EXCITEMENT ENOUGH
It had seemed to Belinda Melnotte as though she were only marking time
during these retrograde movements of the French forces and the advance
of the German line. But to Frank Sanderson every hour had been filled
with excitement.
Not so full that he had not thought of her. Whatever may have been
the obstacle in the young aviator's life that caused Belinda pain and
mortification of spirit because of her own weakness, Frank did not
allow any impediment to balk his tender thoughts of the Red Cross nurse.
She was ever in his mind, especially as his work during these terrible
days brought him into such deadly and almost hourly peril. As he had
uttered Belinda's name when his Nieuport was dashed earthward on the
first day of this battle that still raged between the armies, so
thought of her was present with him all the time. It seemed to the
young man as though her spirit hovered about him as he soared upward in
his aeroplane to hang over the line of battle. He felt that she must be
thinking of him!
Despite her seeming coldness when he had walked from the town to old
Minerva's cottage the night before the battle, he believed that Belinda
Melnotte felt more interest in him than for some reason she was willing
to betray.
He remembered those pregnant moments aboard the _Belle o' Perth_ when
the submarine had been about to attack. A girl surely would not "make
believe" at such a time!
It was true Frank Sanderson's interest in women and his knowledge of
them was limited; but he was sure he knew Belinda Melnotte's nature.
Hers was too sturdy and direct a character to be merely coquettish.
"And great heavens!" cried the aviator, "what kind of girl could she
be to flirt at such a time as that? We expected to be blown up by that
submarine. No. She gave me a little glimpse of her real feelings then.
She actually warmed toward me. And that time in Paris, too--in the
little café. We were real friends then. But now! now, she seems utterly
cold!
"Can it be, after all, that the black-looking doctor has some hold
upon her? Some engagement made when she was too young to realize what
she was doing--or, at least, one that she now regrets? Does he stand
between us?"
The thought disturbed him vastly. Yet he could not allow such
meditations to get between him and his work. The flying game is too
exacting for the pilot of a battleplane to allow his attention to be
divided.
As Belinda was told, during the confusion of the hospital's evacuation
the squadron of American flying men had made a splendid record in the
action. One pilot had been lost with his machine. But it was not Frank
Sanderson. It was the latter, however, who earned the title of "ace" in
the earlier days of the battle.
His own Nieuport was pretty well riddled in his exploits, and he was
forced to accept the loan of another aeroplane or remain idle while his
machine was undergoing repairs.
Idleness, while his brother aviators were in the air, was farthest from
Frank Sanderson's desire. Although the slight wounds he had received
on the first day of the general engagement made him both stiff and
sore, he was quite able to pilot a machine. And there was something of
importance in the wind--a bold strategy--in which he desired to have a
part.
The aviation camps were moved back. There were engagements every day
between the French and German aircrafts. The first air attack by the
Lafayette Escadrille and the other squadrons of the French Flying Corps
here in the field had stirred up a veritable hornet's nest along the
sector.
It had become a duel between the flying men of the two armies. At
dawn, or before, the battleplanes mounted into the air behind the
lines, and attack and counter-attack was the order during most of the
day. There was usually a breathing space at noon, or thereabout, for
the _remous_ are more frequent then, and no aviator cares to manipulate
an aircraft in attack while these "holes in the air" are present.
When the retreat had begun Frank Sanderson had been personally unable
to look for Belinda. He was told the members of the Red Cross unit had
all escaped from the hospital in which she worked, save the _médecin
chef_ himself, who had lingered behind to be killed by a shell.
The French retreat was, however, suddenly halted. A corps of Petain's
"iron men" reinforced the broken but sullen ranks of the first-line
fighters. These veterans stemmed the tide of Germans. Neither steel
nor lead, gas nor liquid fire, could make these Verdun heroes give way
before the hated enemy. The two lines were deadlocked on the front
of this sector while the French and British, on either flank, slowly
advanced to crush the German hordes.
Such strategy, however, was quite unseen by the ordinary fighting men.
Even from the altitude scaled by the airmen the wisdom and the farsight
of commanders were not understood.
Like the veriest private in the ranks, the aviators obeyed
orders--nothing more. Frank Sanderson went up with his squadron and
"did his bit" as best he could.
It was in a raid upon the German captive balloons--the first successful
attack ever made upon the "_saucisses_"--that the young American
aviator took a special part and in which he won honor.
Against the monster balloons aeroplanes had heretofore been all but
powerless. Their machine guns fired bullets which, even if incendiary,
were too small to set on fire the gas-containing envelope. The aircraft
cannon carried by the larger French machines, too, had proved useless.
The holes their projectiles made in the balloons were too small to
allow a sufficient quantity of air to enter and cause an inflammable
mixture.
But now a new invention was tried--four rockets mounted on either side
of an aeroplane; and Sanderson's machine was one of those chosen for
the experiment.
The head of the rocket was a dart, resembling a salmon-gaff, while the
tail of the rocket was wound into a spiral spring, set in a socket.
The Nieuport was stripped of all equipment save the pilot's seat, and
Sanderson mounted with the dozen other "sausage-fighters."
The attack was made just at sunrise, for if it were possible to destroy
the German captive balloons an important movement of the French troops
could be made without the enemy observing the action in time to ward
off a flank attack.
The several balloons had been apportioned to the aviators armed as was
Frank Sanderson's aeroplane. These specially ordered _appareils de
chasse_ were surrounded by the full strength of the combined squadrons
of battleplanes.
Sanderson mounted to a two-thousand-foot level only, for the tethered
balloons were only half as high. Moreover, the air in this stratum was
perfectly "solid." From this level, then, he aimed his machine.
Shrapnel from the German anti-aircraft guns burst about him; but he
awaited calmly the signal from the captain of the squadron.
This waiting, when at any moment a stray bullet might damage his
propeller or ignite his gasoline tank, was not an easy experience. The
young aviator's mind was keenly alert to the work before him. But he
thought, too, of personal matters. Particularly of the girl with whom
he had crossed the ocean and on whom he had centered the most serious
interest of his young manhood.
This train of thought did not run to "if I see Belinda again"; but was
"when I see Belinda again." For Frank Sanderson was, if nothing else,
optimistic.
The signal came. He tested his controls, and then darted on a long
slant at the monster balloon which was his object of attack. There was
no hesitancy or uncertainty in this dive.
Like a great dragonfly dipping over a still pond, he darted toward
his prey. At the moment the shrapnel bullets were thickest about his
machine, he touched the switch that released the eight rockets.
A sheet of flame hid his machine for a moment, and a spray of sparks
spread out, following the flight of the incendiary missiles. The darts
were well aimed; probably all of them found their billets in the huge
bag of the balloon.
The "_saucisse_" sagged. Flames crept slowly around the silken
envelope. The little Nieuport darted away while the observation balloon
burst and fell to the ground with its unfortunate human burden, a mass
of flames.
Within an hour seven great balloons were thus destroyed by the French
aviators, and then the others were withdrawn from service for the day.
The Germans marched on across the fields that had heretofore rung to
the tread of French-shod feet; but their line of observation was broken.
Frank Sanderson returned from the successful raid for some small
repairs and to have his mitrailleuse again affixed upon the nose of the
aeroplane. There was much freedom allowed in the camp of the Lafayette
Escadrille, or else the visitor Frank found waiting for him had a deal
of influence with the military authorities.
"Captain Dexter!" Sanderson exclaimed, seeing trouble in the Yankee
shipmaster's face the moment he removed his cap and mask, "what is the
matter?"
"Belinda!" ejaculated the captain. "Have you seen the girl? Where is
she?"
"Isn't she with the hospital unit?"
"No. I've been there. Moved heaven and earth to get a permit to come
up here the moment we heard the hospital station was changed. Her aunt
insisted. And Belinda isn't there!"
"You--you----Are you sure?" stammered Sanderson.
"Ain't I tellin' you? She isn't there. She never got away from the
other station. And that's clean behind the German lines now!"