Fletcher Pratt,
The Onslaught from Rigel — Chapter VIII: The Dodos are Bombing
(1932)
“ With a roar, the light-beam let go a third time. Ben saw the edge of it graze their right wing-tip; the airplane swung wildly round and down, with the pilot fighting for control; the earth seemed to rush up to meet them, tumbling, topsy-turvy. Ben noted a warped black spot where the beam had touched the wing-tip, then surprisingly, they were flying along, level with the surface of the Hudson beneath them, and hardly a hundred feet up.“That was close,” came the aviator's voice, shaky with relief. “I thought they had us that time. Say, that's some ray they have.” ”
