he thrust his arm down, caught someone, and pulled him out.
O'Malley was gone; the man whose hand had helped Gerry also had vanished. Gerry made no attempt to find or follow them as he crouched and ran; the plan was that all would scatter immediately. Machine guns were going; searchlights were sweeping the ground. Gerry fell flat when a beam swung at him, went over and caught some other poor devil. A field piece upon a platform on the edge of the camp opened upon the space a hundred yards beyond Gerry and shrapnel began smashing.
One good thing about shrapnel Gerry recognized; it spread smoke which screened the searchlight flares. Another feature was that it and the machine-gun fire was as hard on the police dogs as upon the fugitives. But that was like the Germans—when they were surprised—to let go everything at once.
Gerry jumped up and fled, taking his chances with the machine-gun bullets and with the shrapnel which burst all about at random; but he watched the searchlights and threw himself down when they threatened.
O'Malley had planned a surprise attack in force—if you can call ten unarmed men a force when attacking a German flying field. But Gerry knew that already the ten must be cut in two. Some of them probably never got out of the tunnel; the machine guns or the shrapnel surely must have accounted for one or two. He heard dogs give tongue as they were taught to do when they had caught prisoners.
The Irishman's plan, wild enough at best, had become hopeless. Gerry had offered no other plan, because he
