"MOPPING 'EM UP!"
FROM below there suddenly burst a dangerous bombardment. The German
gunners hidden in the camouflaged pile of rocks had apparently decided
that the airmen in the two-seated plane hovering above had discovered
their place of concealment, and, unable to endure the thought of being
flanked by the oncoming boys in khaki, had opened fire.
Of course their plan was to bring down the American machine and seal the
lips of those who flew in it before they could communicate the nature of
their discovery to their comrades.
This made the situation doubly perilous for Jack and Morgan. If they
attempted to rise, as discretion suggested, there were those three grim
monster Hun Gothas waiting to envelop them with an avalanche of gunfire.
This could have only one result; namely, the destruction of the plane
bearing the totem of the Red Indian's head.
It was a time for quick decision. As the deadly missiles from below
continued to pepper the air around them, and even beat a tattoo against
the body of their plane, Jack started into a series of wigwag evolutions
which he had evolved for just such a desperate situation.
This gave him a better chance, although at any second one of the flying
bullets was apt to find its way aboard and do either himself or Morgan
an ill turn.
Whichever way he turned so wheeled those sentry planes above. They were
like a trio of hungry cats watching the twistings and turnings of a poor
mouse that had its safety-hole stopped up, and could find no means of
escape left open. And with three agile cats on guard what chance had
little Mr. Mouse?
But then Jack Parmly had often proved himself to be one of those who
refuse to call themselves beaten until the very last effort has been
made. He had been in tight places before, and had always managed to
wriggle out by some means or other.
Besides this, there was some hope that his predicament would be seen by
other American airmen scouring around the skies, who, with the
accustomed daring of their breed, would fly immediately to his relief.
Even as this thought flashed through his brain Jack believed he heard
the sound of firing directly above him; though it was only because of a
sudden lull in the continual fighting all through that region that he
was able to discover this fact.
Then came a yell from Morgan, who, not having to manipulate the motor
and handle the levers, had been better able to observe all that was
going on around them.
"Shoot up, Jack? We've got to do our share in driving those Boches off!"
Yes, there had been an increase in the number of circling planes
hovering over them, since Jack could now count five. All were in violent
motion, circling this way, and darting the other, rising and falling in
a movement only adopted when a fierce engagement was on.
Even though their flight was so rapid Jack quickly made the two
newcomers out to be friends, for they handled machines similar to his
own.
That opened a way for him to escape possible destruction at the hands of
the gunners below, who were increasing their volume of fire. So up Jack
turned the nose of his plane, and quickly reached the elevation where
all this work was going on.
So the battle of the six enemy planes began, Jack immediately singling
out one of the Huns for his own particular attention. Alert, eager, and
fairly itching to get even with the Boche fliers for the fright they
had given him, Morgan crouched in his seat, ready to start firing when
the first favorable moment came along.
It must have been an inspiring sight to any who watched the fight from
below; at least, if he wore the khaki of the American army boys. The
Germans would hardly be so apt to suck consolation from the picture,
since it early became apparent that their representatives no longer
attacked with dash and enthusiasm, but seemed to be acting solely on the
defensive.
They may have been veteran aces, with a long list of disabled planes to
their individual credit, but there was something about the dash and vim
of these Yankee fliers that combined all the better qualities of both
British and French airmen, and discouraged the enemy greatly.
Jack swooped down upon his antagonist, and fired when he fancied he had
the enemy in range of his machine-gun fire. The Boche on his part was
reciprocating, so that the exchange of shots was mutual.
They passed at a little distance like swallows on the wing, the guns
chattering and smoking, and the air filled with a shower of missiles
that for the most part would be utterly wasted.
Then Morgan took up the challenge, and continued to pepper the speeding
Gotha as long as it remained within range. A turn on the part of Jack
put a temporary end to the bombardment. But now they were once more
spinning toward the enemy.
Around them a wild scene was being enacted, with the other quartette of
planes swooping down on each other.
Apparently all this work had so far been without result; but Jack could
plainly see that the Huns were quite satisfied with what little they may
have accomplished in the battle, and were anxious to pull out.
As if a concerted signal had been given, the three Gothas were soon in
retreat. No doubt the sight drew many a hoarse, derisive yell from
watching Americans below, who could not understand the feeling of
extreme caution that would tempt an air pilot to turn tail and run for
home when opposed on equal terms.
They made excellent speed, too, and after chasing them for a short
distance the Americans turned back. There was work much more important
awaiting their attention just then than following the fleeing Boche
fliers to some spot, where possibly a swarm of their mates would be
turned loose to cut off escape and bring the daring Americans down.
One of the two friendly machines that had so opportunely come to the
relief of Jack and Morgan now approached. To the delight of Jack he
recognized in the muffled figure waving a gloved hand at him no other
than Harry Leroy.
"A bunch of slick runners all right, Jack!" bawled Nellie's brother, as
the two planes passed not far distant from each other.
"They're all right when three to one!" answered Jack, as he circled in
order to keep close to the other for a brief time.
"What luck?" demanded Harry; for of course that was the one important
subject ever on their minds when thus out hunting for hidden snipers'
nests.
"Got two to-day so far," called Jack. "Then came over here looking for a
boss nest. Found it, too, down there; and we're going now to see what
our battery boys can do with it."
"Fine work, Jack! Here's wishing you luck. We'll move along and see if
we can duplicate your job!"
"Success to you!"
So they separated there, far above the seemingly endless forest where
the two opposing armies were grappling in a death grip, the one bent on
victory, the other striving desperately to put off the evil day as long
as possible, in the hope of a break in their favor.
Jack knew what he and Morgan had next to do. It was to begin signaling
to catch the attention of the observers with the American batteries,
doubtless waiting impatiently for a chance such as this, and which thus
far had been denied them.
He was at the proper altitude, safe from fire from below, and with all
enemy planes driven off. The growl of the big guns came less furiously
to their ears, so far removed from the ground were they. The incessant
whir of the Liberty motor that had come from American shops and the buzz
of the propellers rendered it difficult for him to hold converse with
his assistant.
"Felix, have you got your bearings sized up O K?" he called out.
"I could drop a bomb for a direct hit, Jack, if I had one," came the
confident answer.
"All right then; go to it."
As Morgan was the observer and signal man of the combination it now
became his duty to make use of the flags intended to convey the news
that one of those reported "strong nests," carrying from half a dozen of
the largest Boche machine-guns all the way up to twice that, had been
located.
Jack managed the machine so that his assistant might be best served. And
as Morgan knew just about where to look for an answering flag he
presently gave tongue in a way that told of success.
"Raised him, Jack!" he called out joyously. "Swing around more to the
left and we'll be exactly over that den. There! I can drop the smoke
signal now, all right, and well soon see what comes of it."
Immediately afterwards those in the distance who were eagerly watching
every action of the hovering plane must have seen through their powerful
glasses a trail of smoke dropping from its body. It signified that just
at that moment the Yankee flier was hanging over the object to which the
attention of the gunners was called.
Quickly would the necessary calculations be made, while Jack kept
circling around and around, just as a buzzard might when it had located
a promising feast below.
Jack, too, watched that sector as well as he could and attend to his
duties at the same time. He wished he had the binoculars in his hands
just then, while he steered with his knees; but it was more important
that Morgan retain possession of the glasses.
A yell from the observer announced that something had happened of a
pleasing character. Jack guessed its nature even before he heard the
other shouting.
"They've begun business, Jack! The whole battery let loose then in
concert! Say, there's yet another close by! And yes, they're breaking
into the game too! Oh, you Boche, I pity you now, nix!"
Jack looked directly below. He realized that a whole flock of Yankee
made shells was passing through the air, bound for the point of contact.
At the same time he wondered why there had not been a single shot fired
first as a feeler. The officers in charge must indeed be very confident
that they had figured to a fraction to thus risk wasting precious
ammunition.
A second, several of them, slipped away.
Then there came an upheaval below, followed by a succession of similar
explosions that must have shaken the very earth. A dense cloud of smoke
arose. Morgan now had his glasses fixed on the spot where all this
furious hurricane of fire had fallen.
He did not shout, but continued to stare. The wind drifted the pall of
smoke aside, and even Jack with unaided eye could determine that a
marvelous change had taken place down there since last he looked.
"Let me have the glasses, Morgan!" he cried, unable to believe his eyes
and wishing further confirmation.
Still silent as though awed, the observer obeyed. Jack knew from the
look on the other's face about what he might expect to see even before
he could raise the binoculars to his own eyes.
Then he too held his breath in very astonishment.
Never could there have been made a finer calculation than the one that
sent such an avalanche of shells hurtling through several miles of
space, to land exactly on a marked spot. In a thousand times the same
result might not have been secured again.
Jack saw desolation down there. For a space of a hundred feet, he
judged, earth and rocks and camouflage material had been thrown in every
direction by the falling shells, a dozen or more in number and of the
most destructive character known. A vast gaping hole told where the nest
had been.
Not a single man of all those waiting Boche gunners could have escaped
destruction. Jack could see the bodies of several hanging from the
neighboring trees, from which in turn most of their branches had been
stripped.
He turned an awe-stricken face to Morgan as he cried out:
"Send them the hold-up signal, Morgan, to tell them they've knocked the
nest to flinders and that there's no need of wasting another shot on
it!"