So swift and daring had been Reade’s tactics that he was through and past the opposing fleet ere the German aviators realized their failure.  Now the survivors wheeled and gave chase, though they soon abandoned it, for the plane that Reade drove was a new one and faster than any of his pursuers.  For a minute or so more the two Americans survived by sheer good luck.  Then they were out of enemy range.

Higher Tom mounted in the air.  Dick fairly chattered with the cold, but he kept the machine gun ready for instant use.

A few minutes more, then Tom, shutting off the power for a glide, inquired, at the top of his voice: 

“Where do you want to be put down?”

“For choice,” Captain Prescott answered, “as close as possible to General Bazain’s divisional headquarters.”

“I know the place,” Tom nodded.  “There’s an aviation station about three miles beyond there.”

Tom threw on the power, straightened away, and three minutes later began to glide again until he was not more than six thousand feet from earth.

“Keep your eyes turned low,” Tom counseled.  “Soon we ought to see something.”

Nor was that “something” long in appearing.  Not far ahead, yet so much below them as to look tiny, hundreds of flashes were seen.

“German artillery,” Dick told himself.

Another minute, and he beheld flashes turned against the Germans.

“Between the two lines of artillery are the fire trenches of the opposing armies,” Prescott realized with a thrill.

Next he found himself, at lower altitude, going squarely over a line of French batteries.

“Now comes the really ticklish work of the night!” Reade shouted back.  “When we try for a landing we’ll endeavor to make our own crowd understand that, though this is a German machine, it comes on no hostile errand.  If we can’t make the Frenchmen understand that, then they’ll blow us back into the sky as soon as we range low enough!”

Guided by that instinct which is the aviator’s best compass at night, Reade steered toward the landing field.

Bang! came the report of a gun below, and a shell exploded dangerously close to the aircraft.  Tom switched on an electric light signal beneath the craft to show that a friendly craft sought safe landing.  At the same time Dick leaned as far over as he could and waved an arm slowly.  Then just ahead a flare began on the ground, next burned up brightly—–­a can of gasoline lighted and allowed to burn to indicate the neighborhood in which to come down.

Going past and turning, Reade volplaned gracefully earthward, landing just beyond the blazing gasoline.

Instantly they were surrounded by two-score French aviators and mechanicians.

“It is all right!” the cry went up.  “They are Americans, though the machine is German.”

M. le Commandant Perrault, chief of squadron, stepped rapidly forward, receiving the salute of the two American officers and asking questions at volley-fire speed.  His face betrayed amazement, but when the brief narrative had been finished he grasped the hands of each.