The Night Alarm
When Andy taxied the Ace across the field at Bellevue and up to the
concrete apron, he found Bert waiting for him. The radio operator was
nearly bursting with curiosity to learn what Andy and the secret service
chief had found at Alden.
“Control yourself, Bert, control yourself,” grinned Andy as he hoisted
himself out of the cockpit and slid to the ground.
“You can’t blame me for being curious,” replied Bert, “when I’ve been
marooned here for the last twelve hours while you’ve been chasing
excitement all over southeastern Kentucky.”
“That’s just it,” said Andy. “We were only chasing. We didn’t find a
thing to give us thrill.”
“No trace of the mysterious flyer?” asked Bert.
“Nary a sign,” replied Andy. “We found where his plane had attempted to
bore its way through the side of a hill but he had evidently dropped out
some time before in his chute. He’s probably securely hidden waiting for
a chance to bring about the destruction of the Goliath.”
“That won’t be an easy thing to accomplish,” said Bert. “The guard lines
have been tightened so a bird can hardly fly over them without being
stopped. The army planes came in before noon and any flyer who violates
the department of commerce regulations by flying over this air
reservation will find a handful of slugs singing through his wings.”
Andy nodded grimly as he looked at the group of army machines in front
of a hangar further down the field.
“We’re ready for business now,” he said. “I’d like to meet the officer
in command.”
“He’s a fine fellow,” enthused Bert. “Not much older than we are. His
name is Lieutenant Jim Crummit of Selfridge Field, Mich. He’s one of the
ace pursuit flyers of the air force and the rest of the fellows with him
are not far behind when it comes to handling a plane with a machine gun
on the business end of it. They’re just itching for something to
happen.”
“I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed,” said Merritt Timms, who had just
emerged from the cockpit, having experienced some trouble in unfastening
his safety belt. “They would have had plenty of fun if they had been
here yesterday but from now on the game will be played on the ground or
aboard the Goliath when it goes on its trial flights.”
“Here comes Lieutenant Crummit now,” said Bert, stepping forward to
greet the tall young officer in command of the detachment from Selfridge
Field.
Bert introduced the lieutenant to Andy and the secret service agent, who
cordially welcomed the army man to Bellevue.
“Our field is a little bumpy but we’ll try and make up in hospitality
what we lack in air accommodations,” said Andy.
“The field is O.K.,” smiled Lieutenant Crummit. “A couple of the boys
came in too fast and bounced a little high but they’ll soon get over
that. We’re all glad to be here where we can watch the completion of the
Goliath.”
“I understand several ships will be detailed to accompany us on all
trial flights,” said Andy.
“Those are the orders direct from Washington,” said the lieutenant. “Now,
somebody tell me what all the fuss is about?”
They walked over to the office where Andy and the secret service chief
explained in detail every event of the preceding twenty-four hours.
“That does look serious,” said Lieutenant Crummit, “especially since you
have an admission from the agent of the Gerka you caught here that an
attempt was to be made to destroy the Goliath. At least you can feel
reasonably safe from an air attack. Anti-aircraft equipment with night
lights will be in tonight and the unit also carries special microphones
for the detection of planes in flight. Any craft approaching here will
be known while it is miles away and we can give it a warm reception.”
Assignment of the army flyers to quarters had been held up pending
Andy’s return and he arranged for them to have accommodations at the
hotel, six of the construction foremen agreeing to give up their double
rooms and move over to the company houses on the reservation proper.
It was late afternoon before Andy was alone in his office with an
opportunity to go over the day’s mail There were several important
looking letters on top but he shuffled through the stack until he came
to one in his father’s familiar writing. He slit it open and read it
eagerly. It was with a real feeling of relief that he learned his father
and Captain Harkins would return late the next day, coming in on a
special National Airways plane. His father wrote that final arrangements
had been finished for all of the delicate apparatus which was to go into
the control room of the Goliath and that, unless there were unforeseen
developments, everything was now lined up so that construction would be
completed ahead of schedule.
The afternoon freight train brought the anti-aircraft unit, with its
searchlights, field pieces and other equipment. The twenty-five men of
this company were housed in company quarters, which had been vacated
only the week before by a crew which had finished its work.
Before nightfall Bellevue had been turned into a truly military camp
with its strict guard around the grounds of the National Airways plant,
the army planes ready to take the air at any time of day or night, and
the great searchlights, crouching under their shrouds of canvas, eager
to send their searing blue-white beams tracing through the night sky.
“When a fellow looks over the field now,” said Bert as they walked to
the hotel for supper, “he realizes just how valuable the Goliath is to
Uncle Sam.”
“We’ve got the jump on them now,” said Andy. “Dubra failed in his
attempt to damage the hangar and is now in our hands. That means the
‘inside man’ on whom Reikoff had counted for cooperation with this
newcomer from Rubania is out of the picture and our guard lines have
been tightened until it is almost physically impossible for anyone to
get through. But even with all those precautions, we’ll continue to keep
our eyes and ears open.”
Supper that night was a jolly affair, with introductions of Lieutenant
Crummit and his companions to the engineers and foremen in charge of the
building of the Goliath. The army flyers were keenly interested in the
construction of the great dirigible and Andy enjoyed Lieutenant
Crummit’s practical inquiries on the stability of the big gas bag, what
it was expected to do when in the air and its availability for war-time
use.
“We know in a general way,” he said, “but nothing very definite has
appeared on the actual capability of the craft.”
Andy had an enthusiastic second in Bert and they went over a complete
outline of the Goliath and its range, both in peace and war times, for
the army men. By the time they were through, supper was over and the
group broke up in twos and threes and straggled into the lobby of the
old-fashioned hotel. The air was chilly and a great fire had been built
in the fireplace. Lights were low and there was a general spirit of
comradeship in the room. The radio had ceased its accustomed blare and a
really excellent orchestra, devoid of the usual advertising propaganda,
was playing familiar airs.
Someone started humming and in another minute the room was filled with
lusty voices that took up the refrain. For half an hour they enjoyed the
impromptu concert until a messenger boy came in with a telegram for
Bert.
The young radio operator looked surprised as he fingered the yellow
envelope, turning it over as though half expecting to find the address
of the sender on the back.
“Now who under the sun could be telegraphing me?” he asked.
“Better open it and find out,” suggested Andy.
“A most original proposal,” replied Bert tartly. “It’s from Harry
Curtis,” he cried as he read the message. “He’s going to the North pole
as radio operator for Gilbert Mathews on the submarine Neptune.”
“My gosh,” Bert continued in the same breath. “That means we’ll meet
Harry at the North pole sometime this summer.”
“Well, that is a coincidence,” said Andy, who had met Harry Curtis the
year before. Bert and Harry had served the department of commerce
together and were close friends, a friendship which had not dimmed by
their separation. Andy had taken a liking to Harry on their first
meeting. Harry had visited at Bellevue during the preceding summer and
their friendship had developed rapidly.
“What a thrill we’ll have saying ‘hello’ to each other in the Arctic,”
he said.
“But that isn’t all,” added Bert. “It seems that your father and Mathews
have agreed to keep in touch with each other by radio so Harry has been
ordered here to check up on our radio equipment with me. We’ll arrange
for complete synchronization of the sets so that we’ll be able to get
through to each other at any time.”
“That sounds like Dad,” said Andy. “He’s always looking ahead and
planning for any emergency. It will take careful timing to bring both
the Neptune and the Goliath to the pole at the same time. Believe me,
Bert, you’re going to have an important job when the Goliath finally
sticks her nose into the air and heads north.”
“I’m commencing to realize how really important it is,” said Bert
soberly.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he added. “I almost forgot one of the most
important parts of this telegram. Harry said he was starting at once for
Bellevue.”
“Good,” said Andy. “Where was the message sent from?”
“New York,” replied Bert.
“That means it will be tomorrow afternoon before he arrives,” reasoned
Andy as he mentally outlined the train schedules between the metropolis
and the isolated Kentucky valley.
The group in the hotel lobby broke up, most of the men going to their
rooms to write letters or read while a few gathered around a chess
board. Andy had some correspondence to finish and he walked down to his
office. Reports for the day showed better than average progress had been
made on the Goliath and he wrote these into the permanent record of the
construction of the mammoth craft.
For an hour he worked at his desk, catching up on the mail which had
come in that morning. All of it was routine with the exception of
another short notice from the war department that Herman Blatz, the
civilian observer from Friedrichshafen, would arrive at Bellevue the
next day. It added that every courtesy of the National Airways plant
should be made available to the newcomer.
The note irritated Andy. He was inclined to be suspicious of any
newcomer now but he realized that he would have to master that feeling
for they were deeply indebted to Doctor Eckener for his many
contributions to the advancement of dirigibles. Andy filed the letter
from the war department and was about to leave his office and return to
the hotel when the blast of a siren cracked the night wide open. It was
shrill, penetrating, alarming—the kind of noise that creeps up and down
the spine and makes the short hair at the back of the neck stand
straight up.
Lights flashed on in the anti-aircraft battery down the field. Hangar
doors swung open. Mechanics popped out of beds and into their clothes.
Canvas hoods were ripped off the searchlights and the dynamos hummed
with energy.
The microphones had picked up the sound of an approaching airplane.
Propellers of the army planes spun. Flame whimpered around the exhaust
stacks. Ammunition belts were fed into the black, deadly little guns.
Andy ran along the line of fighting planes. They were poised; eager for
the word to go. Every other light in Bellevue had been put out. There
was only the occasional flicker of the exhaust of one of the waiting
planes. He felt out of the picture; the army was in command. He stopped
beside Lieutenant Crummit’s plane and the army officer leaned down.
“Room enough in here if you want to pile in and see this shindig,” he
shouted.
The invitation was followed by the acceptance in action and Andy vaulted
into the cockpit of the speedy fighter. It was lucky they were both
slender but even then it was a tight squeeze.
“How do you know when to go?” asked Andy.
“The plane was ten miles away and heading this way when the ‘mike’
picked it up,” replied Lieut. Crummit. He glanced at his wrist watch.
“The searchlights will go on in ten more seconds. We’ll start up the
minute they fasten on anything.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the night awoke to a
blue-white brilliance as the searchlights sent their beams soaring into
the sky. Back and forth moved the giant fingers of light, each one
covering a certain area. Any plane near the reservation was certain of
detection.
There was a cry from Lieutenant Crummit.
“There it is,” he shouted as he gunned the pursuit ship. It seemed to
Andy that they jumped straight into the air, so fast was the rise of
their craft. Up and up they went, the brilliant light from below
pointing an unerring path toward the plane they sought. It was a black
biplane, fast and streamlined.
The pilot was twisting and turning to get away from the pursuing beams
of light but his task was useless with the army pursuit ships rising
from below in an angry swarm.
They were at two thousand feet in no time and level with the craft they
sought. Lieutenant Crummit pressed the trigger of his machine gun and a
stream of tracer bullets coursed through the night, singing past the
machine ahead.
Andy saw the pilot turn a desperate, terror-stricken face in their
direction. Someone in the forward cockpit was waving. They drew closer.
The plane was giving up. A white handkerchief was being waved by the
passenger.
Lieutenant Crummit drew closer and signaled for the black biplane to
follow him down. The pilot waggled his wings to indicate that he
understood the order and they began the strange descent, Lieutenant
Crummit and Andy in the leading plane, then the strange biplane followed
by the five other army ships.
The operators of the searchlights changed the direction of their beams,
turning them on the field to make it easy for the night landing.
As soon as their own plane had stopped rolling, Andy leaped out and ran
toward the black biplane. Lieutenant Crummit was only one stride behind
and in his right hand he carried a service automatic.
Andy was astounded to hear a familiar voice from the black plane.
“What kind of a reception is this?” was the demand and he looked up into
the face of Harry Curtis, radio operator of the Neptune, whom they had
not expected until the following day at the earliest.
“Who is this fellow?” Lieutenant Crummit wanted to know.
Andy explained that Harry had been ordered to Bellevue to plan for the
radio communication between the Goliath and Neptune during their Arctic
trips and Lieutenant Crummit broke into a broad smile.
“At least we gave you a real army welcome,” he chuckled. “It’s lucky one
of the other boys didn’t reach you first, though. This is restricted
flying territory and he might not have sent his first burst of tracers
alongside just as a warning.”
“I was scared to death,” confessed Harry, who had climbed down from the
plane just in time to receive a hearty greeting from Bert. “Believe me I
sure scrambled around trying to get a handkerchief out of my pants
pocket.”
The civilian pilot of Harry’s plane came in for a severe reprimand from
Lieutenant Crummit, who warned him not to repeat the offense again.
Dynamos for the searchlights were turned off, planes wheeled back into
the hangars and Bellevue turned on its lights once more. They had had
their first night alarm and the army men on the job had proved their
ability to handle the emergency.