"They had been buried months ago -- yet now they flew war skies, corpses that could not be killed!  And for every resurrected Boche, a Yank died-- mysteriously, terribly.  Who were these ghastly aces?  How could G-8 and his buddies hope to fight a staffel recruited from the dead!"

“For two days that phantom Fokker had terrified the Front. A strange, weird ship of death, all men could see was its dim outline. The fuselage—the wings—the pilot—were invisible! How could men fight an invisible enemy? What good was Vickers lead against a plane that was as transparent as air?”

Twice in one morning an American front-line company had been wiped out; every man filled—suffocated—without a chance to fight back.  What was this awful new death?  G-8 scoured Paris, flew over the Mediterranean and even penetrated the wild country of northern Africa to combat this ghastly sky menace on dead man's wings!

“For days all had been quiet on the enemy front.  Then a dying American spy broke through the lines to gasp out a strange message--"Women being tortured. . .Black Forest. . .Hear screams every night. . . .Stop them!"  Puzzled, G-8 set out to follow this strange clue, never guessing he was hurtling into combat with Germany's most ghastly staffel--a sky squadron of man-beasts!”

“Be Warned!  Each night with the setting of the sun the giant Tarantula spider will spin his web across the Front.  If you send your ships out tonight—he will eat them!”  H. Q. scoffed at this warning.  But G-8 saw it carried out, saw four Yanks planes devoured by the most ghastly creature that ever stalked the skies.  What was this new horror?  How could Yank bombers hope to get past its net of death?

"Water -- Water!" As G-8 heard that pitiful cry, he knew that the strange plague had struck again, that more Yanks had been turned into cringing beasts who yelled and begged and killed—for water. Death stalks the Front as G-8 follows the devil's hounds straight into a madman's sky trap.

 Cut off from Allied lines, the 162nd American division was in a death spot.  There was only one way of reaching them—and that was by air.  But it was practically impossible to fly through the blizzard even then raging along the front.  Yet G-8 and his buddies defied doom to try to work out a suicide plan to rescue thousands of Yanks!

"Scientist murdered in Berlin."  It was that headline in a German newspaper that sent G-8 on the trail of one of the most ghastly war schemes that ever blasted fighting skies.  Intelligence was not impressed by the news story; but G-8 suspected the motive behind the crime, knew that it promised a horror campaign that might destroy the world— and grimly he set out to combat it!

Their insignias were signs of the Zodiac . . . they fought only when ordered by the Stars!  Yet G-8 had a hunch that this apparently superstitious staffel was important, that somehow it was playing death stakes in one of the most deadly war schemes ever laid—and he followed his hunch on a lone daring patrol!

Only a fiendishly brilliant scientist like Herr Doktor Krueger could create these monsters.  Only men who laughed at death could dare defy their poison coils.  The things marched along the Front, nightmare creatures whose tentacles crushed any planes that came within their reach.  What were they?  How could G-8 and his sky buddies fight them—destroy them before they threatened the entire world with destruction?

They were strange creatures—these grayish skinned beings who could see in the darkness like wild cats and who fought steel bullets with ancient bows and arrows! Who were they? Why did they roam No-Man’s Land in the dead of night . . . why did they ride war skies on dynamite death wings? G-8 took up their trail grimly, hurtled straight into the deadliest snare ever set in horror cloud lanes!

"You cannot kill me," the spy shouted.  "Your execution squad has just shot me, yet here I stand, as much alive as ever.  There are many more like me in Germany.  Bullets cannot kill them!"  And G-8, listening, knew this strange man spoke the truth—in part at least.  He had already met a Boche staffel whom bullets could not injure!  Who were these invincible pilots?  How could G-8 and his aces dare hope to conquer an enemy that could not die?

They were strange creatures—these grayish skinned beings who could see in the darkness like wild cats and who fought steel bullets with ancient bows and arrows!  Who were they?  Why did they roam No-Man's Land in the dead of night . . . why did they ride war skies on dynamite death wings?  G-8 took up their trail grimly, hurtled straight into the deadliest snare ever set in horror cloud lanes!

There is something strange going on here in Germany.  Watch for a new insignia on Fokkers.  I will report more later.  J-7"  But half an hour later J-7 was dead.  What had he suspected?  Against what new danger had he tried to warn the Allies?  There was just one way to find out—G-8 took it, baited a suicide trap with dynamite wings.  And before that night was over he knew he and his battle aces were up against the most deadly menace they had ever faced in fighting skies!

G-8 stared in horror.  The observer of that black plane had shoulders and arms—but no head.  There was nothing but a neck that oozed blood.  And on the neck a falcon perched!  For an hour the Yank spy had hunted this black ship.  And now that he had sighted it he knew that his assignment to "Find the Wizard—wipe him out!" was one of the most daring jobs he and his aces had ever tried to carry out in death skies!

"I'm going blind . . . I can't see!"  From all along the Yank front those reports came in—pitiful reports from troops sent up to stage a victory drive—troops that now fought on—grimly, hopelessly.  And G-8, watching from the air, vowed grimly to avenge their slaughter, to track this horror scourge to its source and bust it wide open with crimson lead!

"To the driver of the Geier who kills G-8, I will personally give one hundred thousand marks."  Deep in Germany Herr Doktor Krueger made this offer . . . And now G-8 was taking off into war skies.  He hadn't yet seen the giant geiers—didn't know that he was soon to pit his wings against the most horrible menace that ever patroled scarlet cloud lanes.

"Have all Allied spies in Germany watch for menace of midgets connection aviation."  When G-8 read this cable from a fellow secret service agent in America he was puzzled.  Why should this information came from the United States? He and his battle aces had been patrolling war skies constantly—yet had seen no sign of midgets . . . But before several hours had passed, G-8 knew that he was embarked on the most daring mission he had ever tackled, knew he must go fighting wings against an invisible staffel!