Suddenly a blinding flash seemed to leap out of the darkness within a few yards of the diving Dromedary. Another and another followed in quick succession, and although the noise was drowned by the roar of the engine, Derek guessed instantly and rightly. "Shrapnel, by smoke!" he exclaimed. "I'm being strafed by our own antis." With a sudden jerk that would have spelt disaster had any of the struts and tension-wires been of faulty workmanship, the Dromedary checked her downward plunge in order to avoid the unpleasant attentions of "Archibald", while for the first time Derek became aware that he was in the concentrated and direct glare of half a dozen powerful searchlights. "Why on earth can't the idiots see my distinguishing marks!" exclaimed Derek petulantly, forgetting that when a machine is diving steeply the planes present to an observer on the ground the appearance of two parallel lines. He groped for his Very's pistol in order to give the customary signal to show that it was a British aeroplane that was the object of the anti-aircraft gunners' attention, but in the steep nose-dive that important article had slid from its appointed place. Rocking and pitching in the rudely-disturbed air, the Dromedary dodged and twisted, vainly attempting to elude the beams of the searchlights. Then, with a most disconcerting crash, a couple of struts were shattered like matchwood, and the next instant the 'bus, badly out of control, began to drop through the intervening thousand feet that separated her from the ground. Derek prepared for a crash; sliding as far as possible under the cambered deck of the fuselage, he waited for the inevitable. The biplane on crashing would almost certainly land on her nose and turn completely over. It was possible to survive the impact, but the greatest danger lay in the possibility of the luckless pilot being hurled against the knife-like tension-wires, or having his head battered against the heels of the two machine-guns. To Derek the biplane appeared to be dropping slowly, although actually very few seconds elapsed before the crash came. The anti-aircraft guns had ceased firing, either because the gunners knew that they had scored a hit, or else the altitude was too small to admit of the guns being fired without risk of doing great damage to the adjacent village. The concerted rays of the searchlights, however, continued to play upon the falling machine, until an intervening ridge masked them. There was a sudden transition from dazzling light to utter darkness--Derek realized that he was now but a few feet from the ground. Crash! As he expected, the machine struck nose first. The quivering fabric of the fuselage was suddenly checked, the change of direction causing Derek's knees to bend and hit hard against the deck. A blow like that of a gigantic sledge-hammer seemed to smite him betwixt the shoulder-blades.