THE STRAFING OF MÜLLER
of range, then … "Stop where you are … K L B Q … Bad light … Signal to X O 73 last shot … Repeat your signal … No … Bad light … Sorry—bad light … Stay where you are. …"
He guessed some, could not follow others. The letter-groups were, of course, code messages indicating the distance shells were bursting from their targets. The apologies were easily explained, for the light was very bad indeed.
"Tam … Muller … Above … el."
The man in the machine tried the lock of his gun and began to get interested.
Now his eyes were fixed upon the rolling, iridescent cloud-mass below. From what point would the fighting machine emerge?
He climbed up a little higher to be on the safe side. Then, from a valley of mist half a mile away, a tiny machine shot up, shining like burnished silver in the rays of the afternoon sun, for Tam had driven up in a drizzle of rain, and wings and fuselage were soaking wet.
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