One glance at the bulletin board, erected just outside their quarters at
the aerodrome, told Tom and Jack what they were detailed for that day.
It was the day following the arrival of Nellie Leroy at that particular
place in France, only to find that her brother was missing--either dead,
or alive and a prisoner behind the German lines.
“Sergeant Thomas Raymond will report to headquarters at eight o'clock,
to do patrol work.”
“Sergeant Jack Parmly will report to headquarters at eight o'clock for
reconnaissance with a photographer, who will be detailed.”
Thus read the bulletin board, and Tom and Jack, looking at it, nodded to
one another, while Tom remarked:
“Got our work cut out for us all right.”
“Yes,” agreed Jack. “Only I wish I could change places with you. I don't
like those big, heavy machines.”
But orders are orders, nowhere more so than in the aviation squad, and
soon the two lads, after a hearty if hasty breakfast, were ready for the
day's work. They each realized that when the sun set they might either
be dead, wounded or prisoners. It was a life full of eventualities.
A little later the two young airmen, in common with their comrades, were
ready. Some were to do patrol work, like Tom--that is fly over and
along the German lines in small swift, fighting planes, to attack a Hun
machine, if any showed, and to give notice of any attack, either from
the air or on the ground. The latter attacks the airmen would observe in
progress and report to the commanders of infantry or batteries who could
take steps to meet the attack, or even frustrate it.
Tom was assigned to a speedy Spad machine, one of great power and
lightness into which he climbed. He was to fly alone, and on his
machine was a machine gun of the Vickers type, which had to be aimed by
directing, or pointing, the aeroplane itself at the enemy.
After Tom had given a hasty but careful look at his craft, and had
assured himself of the accuracy of the report of his mechanician that
it had oil and petrol, his starter took his place in front of the
propeller.
“Well, Jack,” called Tom to his chum, across the field, where Jack was
making his preparations for taking up a photographer in a big two-seated
machine, “I wish you luck.”
“Same to you, old man. If you see anything of Harry, and he's alive,
tell him we'll bring him back home as soon as we get a chance.”
“Do you think there is any chance?” asked Tom eagerly. “I wouldn't want
anything better than to get Harry away from those Boches--and make his
sister happy.”
“Well, there's a chance, but it's a slim one, I'm afraid,” remarked
Jack. “We'll talk about it after we get back. Maybe there'll be a
message from the Huns about him before the day is over.”
“I hope so,” murmured Tom. “If those Huns only act as decently toward us
as we do toward them, we'll have some news soon.”
For it is true, in a number of instances that the German aviators do
drop within the allied lines news of any British, French or American
birdman who is captured or killed inside the German lines.
“All ready?” asked Tom of his helper.
“Switch off, gas on,” was the answer.
Tom made sure that the electrical switch was disconnected. If it was
left on, in “contact” as it is called, and the mechanician turned the
propeller blades, there might have been a sudden starting of the engine
that would have instantly kill the man. But with the switch off there
could be no ignition in the cylinders.
Slowly the man turned the big blades until each cylinder was sucked full
of the explosive mixture of gasoline and air.
“Contact!” he cried, and Tom threw over the switch.
Then, stepping once more up to the propeller, the man gave it a pull,
and quickly released it, jumping back out of harm's way.
With a throbbing roar the engine awoke to life and the propeller spun
around, a blur of indistinctness. The motor was working sweetly. Toni
throttled down, assured himself that everything was working well, and
then, with a wave of his hand toward Jack, began to taxi across the
field, to head up into the wind. All aeroplanes are started this
way--directly into the wind, to rise against it and not with it. On and
on he went and then he began to climb into the air. With him climbed
other birdmen who were to do patrol and contact work with him, the
latter being the term used when the airship keeps in contact through
signaling with infantry or artillery forces on the ground, directing
their efforts against the enemy.
Having seen Tom on his way, Jack turned to his own machine. As his chum
had been, Jack was dressed warmly in fur garments, even to his helmet,
which was fur lined. He had on two pairs of gloves and his eyes were
protected with heavy goggles. For it is very cold in the upper regions,
and the swift speed of the machine sends the wind cutting into one's
face so that it is impossible to see from the eyes unless they are
protected.
Jack's machine was a two-seater, of a heavy and comparatively safe
type--that is it was safe as long as it was not shot down by a Hun.
Jack was to occupy the front seat and act as pilot, while Harris, the
photographer he was to take up, sat behind him, with camera, map, pencil
and paper ready at hand for the making of observations.
On either side of the photographer's seat were six loaded drums of
ammunition for the Lewis gun, for use against the ruthless Hun machines.
Jack had a fixed Vicker machine weapon for his use.
“Hope I get a chance to use 'em,” said Harris with a grin, as he climbed
into his seat, patted the loaded drums, and nodded to Jack that he was
ready.
The same procedure was gone through as in the case of Tom. The man spun
the propeller, and they were ready to set off. Accompanying them were
two other reconnaissance planes, and four experienced fighting pilots,
two of them “aces,” that is men who, alone, had each brought down five
or more Hun planes. The big planes, used for obtaining news, pictures,
and maps of the enemy's territory, are always accompanied by fighting
planes, which look out for the attacking Germans, while the other,
and less speedy, craft carry the men who are to bring back vital
information.
“Let her go!” exclaimed Harris to Jack, and the latter nodded to the
mechanician, who, after the order of “contact,” spun the blades again
and they were really off, together with the others.
Up and up went Jack, sending his machine aloft in big circles as the
others were doing. Before him on a support was clamped a map, similar to
the one supported in front of Harris, and by consulting this Jack knew,
from the instructions he had received before going up, just what part of
the enemy's territory he was to cover. He was under the direction of
the photographer and map-maker, for the two duties were combined in this
instance.
Up and up they went. There was no talking, for though this is possible
in an aeroplane when the engine is shut off, such was not now the case.
But Jack knew his business.
His indicator soon showed them to be up about fourteen thousand feet,
and below them an artillery duel was in progress. It was a wonderful,
but terrible sight. Immediately under them, and rather too near
for comfort, shrapnel was bursting all around. The “Archies,” or
anti-aircraft guns of the Germans, were trying to reach the French
planes, and, in addition to the bullets, “woolly bears” and “flaming
onions” were sent up toward them. These are two types of bursting
shells, the first so named because when it explodes it does so with a
cloud of black smoke and a flaming center. I have never been able to
learn how the “onions” got their name, unless it is from the stench let
loose by the exploding gases.
Though they were fired at viciously, neither Jack nor his companion was
hit, and they continued on their way, keeping at a good height, as did
their associates, until they were well over the front German lines.
Jack noticed that some of the other planes were dropping lower, to give
their observers a chance to do their work, and, in response to a shove
in his back from the powerful field glasses carried by Harris, Jack sent
his machine down to about the nine-thousand-foot level. By a glance at
the map he could see that they were now over the territory concerning
which a report was wanted.
They were now under a heavy fire from the German anti-aircraft guns, but
Jack was too old a hand to let this needlessly worry him. He sent his
machine slipping from side to side, holding it on a level keel now and
then, to enable Harris to get the photographs he wanted. In addition,
the observer was also making a hasty, rough, but serviceable map of what
he saw.
Jack glanced down, and noted a German supply train puffing its way along
toward some depot, and he headed toward this to give Harris a chance to
note whether there were any supplies of ammunition, or anything else,
that might profitably be bombed later. He also saw several columns of
German infantry on the march, but as they were not out to make an attack
now, they had to watch the Huns moving up to the front line trenches,
there later, doubtless, to give battle.
Back and forth over the German lines flew Jack, Harris meanwhile doing
important observation work. As Jack went lower he came under a fiercer
fire of the batteries, until, it became so hot, from the shrapnel
bursts, that he fain would have turned and made for home. But orders
were orders, and Harris had not yet indicated that he had enough.
Twisting and turning, to make as poor a mark as possible for the enemy
guns, Jack sent his machine here and there. The other pilots were doing
the same. Machine guns were now opening up on them, and once the burst
of fire came so close that Jack began to “zoom.” That is he sent his
craft up and down sharply, like the curves and bumps in a roller-coaster
railway track.
By this time the leading plane gave the signal for the return, and,
thankful enough that they had not been hit, Jack swung about. But the
danger was not over. They had yet to pass across the enemy's front line
trenches, and when Harris signaled Jack to go down low in crossing the
lad wondered what the order was for. It was merely that the observer
wanted to see what was going on there so he could report.
They went down to within a mile of the earth, and several times the
plane was struck by pieces of shrapnel or bullets from machine guns.
Twice flying bits of metal came uncomfortably close to Jack, but he was
kept too busy with the management of his machine to more than notice
them. Harris was working hard at the camera and the maps.
Then, suddenly, came the danger signal from the leading plane, and only
just in time. Out from the German hangars came several battle machines.
Harris dropped his pencil and got ready the automatic gun, but it was
not needed, for, after approaching as though about to attack, the Huns
suddenly veered off. Later the reason for this became known. A squadron
of French planes had arisen as swiftly to give battle, and however brave
the Hun may be when he outnumbers the enemy, he had yet to be known to
take on a combat against odds.
So Jack and his observer safely reached the aerodrome again, bringing
back much valuable information.
“Is Tom here yet?” was Jack's first inquiry after he had divested
himself of his togs and men had rushed to the developing room the camera
with its precious plates.
“Not yet,” some of his chums told him. “They're having a fight upstairs
I guess.”
Jack nodded and looked anxiously in the direction in which Tom was last
seen.
It was an hour before the scouting airplanes came back, and one was so
badly shot up and its pilot so wounded that it only just managed to get
over the French lines before almost crashing to earth.
“Are you all right, Tom?” cried Jack, as he rushed up to his chum, when
he saw the latter getting out of his craft, rather stiff from the cold.
“Yes. They went at me hard--two of 'em but I think I accounted for one,
unless he went into a spinning nose dive just to fool me.”
“Oh, they'll do that if they get the chance.”
“I know,” assented Tom. “Hello!” he exclaimed as he noticed a splintered
strut near his head. “That came rather close.”
And indeed it had. For a bullet, or a piece of shrapnel, has plowed a
furrow in the bit of supporting wood, not two inches away from Tom's
head, though in the excitement of the fight he had not noticed it.
There had been a fight in the upper air and one of the French machines
had not come home.
“Another man to await news of,” said the flight lieutenant sadly, when
the report reached him. “That's two in two days.”
“No news of Leroy yet?” asked Tom and Jack, as they went out of
headquarters after reporting.
“None, I am sorry to say. It is barely possible that he landed in
some lonely spot and is still hiding out--if he is not killed. But I
understand you two young men had something to request of me. I can give
you some attention now,” went on the commander of their squadron.
“We want to be transferred!” exclaimed Tom. “Now, that Pershing's men
are here--”
“I understand,” was the answer. “You want to fight with your countrymen.
Well, I would do the same. I will see if I can get you transferred,
though I shall much regret losing you.”
He was as good as his word, and a week later, following some strenuous
fights in the air, Tom and Jack received notice that they could report
to the first United States air squadron, which was then being formed on
that part of the front where the first of Pershing's men were brigaded
with, the French and British armies.
Du Boise, who had brought word back of the fate that had befallen Harry
Leroy, sent for Tom and Jack when it became known that they were to
leave.
“Shall I ever see you again?” he asked wistfully.
“To be sure,” was Tom's hearty answer. “We aren't going far away, and
we'll fly over to see you the first chance we get. Besides, we're going
to depend on you to give us some information regarding Leroy. If the
Huns drop any message at all they'll do it at this aerodrome.”
“Yes, I believe you're right,” assented Du Boise, trying not to show the
pain that racked him. “But it's so long, now, I begin to believe he
must be dead, and either the Huns don't know it or they aren't going
to bother to send us word. But I'll let you know as soon as I hear
anything.”
“Is his sister here yet?” asked Jack, for Tom and he had been too busy
the last two days, getting ready to shift their quarters, to call on
Nellie Leroy.
“She has gone back to Paris,” answered Du Boise. “There was no place for
her here. I can give you her address. I promised to let her know in case
I got word about her brother.”
“I wish you would give me the address!” exclaimed Tom eagerly, and his
chum smiled at his show of interest.