The Dive Bomber Read Online Free PDF

tube.
    â€œA gray ship straight up!”
    â€œAs long as he keeps away—”
    â€œHe’s got the height. He can dive.”
    Lucky squinted up through the glass dome of his shield. The gray ship, almost invisible against the dazzling sun, was starting down. Lucky knew he had the faster plane and he could not understand why anyone should want to intercept him. But the menace of the other plane, from a purely navigational point of view, was unmistakable.
    â€œShe’s commercial,” yelled Flynn.
    â€œShe’s pursuit, but not service,” corrected Lucky. “We’ll show her our heels.”
    â€œShe’s got the speed out of that dive. For God's sake, zigzag!”
    Lucky glanced up again and then down. The deserted hills of southern Virginia were under them. No witnesses down there.
    â€œShe’s armed!” cried Flynn. “She’s got two bow guns!”
    â€œAre you loaded?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œRemove your braces and set your sights. We’ll rake this baby!”
    Lucky touched rudder and eased back a little on the stick. The dive bomber needed no urging. It leaped skyward in a wingover , engine changing pitch like a siren.
    For an instant, the two ships were head-on, and then Lucky dived out.
    The .50-caliber machine gun quivered and flamed in Flynn’s hands. He was warning the other plane off, shooting high.
    The gray ship veered, spraying lead through its prop. All shots went wide.
    Coming out of a loop, the gray ship, rolling, came out on the dive bomber’s tail, guns stuttering above the cowl .
    Lucky, facing his first aerial encounter, did the natural thing. He zoomed, for an instant almost motionless in the other’s sights. Tracer drew a pattern of line just below the metal plane’s tail.
    Flynn was standing in the plunging pit, firing straight back, feeding bullets as big as his thumb through his racketing weapon.
    The gray plane strove to dive out of range. The line of escape and the blue fingers of Flynn’s tracer intersected. The blurred prop of the strange craft exploded into a fleeing squadron of splinters.
    â€œLet me finish him off!” yowled Flynn into the tube.
    â€œHaven’t time!”
    â€œHell!”
    The dive bomber verticaled back into its course.
    Motorless, the gray ship was stabbing down at the flats below, a place of refuge in these rolling hills.
    â€œCold meat,” mourned Flynn.
    Lucky, mopping at his beaded brow, caught up on his breathing and settled his compass in the groove.
    He had been ten minutes ahead of his time. The ten minutes were eaten up.
    But before either of them had any time to brood on the matter, there was the Potomac again, the Anacostia and the Naval Air Station.
    â€œDon’t yip about that other ship,” said Lucky.
    â€œBut gee whiz—”
    â€œThey’d think we were lying. We’re on time and that’s enough.”
    â€œOkay,” sighed Flynn. “I go through the war without a score, and then when I get one, you won’t let me talk about it. Hell of a life.”
    â€œThere isn’t any war, and we don’t want to get into trouble.”
    Flynn’s answer was drowned in the thump of the landing gear against the ground.
    â€œTwelve-thirty,” crowed Lucky, standing up in his pit.
    Lawson grudgingly admitted that it was. The Charleston observer had radioed in the check.
    â€œNow will you believe me?” said Lucky. “I tell you you can’t get along without this sky devil. Tomorrow we give her the dives and sign the papers for a hundred.”
    â€œ If she holds together,” said Lawson.
    â€œOh,” said Lucky, tempting his jinx beyond all endurance, “she’ll hold together. Won’t she, Dixie?”
    â€œI…I hope so,” said the girl who stood beside Lawson.
    â€œIf she don’t,” said Lucky, grinning, “you won’t have enough left to bury me with. But then the