OVER THE RHINE
It was a battle of the air and on the ground at the same time. From
above the French, American and British airmen were dropping tons of
explosives on the emplacements of the big guns and on the railway spurs
that brought them to the firing points. It might seem an easy matter for
an airship flying over a place to drop an explosive bomb on it and
destroy it. But, on the contrary, it is very difficult.
The bombing plane must be constantly on the move, and it takes a pretty
good eye to calculate the distance from a great height sufficiently well
to make a direct hit.
But a certain percentage of the bombs find their mark, and they did in
this case. Tom and Jack, as well as the other scouts, looking down from
their planes, saw fountains of brown earth being tossed into the air as
the French bombs exploded. At the same time the photographers in the
other planes were making pictures of the guns and their location.
They were hindered in this not only by the shooting of the Germans from
below, who were working their anti-aircraft guns to their capacity, but
by screens of smoke clouds, which were emitted by a special apparatus to
hide the big guns. At the same time other cannons were being fired to
disguise the sound from the immense long-range weapon, but this was of
little effect, now that the location had been discovered.
Meanwhile a score or more of the Hun planes appeared in the air. They
had taken flight as soon as their pilots saw the squadron of enemy
machines approaching, and were eager, this time, to give battle.
"Our work's being cut out for us," murmured Tom, as he steered his
machine to engage a German who seemed eager for the fray. Tom sent a
spray of bullets at his enemy, and was fired at in turn. He knew his
craft had been hit several times, but he did not think it was seriously
damaged.
Jack, too, as he could tell by a quick glance, was also engaged with a
German, but Tom had no time then to bestow on mere observation. His
antagonist was a desperate Hun, bent on the utter destruction of Tom's
machine. They came to closer quarters.
Down below the fighting was growing more furious. It was in the form of
an artillery duel. For now the French observation machines were
wirelessing back the range, and French shells were falling very near the
big guns.
The heavy guns, in modern warfare, are placed miles away from the
objects they wish to hit, and the only way to know where the targets are
is by aeroplane observation. When the guns are ready to fire one of the
artillery control planes goes up over the enemy's territory. Of course
it is the object of the enemy to drive it away if possible.
But, hovering in the air, the observer in the double-motored machine
notes the effect of the first shot from his side's cannon. If it goes
beyond the mark he so signals by wireless. If it falls short he sends
another signal. Thus the range is corrected, and finally he sees that
the big shells are landing just where they are needed to destroy a
battery, or whatever is the object aimed at. The observation complete,
the machine goes back over its own lines--if the Germans let it.
This sort of work was going on below them while Tom, Jack and the others
in the Nieuports were engaging in mortal combat with the Hun fliers.
Some of the heavy French shells fell beyond the emplacements of the big
guns, and others were short. The observers quickly made corrections by
wireless for the gunners. Tom Raymond, after a desperate swoop at his
antagonist, sent him down in flames, and then, seeking another to
engage, at the same time wondering how Jack had fared, the young aviator
looked down and saw one of the largest of the French shells fall
directly at the side of the foremost of the three German giant cannons.
There was a terrific explosion. Of course, Tom could not hear it because
of his height and the noise his motor was making, but he could see what
happened. A great breach was made in the long barrel of the German gun,
and its emplacement was wrecked, while the men who had been swarming
about the place like ants seemed to melt into the earth. They were
blotted out.
"One gone!" exclaimed Tom grimly. And then he noted that the other two
guns had been withdrawn beneath the camouflage. They were no longer in
sight, and hitting them was a question of chance.
Still the French batteries kept up their fire, hoping to make another
hit, but it would be a matter of mere luck now, for the guns were out of
observation.
The airmen observers, however, still had a general idea of where the
super-weapons were, and the French gunners continued to send over a rain
of shells, while the bombing machines, save one that had been destroyed
by the German fire, kept dropping high explosives in the neighborhood.
"The place will be badly chewed up, at any rate," mused Tom.
He glanced in the direction where he had last seen Jack, and to his
horror saw his chum's machine start downward in a spinning nose dive.
"I wonder if they've got him, or if he's doing that to fool 'em,"
thought Tom. As he was temporarily free from attack at that instant he
started toward his friend. Hovering over him, and spraying bullets at
Jack, was a German machine, and Tom realized that this fighter might
have injured, or even killed, Jack.
"Well, I'll settle your hash, anyhow!" grimly muttered the young birdman
to himself. He sailed straight for the Hun, who had not yet seen him,
and then Tom opened fire. It was too late for the German to turn to
engage his second antagonist, and Tom saw the look of hopelessness on
his face as the bullets crashed into his machine, sending it down a
wreck.
"So much for poor old Jack!" cried Tom.
They were well over the German lines now, and the fight was going
against the French. That is, they were being outnumbered by the Hun
planes, which were numerous in the air. But the French had accomplished
their desperate mission. One of the German guns was out of commission,
and perhaps others, while the location had been made "considerably
unhealthy," as Boughton expressed it afterward.
It was time for the French to retire, and those of their machines that
were able prepared to do this. But Tom was going to see first what
happened to Jack before he returned to his lines.
"He may be spinning down, intending to get out of a bad scrape that way,
and then straighten for a flight toward home," mused Tom. "Or he may
be--"
But he did not finish the sentence.
There was but one way for Tom to be near Jack when the latter landed--if
such was to be his fate--and to give him help, provided he was alive.
And that was for Tom himself to go down in a spinning nose dive, which
is the speediest method by which a plane can descend. But there is great
danger that the terrific speed may tear the wings from the machine.
"I'm going to risk it, though," decided Tom.
Down and down he spun, and as he looked; he became aware, to his joy,
that Jack had his machine under some control.
"He isn't dead yet, by any means," thought Tom. "But he may be hurt. I
wonder if he can make a good landing? If he does it will be inside the
German lines, though, and then--"
But Tom never faltered. He must rescue his chum, or attempt to, at all
hazards.
Down went both machines, Jack's in the lead, and then, to his joy, Tom
saw his friend bring the machine on a level keel again and prepare to
make a landing. This was in a rather lonely spot, but already, in the
distance, as Tom could note from his elevated position, Germans were
hurrying toward the place, ready to capture the French machine.
"If he's alive I'll save him!" declared Tom. "My machine will carry
double in a pinch, but he'll have to ride on the engine hood."
Tom was going to take a desperate chance, but one that has been
duplicated and equalled more than once in the present war. He was going
to descend as near Jack's wrecked machine as he could, pick up his chum,
and trust to luck to getting off again before the Germans could arrive.
That Jack was once more master of his craft became evident to his
friend. For the Nieuport was slowing down and Jack was making ready for
as good a landing as possible under the circumstances. It was plain,
however, that his machine was damaged in some way, or he would have gone
on flying toward his own lines.
Tom saw his chum drop to the ground, and then saw him quickly climb out
of his seat, loosing the strap that held him in. By this time other
German planes were swooping toward the place, and a squad of cavalry was
also galloping toward it.
"I'll beat you, though!" cried Tom fiercely.
He throttled down his engine, intending to give it just enough gas to
keep it going, for he would have no one to start it for him if the motor
stalled. He calculated that he could taxi the craft across the ground
slowly enough for Jack to jump on and then he could get away, saving
both of them.
Jack understood the plan at once. He waved his hand to Tom to show that
he would be ready, and Tom felt a joy in his heart as he realized that
his chum was uninjured.
Down to the ground went Tom, and he guided his machine toward Jack,
standing beside his own damaged craft, waiting. Suddenly there was a
sharp report, and Tom saw Jack's machine burst into flames.
"He fired into the gasolene tank!" thought Tom. "That's the boy! He
isn't going to let the Huns get his machine and the maps and
instruments. Good!"
Jack leaped back from the blaze that suddenly enveloped his aeroplane
and then ran toward Tom's machine. As he leaped upon the engine hood,
which he could do with little more risk than boarding a swiftly moving
trolley car, there was a burst of rifle fire from the cavalry, some of
which had reached the scene.
Jack gave a gasping cry, and fell limp. He almost slipped from the motor
hood, but with one hand Tom quickly fastened his companion's life belt
to the support and then, knowing Jack could not fall off, opened his
engine wide.
Across the ground the double-loaded craft careened, while the cavalry
opened fire.
"If they hit me now, it's all up with both of us!" thought Tom
desperately.
But though the bullets splattered all around him, and some hit the
machine, neither he nor Jack was struck again, nor was any vital part of
the machinery damaged. Poor Jack, though, seemed lifeless, and Tom
feared he had arrived the fraction of a minute too late.
Then up rose Tom's plane, up and up, the powerful engine doing its best,
though the machine was carrying double weight. But the Nieuports are
mechanical wonders, and once the craft was free of the earth it began
climbing. Fortunately there were no swift German machines near enough to
give effective chase, though some of the heavier bi-motored craft opened
fire, as did the cavalry from below, as well as some of the
anti-aircraft guns.
But Tom, keeping on full speed, soon climbed up out of danger, and then
swung around for a flight toward his own lines. He could see, ahead of
him, the fleet of French planes, going back after the raid on the big
guns. Tom's plane was the rearmost one.
Then he knew that he was safe! But he feared for Jack!
One after another, such as were left of the raiding party landed. Their
comrades crowded around them, congratulating them with bubbling words of
joy. Yet there was sorrow for those that did not return.
"Is he dead?" asked Tom, as orderlies quickly unstrapped Jack, and
prepared to carry him to the hospital. "Is he dead?"
"Alive, but badly wounded," said a surgeon, who made a hasty
examination.
And then all seemed to become dark to Tom Raymond.
"Well, Jack, old man, how do you feel?"
"Oh, pretty good! How's yourself?"
"Better, now that they've let me in to see you."
"You got the big guns, I understand."
"You mean _you_ did, too. It was as much your doings as mine. Yes, we
sprayed 'em good and proper. They won't fire on Paris again right away,
but I suppose they'll not give up the trick, once they have learned it.
But we have their number all right. Now you want to hurry up and get
well."
Jack was in the hospital recovering from several bullet wounds. They had
not been as dangerous as at first feared, but they were bad enough. Tom
had come to see him and give some of the details of the great raid,
which Jack had been unable to hear because of weakness. Now he was
convalescing.
"What's the idea of hurry?" asked Jack. "Are we going after more big
cannon?"
"No, this is a different stunt now. We're going over the Rhine."
"Over the Rhine?" and Jack sat up in bed.
"Monsieur--I must beg--please do not excite him!" exclaimed a pretty
nurse, hurrying up. "The doctor said he must keep quiet."
"But I want to hear about this," insisted Jack. "Over the Rhine! Say,
that'll be great! Carrying the war into the enemy's country for fair!"
"I'll tell you a little later," promised Tom, moving away in obedience
to an entreaty from the nurse.