Evening star., 1918-02-17
WHEN VICTORY SEEMS ASSURED
GUN GOES DUMB AS BROOMSTICK
Filler on Patrol Duty Has Thrilling Adven-
ture With Boche Rumpler, But Fails
to Capture Coveted Prize.

lets. incendiaries and dum-dums into
him.
If he holds up his hands in token
of surrender I will shoot him down
anyway, for am alone and the chances
are that as l pass him he will resume
fire at me.
He is mine now. so is the prize money
1augh-it is SO easy
Bang! Barls my gun, and stops
with only one shot fired. I tug at the
detente, but the gun is as dumb as a
l think I swear faster than the
mitraiileuse ever fired. [ must do
something else. too. If I veer upward
to go over him the whole belly of my
machine Will be a target for his two
guns. He may puncture my petrol
tank. and me, too.
So I pique steepIy for the blind spot
below him. passing for moment
through the field of fire from his for
ward gun. When l am safe below him
where he cannot reach me find that
he has turned and is fleeing back to-
ward his own lines.
l have him at my mercy, except
that my gun won't shoot In disgust
l tag along beneath him, mad enough
| to take a bite out of his fuselage II
could get at it.
Once I begin coming mp behind with
mad idea of making virage across
his course, dragging my landing gear.
the wheels below my plane. across his
| tail and breaking it off. I may lose my
landing gear and make my own descent
| a tumble, but il I am successful will
bring him down, anyway.
Harmless as a Dustrag.
I can't do 1t The moment I get up
a little the observer opens fire with his
cursed gun. I scuttle underneath him
again. as harmless as an old woman
with dust rag.
| The sight of the prize money-which
heaven knows any French pilot needs
| just walking away makes me want to
shake my old Nieuport to pieces right
| in the air.
| Suddenly the shells OF the German
ARCHES" begin to burst around. ! can
edge up closer to the Rumpler. They
won't dare risk hitting him. But 1
know that the shells are the signal for
a swarm of boche planes to rise back
in the lines somewhere and hunt me
| down.
The chase is only leading me deeper
and deeper into the trap. 1t won't do.
spin almost vertically and begin
snaking my way up. with both the
! "Archies" peppering me from behind.
The Rumpler, intent only on delivering
| his information, soon gets out of range,
however. and I am left with only the
my ears. 1 snake, virage, climb and
snake again to keep their range finders
humping.
Once or twice I get a rocking" as
| the concussion from a well aimed shell
tosses me up. I have time to look for
| the rest of my patrol again: but they
are nowhere in sight. The shelling
has stopped 1 breathe easier. I am
out of it again, and the only thing for
a lone pilot to do is to scurry for home
| In ten minutes l volplane down to
| the piste and scowl at my mechanician
who comes running from the hangar
to meet me. He is plainly puzzled at
to explain to him. point to the ma
| chine gun and sulk away toward the
| hangar to change my clothes When
| l look back the mechanician is upon the
machine. bumped over its nose, fussing
have done more of it before. Cost me
citation and perhaps a promotion.
| I wonder what the order of service
| for tomorrow will be.