PLUCK AND LUCK
No little change came over the Brighton boys as they developed into
seasoned fighting airmen. They looked older, harder, but they were
just as much boys as ever.
The first serious casualty suffered by their little band of six came
to Archie Fox. Archie was doing what he called "daily grind" when
Fate overtook him. That "daily grind" was the sort of work that
bid fair to end in disaster one day or another.
Well Archie remembered that day. It had started much the same as
other days experienced by Archie's unit. The getting ready of the
machine, the brief examination of the controls, first Archie and
then his observer, a young officer named Carleton, taking their seats,
the word given, and then all other sound shut out by the dull roar
of the engine---it was always like that. Lines of trees, patchwork
patterns made by the fields, and oddly grouped farm buildings swept
along beneath the soaring plane, growing smaller with uncanny
rapidity. The day's work started. That was all it amounted to.
In the airdrome they had left behind, the eyes that had followed
their first moments of flight were turned to other sights nearer at
hand. The men who had seen the plane well away started for other
jobs, forgetting the departed machine.
Both Archie and Carleton, neither novices at the game, settled themselves
snugly in their seats as the needle crept round the altimeter.
Cold awaited them in the higher levels. That they knew. A persistent,
penetrating cold, driven by a keen wind right through some great-coats.
Leather is the best protection from that sort of wind. The face
feels it the most, however. The cheeks become cold as ice. Far below,
the snakelike windings of trenches---trenches of friend and foe---can
be followed from high altitudes. Some parts of the line seem mile-deep
systems of trenches, section on section, transverse here, approach line
there, support line behind, ever joining one with another in wondrous
fashion. Shell-torn areas between the trench lines, the yellow earth
showing its wounds plainly from well above, caught the eyes of the
fliers.
The bark of a bursting anti-aircraft shell heralded their arrival in
the danger zone. From the earth the tiny white shell clouds have a
fascination for the onlooker. More so perhaps, than for the man
in an aeroplane, not many yards distant from the bursting shrapnel.
The ball of fluff that follows the sharp "bang" is small at first,
but unrolls itself lazily until it assumes quite a size. That morning
the anti-aircraft gunners seemed unusually accurate. The third shell
burst not far below the plane, and two bits of the projectile
punctured the canvas with an odd "zipp." Some shells came so close
that the explosions gave the machine a distinct airshock, though no
other shell struck the plane.
Archie swung his plane now this way now that to render the aim of the
"Archies" below ineffective, smiling to himself, to think that the
nickname given to the anti-aircraft guns was his own given name.
"We are providing amusement for a pretty big audience, below there,"
thought Archie. "I suppose that the closer they come to us with
those shells the better sport it is for those who are watching us."
He laughed quietly at the thought. He was as cool as possible that
day. In fact, he was unusually cool, for oftentimes the salvo of
bursting "Archies" all about him would make his nerves tighten a
bit. That morning he was at his best. He felt a calm confidence
in his machine that made flying her a real pleasure. It even added
spice to the flight to know they had to pass so dangerous a locality
before reaching the area which was their objective. Over that area
his observer was to hover sufficiently long to be able, on returning,
to concoct a reliable and intelligible summary of what had come within
his line of vision.
Carleton was soon busy with his glasses. A group of cars on a siding
near a station were carefully counted. A line of horse transport on
a country road was given considerable attention. Working parties
along a small waterway were spotted and located on the map. A score
of motor lorries, advertised by a floating dust cloud, scurried
along below, to duly come under Carleton's eye and be at once tabulated
by him for future reference. At one railway station a sufficient
amount of bustle caused Carleton to watch that locality carefully.
"That is odd," he mused. "New activity there this morning. Maybe the
Boches have planned an ammunition dump at that point. That is one
for the bombers."
Thus time passed. Archie was busy dodging his dangerous namesakes,
while Carleton focused his entire attention on gathering material
for his report.
Carleton did not watch the movements below, however, with more care
than Archie watched the sky on all sides for signs of enemy air-craft.
The American machine had been so long inside the enemy lines that a
German fighting plane might be expected at any moment. At last a
Boche plane did make its appearance, a mere brown speck, at first,
far ahead. Archie's signal to Carleton that trouble was ahead was
conveyed by giving the machine a slight rock as he started to climb.
Not much time was allowed for maneuvering. Carleton lost no time
in placing a disk on his Lewis gun, and as the German approached,
both observers opened up with a salvo. It was all over in a second.
Firing point blank, in that fraction of time spent in passing, both
had missed.
The excitement of that brief encounter, a mere matter of seconds
as the two swift planes swept out of each other's range, was hardly
past when the rattle of a machine-gun nearby and the _zipp!_ _zipp!_
as the bullets tore their way through the canvas, told of another
Boche machine at hand. Neither Archie nor Carleton could see it.
Carleton unbuckled the strap that held him in his seat, rose, and
looked over the top plane.
There, just above and well out of range, was an enemy fighting plane.
The machine had apparently dropped from the clouds above, and with
great good fortune gained an ideal position. Before Archie could
swing his "bus" around so that Carleton could get his Lewis gun to
work on the Boche another salvo came from the enemy machine-gun.
That belt of cartridges found its mark. Both Carleton and Archie
were hit, the former badly. The young officer dropped back into his
seat. Archie saw that the lad had sufficient presence of mind to
hastily buckle his belt round his waist again, then, his right
shoulder numb, he dived steeply, bringing his plane up and straightening
it out after a sheer drop of a thousand feet.
The German machine tail-dropped alter the American one, but by a
stroke of good luck the enemy pilot seemed to have some difficulty
in righting. When Archie headed for home the Boche flier was far
below.
Carleton had become unconscious. Archie's head began to swim. His
right arm became stiff, and the blood from a wound in the shoulder
trickled down his sleeve. He dared not try to stop the bleeding,
and decided to trust to luck and make for home as fast as he could.
Periodically he became dizzy and faint, and once, when he thought
he was going to lose consciousness, he was roused by an anti-aircraft
shell that burst but a few feet from one of his wing tips. He managed
to dodge about and tried a half circle to get out of range of the
guns below.
Archie felt cold and hot by turns. Then his arm became painful. The
pain was all that made him keep consciousness, he thought afterward.
At last his own lines were passed. He felt a strange weakness, and
began to lose interest. Carleton's inert body swayed to one side,
and called Archie's attention to the fact that he was custodian
of another life, as well as his own, if life was still in Carleton's
body. Archie felt, somehow, that Carleton was not dead. That thought
keyed him up to still greater effort. He throttled his engine and
started downward, the warmer airs welcome as he came lower. At last
he was in home air. A final decision to buck up and hang on was
necessary to urge his weak muscles to act. He swayed in his seat.
His eyes closed and his grasp on the levers slackened. Again he saw
that senseless form strapped in the observer's seat. Poor Carleton.
He had been hard hit. Nothing for it but to land him as gently and
as safely as possible. Will power overcame the growing weakness and
inertia for one more struggle against the darkness that threatened
his consciousness, and Archie, striving with every element of his
being against falling forward insensible, threw back his elevator
and made a good landing.
As the machine came to rest the mechanics ran up to it and found
both observer and pilot apparently lifeless in their seats. Willing
hands soon had the two young men out of the machine and in the orderly
tent under the eye of the doctor. Carleton was the first to regain
consciousness. He was sorely wounded, a machine-gun bullet having
struck him in the neck and another in the leg. Archie's wound was
not so bad, but the hard fight to keep going and bring Carleton
and himself back home safely had told on his nervous system. At last
he opened his eyes, and smiled to hear his C.O., who was standing
beside him, say: "Carleton says you both got it well on the Boche
side of the line, and that you must have done wonders to get away
and get home. We won't forget your pluck, young fellow. Now let
them take you away and patch you up as soon as they can."
It was not often that the chief distributed praise, which made it the
more sweet. Archie was sent back to hospital, to spend many weary
weeks there, but to come out well and fit again at last. Carleton
was much longer in the doctor's hands, and months passed before he
again saw the front.