Nonstop to Mars by Jack Williamson.
"That's just it," her tired voice told him. "Mars is hazed and dim with atmosphere —atmosphere stolen from the Earth. That silver thread is the other end of the tube of force that we hive been calling a tornado—sucking air from the Earth across to Mars!"
It was that acceleration. Swiftly, ever more swiftly, that resistless suction was drawing him across toward Mars. So far, so good. He guided the plane around a good-sized granite boulder, drawn with him up the funnel. The thing was incredible. Flying to Mars in the Phoenix—a secondhand crate that Tick Tinker had somehow wangled out of the city fathers of Phoenix, Arizona, quite close, on every side. He knew that six years ago. And the Gayle Foundation, with all its millions, had failed to fly its rockets even to the Moon.