m of this hot fire. He fully expected that, after all, the enemy
would get him, but he was grimly determined that it would be only after
he had exhausted every device possible.

He kept his head, and while dodging back and forth managed to follow a
general course that promised soon to carry him closer to the American
front. At one time he found himself above what seemed to be a very
inferno of destruction. The air palpitated with the shock of a terrible
explosion, as though a great mine had been fired. But Tom knew what it
meant.

That must be the Big Bertha which for some days now had played an
important part in shelling the rear of the American lines, even to
knocking a temporary field hospital into fragments.

How Tom wished just then that his had been a bombing plane. With what
savage joy would he have dropped his whole supply of air torpedoes down
upon that mighty engine of destruction, forever silencing its thunderous
voice and ending its power to do injury to the cause in which his whole
soul was enlisted!

After that his way became somewhat easier, for Tom had succeeded in
climbing higher, so that he was screened from the gunners below. Then he
found himself passing over the American front, with the open field in
sight where the temporary aerodromes could be seen, looking like dingy
patches of yellow earth.

Of course there was nothing to do but to return immediately. His
observer was injured, if not dead, and would need looking after; while
Tom felt that his machine could hardly be called in trim for further
work, as it needed a thorough overhauling after the recent rough
treatment accorded to it by the fighting Boches.

Despite his crippled machine, the young air service boy managed to make
a fairly good landing, with the help of several orderlies and
attendants. They had come on the run, understanding that something was
wrong, because the observer hung part-way over the side, and it could be
seen that the plane itself had been in action.

Tom's first thought was of his comrade. He himself had received only one
small cut in the arm from flying shrapnel splinters, though it persisted
in bleeding profusely, and would have to be tied up at the nearest field
dressing-station.

He breathed easier when he discovered that his observer, while badly
injured, would have more than a fighting chance to pull through. A
doctor was quickly on the spot, and managed to give temporary treatment,
so as to stop the blee