THE NIGHT RAID
"IT struck me," exclaimed Harry, amidst the Babel of sounds that had
broken out all around them, girls and soldiers chattering like magpies
in concert, "that most of the explosions came from over where our
hangars are strung out! Yes, there they start up gain! Boys, I tell you
it's a big raid on our aviation camp! Let's chase over there!"
They all seemed of one mind, for hardly had Harry shrilled this
proposition than the three of them bolted from the exit of the hut and
commenced a mad dash through the intervening woods, heading for the
opening utilized by the air squads for their canvas hangars. The
successive bursts of flame accompanying those frequent explosions
benefited them in one way, since they were enabled to see fairly well
and thus avoid pitfalls, although once or twice there was a grunt as a
member of the group struck some obstacle which he had not noticed soon
enough.
It did not take them long to cover the intervening ground, for by rare
good luck the rest-house of the Y. M. C. A. happened to be within
reasonable reach of the aviation field.
A new development in affairs had by then taken place. There was a rattle
of machine-gun fire from high up in the air that seemed very significant
to the Air Service boys.
"Some of the fellows were on the ground--went up--engaged the Boche! Oh,
boy, how I envy them!"
Jack gasped out these words as he ran on. He was short of breath, or he
might have said more. The others did not reply, partly for the same
reason, and then again because of similar views. Knowing the intrepid
nature of the boys so well, any one of their friends would have felt
confident that both Tom and Harry were feeling jealous of those whom
fortune had picked out to shower favors on by allowing them to be the
first aloft and after the Boche. But now they had reached the field.
Everything seemed in the greatest confusion there--men dashing this way
and that, yelling, asking questions, giving orders to hostlers, getting
machines ready for flight, preparing to go aloft to share in the pursuit
of the enemy planes.
There had been some damage done, Tom could see; just how much it was
impossible for him even to guess. But several bombs had struck close
enough to smash a number of planes, as the debris scattered around
disclosed. Great was the relief of the three pilots on learning that
their machines had not been in the list of those scrapped. It might have
taken many days before they could be supplied with fresh "mounts," such
was the demand upon the cargo space of the French railway leading to
this sector of the front. That would surely have been considered little
short of a calamity by such ambitious fighters as Jack Parmly, Tom
Raymond, and Harry Leroy.
"No observer on hand, Jack. Would you mind going up with me?" Tom called
out almost immediately.
Nothing would please Jack better than being once more the flying
companion of his dearest comrade. To get a chance at the German airmen
he stood ready to accept any position offered him. And, besides, he
would have the handling of one gun, at any rate.
"You'd better believe I will, Tom!" he cried excitedly. "Harry, there's
your assistant, with your plane ready. Get going, fellows!"
The racket still continued above, though with a fresh American air pilot
leaving the ground every quarter minute the chances were the Huns would
soon conclude that their usefulness was past in this neighborhood, and
run for home like a herd of wild horses in full flight.
Both boys earnestly hoped the fight would carry on until they had been
given a chance to get in a few shots, even if prevented from bagging any
game.
"Those Huns must be taught that it isn't going to be a safe thing for
them to come knocking at our door under the belief that no one is at
home, and pickings will be easy," muttered Jack.
Away they sped, mounting from the ground as soon as free. Yet Tom knew
better than to take too many chances. Night flying was always bound to
carry more risk than when the daylight held good; so it would be the
utmost folly to increase the peril in any unnecessary way.
It was a time when a pilot had full need of every faculty. To the right
of them came flashes of flame accompanied by the spiteful crackle of
gunfire. Rival marksmen were trying to riddle one another, sometimes
flying perilously close in their eagerness.
Great shapes were coursing this way and that like giant bats. Now came a
dazzling flash from far down below. The Huns had not as yet entirely
exhausted their supply of bombs, and were endeavoring to make every shot
count before turning homeward.
Tom fancied he could locate the Hun machine from which that bomb had
been shot downward like a projectile from a catapult, passing through a
tube with a forward slant in the bottom of the big bombing plane.
"Over to your right, Tom!" shrieked Jack just then, showing that he,
too, had guessed the same thing, for already was the pilot in the act of
swinging around in that direction.
The Boche must have sensed their coming, for he started to flee; but
they were on his trail almost immediately, going like the wind. Tom
opened on him, as he had charge of the bow gun. He worked the mechanism
with all his old-time skill, not showing signs of any undue haste or
excitement. When in the course of the chase he found that he was getting
a bit too close, for the bullets were cutting the air all around them,
he changed his direction.
Nor was Jack at all slow to seize upon the splendid opening which this
fresh maneuver afforded him. He took up the refrain just where Tom left
off; and, if anything, showed more vim in his bombardment, for he did
not have the manipulation of the plane to interfere with his work with
the gun.
The Hun dived and squirmed, in the hopes of throwing off such a
persistent pursuer, but Tom kept after him as if grimly determined to
bring one of the night-bombers down, even if he had to follow the other
to his own line.
That sort of excitement was meat and drink to those daring fellows, who
lived in anticipation of engaging in just such combats. Tame indeed did
that day seem to them upon which they could not exchange shots with at
least one enemy pilot.
Some one had met with disaster over to the left, for Tom saw a flash of
descending flame and had a vague view of a figure jumping hopelessly
from the doomed plane, having found means to cut loose from his safety
belt. It was only "jumping from the frying pan into the fire," however,
for death in another form awaited him, the ground being a quarter of a
mile below.
At one moment it happened that both boys were firing together, the
position of the Yankee plane allowing this unusual demonstration. And as
to which of them was responsible for the bullet that sent the Boche
downward in erratic circles, like a wounded duck, he trying desperately
to gain an even keel before it was too late, was always fated to be a
little bone of contention between Tom and Jack.