Books: Our Pilots in the Air

C >> Captain William B. Perry >> Our Pilots in the Air

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Stanley discreetly dodged under another projecting abutment, when down
dropped another bomb, probably thrown at a venture from some scattering
member of the squad that had just passed. From his shelter Stanley was
horrified to see both Blaine and Erwin, who were near the fire, thrown
violently down as the bomb burst appallingly near where they were
crouched. They; did not rise again.

Without waiting to see if other bombs might fall, the observer ran
forward in great perturbation. Both aviators lay apparently senseless.
From Blaine's head blood was flowing from a flesh wound somewhere up
under his thick mop of short curly hair. His pulse, however, was
beating lively.

As for Erwin, no visible wounds were apparent, yet he lay there deathly
pale while some of his clothing had been torn by fragments of the
exploding bomb.

Of Buck Bangs there was no sign.

Deeply depressed, for he was very young and impressionable, Stanley,
regardless of his own safety, punched up the fire and from his own and
his comrades' kits procured such remedies as aviators carry for just
such emergencies. In the dark he hunted for water but found none.
From a flask of good French brandy he managed to pour a spoonful or so
down each throat, taking a swallow himself, for he felt he sorely
needed it.

Poor old Blaine never stirred. Erwin at last shivered slightly.

"Isn't this a deuce of a fix?" he sighed at length. "Where are we?
For all I know, Blaines may be dead. Here, feeling again of Lafe's
pulse, its steady beat somewhat reassured Stanley. "How about Orris?"

If anything, Erwin's pulse was coming back. The brandy had restored
such vitality to the lad that his arteries were again sending the
life-giving fluid upon its unceasing task.

"What can have become of Buck?" Stanley replenished the fire with
stray fuel, for he knew that it would be a signal to Bangs and perhaps
to the enemy; but as to the last he hoped not, amid that chilly
darkness and night fog.

Here a slight noise from his rear caused Stanley to wheel in his tracks
and stare stupidly at a dim figure under the shadow of a portico in
front of the basement of the main edifice, which was, in fact, about
the only part of that vast group of buildings that seemed unharmed.

"Who are you? What brought you here?" came an unmistakably feminine
voice.

More wonderful still, the language was English -- good English, too.
Was there not also an American twang about the tone and accent?
Stanley could have pinched himself, had he thought of it. But so
surprised was he that he seemed actually paralyzed, when an
unmistakably girlish figure emerged more into the light.

Still the young observer stared, hardly noticed that another older form
had made a dim appearance. It, too, wore skirts, though rather raged
and soiled. The girl's habiliments also evinced that her recent abode
had not been where style and cleanliness were at all dominant.

"You -- you are not Germans?" This tremulously from the girl. "You
understand me, don't you?"

"Yes, ma am," Stanley almost stuttered.

"Y-you s-see -- I'm some surprised --"

"Some surprised!" The girl was smiling hopefully. "That sounds like
good old United States talk."

"We heard so much noise overhead, then some nasty bombs exploding. So
Brenda and I have lain hidden in the cellars for -- for hours. Haven't
we, Brenda? The dim form in the rear nodded emphatically. "But who
are you?"

Here she caught sight of the ruined planes and the prostrate forms of
Blaine and Erwin, with also the more distant figure of the dead German.

"Oh -- oh!" She clasped her hands. "How dreadful! What can we do?
May we not help? Are they all dead?"

The girl was genuinely aroused, so much so that her natural horror of
the strained situation was lost in genuine concern. Stanley briefly
explained the series of incidents that had preceded the present
situation, at the same time pointing at the dead German aviator, and
concluding with:

"The poor chap used to live in Chicago. Before he died he gave us his
parents' address there. He spoke good English."

"Why, Chicago is where I hail from," said the girl. "Good old Windy
City! I wish I was there now, although I have been over here many
months."

Meantime Brenda, with the ready adaptability of Belgian women, had been
examining the persons of the two still insensible aviators. All at
once she rose up, saying to her mistress:

"Pardon, miss." This in her own Flemish tongue. "We must move these
Americans to our under ground rooms. They will recover, but they need
attention."

"You are sure right, Miss - Miss --" Stanley hesitated, but the girl
paid no heed. "We don't want to inconvenience you, but something will
have to be done right away."

With the able assistance of Brenda, while the girl went ahead carrying
a small lamp that had been produced as if by magic from somewhere -
possibility by Brenda -- they picked up poor Erwin and followed. Down
some half ruined stone steps they went, then through a long passage,
then down more steps to a half open door.

Once inside, Stanley saw he was in quite a sizeable room, with two
beds, one large, the other a mere cot. The girl led the way to the
large bed, and there they laid the still swooning man who gave a slight
groan as he was deftly covered by the girl who murmured as if to
herself:

"Poor fellow, he has suffered!"

Already Stanley was leaving, saying:

"We must get Blaine down here quickly. He is in a bad way, I fear."

Seizing the lamp, the girl hurried after. On reaching the other
stricken aviator, what was their surprise to find him leaning on one
elbow, trying to rise, but vainly.

"Wha -- what's the matter? Where am I?"

"You're with friends, old boy," soothed Stanley, seizing Blaine's arms,
while Brenda took up the lower limbs. With the wounded man muttering
aimlessly, again they wended their way to the lower chamber, evidently
used by the girl and Brenda as a temporary sleeping place.

With deft efficiency the girl had snatched up Stanley's kit of
dressings and other medical paraphernalia and hurried on ahead with the
lamp. In a trice they had placed him on the cot. Immediately the two
women were busy with these things and some stored aids of their own,
dressing the bruises on both the boys and applying restoratives, so
that in a short time both were awake, sensible, and staring with
grateful wonder at these two women -- angels of mercy -- and the
strange yet comfortable surroundings.

Mutual explanations had already begun when whirring, semi-thunderous
noises again were heard. Stanley was instantly on the alert.

"All of you remain quiet while I slip up and see what is on," he said,
flinging back: "If your light is apt to shine through any hole or
opening, better douse it or hang up covers. Make no noises until you
hear from me." He was off, but not before the girl called to him:

"Be very careful, sir! We cannot spare you - yet."

"No, we can't, ma'am," remarked Blaine from the cot where he now sat
upright with a bandaged head.

"Indeed, Sir," said the girl almost wistfully, "we cannot spare any of
you. Just think, we have been here a week, and with more or less
bombing going on each day and sometimes at night."

"May I ask, mademoiselle --" began Blaine.

"Just plain Miss," interrupted the girl. "Miss Daskam from Chicago!"

"Well, well!" Blaine was smilingly openly now. "That surely sounds
homelike! Well, we're all Americans too. We were on an air raid and
had a good deal of mixed luck. Blaine's my name; that's Erwin over
there," pointing at the cot where Orris was grinning and smiling. "The
chap who went out just now is Stanley. He is my observer. But our
machine is smashed now and how we will all get back is more than I
know. Eh, Orry?"

"Looks that way. But what's the use of worrying while we are in such
charming company? I'm all right."

And to prove it Erwin stepped out on the floor, a little teetery
perhaps, but once more himself. He made a not ungraceful bow.

"May I ask, Miss Daskam, how you happened to get cornered down here in
this poor old chateau? It must have been a grand place once -- but
now!" He shrugged slightly, regarding Miss Daskam sympathizingly.

"The wife of the owner of this place is my sister. I came over as a
member of the Belgian Red Cross. Both my sister and her husband are,
or were, at headquarters when I left the Belgian lines. I had a permit
to visit his chateau; for in the days before I came over here I had
left there certain papers most important to them both. I wanted to see
the place and I had a friend that was chummy with the Boches in
Brussels. He had forwarded me a pass. So I insisted on taking Brenda
along and trying it alone. You know western girls are not much afraid
of things."

"Well, you were plucky enough, anyhow, interposed Erwin and Blaine
nodded.

"Up to that time, after the chateau had been bombarded by our Allies in
their final advance towards Paschiendale after Vimy ridge, it had
rested unharmed further."

"But you can never count on what Fritz will do, or when he'll begin,"
remarked Blaine. Then as the girl went on, Erwin sat down suddenly as
if something within him had all at once given way.

"Keep still, Mr. Erwin," she cautioned. "You're not well vet. As I was
saving we got through the lines all right. If either my sister or the
Baron had gone, they would have been made prisoners at least. I was a
Red Cross nurse. We had done good work over there and even the Germans
were well disposed. But if it wasn't for Brenda, I hardly know how
we'd have managed Brenda is a -- a whole team, you know." She pressed
her servant's worn hand as she continued. "We reached the chateau,
secured the papers with out much trouble, for Brenda, being an old
family servitor, knew where to find them. That very night, while we
were in these underground rooms, the Germans began dropping bombs all
about.

"It appeared that the Allies from over our way had gotten to raiding
behind the lines, not knowing we were here, of course. Otherwise they
would not have begun, for the Baron is highly respected among the
Belgians and other Allies Why not? He is one of their King Albert's
main leaders. Well, after that we simply had a terrible time. First
one side, then the other would either fight overhead, or pass to and
fro, dropping bombs here and there. Oh, it was terrible!"

"Poor child!" This from Brenda. "She no harm no one; but dem Boche,
he no care what he do or where he do it. Ally not know either."

"Well, we have been here ever since. Now you have come, perhaps we may
somehow find a way to get out."

Here Stanley suddenly entered, looking strangely resolved. Above, the
explosive noises had gradually died out. Looking at Blaine, he said:

"Lafe, I have fixed up that German's Fokker All it needs is more
gasoline and there's still some in your tank and Orry's. If you don't
care, I'll fly that Fokker over our lines before morning and manage to
bring some help. Neither of you are strong enough to go and I
understand Fokkers pretty well. What say?"

"That won't do at all," exclaimed Erwin, making another violent effort
not only to stand but to walk. All at once he tottered and would have
fallen, but Brenda caught him, placing him back on the cot.

"That'll do for you, Orris," began Blaine. "Shucks! I feel quite
pert. Just you watch me!"

But it turned out that Blaine was, if anything, weaker than his friend,
and silence gave consent to his first proposal. Even Miss Daskam
assented, adding: "I hope when you do return with help, sir, that it
will be sufficient to enable Brenda and me to accompany you."

For the first time Stanley seemed to catch the wistfulness in her eyes
and tone. He impulsively took her hand, saying:

"Believe me, Miss Aida -- Daskam, I mean," (She had already whispered
to him her full name), "if any of us gets back out of this mess, you
may be sure you will be among them --"

"And Brenda, too?"

"Brenda, too! If I know anything of our folks back at the aerodrome,
we will have plenty of help."

In another minute he was gone. Brenda went with him to help about the
gasoline, and in an short time, under her pilotage, he reached an open
spot where he could rise.

They heard the whirring of his wings; he was gone.

CHAPTER XIV

TWO PERILOUS NIGHT TRIPS

It may be said that, once up in the air, Stanley lost no time in
heading into the west-southwest. He knew the way, and though it was
yet hardly midnight, he divined the safest way for him to make the
familiar aerodrome was to get there as soon as possible, regardless of
consequences. The night, though foggy, was sufficiently starlight to
aid in his sense of direction. It was hardly likely that there would
be further bombing raids that night, but one was never certain what the
Boches might attempt. Witness their recent raid upon the old chateau,
although they might know that planes had recently landed there.

After the North Sea Wind fog, a general calm had settled down upon that
death-scarred region. Over the front and about No-Man's-Land an
occasional flare or star-shell would go up. One of these came
unusually close to the swiftly moving Fokker. Immediately after that
came bombing from Archies stationed along the enemy front. Among these
some, either accidentally or by design, sent bursting shrapnel all
around him. He heard the wings being struck repeatedly but, knowing
his great speed, he hoped to be out of range almost at once.

With the sound of big guns the whole front was lighted up here and
there with flares and starshells, many being sent up from shell holes
concealed from all but their own side.

More than that; for Stanley, leaning far over to scan the earth below,
suddenly saw men rushing some kind of a gun up a steep incline. Where
was that? It could not be the Appincourte Bluff, for that was now in
our hands. But he recalled another elevation near the small stream
behind.

"Can it be the Boches have tunneled to that former another advancing
post?"

Further thought was interrupted by a brilliant flash and a dull report
just underneath. At the same time he felt sharp stings pierce his arms
now stretched outside the fuselage as he leaned over. Something like a
needle seemed to pierce his brain. In the same instant he was aware
that in his eagerness to reach the base quickly, he had permitted his
plane to approach the earth a great deal nearer than before.

He was tilting his rudder upward, while feeling at once that he was
about all in. But feverishly he gripped wheel and controls, more with
feet than hands, for he was growing more helpless each passing second.
The flashings below had shattered into many small scintillations as
they shot upward, while something sharp and metallic was rattling among
his planes.

But he was mounting, he knew that. Dizzily, he managed mechanically to
turn the plane towards where he knew the broad aerodrome was situated.

"Hope they haven't hit my tank," he maundered. "I -- I'll get there
--" But that was all he did say, for unconsciousness was coming fast.

At the same time he sensed somehow that the Fokker -- already well
peppered by his own crowd on that same day -- was listing, sagging, so
that at last he could hardly keep his seat.

"I -- I'm goin' -- goin'," he kept reiterating in his mind. "Goin' -
go'n -- go --" He lapsed into complete unconsciousness, with his last
sentient movement pressing the wheel and controls downward and towards
the left, where he finally half fell, as we have seen before.

Byers and the orderly bore him quickly to the near-by dormitory, where
many of the fliers were temporarily lodged. Senator Walsen and the
girls followed, while some of the mechanics attended to the crippled
Fokker.

In almost no time the surgeon on duty was there with two of the Red
Cross nurses. Though unconscious, Stanley was restless, uneasy,
evidently worrying. He muttered unintelligibly, tried to break forth
more loudly, but for the present was unable to make any meaning clear
to the others.

"What gets me," remarked Byers while watching the deft manipulations of
the surgeon and the nurses, "is how he came here alone and in such a
rig. Why, that Fokker must have been taken from Fritzy! Why didn't he
return in one of our own machines? Where are the others? I tell you,
Senator, there is trouble afoot; I feel it in my bones!"

As may be imagined, both Andra and Avella were much concerned, though
neither would admit it to the other or, for that matter, to any one
else. Only once Andra, clinging to her sister, whispered timidly:

"Sup -- suppose this poor chap never does revive, Vella? How will we
ever know?"

"We've got to know, Andra. Got to -- that's all I can say!"

By these two whisperings aside each girl was conscious of betraying to
the other some sign of that deep, sudden interest with which at least
two of these dashing young aviators had inspired them. And they, the
fair daughters of a United States Senator! Verily strange and
surprising are the freaks of Cupid. But of this more later. The
physician was still busy over the slowly reviving patient, when the
watchful orderly hurried in to where the captain was watching and
waiting.

"I thought I better go out and take a look, sir. While I was out at
the observation there came some signal flares out of the nor'-nor'east.
I wasn't certain, sir, so I waited. Along came another flash, adding
our most private code signal. After that I dared not hesitate, nor had
I time to run to you without answering. So I - so I --"

"So you answered, eh? Well, that's all right. Did you show a flare,
also in code?"

"You bet, sir! I think it's one of our missing men that may have lost
his way. Better come out with me. He'll be landing next."

Without another word Byers accompanied the orderly out to a point near
the observation post, and almost instantly they heard the whir of
approaching wings, evidently spiraling down from greater heights.

"Give him a light lad." said Byers to the orderly. "He knows where we
are, but in this black night he might hit some building or the fence.

Down on the gravel ran the assistant, followed by Byers, who saw the
flare go up. In a minute a tattered triplane emerged into the light
and made an easy landing not far from where the unconscious Stanley had
previously been carried from his Fokker to the casual dormitory.

Almost before they reached it two of the night watch among the
mechanics arrived and lifted out our old friend Buck Bangs from Idaho.
He was unconscious, the cause being a body bullet wound on the right
side, the bullet being later found bedded in the back of the seat in
his Nieuport.

The machine was riddled even worse than Stanley's Fokker, but
fortunately not in any vital parts, nor had the planes, though
perforated like a sieve in many spots, been injured in any way to
impair their vitality for the frames and joints were all right.

"Take him up to the Casual Dormitory boys," ordered Byers. "Careful!
We don't know how badly he is hurt."

Up they bore him, leaving the machine where it stood. Into the
dormitory he was carried and laid on a vacant bed near the now
recovering Stanley. The latter had shown signs of resuscitation and
now, as they bore in poor Buck, his head hanging helplessly, his limbs
limp and unstrung, Stanley opened his eyes for the first time. They
fell upon Buck, on whom the full light happened to shine brightly.

"Buck -- there's Buck!" gasped the wounded observer. "Where'd he come
from?"

At this instant Vella, happening to glance up, saw Buck's pallid face
as it rested on the arm of one of his supporters who was helping to
place him on the ready cot. She gave a convulsive gasp, seized Andra
by the arm and pushed forward, hardly sensible of where she was, but
only that this youth from the State next to her own was apparently
fatally stricken.

"Stay with me, Andra," she murmured. "I may faint. I don't want to
say! Is he alive? Oh, Andra; does he live?"

Fully alive to the peculiar exigencies of the situation, and deeply
sympathizing with Avella, Andra clung to and supported her sister until
both were themselves again. Thereafter they watched, helped when they
could, and as a rule kept as quiet as mice. It was really a ticklish
situation for two young girls, both among the elite of official society
in Washington, though transferred of their own volition to strange
scenes and duties in this foreign land. Sisterly always, they now
clung together more than usual.

"Is -- is poor Buck dead?" asked Stanley, gaining strength with each
word. "He left us to raid some more Boches and -- and get help."

"The young man is all right." This from the surgeon who had just
finished his examination. "He will pull through with good nursing.
It's a bullet wound between the ribs and I f ear, although I'm not
certain yet, that in passing it pierced the lungs. It has gone out at
his back, near the shoulder, and that's a good thing. Leaves a clean
Wound."

By degrees Buck was brought to, revived by a tonic, braced up by a
subtle injection of some kind, after which his wound was carefully,
thoroughly, and scientifically dressed.

Laying back after this, the first person on whom his sleepy eyes opened
was Stanley, now raised on one elbow, so strong had he already grown,
regarding Bangs much as one might look at some one supposed to be dead,
but returned to life.

"Hello, Buck!" Stanley actually tried to sit up in bed. "When we saw
you put out up in them clouds, I sure thought you were a goner!"

Buck weakly shook his bead, but was restrained by the nurse from trying
to talk. "No use!" he whispered wearily. Then his eyes sought that
sweet girl again . She was still looking at him. He gave a sigh of
satisfaction and almost immediately fell asleep.

All at once Stanley seemed to remember what he had come through a
flying death for. He cursed his forgetfulness, then said aloud:

"I want to see Captain Byers. It -- it's important. Please send for
him."

But Byers, already alert, was stepping close and; saying:

"If it is important, go ahead. But if it can wait --"

"But -- it can't wait, Captain," pleaded Stanley. "They sent me 'cause
they couldn't come. All our planes were bombed from overhead. Had to
use Fritzy's little old Fokker after we got him and his machine.
Believe me, they're a tight place, and there's two women with 'em, one
of them an American girl from Chicago; t'other a good old Belgian."

"Go ahead, my man," urged Byers.

Thereupon Stanley, refreshed by a mug of real Red Cross French wine,
proceeded to relate a succinctly as he could all that the reader now
knows Irwin, and Bangs, so far as Stanley had known. Also their varied
adventures after following the defeated Hun down amid the ruins of the
old baronial chateau.

"Believe me, sir, they are in bad shape," continued Stanley earnestly.
"Both them chaps are clean knocked out for the time being, though I
know they will be able to travel by the time we get back there."

"You say there are women there, too?"

"Yes, sir; two of 'em. One is sister to the wife of the Belgian baron
who owns the whole chateau and estate. They got a permit somehow and
came through the lines; but in view of recent troubles around there
they don't know how to get back. "I'm sure sorry for them."

"What did they go there for, knowing the Germans controlled all that
territory? Had they no better sense?"

"So far as I could understand, they went in the first place for some
important papers hid away there, and which the Boches don't know of."

"Private papers or papers pertaining to the, war?"

"Don't know, sir. All I know is that they said, they had left safe and
were to bring them back if they ever do got back."

Of course the surrounding group were listening. Among these was a
runty, pockmarked, weasel-eyed little chap who went by the name of
Pete, and whom was not much thought of, being considered by those who
knew him best to be more than half German by blood. Be this as it may,
he now began to edge outward from the group and gradually gravitated
towards a side door.

However, he was already watched, and by no less a one than Byers'
orderly. Ever since the escape of Hans, every one suspected of German
connections had been under secret but thorough espionage. When Pete
went out at one door the orderly emerged at the other in time to see
Pete making for the observation post.

"What can the fool want there?" wonder the orderly. In less than a
minute he was satisfied for, drawing from his pocket a peculiar flare
Pete lighted and sent it up, where it shivered into different colored
flashes, doubtless some kind of cheap signal to warn his countrymen
that some big was up. Perhaps also a signal for some one to meet Pete
somewhere. But the orderly had even less patience than discretion. In
two more minutes he had Pete under arrest and bound for the guard
house. One of the mechanics aided the orderly and despite Pete's
protests, he was shut up for the night.

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