Not until a day or so later, when Jack was able to sit up in bed and
greet Tom with rather a pale face, did the latter learn all that had
happened. And it was a very close call that Jack had had.
As Tom had guessed, it was some of the bullets from the Hun machine gun
that had stricken down his chum. One had struck him a glancing blow on
the head, rendering Jack unconscious and sending him down, a crumpled-up
heap in the cockpit of his machine. Another bullet, coming through
the machine later, had found lodgment in Jack's leg, cutting part way
through the wall of one of the larger arteries.
It was certain that this bullet, the one in the leg, came after Jack
was hit on the head, for that first wound was the only one he remembered
receiving.
“It was just as though I saw not only stars' but moons, suns, comets,
rainbows and northern lights all at once,” he explained to his chum.
The bullet in the leg had cut only part way through the wall of an
artery. At first the tissues held the blood back from spurting out in
a stream that would soon have carried life with it. But either some
unconscious motion on Jack's part, or a jarring of the plane, broke the
half-severed wall, and, just before Tom landed, his chum began to bleed
dangerously. Then it was the surgeon had made his remark, and acted in
time to save Jack's life.
“Well, I guess we made good all right,” remarked Jack, as his chum
visited him in the hospital.
“I reckon so,” was the answer, “though the Huns haven't sent us any love
letters to say so. But we surely did drop the packages in the prison
camp, though whether Harry got them or not is another story. But we did
our part.”
“That's right,” agreed Jack. “Now the next thing is to get busy and
bring Harry out of there if we can.”
“The next thing for you to do is to keep quiet until that wound in your
leg heals,” said the doctor, with a smile. “If you don't, you won't do
any more flying, to say nothing of making any rescues. Be content with
what you did. The whole camp is talking of your exploit. It was noble!”
“Shucks!” exclaimed Tom, in English, for they had been speaking French
for the benefit of the surgeon, who was of that nationality.
“Ah, and what may that mean?” he asked.
“I mean it wasn't anything,” translated Tom. “Anybody could have done
what we did.”
But of this the surgeon had his doubts.
In spite of the dangerous character of his wound, Jack made a quick
recovery. He was in excellent condition, and the wound was a clean one,
so, as soon as the walls of the artery had healed, he was able to be
about, though he was weak from loss of blood. However, that was soon
made good, and he and Tom, bidding farewell to their late comrades,
returned to the American lines. They had been obliged to get an
extension of leave--at least Jack had--though Tom could report back on
time, and he spent the interim between that and Jack's return to duty,
serving as instructor to the “huns” of his own camp. They were eager to
learn, and anxious to do things for themselves.
Before long Jack returned, though he was not assigned to duty, and
he and Tom visited Paris and told Nellie, Bessie and Mrs. Gleason the
result of their mission.
“You didn't see Harry, of course?” asked Nellie, negatively, though
really hoping that the answer would be in the affirmative.
“Oh, no, we couldn't make out any individual prisoner,” said Tom. “There
was a bunch of 'em--I mean a whole lot--there.”
“Poor fellows!” said Mrs. Gleason kindly, “Let us hope that they will
soon be released.”
“Tom and I have been trying to hit on some plan to rescue Harry,” put in
Jack. “And we'd help any others to get away that we could. But is isn't
going to be easy.”
“Oh, I don't see how you can do it!” exclaimed Nellie. “Of course I
would give anything in the world to have Harry back with me, but I must
not ask you to run into needless danger on his account. That would be
too much. Your lives are needed here to beat back the Huns. Harry may
live to see the day of victory, and then all will be well.”
“I don't believe in waiting, if anything can be done before that.” Tom
spoke grimly. “But, as Jack says, it isn't going to be easy,” he went
on. “However, we haven't given up. The only thing is to hit on some plan
that's feasible.”
They talked of this, but could arrive at nothing. They were not even
sure--which made it all the harder to bear--that Harry had received the
packages dropped in the prison camp at such risk. The only thing that
could be done was to wait and see if he wrote to his sister or his
former chums. Letters occasionally did come from German prisoners, but
they were rare, and could be depended on neither as to time of delivery
nor as to authenticity of contents.
So it was a case of waiting and hoping.
Jack was not yet permitted to fly, so Tom had to go alone. But he served
as an instructor, leaving the more dangerous work of patrol, fighting,
and reconnaissance to others until he was fit to stand the strain of
flying and of fighting once more.
“Sergeant Raymond, you will take up Martin to-day,” said the flight
lieutenant to Tom one morning. “Let him manage the plane himself unless
you see that he is going to get into trouble. And give him a good
flight.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Tom, as he turned away, after saluting.
He found his pupil, a young American from the Middle West, who was not
as old as he and Jack, awaiting him impatiently.
“I'm to get my second wing soon, and I want to show that I can manage a
plane all by myself, even if you're in it,” said the lad, whose name was
Dick Martin. “They say I can make a solo flight to-morrow if I do well
to-day.”
“Well, go to it!” exclaimed Tom with a laugh. “I'm willing.”
Soon they were in a double-seater of fairly safe construction--that is,
it was not freakish nor speedy, and was what was usually used in this
instructive work.
“I'm going to fly over the town,” declared Martin, naming the French
city nearest the camp. “Well, mind you keep the required distance up,”
cautioned Tom, for there was, a regulation making it necessary for
the aviators to fly at a certain minimum height above a town in flying
across it, so that if they developed engine trouble, they could coast
safely down and land outside the town itself.
“I'll do that,” promised Martin.
But either he forgot this, or he was unable to keep at the required
height, for he began scaling down when about over the center of
the place. Tom saw what was happening, and reached over to take the
controls. But something happened. There was a jam of one of the levers,
and to his consternation Tom saw the machine going down and heading
straight for a large greenhouse on the outskirts of the town.
“There's going to be one beautiful crash!” Tom thought, as he worked in
vain to send the craft up. But it was beyond control.