_Chapter_ XXIII Victory
When Dave told Brand and the young Lord the news of the sinking, true totheir British tradition they had little to say. Next day, however, theyappeared on the field prepared for the dawn patrol. Dave saw new, hardlines about their lips.
“I’d hate to be their enemy today,” he thought, as a thrill ran up hisspine.
They had been cruising, four of them, the young Lord, Brand, The Lark,and Dave, for an hour when out of a very small cloud, for all the worldas if it had been waiting there for days, came that same formation, fiveplanes in a V-shape. One plane following the leader on the right andthree on the left.
“Can I believe my eyes?” The Lark shouted into his speaker.
“You can.” The young Lord’s voice was low. “Not another word. Noshouting, please. You all know how we planned it. I’ll take the talk manof the three on the left. You know the rest. Tallyho!”
“Tallyho,” came echoing from the others. They were away.
Since they were a thousand feet above the enemy and in the end they cameswooping down from above. They were not seen until the young Lord wasall but upon his victim. His was a murderous assault that could have butone ending. As if in rehearsal, The Lark slipped into the place leftvacant by the young Lord as he dropped into a power-dive. The Lark’s manwent down in flames. Deserting his post, the third man tried flight, butwith the luck of a beginner, Brand shot downward, then climbed straightup to riddle the Messerschmitt’s motor and send it down in a cloud ofyellow smoke.
As for Dave, the whole affair had gone off with such speed that he foundhimself in a half daze, headed straight for the side of a gleamingMesserschmitt. Then his eyes registered an astonishing fact. He wasfacing the boasting Wick himself, he who called himself a deadly killer.On the tail of his plane was a black blotch. Dave knew this to befifty-six black lines, one for each victim Wick claimed. For a space ofseconds Dave’s blood was turned to ice. Then, with a rush, it was likemolten steel.
They were close now, dangerously close, yet each was out of range of theother. Suddenly gripping his emergency lever, giving his motor its lastounce of power, Dave banked sharply, saw the terrible Wick rise into hissight, pressed the firing button, heard for one brief second hismachine-guns speak, then went into a spin. Whirling over and over andgoing down, down, down where the good soil of Merry England lies, hethought, “This is the end!”
He was wrong. He came out of the spin. How? He would never know.
After levelling off he looked up, then down. To the right of him aMesserschmitt was falling in flames. Even as he looked it exploded inmid-air.
Far in the distance the one remaining enemy was speeding away. Off tothe left the young Lord’s line was forming. Climbing slowly, Dave atlast joined that line. Then, in the Sky Over England that was once moreEngland’s own, they cruised the blue until the young Lord gave the wordand they went thundering home.
As they left their ships on the landing field the young Lord walked overto Dave, put out a hand, gripped Dave’s hard, then without a word walkedaway. It was enough. Dave understood and was glad.
Just at mess time that evening an old man, member of the Home Guardappeared at headquarters. Under his arm he carried a flat, paper-wrappedpackage.
“Thought you might like it, sir,” he said as he placed it in the youngLord’s hand.
As the others gathered around the flight leader unwrapped it, thenhanded it to Dave. It was the tail of a Messerschmitt. On it had beenpainted two letters, H. W. Below these letters were 56 long, blacklines.
“This,” said Dave, “should be yours.” He gave it back to the young Lord.“All trophies belong to the leader of the flight.”
“To the entire squadron,” the young Lord replied huskily. “Come. We’llput it up where all may see.” He placed it on the mantle. “Not that weneed to boast,” he said quietly, “but that all men may know that the SkyOver England is England’s alone.”