THE BAPTISM OF FIRE
All faces were turned toward the sky. It was the army boys' first
glimpse of a battle in the air and the grim game held them spellbound.
Like great birds the battle planes wheeled and swooped, now diving, now
climbing, each jockeying so as to get the weather gauge of its opponent
and bring its machine guns into action.
The forces were nearly equal and for some time victory hovered in the
balance. But either the staying quality or the alertness of the Allies
finally turned the scale. Two of the enemy planes were shot down, and
a third, evidently crippled, but not wholly out of control, sought the
ground within its own lines.
The German force, now depleted, turned east and made off at full speed,
with the Allies in hot pursuit.
Then the sky clouded over and the finish of the fight was lost to the
eager watchers below. But they had seen enough to know that the
raiders had been beaten back and that victory rested with the Allies
and they were jubilant at the result.
"The Huns went back quicker than they came," gloated Tom.
"Right-o!" cried Bart, gleefully. "They came to shear and they went
back shorn."
"The Kaiser, he has lost his sheep
And doesn't know where to find them,
Leave them alone and they'll come home
With our planes close behind them."
So parodied Billy.
"I hope Dick comes out of it all right," said Frank, a little soberly.
"Trust that boy," said Tom, confidently. "I don't imagine anyone needs
to worry about him. If he can't take care of himself, nobody can."
But the Germans, though beaten in that skirmish, were far from being
discouraged, and the boys were to learn that very night with what a
persistent foe they had to deal.
It had been a hard and exciting day and now, after a steaming hot
supper, they were scattered about the old mill in comfort and utter
relaxation.
Some were smoking, others chatting, some mending their clothes, which
in these days of strenuous work were often in need of repair, while one
or two by the light of candles were writing letters to the folks at
home.
Billy, seated on a stool, was strumming a banjo which had been his
solace many a time while he was stationed on the Mexican border and
which now was doing duty in France.
"Hit 'er up, Billy," said Bart, lazily. "We don't mind being miserable
if it gives you any comfort."
"Quit your knocking," grinned Billy. "You know you're just dying to
hear it. What do you fellows want--the Moonlight Sonata or something
else simple like that?"
"That's too high class for this bunch," said Tom. "Though there's
plenty of moonlight outside," he added, as he looked out the window.
"I've had all the outside I want for one day," said Frank. "I'd just
as soon stay where I am." He was penning a letter to his mother,
telling her of many things that had happened, and stating that, so far,
he had not had a chance to learn anything about his grandfather's
estate.
"Well, I'm waiting," said Billy. "What does the gang want? Jazz band
music? That's about your style."
"No, give us something that sounds like home," said Tom. "Some of
those southern melodies."
"Yes," urged Bart. "You're a dabster at that, Billy."
"All right," said Billy, cheerfully. "Anything to oblige."
He picked the strings for a moment and then began to sing softly--
"Swing low, sweet chariot
Gwine for to ca'y me home
Swing low, sweet chario--ot
Gwine for to ca'y me home."
_Bang!_ There was a tremendous explosion close to the mill. The air
was filled with a deafening din.
The boys jumped to their feet.
"That hit mighty close!" cried Frank.
"What do you suppose it was?" came from Tom. "A shell?"
"We're too far away from the German lines for that," replied Bart.
"More likely it's a bomb from an airship," said Frank. "Let's take a
squint outside and see."
They rushed out and their first glance was toward the sky. But there
was nothing visible there, nor could they hear the whirring of motors
that was the invariable accompaniment of air raids.
But when they searched around the mill they were more successful, for
the bright moonlight revealed a freshly dug hole in the ground that
formed a veritable crater.
"It was a bomb all right," pronounced Frank. "And from the size of the
hole it made it was a lallapalooza. It's lucky it didn't hit the mill."
"I guess some Hun aviator was flying back to his own lines and dropped
this as a sort of visiting card," said Billy. "Oh, well, what's a
little bit of bomb between friends? Come on back, fellows."
"Yes, come along in and listen to Caruso," chaffed Tom.
Once inside, Billy again picked up his banjo and began to croon.
"It rained all night the day I left
The next day it was dry.
The sun so hot I froze to def
Suzanna, don't you cry."
One after another took up the rollicking chorus--
"Oh, Suzanna,
Don't you cry for me,
Fur I'se gwine to Alabama
Wif de banjo on my knee."
_Bang! Bang! Bang!_ came three quick explosions, blending in a
tremendous roar.
At the same instant a hole appeared in the roof. Part of it caved in
and came clattering down while a blinding glare filled the room!