Gerry stood up as they glided side by side; he hoped that the Englishman could make out his uniform in the moonlight. He knew it was little likely that the other could hear his shout, yet he yelled: “I’m American; follow me!” And dropping back to his seat, Gerry set himself to selecting the best spot for his landing. Whether or not the English pilot saw or heard, he followed Gerry down. The clear moonlight displayed the ground bare and smooth; it was hard to guess just when to cease dropping and, turning straight into the wind, give your elevators that last little upturn which would permit landing on your wheels and rolling; but he did it, and, turning in his seat as the rolling slowed, he saw the English plane bounding upon the field; it leaped, threatened to topple, but came down on its wheels again. Gerry had his hand on O’Malley. Together they leaped down and ran to where the English biplane had halted. The English pilot had regained strength; he had succeeded even in lifting the body of his bomber out of his machine; and, considering himself captured, he hastened to remove the top of his fuel tank in order to set fire to his ship. Gerry observed this and shouted: “Don’t do that! We’re escaped prisoners! We’re Irish and American. Don’t!” His voice carried; and the English pilot delayed with his match. If any German was near, he did not evidence his presence. If any of the enemy flyers had noticed the descent of the English biplane, probably they had seen the black-crossed machine following it down. So Gerry and the English pilot stood undisturbed, estimating each other in the moonlight. A machine-gun bullet had grazed the Englishman’s head; but he was fast recovering from the shock. Gerry adjusted a first-aid bandage to stay the blood. “Your ship’s all right?” Gerry asked. “Look at it.” “Looks all right; and bombs!” Gerry cried out, discovering a pair of bombs still hanging in the racks. “You came down with bombs on!” “I was gone--part the time,” the Englishman explained. “Thought I’d released ’em.” Gerry was not finding fault. Bombs he had; and, to take the place of the German training machine, here was a ship with engine undamaged, and which could fly again, and quite capable--after its bombs were used--of bearing three men and a girl. Wisely had Gerry determined that night not to try to guide fate. Events unforeseeable again had him in their grasp. He gazed half a mile away where the gray walls of the _schloss_ shimmered in the moonlight. “There’s a girl in there,” he said to the English pilot. “An American girl we’re going to have out. Will you help us?” “How?” “Lay those last two eggs close to the castle,” Gerry motioned to the pair of bombs in the rack. “That will drive ’em all to the cellars; then keep circling above ’em, as if to lay more eggs to keep ’em there. O’Malley and I’ll rush the castle.” “You two alone?” the Englishman asked.