Gerry wondered, as he gazed down, whether these men on the nearest slope knew that—already half surrounded—there was no support behind them. He was steering lower as he neared them, drawing to himself a shell or two from some German anti-aircraft gun which he did not trouble to try to place. Airplanes appeared all about him now, above, before, behind, and on both sides; but they were, most of them, English or French; here and there he glimpsed a German machine; but none of these approached him to attack. For if the ground that morning was the Germans', the air was the allies'; it was only from the air, from him and his flight of five machines trailing behind him and from other similar flights of fighting airplanes likewise arriving, that any help could reach those English about to be attacked.
For the storm of German shells, which a few seconds before had been sweeping the slope, lifted suddenly; before the hill and from the flank, specks which were German storm troops moved forward; and Gerry, turning his head, saw that the other machines followed him in position. In signal to them, he rocked his ship a little. Steadying again, he leaned forward and saw that his machine guns were ready; softly he touched the release levers of his bombs. His hands went back to his controls and, gazing below at the German ranks again, he put the nose of his machine down and dived.
Ordinarily, during the tremendous seconds of the drop, he could see nothing but the spot of earth at which his eyes were focused, leaping up and up at him; ordinarily, sensation stopped with the feeling of fall and the rush of that seeming suck of destruction. But now his senses
