A FURIOUS BATTLE
For a time it seemed that the Brighton boys were doomed to be separated,
but word came to the squadron commander in some way of the manner in
which they had entered the service, and he so arranged matters that
they were retained in his unit. Moreover, he saw to it that their
work should so far as possible keep them in touch with each other.
News came one day that the squadron to which they belonged was before
long to be transferred to the rear for a well-deserved rest, and
a new lot was to take their place. The boys were speculating upon
this item of news one evening after dinner, when Joe Little said:
"What a fine thing it would be if one day we all went out on the
same job! Did you fellows ever come to think of the fact that the
whole lot of us have never actually been out together once since we
came to France? I would like to see the whole lot of us have a shot
at the Boches at the same time, before we quit."
"I had a letter from Archie to-day," said Jimmy Hill. "He says it
will be some time before he rejoins us."
"Well, five of us are here yet, thanks more to luck than good sense,"
laughed Joe. "I think the Boche would know the five of us were left
if we went out together and had a smack at him."
"Stranger things might happen," said Richardson, looking up from an
illustrated paper. "The chief was talking only yesterday about
sending out a combined bombing and observing expedition to save
hunters. Three pilots gone sick in three days has made him short,
he said. I think the lot of us want a rest, if you ask me. With
three more fellows down there will not be such a lot of hunter pilots
to choose from. So you wonderful birds may have that chance to show
off that you're worrying about."
This sally raised a general laugh, and Bob Haines said quietly: "If a
bunch goes out to-morrow and we are all in it, I for one certainly
hope that you are in it, too, Richardson. I do not see any harm in
thinking we are better than the German fliers. I believe we are,
and I would like nothing better than to have one good combined go at
Brother Boche before we leave this part of the line."
Bob said this in such a serious tone that Parker, who had come in
late and was devouring a huge plate of corned beef.---"bully," as
he called it---and a big pile of bread and butter, looked up and
nodded his approval. "Me, too," Parker said, between bites.
"What we want and what we will get may be two very different things,"
said Harry Corwin. "We have never built any castles in the air yet
that materialized. I guess our combined raid, much as we might enjoy
it, will be a long time coming."
Harry was wrong. Two days later, the flight commander received orders
to carry out certain observation work and certain bombing work in
the same sector of the enemy's territory. The two new triplanes were
to be used as a bombing machine and an observation machine respectively.
The flight commander assigned the piloting of the first machine to
Richardson and the second to Bob Haines. To Bob's delight Dicky Mann
was chosen as his observer. Four of the wasp-like hunter machines,
the swiftest planes in the airdrome, were to accompany the two
triplanes. The pilots selected for these four one-man fliers were
Parker, Jimmy Hill, Joe Little and Harry Corwin.
The six machines were in the air before the boys realized that they
had their wish of two nights before. The roar of the six engines
filled the airdrome. Circling up, before the planes had risen more
than a few hundred feet, they began to take up their respective
positions according to instructions. The two heavier machines hung
comparatively low, while the four hunters, light and agile, climbed
higher and higher, above and on each side of the larger machines
below them. The great wing spread of the triplanes, and the huge,
ugly fuselage of the bombing machine, were in sharp contrast to the
dainty, wasp-bodied hunters.
Richardson's little major sat behind the machine-gun that was mounted
on the front of the fuselage of the big bombing machine. There were
sufficient high explosive bombs at his feet and suspended around
the cock-pit of the fuselage to do great damage if properly directed.
Dicky Mann was perched out on the very nose of the observation plane.
On one side of him was his Lewis gun, on the other his camera. The
great power of the triplanes had made it possible for the fuselage
on each one to be lined with light splinter-proof armoring, which gave
the occupants an added sense of security.
The four hunters sailed high out of sight of the two big triplanes.
It was a day of spotted clouds, a day of a sort of hide-and-seek
in the air. Up twenty thousand feet, nearly four miles above ground,
the quartette made for the appointed place, then took up their positions
and circled round waiting for developments.
Bob and Dicky, in the observation plane, were after certain definite
photographs, and the lower cloud strata made it necessary for them
to drop lower than usual to obtain that of which they were in search.
The Boche "Archies" burst shells all about them, but Bob kept the
swift machine maneuvering in such manner that to hit it required
great good fortune on the part of the German gunners. The _pop!_
_pop!_ _pop!_ of the anti-aircraft shrapnel and the _whizz!_ of the
pieces of shell went almost unnoticed by the two boys, so intent were
they on their quest. Once bits of shell tore through one of the
planes, and once a few stray bits rattled against the light armor
of the fuselage.
Richardson and the major, in the other triplane, had climbed to a
greater height. Richardson's instructions were to get into a
certain position as soon as possible and drop several hundred pounds
of high explosive on a big munition dump. Experience had taught him
that to be at a good height above an exploding dump was advisable.
Once before he had nearly been wrecked by the explosion of a German
munition depot, which had caused a commotion in the air for thousands
of feet above it.
Just as Bob and Dicky were circling around the spot they were bent on
photographing, and Richardson and the major were loosing off their
messengers of destruction toward the munition dump they had set out
to destroy, the four men in the hunters, at twenty thousand feet,
were beginning to feel the cold. Parker, whose job it was to give
the signals for action to his little fleet, dipped his plane slightly
and peered downward to see what was taking place below. His face
felt as if it was pressed to a block of ice. Surely some enemy
scouts would be on hand soon.
As Parker circled round, his eyes searching the sky below him, seven
Boche fighting machines came hurtling down from the north.
They had been hidden by fleecy, spotty clouds for a few moments,
and were already too near to the two triplanes below. Parker waved
his wing tips, which was his signal to his three companions in the
hunting machines that the fight was on, and headed toward the oncoming
fleet of seven. Joe Little was the first of the other three to see
their adversaries, and was not far behind Parker. Next came Jimmy
Hill, with Harry Corwin bringing up the rear.
The splendid planes rushed to the attack as though they knew the
necessity for speed. Their engines purred smoothly, singing a vicious
song, as they worked up their speed to more than a hundred miles an
hour. The four American hunters were high above the seven German
machines. Then the time came to drop downward. Parker first, and
the other three in turn, dipped the noses of their planes. The
added assistance of gravity lent swiftness to their flight until
they were swooping down on the enemy at little less than one hundred
and fifty miles an hour. The Boches at first seemed so intent upon
their quarry, the two triplanes, that they were like to be taken
completely by surprise by the four wasps from the upper air. Then
they saw the descending quartette. Parker, ahead, with one hand on
his controls and the other on his Lewis gun, made direct for the
first Boche of the seven. The moment he was within range he opened fire.
Parker was going at such speed that the fifty rounds he loosed off
apparently missed his opponent, in spite of the fact that but forty
yards separated them when the last bullet left Parker's gun. The
German went down in a clever spiral for a couple of thousand feet.
When he flattened out, however, Parker, who had dived with and
after him, was close behind. More, he was in an ideal position,
from which he fired another fifty rounds. These steel messengers
reached their billet, and the German flier went straight down to
earth.
But while Parker had been dropping with eyes on the first Boche, the
second had dropped after Parker. Parker reached for a new drum for
his Lewis gun, and as he did so the second Boche, who had got on
Parker's tail, let go at close range. The hunter was riddled. Parker
felt that he was hit, but not badly. That was his impression, at
least, at the moment. He spun his hunter round and dropped sheer
for a thousand feet, coming up in a fairly thick bank of white cloud.
He there flattened out again and began climbing, not being sure of
his altitude. No sooner had his engine begun to drone out the
rhythm of its full power, and the good hunter-plane begun to rise
majestically, than what should he see but the second enemy fighter
right in front of him! A new drum was in place on his Lewis gun,
and he let go. The Boche pilot threw up both hands and fell back,
and down into the cloud went the enemy plane, clearly out of control
and quickly out of sight.
Parker examined himself as well as he could, but was unable to locate
his wound. It was in his back somewhere, for he felt a stiffness
and numbness all down his spine, but he still could move his arms,
and felt no faintness. He decided that it must be merely a scratch,
and climbed up as fast as he could to get into the fray again.
The other three American hunters had engaged in close, desperate
encounters to a man. Joe Little was lucky enough to bring down his
adversary and circled round toward the two triplanes, which had
both finished their work and were climbing fast to get out of the
range of the "Archies." Jimmy Hill had missed his man, who went
down in a spiral, Jimmy spinning down after him. Owing to the
greater pace at which Jimmy was traveling he had to make a wider
spiral. The Boche flattened out and Jimmy dived for him again,
but before he could come within range the German dived straight
down to the ground and safety, where he appeared to land in such
manner as to show that he had suffered but little, if any, damage.
Jimmy was treated to an exceptionally severe salvo of "Archies"
before he could get well up again, and was slightly wounded in the
cheek by a shrapnel splinter. Harry Corwin's adversary fired at
Harry, and Harry fired at him, but neither made a hit, so far as
could be seen. The Boche was soon lost in a cloud for which he
was heading, and Harry circled back to find his fellows.
Meantime two of the German fighting machines had kept on for the big
triplanes. They were heading for fast, powerful machines, well
armed, but they dashed at them as though they had no fear of result.
The first German machine to score a hit was a fast Albatros. It
dived straight at Richardson's machine. Richardson side-slipped
and dropped like a stone till close to the ground. Not a single
German who watched his drop, whether watching from the air or from
the ground, dreamed that the big machine was still under control.
Just before it seemed about to crash into the earth, however, Richardson
righted it, and heading for home, skimmed the ground at a height
of not more than fifty feet above the ground. The doughty little
major poured round after round of bullets from his machine-gun at
the heads of the Huns in the trenches and dugouts as the fleeing
plane passed close over the astonished Germans, and the whole thing
was over before anyone except the two occupants of the plane realized
what was taking place.
Not a single shot from the thousands fired hit the brave young pilot,
though the major was not quite so fortunate, having been wounded in
the wrist by a ball from the machine-gun of the flier who attacked
them from the Albatros. How they escaped death at his hands they
hardly knew, for he had poured a veritable storm of lead into them
at close range, and made dozens of holes in one or other of the three
planes. Richardson's arrival with the major at the home airdrome
was the first news to come back of the fight in the air. The major
reported that they had satisfactorily performed their part of the
work and escaped with but little damage. The Boche ammunition dump
they were to assail had been blown into a thousand fragments, the
detonation of the explosion having been heard for miles.
Meanwhile, Bob Haines and Dicky Mann in the other triplanes were
having an exciting fight with another Albatros. Bob had chosen to
meet the Boche attack head on. Dicky was a good shot, and tried
his best to wing their fleet antagonist, but failed to hit him.
Perhaps the readiness of the two Americans to meet the attack,
however, had somewhat disconcerted the German's aim, for he too,
missed the triplane.
The spotty clouds made the fighting in-and-out work that morning.
The four hunters were still in commission, as was the observation
triplane. Three Boche fliers of the seven had been accounted for,
and a fourth driven down. Things looked very good for the Brighton
boys, but they were over enemy territory and by no means "out of
the woods" yet. A speedy Boche trio which had apparently not before
seen the Americans suddenly dived from a good height and the fight
began all over again.
In the melee of looping, side-slipping and nose-diving that ensued
Bob got his big triplane headed for home and started off at high
speed. This left the four hunters to their own devices, with no other
troubles than to down such German antagonists as they might encounter,
and to get their own machines safely home if they could.
But none of the four liked to start for home until he was sure the
others of his group were all right and ready to come back with him.
The spotty clouds were responsible for a bit of delay. Parker
was nowhere to be seen. Joe, Harry, and Jimmy circled round once
or twice, undecided what to do, and at that moment Parker came climbing
back from a dead-leaf drop, having shaken off his Boche pursuers, and
gave the signal for the home flight. Home they turned, and as
they did so, four big Albatrosses, a section of the first group they
had met, joined to two of the second group, came at them. Without
any concerted idea of action Joe, Jimmy, and Harry looped straight
over simultaneously, every one of the three performing a perfect
loop and coming right side up at the same moment. Each of them,
also, fired a round at the Boche immediately in front of him
and made off for home at top speed.
Parker did a side-wing drop, and as he did so felt a sharp pain in
his back. His arms lost their power. A bullet had lodged in his
back, and worked its way, urged, perhaps, by the pressure of the
boy's back against the seat cushion, to some spot more vital than
that in which it had first lodged. From an apparently harmless
wound, and certainly a painless one, Parker's hurt had become so
serious as to prove mortal. For, try as he would, he could not
move his arms to right his machine. Down he dropped, mercifully
losing consciousness as his machine shot toward the earth, and crashing,
at last, so fiercely into the ground that naught remained of his
hunter and its gallant pilot but a twisted mass of wreckage and
a still form maimed out of all recognition. Parker had paid the
great price, after a gallant fight.
The other three hunters carried their pilots safely home, able to
report that Joe and Jimmy had each accounted for one of the four
Albatrosses that had last attacked them.
Three days later their squadron was moved back, and its place taken
by a fresh unit. Jimmy Hill was sent to hospital with his slit cheek,
but was soon out and about again.
Less than a fortnight later all five of the boys, Joe, Bob, Jimmy,
Harry, and Dicky, were on leave in London. The night after their
arrival on the English side of the Channel, Archie Fox, now a
convalescent, invited them to dinner at the Royal Overseas Officers
Club, where the six Brighton boys foregathered merrily.
Dinner over, Joe proposed a toast of "the folks at home." The boys
drank it silently. Then Bob Haines rose and raised his glass.
"Let us drink to the luck of the Brighton lot," he said. "May it
never entirely desert us."
As they rose and raised their glasses Dicky Mann added: "May we
always be ready to give that luck a fighting chance."
Six strong right hands reached forth to grasp another of the six.
Six pairs of bright eyes flashed as each caught an answering flash
somewhere round the circle. Six hearts beat with the same stout
determination as Joe Little voiced their united sentiments when he
said in a low tone, "Amen to that. We will."
THE END