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 when the clouds cleared, and he must follow to Mannheim.

There was a machine gun set in the nacelle before O'Malley, and Gerry saw the Irishman working with it. O'Malley pulled the trigger, firing a few trial shots, and turned back to Gerry and grinned. The noise of the motor and the airscrew prevented Gerry from communicating any plan to his comrade, even if Gerry had one, but he knew that, in whatever happened, he could count upon O'Malley's complete recklessness and instant wit.

Lights were below—most of them a bit back from the river. That would be the city of Worms; a few more miles, and Gerry must decide what he was going to do. But for the moment the sensation of freedom and of flight together continued to intoxicate him. The Rhine wavered away to the east, straightened south; ahead—far ahead—lights. There was Mannheim.

But O'Malley, in the forward seat, had turned, and, with an arm, pointed him forward and above. And far ahead, and higher, Gerry spied dancing specks which caught the moonbeams—specks set in regular order across the sky and advancing in formation. An air squadron flying north!

Below it mighty crimson flashes leaped from the ground, and through the clatter of his motor Gerry heard the detonation of tremendous, thunderous charges. Now black spots of smoke floated before the flying specks, and from the ground guns spat fiery into action—German anti-aircraft guns replying to aerial torpedoes dropped from the sky.

Others besides the officer prisoners of Villinstein and