They proceeded to bomb it with the remainder of their 20-lb. bombs. Then, suddenly, to their amazement the third train, which had not received sufficient warning to stop on the steep gradient, crashed into the second, and another scene of wild confusion occurred. The German soldiers, taken for the most part by surprise, endeavoured to get away by any and every means from the blazing wreckage, seeking cover under clumps of trees, hedges, rising ground, etc., but the airmen, having discharged all their bombs, turned their Lewis machine guns upon them and scattered the fugitives in all directions. At last, not a single round of ammunition remained in the drums, and Dastral, knowing that all the machines had been more or less hit, gave the signal to return. It was time, for two at least of the machines had suffered severely, and it was becoming very doubtful whether they would be able to regain their own lines. They were of no further use for offence, so they began their climb into the higher regions, preparatory to the dash across the enemy's lines once again. It was well that they did so, for at that very moment Himmelman, with half a squadron of fast Fokkers, was leaving his own aerodrome but ten miles distant, having received information of the raiders' presence. The whole feat had taken place so quickly, however, and the affair was so adroitly managed, that the intruders had just time to make their escape. Not all the aviators, however, succeeded in crossing the German lines. Franklin's engine was missing so badly that he was unable to climb above four thousand feet, and when, shortly after, they reached the battle front, where the Allies and Germany kept their battle-line, the fusillade of the "Archies" commenced again. Cras-s-sh came a shell right into his engine, and the machine went down in a wild spinning nose-dive, just behind the enemy's front line trench. Dastral and his comrades gnashed their teeth, as they saw their two comrades thus hurled to death, but, after all, death is only an incident in the life of a pilot of the Royal Flying Corps, and who shall mourn when a hero dies? In these days of blood and iron, when Britain stands once more at the cross roads, freedom and honour can only be purchased by the blood of her bravest sons.