THE BRIGHTON FLYING SQUADRON
"The war will be won in the air."
The headlines in big black type stared at Jimmy Hill as he stood beside
the breakfast table and looked down at the morning paper, which lay
awaiting his father's coming.
The boys of the Brighton Academy, among whom Jimmy was an acknowledged
leader, had been keenly interested in the war long before the United
States joined hands with the Allies in the struggle to save small
nations from powerful large ones---the fight to ensure freedom and
liberty for all the people of the earth.
A dark, lithe, serious young French lad, Louis Deschamps, whose mother
had brought him from France to America in 1914, and whose father was
a colonel of French Zouaves in the fighting line on the Western Front,
was a student at the Academy. Interest in him ran high and with it
ran as deep an interest in the ebbing and flowing fortunes of France.
The few letters Mrs. Deschamps received from Louis' soldier father
had been retailed by the proud boy to his fellows in the school until
they knew them by heart.
Bob Haines' father, too, had helped fan the war-fire in the hearts of
the boys. Bob was a real favorite with every one. He captained the
baseball team, and could pitch an incurve and a swift drop ball that
made him a demi-god to those who had vainly tried to hit his twisters.
Bob's father was a United States Senator, who, after the sinking of
the _Liusitania_, was all for war with Germany. America, in his eyes,
was mad to let time run on until she should be dragged into the
world-conflict without spending every effort in a national
getting-ready for the inevitable day. Senator Haines' speeches were
matter-of-fact----just plain hammering of plain truths in plain
English. Many of his utterances in the Senate were quoted in the
local papers, and Bob's schoolmates read them with enthusiasm when
they were not too long.
Then, too, a number of the Brighton boys had already entered the
service of Uncle Sam. Several were already at the front and had
written thrilling letters of their experiences in the trenches, at
close grip with the Boches. Still more thrilling accounts had come
from some of their former classmates who were in the American
submarine service. Other Brighton boys who had gone out from their
alma mater to fight the good fight for democracy had helped to fan
the flame of patriotism.
So the school gradually became filled with thoughts of war, and almost
every boy from fourteen years of age upward planned in his heart of
hearts to one day get into the fray in some manner if some longed-for
opportunity ever presented itself.
Jimmy Hill---who was fortunate in that his home was within walking
distance of the Academy---commenced his breakfast in silence. Mr.
Hill read his paper and Mrs. Hill read her letters as they proceeded
leisurely with the morning meal. The porridge and cream and then two
eggs and a good-sized piece of ham disappeared before Jimmy's appetite
was appeased, for he was a growing boy, who played hard when he was
not hard at some task. Jimmy was not large for his age, and his
rather slight figure disguised a wiriness that an antagonist of his
size would have found extraordinary. His hair was red and his face
showed a mass of freckles winter and summer. Jimmy was a bright,
quick boy, always well up in his studies and popular with his teachers.
At home Jimmy's parents thought him quite a normal boy, with an
unusually large fund of questions ever at the back of his nimble
tongue.
Breakfast went slowly for Jimmy that morning when once he had finished
and sat waiting for his parents. Mr. Hill was scanning the back page
of the paper in deep concentration. Again the big black letters stared
out at Jimmy. "The war will be won in the air." Jimmy knew well
enough what that meant, or at least he had a very fair idea of its
meaning. But he had sat still and quiet for a long time, it seemed to
him. Finally his patience snapped.
"Father," he queried, "how will the war be won in the air?"
"It won't," was his father's abrupt reply. Silence again reigned, and
Mrs. Hill glanced at her boy and smiled. Encouraged, Jimmy returned
to the charge.
"Then why does the paper say it will?"
"For want of something else to say," replied Mr. Hill. "The airships
and flying machines will play their part, of course, and it will be a
big part, too. The real winning of the war must be done on the ground,
however, after all. One thing this war has shown very clearly. No
one arm is all-powerful or all necessary in itself alone. Every
branch of the service of war must co-operate with another, if not with
all the others. It is a regular business, this war game. I have read
enough to see that. It is team-work that counts most in the big
movements, and I expect that it is team-work that counts most all
the way through, in the detailed work as well."
Team-work! That had a familiar ring to Jimmy. Team-work was what the
football coach had forever pumped into his young pupils. Team-work!
Yes, Jimmy knew what that meant.
"I can give you a bit of news, Jimmy," added Mr. Hill. "If you are so
interested in the war in the air you will be glad to hear that the old
Frisbie place a few miles out west of the town is to be turned into an
airdrome---a place where the flying men are to be taught to fly. I
expect before the war is over we will be so accustomed to seeing
aircraft above us that we will not take the trouble to look upward to
see one when it passes."
Jimmy's heart gave a great leap, and then seemed to stand still. Only
once, at the State Fair, had he seen a man fly. It had so touched his
imagination that the boy had scoured the papers and books in the
public library ever since for something fresh to read on the subject
of aviation. As a result Jimmy had quite a workable knowledge of
what an aeroplane really was and the sort of work the flying men
were called upon to do at the front.
The Brighton boys were all keen on flying. What boys are not? Their
interest had been stimulated particularly, however, by the news, the
year before, that Harry Corwin's big brother Will, an old Brighton boy
of years past, had gone to France with the American flying squadron
attached to the French Army in the field. True, Will was only a
novice and the latest news of him from France told that he had not as
yet actually flown a machine over the German lines, but he was a
tangible something in which the interest of the schoolboys could center.
An airdrome near the town! What wonders would be worked under his very
eyes, thought Jimmy. Flying was a thing that no one could hide behind
a tall fence. Besides, there were no high fences around the Frisbie
place. Well Jimmy knew it. Its broad acres and wide open spaces were
well known to every boy at Brighton Academy, for within its boundaries
was the finest hill for coasting that could be found for miles. In
winter-time, when the hillsides were deep with snow, Frisbie's slope
saw some of the merriest coasting parties that ever felt the
exhilaration of the sudden dash downward as the bright runners skimmed
the hard, frosty surface. The long, level expanse of meadow that had
to be crossed before the hill was reached from the Frisbie mansion
would be an ideal place for an airdrome. Even Jimmy knew enough about
airdromes to recognize that. He waited a moment at the table to take
in fully the momentous fact that their own little town was to be a
center of activity with regard to aviation.
Then he dashed out to spread the news among his schoolfellows. His
particular chums were, like himself, boys whose homes were in the town.
Shut out from the dormitory life, they had grouped themselves together,
in no spirit of exclusiveness, but merely as good fellows who, although
they appreciated the love and kindness of the home folks, yet felt that
they wanted to have as much of the spirit of dear old Brighton outside
the Academy as inside.
Jimmy caught sight of Archie Fox---another of the out-boarding squad of
Brighton boys, and a special friend of Jimmy's---hurrying to the Academy.
"Great news for you, Arch!" shouted Jimmy as he joined his chum.
"Shoot!" directed Archie.
And Jimmy told the great news to the astonished and delighted boy.
"Gosh whillikens!" yelled Archie. "A real live hangar in staid old
Brighton! Can you beat it? My vote says the 'buddies' should get
together and become fliers. Eh, what? The Brighton Escadrille! Oh,
boy!"
Further down the street Dicky Mann and Joe Little, both in Jimmy's
class at the Academy, and then Henry Benson, known to all and sundry
as "Fat" Benson from his unusual size, joined the boys and heard for
the first time the stirring news.
It was truly an exciting morning at the Academy. The tidings of great
things in store at no far distant future spread like wildfire. Of all
the boys, only two of those who lived in the town, Jimmy Hill and Bob
Haines, had heard of the project, and none of the regular boarders at
the school had heard the slightest suggestion of it. Bob Haines
lived with his uncle in the largest residence in the town. What Bob's
uncle did not know of what was going on was little. Beside, Bob was
the envied recipient of a letter now and again from his father, the
senator, which frequently contained some real news of prospective
happenings.
Bob held forth at length that memorable morning, and at noon time was
still the center of an admiring group, who listened to his comments
on all subjects with great respect and invariable attention. Bob was
tall and well built; taller than any of the rest of his fellows except
two or three. He had a way of standing with his head thrown back and
his shoulders squared as he talked which gave him a commanding air.
Few boys in the school ever thought of questioning his statements. But
that day Bob was so carried away with his subject that he strayed
from familiar ground.
"What sort of fellows are they going to train to fly?" asked Joe
Little, a shy boy who rarely contributed to the conversation. Joe's
mother was a widow who had lived but few years in the town, having
moved there to give her only boy such education as he could obtain
before her small income was exhausted. Joe was never loud or boisterous,
and while he took his part in games and sports, he was ever the first
one to start for his home. Being alone with his mother to such an
extent, for they lived by themselves in a little cottage near the
Academy grounds, Joe had aged beyond his boy friends in many ways.
No sign did he ever show, however, of self-assertiveness. His part in
discussions was seldom great, and usually consisted of a well-placed
query that voiced what each boy present had thought of asking, but
had been a moment too late.
Now Bob had no very clear idea just where the new flying material was
to come from. A habit of rarely showing himself at a loss for an
answer prompted him to reply: "From the men in the army."
"You're wrong, Bob," said Jimmy Hill. "Most of the flying men that
will see actual service at the front will be boys like us. I have
read a dozen times that it is a boy's game---flying. Most of us are
almost old enough. One article I read said that lots of boys of
seventeen got into the flying corps in England. One writer said
that he thought the fellows from eighteen to twenty were much the
best fliers. If that is so, and it takes some time to train fliers,
some of us might be flying in France before the end of the war."
Bob was frankly skeptical. "I see you flying, Jimmy!" was his comment.
"You will have to grow some first.
"Wrong again," said Jimmy in all seriousness. "It's those of us that
don't weigh a ton that are going to be the best sort for the flying
business, and don't you forget it."
"Jimmy knows a lot about flying," volunteered Archie Fox. "He bones
it up all the time."
"I don't pretend to know much about it, but I am going to know more
before that airdrome gets started," said Jimmy.
"That's right," said Joe Little quietly. "It won't hurt any of us to
get a bit wiser as to what an aeroplane really is nowadays. Where do
you get the stuff to read, Jimmy?"
"Everywhere I can," answered Jimmy. "The weeklies and monthlies
generally contain something on flying."
"My father can get us some good stuff," suggested Dicky Mann. Mr. Mann,
senior, was the proprietor of the biggest store in the town; and while
he did not exactly pretend to be a universal provider, he could
produce most commodities if asked to do so. The store had a fairly
extensive book and magazine department, so Dicky's offer to enlist
the sympathies of his father promised to be of real use.
"I'll write to my brother Bill and get him to fire something over to
us from France," said Harry Corwin. "There is no telling but what he
can put us on to some wrinkles that the people who write things for
the papers would never hear about."
"My aunt just wrote me a letter asking me what sort of a book I wanted
for my birthday," put in Fat Benson. "I will write to-day and tell her
I want a book that will teach me to fly."
This raised a storm of laughter, for Henry Benson's stout figure bid
fair to develop still further along lines of considerable girth, and
the very thought of Fat flying was highly humorous to his mates.
The little group broke up hurriedly as Bob looked at his watch and saw
how time was slipping away.
"Back to the grind, fellows!" he cried. "We'll have another talk-fest
later on."
That random conversation was one day to bear splendid fruit. The seeds
had been sown which were to blossom into the keenest interest in the
real, serious work of the mastery of the air. Live, sterling young
fellows were in the Brighton Academy. Some of them had declared
allegiance to the army, some to the navy, but now here was a stouthearted
bunch of boys that had decided they would give themselves to the study
of aeronautics, and lose no time about it.
The seven spent a thoughtful afternoon. It was hard indeed for any
one of them to focus attention on his lessons. The newness of the
idea had to wear off first. After class hours they met again and
went off by themselves to a quiet spot on the cool, shady campus.
Seated in a circle on the grass, they talked long and earnestly of ways
and means for commencing their study of air-machines and airmen
systematically.
"This," said Jimmy Hill with a sigh of pure satisfaction, "is team-work.
My father said this morning that team-work counts most in this war.
If our team-work is good we will get on all right."
Team-work it certainly proved to be. It was astonishing, as the days
passed, how much of interest one or another of the seven could find
that had to do with the subject of flying. They took one other boy
into their counsels. Louis Deschamps was asked to join them and did
so with alacrity, it seemed to lend an air of realism to their scheme
to have the French boy in their number.
Dicky Mann's father had taken almost as great an interest in the idea
as had Dicky himself, and Mr. Mann's contributions were of the utmost
value.
Days and weeks passed, as school-days and school-weeks will. Looking
back, we wonder sometimes how some of those interims of our waiting
time were bridged. The routine work of study and play had to be gone
through with in spite of the preoccupation attendant on the art of
flying, as studied from prosaic print. It was a wonder, in fact,
that the little group from the boys of the Brighton Academy did not
tire of the researches in books and periodicals. They learned much.
Many of the articles were mere repetitions of something they had read
before. Some of them were obviously written without a scrap of
technical knowledge of the subject, and a few were absolutely
misleading or so overdrawn as to be worthless. The boys gradually
came to judge these on their merits, which was in itself a big step
forward.
The individual characteristics of the boys themselves began to show.
Three of them were of a real mechanical bent. Jimmy Hill, Joe Little
and Louis Deschamps were in a class by themselves when it came to the
details of aeroplane engines. Joe Little led them all. One night he
gave the boys an explanation of the relation of weight to horsepower
in the internal-combustion engine. It was above the heads of some of
his listeners. Fat Benson admitted as much in so many words.
"Where did you get all that, anyway?" asked Fat in open dismay.
"It's beyond me," admitted Dicky Mann.
"Who has been talking to you about internal combustion, anyway?"
queried Bob Haines, whose technical knowledge was of no high order,
but who hated to confess he was fogged.
"Well," said Joe quietly, "I got hold of that man Mullens that works
for Swain's, the motor people. He worked in an aeroplane factory in
France once, he says, for nearly a year. He does not know much about
the actual planes themselves, but he knows a lot about the Gnome
engine. He says he has invented an aeroplane engine that will lick
them all when he gets it right. He is not hard to get going, but he
won't stay on the point much. I have been at him half a dozen times
altogether, but I wanted to get a few things quite clear in my head
before I told you fellows."
The big airdrome that was to be placed on the Frisbie property gradually
took a sort of being, though everything about it seemed to progress
with maddening deliberation. Ground was broken for the buildings.
Timber and lumber were delayed by Far Western strikes, but finally put
in an appearance. A spur of railway line shot out to the site of the
new flying grounds. Then barracks and huge hangars---the latter to
house the flying machines---began to take form.
At first no effort was made to keep the public from the scene of the
activity, but as time went on and things thereabouts took more
tangible form, the new flying grounds were carefully fenced in, and a
guard from the State National Guard was put on the gateways. So far
only construction men and contractors had been in evidence. Such few
actual army officers as were seen had to do with the preparation of
the ground rather than with the Flying Corps itself. The closing of
the grounds woke up the Brighton boys to the possibility of the fact
that they might be shut out when flying really commenced. A council
of war immediately ensued.
"A lot of good it will have done us to have watched the thing get this
far if, when the machines and the flying men come, we can't get beyond
the gates," said Harry Corwin.
"I don't see what is going to get us inside any quicker than any other
fellows that want to see the flying," commented Archie Fox dolefully.
"What we have got to get is some excuse to be in the thing some way,"
declared Bob Haines. "If we could only think of some kind of job we
could get inside there---some sort of use we could be put to, it would
be a start in the right direction."
Cudgel their brains as they would, they could not see how it was to be
done, and they dispersed to think it over and meet on the morrow.
Help came from an unexpected source. After supper that night Harry
Corwin happened to stay at home. Frequently he spent his evenings
with some of the fellows at the Academy, but he had discovered a book
which made some interesting comments on warping of aeroplane wings,
and he stayed home to get the ideas through his head, so that he
might pass them on to the other boys. Mr. and Mrs. Corwin and
Harry's sister, his senior by a few years, were seated in the living
room, each intent on their reading, when the bell rang and the maid
soon thereafter ushered in a tall soldier, an officer in the
American Army. The gold leaf on his shoulder proclaimed him a major,
and the wings on his collar showed Harry, at least, that he was one
of the Flying Corps.
The officer introduced himself as Major Phelps, and said he had
promised Will Corwin, in France, that he would call on Will's folks
when he came to supervise the new flying school at Brighton. Mr.
Corwin greeted the major cordially, and after introducing Mrs. Corwin
and Harry's sister Grace, presented Harry, with a remark that sent
the blood flying to the boy's face.
"Here, Major," said Mr. Corwin, "is one of the Flying Squadron of
the Brighton Academy."
The major was frankly puzzled. "Have you a school of flying here,
then?" he asked as he took Harry's hand.
"Not yet, sir," said Harry with some embarrassment.
"That is not fair, father," said Grace Corwin, who saw that Harry was
rather hurt at the joke. "The Brighton boys are very much interested
in aviation, and some time ago seven or eight of them banded together
and have studied the subject as hard and as thoroughly as they could.
See this "---and she reached for the book Harry had been
reading---"This is what they have been doing instead of something much
less useful. There is not one of them who is not hoping one day to be
a flyer at the front, and they have waited for the starting of flying
at the new grounds with the greatest expectations. I don't think it
is fair to make fun of them. If everyone in the country was as eager
to do his duty in this war it would be a splendid thing."
Grace was a fine-looking girl, with a handsome, intelligent face.
When she talked like that, she made a picture good to look upon.
Harry was surprised. Usually his sister took but little account of
his activities. But this was different. With her own brother Will
fighting in France, and another girl's brother Will a doctor in the
American Hospital at Neuilly, near Paris, Grace was heart and soul
with the Allies. Harry might have done much in other lines without
attracting her attention, but his keenness to become a flier at the
front had appealed to her pride, and she felt deeply any attempt to
belittle the spirit that animated the boys, however remote might be
the possibility of their hopes being fulfilled.
Major Phelps listened to the enthusiastic, splendid, wholesome girl
with frank admiration in his eyes. Harry could not have had a better
champion. First the major took the book. Glancing at it, he raised
his brows. "Do you understand this?" he asked.
"I think so, sir," answered Harry.
"It is well worth reading," said the major as he laid it down. Then
he stepped toward Harry and took his hand again. "Your sister is
perfectly right, if your father will not mind my saying so. I have
been attached to the British Flying Corps in France for a time, and
I saw mere boys there who were pastmasters of scout work in the air.
The game is one that cannot be begun too young, one almost might say.
At least, the younger a boy begins to take an interest in it and
really study it, the better grasp he is likely to have of it. I am
thoroughly in agreement with your sister that no one should discourage
your studies of flying, and if I can do anything to help while I
happen to be in this part of the world, please let me know. You look
like your brother Will, and if you one day get to be the flier that
he is, as there is no reason in the world you should not do, you
will be worth having in any flying unit."
Harry was struck dumb for the moment. This was the first tangible
evidence that the plans of the boys were really to bear fruit, after
all. He stammered a sort of husky "Thank you," and was relieved to
find that Major Phelps mention of Will had drawn the attention from
everything else for the moment. The Corwins had to hear all about
the older boy, whose letters contained little except the most
interesting commonplaces.
The major, it is true, added but little detail of Will's doings,
except to tell them that he was a full-fledged flying man and was
doing his air work steadily and most satisfactorily. His quiet
praise of Will brought a flush of pride to Grace's cheek, and the
major wished he knew of more to tell her about her brother, as it
was a pleasure to talk to so charming and attentive a listener.
At last he rose to take his departure, and the Corwins were loud in
their demands that he should come and see them often. As the major
stepped down from the piazza Harry grasped his courage in both hands
and said:
"Major Phelps, may I ask you a question?"
"Certainly," said the major genially. "What is it?"
"Well, sir," began Harry, "we Brighton boys have been wondering how
we can get inside the new airdrome. Summer vacation is coming, and
we could all---the eight of us, in our crowd---arrange to stay here
after the term closes. We want to be allowed inside the grounds, and
to have a chance to learn something practical. We would do anything
and everything we were told to do, sir."
"Hum," said the major. "Let me think. You boys can be mighty useful
in lots of ways. I'll tell you what I will do. Find out whether or
not your friends would care to get some sort of regular uniform and
take on regular work and I will speak to the colonel about it when
he comes. I think he will be here to-morrow or next day. Things
are getting in shape, and we will be at work in earnest soon. The
colonel is a very nice man, and when he hears that you boys are so
eager to get into the game maybe he will not object to your being
attached regularly to the airdrome for a while. You might find
that the work was no more exciting than running errands or something
like that. Are you all of pretty good size? There might be some
useful things to do now and again that would take muscle."
"I am about the same size as most of the rest," replied Harry.
"You look as if you could do quite a lot," laughed the major, as he
walked down the path, leaving behind him a boy who was nearer the
seventh heaven of delight than he had ever been before.
Before the end of the week the colonel came. The boys had their plans
cut and dried. Harry's sister Grace had taken an unusual interest
in them, and had advised them wisely as to uniforms. Major Phelps
seemed interested in them, too, in a way. At least, he called at the
Corwin home more than once and talked to Grace about that and
other things.
Colonel Marker was rather grizzled and of an almost forbidding appearance
to the boys. They feared him whole-heartedly the moment they laid
eyes on him. His voice was gruff and he had a habit of wrinkling his
brows that had at times struck terror into older hearts than those of
the Brighton boys. But he was a very kindly man, nevertheless, in
spite of his bluff exterior.
Major Phelps told him about the eight lads, borrowing, perhaps, some
of Grace Corwin's enthusiasm for the moment, and the colonel was
favorably impressed from the start with what he called "a mighty
fine spirit." He thumped his fist on the table at which he sat
when the major told him of the boys and their hopes, and said
explosively:
"Wish there were more like them in every town out here. We are too
far from the actual scene of war. Some people who are a lot older
and who should have a lot more realization of what we need and must
have before this war is over might take a good lesson from such
youngsters. I would like to see them."
That settled it. When the colonel took a thing up he adopted it
absolutely. In a day or so he would be talking of the little band
of Brighton boys as if the original project had been his from the
very start. "Boy aviation corps? Why not. Good for them. Can find
them plenty to do. When they get to the right size we can put 'em
in the service. Why not? Good to start young. Of course it is.
Splendid idea. Must be good stuff in 'em. Of course there is.
Send 'em to me. Why not?"
Thus, before the boys were brought under the colonel's eye he had
really talked himself into an acceptance of the major's idea. The
morning he saw them, a little group of very eager and anxious
faces---bright, intelligent, fine faces they were, too---he said
without delay: "I have a use for you boys. I have thought of
something for you to do. Get some sort of rig so I can tell you when
I see you, and come to me again and I will set you at work."
Not long after, vacation time had come, and with it the new uniforms,
in neat, unpretentious khaki. Garbed in their new feathers and
"all their war paint," as Mr. Mann called it, they reported at the
airdrome main gate just as the first big wooden crate came past on
a giant truck. Inside that case, every boy of them knew, was
the first flying machine to reach the new grounds. They felt it
an omen.
A few minutes later they were in the austere presence of Colonel
Marker, who was frankly pleased with their soldierly appearance
and the quiet common-sense of their uniforms, which bore no fancy
additions of any sort.
Grace Corwin had seen to that, though more than one furtive suggestion
from one boy or another had to be overruled. Bob Haines thought the
letters "B.B." on the shoulders would vastly help the effect. Crossed
flags on the right sleeve would have suited Dicky Mann better. Fat
Benson's voice was raised for brass buttons. Jimmy Hill's
pretensions ran to a gilt aeroplane propellor for the front of each
soft khaki hat. But Grace was firm. "No folderols," was her
dictum. They were banded together for work, not for show. Let
additions come as the fruit of service, if at all. And she had her
way. Grace usually did.
"Glad to see you, boys. You will report to the sergeant-major, who
will take a list of your names, assign you your duties, and arrange
your hours of work. I am afraid there is no congressional grant
from which to reward you for your services by a money payment, but
if you do your work well, such as it is, I will keep an eye on you
and see if I cannot put you in the way of learning as much as you
can about the air service."
That was their beginning. They saluted, every one, turned smartly
and filed out. Bob Haines, the tallest of the group and the acknowledged
leader, was the only one to answer the colonel. Bob said, "Thank you,
sir," as he saluted. They looked so strong and full of life and hope
that the tears welled to the colonel's eyes as he watched them tramp
out of his room. He had seen much war, had the colonel. "It's a
shame that such lads will have to pay the great price, many of 'em,"
he sighed, "before the Hun is brought to his knees. But it's a fine
thing to be a boy." The colonel rose stiffly and sighed. "I would
give a lot to be in their shoes, with all the hardship and horror
that may lie in front of them if this war keeps on long enough," he
mused to himself. "It's a fine thing to be a boy."
Out went the eight Brighton boys to the sergeant-major, their work
begun. They too felt it a fine thing to be boys, though their feeling
was just unconscious, natural, effervescent---the sparkle of the real
wine of youth and health and clean, brave spirit.