"Roll out the barrel. let's have a barrel of fun," warbled the Royal Air Force Flight-Lieutenant, huskily but happily. His rigers lightly beat time to the tune on the control-b: of the great Blenheim bombo s it roared into the vivid sunlight sixty miles cut over the North Sea. His machine was one of three from a crack bomber squadron, out on ai reconnaissance flight—" of those routine jaunts, which so often have unexpected developments, as this one This 22-year-old pilot was alwa in his happiest mood when he was out on a stunt—and he invariably sang as he sat at the controls, in sheer exuberance of spirits.
"Roll out the barrel "Enemy fighters." suddenly yelled the lock-out man. The song froze on the pilot's lips, but the happy smile did not leave his youthful fact He still smiled when white tracer bullets streamed down on the bomber from the rear a few seconds after the lookout man's Nazi fighters were roan "out of the sun"—a favourite for of aerial attack, as observation is extremely difficult directly in the sun's rays.
There were twelve Messerschmitts, and they attacked the bomber from all angles. The Flight-Lieutenant had grimly to admit that he had been caught napping. The Blenheim was up against it with vengeance. Grabbing his control-bar firmly, he pulled up into a climbing turn, all but ramming a Messerschmitt that was making for him. The Blenheim dived just in time, and the Na: machine pulled up at thes moment, its under-carr wheels almost skimming the bomber's wings
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.