Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 05.djvu/100

RV 100 (Rh)

by Frank Owen

HE THING PLUNGED downward like a dark star falling to earth. A moment before it had been Richard Trent, a Yank flying for China. Then in the space of the trembling of a leaf, machine-gun bullets had shattered the night's still blackness. His gasoline caught fire and the "Tomahawk" was enveloped in flames. In a split second he had jumped clear of the plane, striking his head sharply as he did so. He was unconscious before he could pull the rip-cord of his parachute. And so he dropped through space, unaware that his body was hurtling toward the dust of a parched earth. His plane had been flying at eighteen thousand feet.

The air was bitingly cold and it served as a stimulant to revive him. He opened his eyes. Down, down, down he plunged. It was difficult for him to pull his thoughts together. His brain was in chaos. Memory eluded him. His hand went mechanically to the rip-cord and the parachute opened up like a white cloud above him. Against the sky it had a luminous quality, the reflection of starlight. There was no moon.

A strong wind was blowing, stalling his descent. Often he drifted many miles though he was in no condition to calculate direction. Nevertheless he was aware that he was drifting but he was not alarmed. He had been flying at approximately three hundred miles per hour, when his plane