A few pitched over and over, or slid away in nose-dives and tail-spins.

But one and all, as they crossed what seemed an invisible line drawn out there ahead of the onrushing Eagle of the Sky, bowed to some mysterious force.
It seemed almost as if _Nissr_ were the center of a vast sphere that moved with her--a sphere through which no enemy could pass--a sphere against the intangible surface of which even the most powerful engines of the air dashed themselves in vain.
And still, as others and still others came charging up to the attack like knights in joust, they fell.

One by one the white wool cushions of the cloud, gold-broidered by the magic needles of the sun, received them.

One by one they faded, vanished, were no more.
So, all disappeared.

Between a hundred and a hundred and twenty-five planes were silently, swiftly, resistlessly sent down in no more than twenty minutes, while the watchers stood there in the gallery, fascinated by the wondrous precision and power of this new and far-outflung globe of protection.
And again the blood-red morning sky grew clear of attackers.