By the time the excited crowd had piled outside powerful search-lights
were reaching up into the starlit heavens, lifting out of the gloom with
strange and fantastic effect the thin veil of clouds which here and
there stretched across it.
Even amid the booming of the anti-aircraft batteries and the sharper
staccato reports of the machine guns from various parts of the field,
all blending into an unearthly din, the droning of the motors high in
the air could be distinctly heard. Like a pyrotechnic display, luminous
bullets, searching for the invaders, shot up into the sky, often
piercing the low-hanging clouds; and mingling in with them were vicious
little spurts of fire which told of the explosion of shrapnel shells.
The majority of the pilots, familiar with the dreadful danger which
menaced them, made a wild dash for the underground shelters. But Don
Hale and a few others, fascinated by the awe-inspiring scene and
situation, remained.
“Isn’t this awful!” cried Bobby Dunlap, with a distinct tremolo in his
voice. “Great Scott!”
At that instant a loud, though dull boom from the explosion of a bomb
had added its quota of noise to the raging inferno of sound.
It hadn’t landed so far away, either, and, as Don Hale, in the grip of
fear and excitement which he found impossible to control, strove to
pierce the gloom, three reports, even louder, followed one another in
quick succession.
“Great Cæsar!” cried Bobby Dunlap. “It seems as though they are going to
wipe the aviation camp off the map. It’s time for us to run for our
lives.”
And with these words, jerked out so fast that they were scarcely
intelligible, he started off on a headlong sprint to join those who had
sought a haven of safety.
But even then neither Don, George nor Albert could tear themselves away
from the singular scene that was passing before their eyes. Every
search-light—every gun was being used. Dazzling streams of whitish
light crossed and criss-crossed or swept in wide circles over the
sky—the darkness of night seemed to be rent asunder. Flaming bullets
were rising by the thousand.
Notwithstanding the terrific defense of the French batteries the German
bombs continued to fall. Their appalling detonations seemed fairly to
shake the ground.
It was a situation wherein the tragic and the terrible held full sway.
No man alive could have stood it without fear and trembling; for, at any
instant, one of the bombs might have fallen into their very midst.
And then, while they stood there, motionless, silent, their pulses
quickened by the emotions within, they saw something which brought husky
exclamations from their lips.
It was the sight of a German plane, spectral and ghostlike, sailing
serenely along in a dazzling sea of light. Flying this way and that, it
now and then almost disappeared in the obscurity beyond, but,
inexorably, it was pulled back into the field of vision by the
ever-moving rays. And then a second and a third plane sprang into view,
all appearing as pale, ethereal and ghostlike as the other.
And as the pilots kept their eyes fixed upon this wonderful and singular
spectacle, which seemed to combine the elements of the supernatural and
unreal, they became witnesses to a scene which is given to but few in
this world to see.
Suddenly, just beneath the foremost machine, now in the full glare of
light, there appeared a tiny flash of fire, a tiny burst of smoke—the
circling flight was ended. Almost simultaneously with the explosion of
the shrapnel shell the battleplane began to fall, at first slowly, as
though the airmen near the clouds were desperately seeking to regain
control.
What was going to happen? A few seconds would tell.
They were thrilling seconds, too, to the little shivering knot of
spectators by the bureau.
“Ah—ah!”
A long-drawn, shrill exclamation came from Don Hale.
The plane, after wobbling and staggering for the briefest instant, began
a spinning dive toward the earth; and before it had gone many hundred
feet a portion of one of its wings was seen to become detached. Almost
instantly came a little burst of ruddy flame, rapidly increasing in
intensity, until, at last, the airplane was blazing from end to end.
Like a flaming meteorite, the doomed machine, still bathed in the
dazzling white glare, continued its frightful plunge.
Down, down, it came, whirling and spinning, growing larger and more
distinct with each passing second, and leaving behind it a long sinuous
trail of sparks and inky smoke.
Absorbed—enthralled by the terrible spectacle, Don Hale almost forgot
the danger that ever menaced them.
But before the plane had reached the ground the peril of their exposed
position was brought forcibly to his mind by another loud report from a
bursting bomb. It seemed to have fallen nearer at hand than any of the
others; and he was just about to urge his companions to leave when,
without warning, there came a frightful and appalling explosion, so
terrible in its power that he found himself jerked off his feet and
thrown violently forward.
Shocked, dazed and bewildered, he struck the turf at full length, where
he lay as motionless as if the end had come.
He was brought to his senses, however, as suddenly as though ice-water
had been dashed into his face. The explosion had hurled aloft great
masses of earth and debris; and now, like a descending avalanche, they
began beating upon the ground close about him with thuds and bangs and
crashes.
With a startled cry, the boy staggered up. A clump of earth struck him
on the back with almost stunning force; a piece of board crashed down at
his feet, and in wild haste, he began the retreat that should have been
made before.
And, to add to the danger, spent bullets from the shrapnel shells came
pelting down.
The distance to the nearest underground shelter was very short, but it
seemed like a mighty long way to the frightened runners. Could they
reach it?
Panting, perspiring, almost desperate, they crossed the last lap of the
intervening space and fairly threw themselves into the crowded
bomb-proof shelter.
Their wild and unceremonious entrance brought exclamations from the
crowd. But no effort was made to speak, however, for, amid the mighty,
crashing chorus of the guns, voices could scarcely have been heard.
Huddled together in the shelter, which was dimly lighted by a single oil
lamp, feeling the earth trembling beneath their feet, the pilots
listened with awe to the sound of the explosions. It was mighty
unpleasant to be cooped up—mighty unpleasant to think of what might be
happening to the hangars and the little fighting Nieuports, and when,
after what seemed to be an interminably long time, the din of the
anti-aircraft guns and bursting bombs began to slacken, Don Hale gave a
big sigh of relief.
“I guess it’s all over, boys,” he shouted.
“I’m going to make the Germans sorry for this,” cried Bobby Dunlap.
As the crowd, headed by Don, made for the door the firing had ceased,
and, in contrast to the terrific racket of a few moments before, the
comparative silence seemed almost strange and unnatural. The giant
search-lights were still sweeping the sky, but the enemy had evidently
been driven away.
Intent upon finding out as quickly as possible what damage had been
done, Don Hale and George Glenn hurried toward the point where the bombs
seemed to have fallen most thickly. Men were hurrying this way and that,
and officers could be heard shouting their orders. It quickly developed,
however, that the camp, very fortunately, had sustained but little
damage. Great pits had been dug in the ground by the force of the
explosions, the end of a hangar demolished, and two machines and a
little storehouse destroyed.
“Now I feel very much better,” declared Don. “Honestly, I never expected
to see that Nieuport of mine again.”
“From the amount of noise they made, one might have thought the whole
camp was going skyward,” declared George. “Before the Boches have a
chance to pay us another visit, Don, let’s beat it for the villa.”
“Done as soon as said,” exclaimed Don.
Long accustomed to the terrors and scares of the war zone, the boys had
now entirely recovered from the effects of the bombardment from the sky.
With a number of others, they climbed into a big camion and were driven
to their headquarters. On the way they saw encampments of soldiers in
the fields, their tents, with lights inside, showing as faintly luminous
spots in the darkness. Now and again a long convoy lumbered along the
road; batteries were moving up nearer the front; reserves, too, passed
them, marching steadily and silently, the rhythmic sound of their
steadily-tramping feet sounding weirdly in the night.
And though no particular incident marked the journey, Don and George
were thoroughly glad when they reached their comfortable room in the
ancient villa.
Tired, after the many hours of work and excitement, they immediately
turned in.
And thus ended another day.