Viewing page 459 of 745

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

[[circled]] 432 [[/circled]]
lower wing was a black little beast spitting manifold streamers of white smoke at me. It was the Bosche Putnam had undertaken.
Imagine my thoughts at that first instant. I though the fellow had done my flight leader in and had me at his mercy for he was shooting like made with his perfectly good gun. I was fascinated with that white stream that swept past my tail plane. He wasn't allowing enough deflection. "Hah." I thought. "he's a bum shot." But those bullets of his had me casting anxious glances at my rudder plane on the way home, even so.
I turned on him slightly and then swished about and rushed him. Before I could get into full position the little devil went into a stall and spin. In the