and seeing help for their enemy at hand the
Taubes withdrew.
The _Arrow_ and the _Omnibus_ flew on toward the French lines, whence
other machines were coming to meet them.
CHAPTER XI
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