Books: Our Pilots in the Air
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Captain William B. Perry >> Our Pilots in the Air
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"He's out of it for the time being," thought Lafe. "Good thing, too.
Hard work to keep a strangle hold on that chap and keep his machine
right side up. Hey there, Orry!"
By this time Erwin had forged so close in swinging round again that
only a few yards separated the planes.
"Don't you go any nearer those Boches. I am all right. We got some of
them. Look at those riderless horses!"
True it was that several riderless horses were careering about the
field below. Also at another angle some men were dragging forth an
antiaircraft gun, or so it looked to be by its peculiar carriage and
mounting.
"Sure you are all right?" called Orris as the two machines sped along
side by side, all the while rising. "Didn't that fellow give you
trouble?"
"None to speak of. I've looped a cord about his throat, and got the
other end round a cleat. If he tries to jerk away he'll strangle. Put
on more power, man! Can't you see they've dragged the Archies out and
are stuffing in sheaves of bullets?"
"All right!" called Erwin, now spiraling higher, higher, climbing
cloudward. "Sure you got the Taube straight -- hey, Lafe?"
"Course I have! Didn't I work one of them at --?" But the name was
lost to Orris as the distance increased.
To Blaine's relief the Boche did not move for a moment or two. This
gave him time to twist that free arm back where Lafe could press the
weight of one big foot thereon, and also complete the adjustment of the
cord. He arranged it by looping twice round the cleat, the length
reaching to Fritz's throat being drawn taut. Moreover, as the German's
body was resting sidewise upon his other arm, still tightly bound,
Blaine felt that he had the man for the time being at least.
Now came heavier roars from below. Not only one gun but several had
been brought up, trained on the fliers and were being fired rapidly at
the receding airplanes.
Also the true nature of the situation aloft must have been divined.
Hence the extreme activity among the Germans, now trying desperately to
reverse the progress of events by bringing one or both machines down.
The fact that the life of one of their own comrades might be snuffed
out did not weigh with them at all. Such is the German militaristic
creed. The individual, his life, or welfare is as nothing when
compared with the welfare of the cause, the state, the whole brutal,
efficient system.
After all, this comrade might be dead now. They must get at and, if
possible, overtake these schwein at all cost. Were not they retreating
with a choice Prussian machine, that even now flaunted in derision the
Death's Head Flag?
No wonder the Boches were mad -- good mad!
But our Yankee adventurers were by no means at the end of their raid.
The sun was rising. With the rare promise of a clear day, considering
the time and the region, it was more evident than usual that a very
high altitude must be reached and maintained.
There were the German trenches to be passed, the trenches raided only a
few hours before, the No-Man's-Land, before the welcoming shelter of
friendly areas and support might be reached. At any rate, they could
see and signal other and also keep close together and be ready to
afford mutual support in case of meeting the foe. This last was soon
verified by the rise and approach of a small squadron of scout
cruisers, winged monoplanes, each with a ed monoplanes, each with a
single pilot only and one machine gun.
"Keep well under them," signaled Blaine to his friend. "Got any
ammunition? What? The devil!"
Orris had replied to Lafe's queries by shaking out the now empty
cartridge sheaves and dropping them again. Lafe, then swooping closer,
Called forth to his mate:
"By its looks this gun is a rebuilt Lewis. Can you use any of mine?
You know the Boches are great in reconstructing captured weapons to
their own use. Get below me and to one side. Hurry up! I'll try to
toss you a sheaf. Here -- damn you!"
This to the German who again evinced signs of life. Having no time to
spare, Blaine jerked the throat cord closer and gave a heavier foot
pressure to the prisoner's twisted arm. Meanwhile with no time to
lose, Orris swooped lower, rising gently under Blaine's right or
starboard side. The latter had to rise in order to toss the weighty
sheaf of cartridges exactly where he wished them to fall -- into
Erwin's lap.
This he did successfully. But in so doing his weight relaxed upon the
Boche's arm. At the same time Orris, in catching the sheaf, allowed
his control grip to relax. The nose of Orris's machine, now rising,
bumped into Lafe's under plane, tilting it up sharply.
Precisely at this juncture, and as Blaine's foot pressure on his
prisoner's arm relaxed, the tilting planes threw him sharply forward,
down and upon the German. The latter, seeing his one chance, wrenched
his partially released arm forward and caught it round Blaine's legs as
he stumbled. At the same time this double movement somehow operated to
release Fritz's other arm.
By now, Orris, unconscious of the mischief his own upward shove had
caused, sheered his machine aside, still climbing upward and onward,
only to find three of the enemy scouts nearing rapidly and making ready
for an encounter.
Looking back, he saw, in the place of Blaine's leather cap and goggles,
a dimly shimmering twinkle of arms and legs flashing above the rim of
the open enclosure where the pilots sit.
"Great guns!" he ejaculated, his blood tingling with thrills. "That
chap has got loose and they're having it. What must I do?"
Even while these thoughts were flashing, he was working. He dared not
turn to Blaine's relief. He did not know yet if the sheaf thrown him
would fit his own machine gun. But first he must dip, circle, come up
underneath and try his luck.
As has been said, Orry was no novice. He had flown at the front for
months as one of the Lafayette Escadrille. Before that he had worked
his way up in aerial mechanics in the United States and also here in
France.
Even while diving, circling, swirling in mid air, ten thousand feet up,
he was adjusting the new sheaf to his own gun. Happily it fitted.
That was a good sign, and pirouetting, not unlike an expert dancer
executing a new turn, he dove aside and came up fairly behind the
nearest Boche. Without hesitation he began to spray the enemy with a
shower of their own bullets. It was indeed lucky the new cartridges
fitted. It was merely one blunder committed by the extra efficient
Germans in converting British weapons to their own use.
Evidently the ammunition dealt out to the Death's Head Squadron was of
the best. It was intentionally so. Another proof of this lay in the
fact that the German plane thus attacked fell sideways, recovered,
plunged half staggering away, while a tiny spark of flame became
visible to Erwin as he sheered aside in the opposite direction and
prepared for a new onset from above by the second plane. So far as he
could see, the other plane was making for Blaine's machine that still
flow the Death's Head Flag. Yet it was acting strangely as seen from a
distance by the Boches, who might or might not be posted as to the
strange change of its ownership.
The second plane, rendered more cautious by the fate of the first,
which was now descending a mass of flames, began a series of divings,
wrigglings, and even nose dips, in its efforts to confuse Erwin and
find a good position from which to shower the daring invader with
bullets.
On his own part Orris went through the usual maneuvers customary when
two airmen, both skillful, are seeking the advantage of the other.
Well it was for the young man that his own Bleriot was one of the best
of the up-to-date fighting planes.
Numerous shots were taken on both sides, and in the excitement f or the
moment Orris lost all sight of the fate of his partner. At last, in
trying by a desperate and perilous maneuver, to "get on the tail" of
his adversary by a side-loop in mid-flight, the Boche pilot, while
upside down, came for an instant fairly within range. Quickly Orris
took his advantage.
He was above and to the right of the German, and with a single whirl of
his Lewis gun brought it fully in line with the Boche's head as he sat
head down, strapped in his seat, while his machine was swiftly turning
in its side evolution so as to bring him in the rear of his enemy.
"Now!" gasped Orris, beginning his bullet spray. "Help me, Mars!"
A queer prayer, but it was quickly answered. The German machine
righted more slowly, however. Erwin dove swiftly down and came upright
in the rear of his now swaying adversary. Then the lad saw what fate
had done for him.
The German had collapsed in his seat, to which, as has been said, he
had strapped himself. His head lay on the rim, apparently a mass of
streaming crimson. His machine, a renovated Fokker, was tipsily
zigzagging along without any guidance except its stabilizer and its own
momentum.
To say the boy was half paralyzed at first is not too strong. But a
revulsion swept through him in a flood. At the same time there came to
his brain a vivid flash, reminding him that while thus desperately
engaged for his own life, he had heard sounds of aerial battling
somewhere in his rear.
While he was making up his mind what to do next, the whir of speeding
motors rose rapidly. Looking back, he saw the Death's Head flag waving
from the nearest one and soon distinguished Blaine, apparently all
right, but chugging away at top speed in Erwin's direction.
Just now the Fokker with its dead occupant gave another side drop and,
uninfluenced by the usual controls, came nearly to a standstill. It
toppled again, then down it went earthward at increasing speed,
carrying its occupant along.
"Hey-you!" This from Blaine as he swept up and by, while rounding to.
"Look behind! I dropped that chap -- the first one! But he's brought
a lot of others. Let's make for home, boy!"
Apparently it was too late without a further scrimmage, for no less
than half a dozen Boche planes were swooping around their rear, some
already within range. In maneuvering into position Blaine again picked
up his megaphone, saying:
"I saw you drop those chaps. Oh, you Orry! Here we go -- right for
some more of them! Whoopee!"
It seemed little short of blasphemy -- this uproarious spirit, in the
face of the odds gathering in behind. But Blaine was built that way.
Danger, the closer and more menacing, instead of rousing fear, nerved
him to his best or, as it might turn out, worst.
"Where's your prisoner?" shouted Erwin. "I feared he'd get you."
"Nit, old man! I got hold of a monkey-wrench and knocked him cold.
But he was game, you bet!"
"Where is he then?"
"Cold and stiff under my feet. Watch out, Orry!"
Megaphones cast aside, both Americans now addressed themselves to the
desperate task of fighting these new assailants and reaching their own
lines.
But in the first firing that ensued Erwin's Lewis gun suddenly jammed.
This was probably one result of his having to use the German-made
ammunition tossed to him earlier by Blaine, when his own had been
exhausted. He signaled to his partner:
"Gun jammed! Must cut for home -- understand?"
"All right! Go up - up -"
A burst of flame from Blaine's machine, and the toppling down of the
nearest adversary was the first result of this new encounter.
Evidently that flag waving from Blaine's captured plane had fooled the
Boches again.
Down, down went the hostile machine, its pilot frantically but
ineffectually trying to right himself.
Passing Erwin, the latter saw the Boche, evidently a mere lad, working
at the controls as the plane dropped down like a dead leaf in the air.
"Poor fellow," sighed Orris, beginning to spiral upward. "What a
deadly cruel thing war now is!"
Up, up he climbed, two of the enemy following, while Blaine was
engaging another, the last. The final view Erwin had of his bunkie the
two were engaged in a close duel, dipping, darting, flashing about each
other. Now came interchanging machine gun fire, with both gradually
following Erwin higher, higher, until the latter began to feel that the
thin air of these upper regions was getting on his nerves. A glance at
his own register showed eighteen thousand feet or thereabouts.
Still his adversaries climbed after him. Now and then a spurt of flame
and a spatter of bullets indicated that his own plane was being more or
less perforated. The lad became doubtful as to the wisdom of waiting
longer for his comrade. Evidently Blaine would fight on as long as his
ammunition lasted or until disabled himself. After all, two hostile
planes dropped and the third one brought home with its occupant was not
a bad conclusion for a night's bombing raid on the enemy trenches.
Here a sudden, fierce gust of wind from the north catching him unawares
half tilted his machine and then as he righted it sent him scurrying at
terrific speed southward. At the same time a black cloud, belching and
flaming thunder and lightning, swept down on him with almost the force
of a hurricane.
CHAPTER IV
WINNING PROMOTIONS
Looking back, Orris saw his nearest foe, apparently caught by the same
whirlwind that had nearly unseated him, go side-looping over and over
as if in the grasp of mighty, invisible forces that he was unable to
meet or control.
"It's safety first, I guess, for us all," he thought, at once diving
into the nearing thunder burst that closed round him like a black pall,
a pall now threaded and convulsed with electric forces that showed only
in vivid flashes and deafening thunders.
The winds, too, picked him up, whirled him about and otherwise so
tossed his machine here, there, yonder, that for five fearful minutes
he hardly knew where or what he was. The wind, now bitter cold, would
have frozen his flesh but for his sheathing of wool and leather that
protected his face, arms and body. Blinding gusts of rain, sleet and
frozen snow buffeted the planes, the shield of the fuselage, and all of
himself that was visible.
By this time Blaine, the German planes, his own late adversary, had all
vanished. He was alone, like a buffeted, tossed, shaken twig, in that
wild vortex of darkness and storm.
With his machine gun jammed and his petrol running low, what was there
for him to do but descend and make for the home aerodrome?
"Might as well," he reflected. "We've already overstayed our time."
Pointing gently downwards, he suffered himself to drift. That is, if
one in the midst of a blinding storm and seated in a war-plane may be
supposed to drift. Rather it was being tossed about, constant
vigilance at the controls alone keeping his plane from literally
flopping over and somersaulting here and there, like a dead leaf.
Then without warning he felt the machine dropping down, down, down.
Yet the planes were level and the whole natural resisting power of the
machine was at its usual operation.
"By George! This storm has made an air cave underneath. I must get
busy."
Another twist of the levers and the plane jumped forward, for the first
time feeling no resistance of the storm. And, while he was glancing
around for more light, out he shot like an arrow from a bow into the
clear sunlight, the earth near -- too near, in fact.
Back of him the storm clouds were whisking themselves away so rapidly
that the transition was almost staggering. And below -- what was it he
now saw?
For answer, almost before his own mind had sensed the change, there
came the spatter of Archies by the dozen and the menacing roar of
machine guns, sheltered here and there over the scraggy plain within
the pill-boxes that have of late been substituted for the vanishing
trench lines. Artillery bombardments by the Allies have so devastated
certain regions that trenches have become impossible; hence the
concrete pillboxes.
"Lucky I've some gasoline left," thought Erwin, surprised but not
unduly alarmed. "It's a race now between me and the bullets."
Instantly he put on high speed, at the same time rising in zigzags
while the bombardment continued increasingly.
Right ahead, however, he saw what looked like a communicating
underground trench; and at certain intervals were openings. These
openings revealed to him a blurring, moving mass, muddy gray, yet with
glints here and there as of some substance brighter. Closer yet he
flew, regardless of safety. His air tabulator was not working. That
was a sign that he was within two to three hundred feet of the earth.
All at once something flashed out from this moving mass that presently
disappeared underground again.
Archie had momentarily stopped. But an unmistakable whistle of lead
was accompanied by a metallic puncture below. The bullet hit the near
end of his petrol tank almost at his knee. Now he knew.
"Lordy!" he palpitated. "That's too near!" Already his fingers were
twisting the speed accelerator, while up went the nose of his machine.
Still the Archies spake not, but the spat, spat, spat of real rifle
bullets followed his retreat.
Just then his hand, feeling below, came in contact with the hand
grenades which he had forgotten amid the excitement of his later
flight. Ahead rose a swell of land that he knew terminated in a bluff
abutting upon one of the smaller streams of that region. This
underground trench, evidently dug at great cost of labor and life, went
straight for that bluff.
Their own aerodrome lay only a few miles opposite.
By actual and repeated reconnaissance both from below and in the air,
this bluff was considered as deserted, or held at most by a very small
force. This was owing to its supposed isolation.
Evidently Erwin had just made a great discovery. At least he hoped so.
On he flew. His machine was hit in many places, principally the wings,
the tail and along the under side of the fuselage. Through this had
come the ball that nearly perforated the tank.
There was one more opening ahead and then the trench sank out of sight
near the base of the low bluff. Orry's hand closed over the first
grenade. He was really an expert bomb-thrower. At great risk he
dipped gradually until, when about at the point overhead he desired, he
threw two bombs in swift succession. Then-up, up rapidly. With all
the power of his engine he climbed, while two sharp explosions sounded
from below.
Had the lad looked down he would have seen the trench walls at the open
space crumble inward, while the mass of moving gray appeared to
disintegrate, to vanish for the time being.
But with the throwing of the bombs, Erwin had other work on hand.
Archie had broken loose again. One larger molded shot ripped through
the tail of the Bleriot, ricocheted obliquely and hit that same tank
again, but with more force. His head lowered, the lad saw what had
been done. More than that he saw what impended. The petrol was low.
Being under fire, at any moment a stray shot might ignite what little
was left. Pointing the machine still more upward, he seized a bunch of
loose lint, used to sop up recurring leaks here and there, and with a
handy screw driver he managed to stop the rent in the metal with a few
sharp adroit punchings.
Again to the machine, now over and beyond the bluffs; over the
crinkling muddy stream, now almost overflowing its banks. On the bluff
behind a squad of men in gray were training one of the Archies that had
been dragged up from somewhere underneath.
"I've got to give her all the head she'll take," he thought. "That gun
will get me if they understand their business."
Over beyond the stream a low embankment rose well up at perhaps three
to f our hundred yards from its first bank. Erwin was rising in a
steep climb, zigzagging crazily for the machine was giving out, owing
to lack of fuel. But he made a last effort to thus dodge the rain of
bullets that began to pelt upon him from the rear. Another larger gun
came up. Both joined in firing.
A shell splinter struck his shoulder, tearing loose the leather
garment, while a searing, hot agony seized him, paralyzing his left arm.
He was over the second embankment when the final crisis came. Were
these foes or friends that were popping up, pointing weapons at those
behind? Friends surely! Down he had better go. The pain was so acute
that only one arm was now at his service, while the dizziness that
accompanies the pain of severe gun wounds filled his brain, dimmed his
eyes, palsied his last despairing effort to land somehow behind that
sheltering embankment.
Just then came a last explosion close behind. He seemed to be going
down, down -- where?
Then a terrific shock, and all consciousness left him. The shock
seemed to drive from him all notion of anything or anybody. He knew
nothing, nothing - nothing --
When at last Orris Erwin again knew that he was in the land of the
living he was in a base hospital behind the front, and not far from his
own aerodrome. His shoulder was in bandages. His left arm was in
splints, but not painful. What seemed to be other bandages swathed his
lower legs. Altogether he felt himself to be in pretty bad shape.
Then appeared Sergeant Anson who, seeing that Erwin was now awake and
sensible, paused, a dry grin upon his weather-worn visage.
"Huh! Where's that Bleriot you or Blaine were to bring back?"
But the smile that accompanied this was not condemnatory by any means.
"I stuck to it, sir, long as I could stick to anything. How do I
happen to be trussed up this way here?"
For a first reply the Sergeant threw back his head and gave vent to a
real laugh. Then he patted Orry's curly head gently.
"You'll know in due time, youngster! Where's your pilot, Lafe Blaine?"
"Isn't Blaine back, too, and in that Death's Head Boche plane he -- we
took from them back of their lines? As for the Bleriot, I was in it
last I remember."
Here the door of the ward opened, and who should walk in but Blaine
himself, with Monsieur Cheval following. Cheval wore upon his breast a
silver medal resembling nothing so much as an ace. For a wonder Blaine
himself wore a tricolor ribbon with a tiny gold cross that Erwin was
sure he had never seen his athletic countryman have before.
At sight of Erwin's pale face and rather fragile form, now animated
with conversational fire and energy, the big American turned to his
French comrade, saying:
"There, my friend! Did I not tell you that our brave little comrade
would be more like himself today than he has been any time these ten
days? Say little one," bending over Orry affectionately, "have you got
over that nasty spell yet? Ha -- I guess so!"
"Where's that Bleriot the Sergeant said we must bring back? I was in
it when -- when the Boches or -- or the devil got me."
"That Bleriot, like yourself, mon comrade, is in the hospital; that is,
the repair shop." This from Monsieur Cheval, still wearing his right
arm in a sling, though now divested of splints.
"Oh!" A flash of dim recollection came to Orry for a moment, "I kind
of remember. First there was a bluff, with what looked like a
communicating trench, in spots. Just as if most of it was covered. I
dropped some bombs I had left on the moving gray something I saw.
After that I skimmed over the bluff. Then there was a stream, and
another embankment beyond. After that I don't seem to remember much.
How did I get here?"
"You got here, Orry, because the Boches downed you right over our front
trench at this angle, which is nearer the Boche line than anywhere in
this sector. We didn't even know that the enemy had dug a covered
trench to the far side of the bluff on the river bank until you let us
know by dropping bombs on them. This so angered them that they dragged
out two Archies and peppered you good. You fell into our trench, and -
and with the knowledge you gave us we directed our heavy artillery
right on that bluff.
Here Blaine grinned complacently while patting Orry's head again, very
gently though, on account of the bandages.
"Yes, mon comrade," supplemented Cheval. "It was to you that our
batteries owe their accuracy of firing in dealing with that bluff. Do,
you know that they must have been digging there for days, perhaps
weeks? The whole interior had been hollowed out, and there was a
picked battalion stationed there. La, la! It was a lucky accident
that led you in my own good Bleriot to lay open to us the secrets of
those over yonder, who are trying to enslave the world."
"But -- but I didn't know," murmured Erwin gratified, yet somehow
feeling as if honors were being heaped gratuitously on his undeserving
head. Something of this escaped him the while. Monsieur Cheval held
up a protesting hand.
"No, no! You must not! You shall know what France thinks of the
service you have done for her, and -- yes, for your own
brothers-in-arms as well. Listen! You are already promoted, Monsieur
Erwin. I may tell you that much. And so is your comrade, Blaine.
Look! He already wears his decoration."
"Oh, well," said Orris wearily, "we didn't do so much after all. We
did our bombing -- what we were sent to do. Then we somehow had to go
down in back of the Boche lines. While there we took that German
machine. It was right handy, and no trouble. What else could I do but
bring back your Bleriot, leaving Lafe here to do all the work of
fetching in that Boche machine and the Boche himself? Got back all
right, did you, Lafe. Looked to me when that other crowd tackled us as
if you might have your hands full."
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