The end was near, however, for the English machine could not hold out much longer. Not only were the planes riddled, but several stays and struts were gone, and several times the engine had missed. To make matters worse, after the second drum the machine gun had jammed, and things seemed hopeless. "Confound the gun! He's coming on again, Dastral," shouted the observer, clenching his fist, and forgetting all about the bullet in his arm. "Look out, then, I'm going to ram him. If I've got to go down, he's going down with me." The two machines were almost on a level now, and when the German came on, Dastral just put the joy-stick over, and made straight for his opponent. "Donner and blitz!" yelled the irate Boche, for he did not understand such tactics. For one aeroplane to ram another in mid air at two thousand feet seemed incredible, but here was this mad Britisher coming straight for him. "Mein Gott, no!" gasped Himmelman, and by a skilful manoeuvre he sheered off, though thousands of his fellow-countrymen were watching him from below, for they were now almost over the trenches. "Bravo, Dastral!" yelled Jock, though but an instant before his heart seemed to be in his mouth, as the pilot made his almost fatal dash for his opponent. Seeing that Himmelman had failed in his move, the anti-aircraft guns opened fire again from below, but the hornet sailed on over the trenches, and Himmelman did not follow, for out of the west three British fighters were coming to the rescue. "Will she hold out, Dastral?" the observer asked a moment later, as they passed the British trenches, out of the range of the German Archies. "I think so. Can you spot the aerodrome?" "Yes, there it is, a little to the right." "Thanks, I see it now," came the softened reply, for Dastral was rolling a little in his seat, as though he held the joy-stick with difficulty. Jock bent over to help him, and the next minute they landed safely on the level turf. And Jock remembered hearing a voice say: "Come along now. We're waiting breakfast for you in the mess." CHAPTER IV STRAFING THE BABY-KILLERS DASTRAL and Jock received a hearty welcome home that morning. Although it was scarcely yet six o'clock, their day's work was finished, and a good day's work it had been. Dastral's laconic report was handed to the Squadron-Commander. Then, as soon as his slight flesh wounds had been dressed by the genial "Number Nine," as Captain Young, the medical officer for the squadron, was called, they went in to early morning breakfast at the mess. "So you've had a scrap with Himmelman, have you, Lieutenant?" asked Number Nine at the breakfast table. "Just a slight skirmish," replied Dastral. "You're lucky to get away from him!" "You think so?" queried the young pilot, pouring out another cup of coffee, and pressing Jock, whose wound was giving him a good deal of pain, to another slice of hot buttered toast.