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AIR SERVICE BOYS FLYING FOR VICTORY
Or
Bombing the Last German Stronghold
by
CHARLES AMORY BEACH
Author of "Air Service Boys Flying for France," "Air Service Boys over
the Rhine," Etc.
[Illustration: THE AIRPLANE STARTED TO SHOOT DOWN AT A FRIGHTFUL
SPEED.]
The World Syndicate Publishing Co.
Cleveland, O. New York, N. Y.
Copyright_, MCMXX, _by
George Sully & Company
Printed in the United States of America
by
The Commercial Bookbinding Co.
Cleveland, O.
AIR SERVICE BOYS FLYING FOR VICTORY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I In Action Over the Argonne 1
II Yankee Pluck 8
III Jack's Strange Find 16
IV The Story of the Lorraine Waif 27
V A Red Cross Nurse 36
VI Cleaning Out Machine-gun Nests 46
VII "Mopping 'em Up!" 56
VIII In the Red Triangle Hut 66
IX The Night Raid 78
X A Surprise for Jack 84
XI The Prowlers 92
XII A Lively Chase 102
XIII The Winning of the Argonne 113
XIV Selected for Special Duty 124
XV Over the Enemy's Lines 131
XVI Blotting Out Hun Headquarters 139
XVII Flying for Victory 147
XVIII Favored by Fortune 154
XIX Tom Leads the Way 163
XX Borrowed Goods 171
XXI At the Old Chateau 179
XXII Invading the Tiger's Den 187
XXIII The Only Way 195
XXIV Tom Keeps His Word 203
XXV Peace in Sight--Conclusion 213
AIR SERVICE BOYS FLYING FOR VICTORY
CHAPTER I
IN ACTION OVER THE ARGONNE
"WILL that starting signal ever come, Tom?"
"Just hold your horses, Jack. The other squadron has gone out, and is
already hard at it over the Boche line. Our turn next. Keep cool. And
here's hoping we both pull through with our usual good luck."
"Wow! See that big Hun plane, a Fokker, too, take the nose dive, will
you? But he's overshot his mark. I warrant you he is trying like mad to
get on a level keel again."
"Good-night! I could almost imagine I heard the crash away off here,
even with all that thunder from Big Berthas and the crackle of hundreds
of machine guns."
"It makes the goose-flesh tingle all over me, Tom, to think that some
day--or it may be night--one or the other of us may finish up in just
that kind of fireworks."
"The life of an air pilot is full of hazards, Jack, just remember. If
he's going to make a success of his calling he's got to have nerves of
steel."
"Yes, and let him lose his grip and confidence because of any unusual
danger, his usefulness is gone."
"There's our signal at last, Jack!"
"Here goes! And pity the poor Boche I drive off with my new American
plane, and its bully Liberty motor!"
Both young men, attired as air pilots, with goggles and gloves as well
as heavy coats for extra warmth in the dizzy spaces a mile or two
overhead, hastened to climb aboard their waiting machines, which were of
the latest type of battleplane.
Each had an assistant, or observer, who would also handle one of the two
machine-guns with which those American flying machines were armed.
The time was that period in the fall of 1918, when the fresh American
host burst headlong into the battle line in Northern France.
At Chateau Thierry and St Mihiel they had struck the astounded foe with
the force of an avalanche. The Germans, war-weary, were stunned by the
vigor of the fresh army that once in action would not be denied.
Back, and still further back, the struggling lines of grey-coated Hun
fighters had been thrust. Every day brought a new surprise for the
Kaiser's generals. They were aghast at the resistless method of forcing
the fighting adopted by these men from overseas, who seemed to have
brought new and amazing elements into the work.
Already many of the more astute German leaders had begun to see the
handwriting on the wall traced by the finger of Destiny. Nevertheless
they had now descended to uttering boasts of how easy it was going to be
to make these "crazy Yankees" pay a frightful price for every mile
gained.
But the Germans who figured thus confidently failed to reckon on the
rapidly growing discontent at home, where the populace was close to the
starvation point. Though their soldiers still fought desperately on, it
was with the sullen mien of those who had lost their morale and were
close to collapse.
On the day when Tom Raymond and Jack Parmly waited, the latter so
impatiently, for the anticipated signal to go into the air, the two
armies were joined in battle.
The Americans had been given the most difficult task of all, which was
to clean up the great Argonne Forest, and then sweep the fleeing Huns
back, past Sedan, famous for the defeat of the second Napoleon, over the
border into Germany itself.
Here Hindenburg had concentrated most of his best troops, including the
crack Guard regiments. He realized that the gravest peril of all lay in
the "push" of this new army, which had already given such an excellent
account of its fighting qualities.
In that vast tract of wooded country known as the Argonne the Huns had
located innumerable machine-gun nests designed to check the advance of
the Yankees and make them pay a fearful price for what they got.
Two men secreted in some nook could open a deadly fire on the oncoming
boys in khaki and mow them down like ripe grain before they themselves
were wiped out in a furious rush. It paid the German commanders to
sacrifice two for a dozen or twenty; though at times they had to chain
the gunners to their weapon, for fear they would slip away at the last.
Six battleplanes all in a row were now starting off in rapid succession.
A whirr that sounded loud and insistent above the dull roar of the heavy
guns, a sudden movement that quickly increased in velocity until the
plane was bounding like a rabbit over the open ground, then an upward
slant, a beautiful curve that left the ground behind, and another air
pilot was off for the post of duty.
Jack Parmly's blood bounded joyously in his veins when he thus rose like
a speeding swallow. His new plane, one of the first of the latest type
built entirely in the United States, had already filled his heart with
delight, and its wonderful Liberty engine seemed to fulfill a dream that
Jack, like all other American fliers, had long cherished.
As he rose higher and higher, circling as he went, the scene quickly
began to take on a most impressive appearance. Below him lay the forest
in all its grim aspect, with openings here and there, now given up to
batteries of artillery that were pounding the foe with constant energy.
Clouds of smoke arising in many places told of bursting shells, the
destruction of munition dumps, or it might even be some little burning
hamlet that had served the Huns at bay for a fortress, but which had
been blown almost entirely off the face of the earth by the red
hurricane the expert Yankee gunners set loose.
It was easy for Jack to tell where the German battleline lay. He had
been up so recently that he knew to a fraction just how far back the
enemy force had staggered after the engagement of the preceding day.
And it was straight toward that line he now headed, for his work awaited
him in that quarter. Hun planes were soaring like great hawks, swooping
down from time to time, and engaging some of the machines bearing the
American eagle as their totem.
As usual, Jack made mental note of the fact that seldom were the Huns
willing to join in battle unless they outnumbered their foes. That was a
compliment to the fighting qualities of the Americans, for it showed
that they had already won the respect of their adversaries.
Jack was out for business. He tried to lure one of the enemy fliers into
a "scrap" as he always called an engagement, but found the Boche wary.
Some of those opposed to the Americans were well known aces who had
gained a great reputation, having brought down scores of British and
French planes. Yet to-day they seemed loath to enter into combat with
this new type of fighter.
Now and then the young airman managed to glimpse Tom's well known
machine, for the two chums had decorated their planes with
distinguishing marks that they could recognize even when a great
distance away. The other was fighting with two of the foe, and was
having a serious time of it, spinning like a reel, darting downward to
avoid being raked by machine-gun fire, and then coming up on the tail of
a Hun with the advantage all on his side.
Jack, still denied his share of action, continued to watch Tom out of
the corner of his eye. He felt like giving a shout when presently he saw
one of the Hun machines plunge downward as though a shot had paralyzed
the arm of the pilot. Over and over it went, bursting into smoke and
flames while speeding toward the earth.
There could be no doubt but that Tom would add another count to his
score, though he was already reckoned an ace, being accredited with
seven clear-cut victories.
But the other Hun aviator had taken advantage of the thrilling moment to
dart in and deliver a hot fire. Jack could see the spurt of the
machine-gun as it blazed away furiously, the two planes passing one
another. He felt his heart in his throat for fear that Tom might be
caught napping, for the distance was too great to make sure of what was
happening.
Suddenly a cold hand seemingly clutched Jack's heart. Tom was falling
rapidly! It was no nose-dive, but bore all the marks of either an engine
gone dead or of some mishap to the pilot. So did gallant Tom's plane
vanish from the sight of his horrified chum, being swallowed up in the
dense volumes of smoke rolling upward from the battleground below.
Jack's heart felt like lead in his breast.