OFF FOR THE CHANNEL
"Tom, do you think that spy left behind by my cousin could have learned
in any way about our plan?"
They were passing over a section of Northern France, keeping a mile and
more above the surface of the earth, when Jack called out in this
fashion. Talking is never easy aboard a working plane. The splutter of
the motor, added to the noise caused by the spinning propellers, as well
as the fact that as a rule pilot and observer keep well muffled up
because of the chill in the rarified air, all combine to make it
difficult.
But Jack was hard to repress. Especially just then did he feel as if
he must find some answer to certain doubts which were beginning to
oppress him.
"There's no way of telling," Tom answered promptly. "We've already seen
that the fellow is a clever, as well as desperate, rascal. He may be an
American, though I'm rather inclined to believe your cousin has found a
native better suited to his needs. And such a treacherous Frenchman would
prove a tricky and slippery sort. Yes, he may have overheard us say
something that would put him wise to our big game."
"I hope not, I surely do," Jack continued, looking serious again. "Fact
is, Tom, I'll never feel easy until we see the ocean under us."
At that Tom laughed heartily. He even put a little extra vim into his
merriment in the hope of raising his chum's drooping spirits.
"That sounds mighty close to a joke, Jack, for a fact," he said.
"I'd like to know how you make that out?" demanded the other.
"Why, most people would be apt to say our troubles were likely to begin
when we have cut loose from the land and see nothing below us as far as
the eye can reach but the blue water of the Atlantic."
"All right," cried Jack, showing no sign of changing his mind. "I'll
willingly take chances with nature rather than the perfidy and
treachery of mankind. Somehow, I can't believe that we're really
launched on the journey."
"Wake up then, old fellow, and shake yourself. You'll find we've made a
pretty fair start. Already we've put thirty miles behind us. Unless we
run up against some snag, and have engine trouble, we ought to get to
the Channel long before dark sets in."
So Jack relapsed into silence for a time. As he was not needed in order
to run the motor or guide the plane in its progress westward, Jack could
amuse himself in using the powerful binoculars.
They were at the time far removed from the earth, but through the
wonderful lenses of the glasses objects became fairly distinct. So Jack
could see much to interest him as they sped onward. Finally he again
broke out with an exclamation.
"Nothing but the ruins of towns and villages down below, Tom," he called.
"The fighting has been fierce along this sector, I should say. Why, even
the woods have been smashed, and it looks like a regular desert. Poor
France, what you must have suffered at the hands of those savage Huns."
"Yes," replied the pilot, over his shoulder, "here is where much of the
most desperate fighting of the British took place. Some of those ruined
places were beautiful French towns only a few years ago, where laces and
such things were made for most of the fashionable world. Now they look
about like the ruins of Ninevah or Babylon."
Fortune favored them during the next hour, and even Jack's spirits
had begun to improve. Then came a check to the sanguine nature of
the outlook.
"Sorry to tell you, Jack," reported Tom, after some uneasy movements,
which the other had noticed with growing alarm, "that we'll have to make
a landing. After all, it's not going to be a non-stop flight to the
coast. Only a little matter, but it should be looked after before it
develops into serious trouble. I'm going to drop down to a lower level,
where we can keep an eye out for a proper landing place."
"But that means time lost!"
"We can spare an hour if necessary, and still get to Dunkirk by evening,"
Tom replied cheerfully. "I was a bit suspicious of that very thing, and
only for our desperate need of haste would have waited to start until it
had been gone over again. But then I took chances, knowing it would, at
the worst, mean only a stop for repairs. Sorry, but it can't be helped."
When the plane had reached a distance of a thousand feet above the earth,
with Jack eagerly looking for a favorable landing place, the latter had
managed to recover from his depression.
"I see what looks like a fine stretch, Tom," he now announced. "Notice
that road looking as if it might be pitted with shell-holes? Just on its
right, where that single tree trunk stands, there's a field as level as
a barn floor. Circle around, and let's get closer to it."
Further examination convinced them that they had really run upon a
suitable landing place. What pleased Tom still more was the fact that so
far there had been no evidence of human presence near by.
This meant that they would not be bothered during the time required for
overhauling the engine by curious spectators, who might even question
their right to be flying away from the front.
The landing was made in good style, and with only a few bumps, thanks to
the smooth character of the field's surface. Even Jack was compelled to
admit that though they had met with trouble, matters might be much worse.
"We'll get busy now, and soon have things as fit as a fiddle," said Tom,
throwing off some of his superfluous garments so as to be free to work.
By this time both boys had grown to be real experts in all sorts of
mechanical repairing, as every airman must of necessity become before he
can pass the acid test. Unlike the driver of a car on country roads, when
a break-down occurs he cannot step to a neighboring house, use the long
distance or local telephone, and summon help. The airman is usually
compelled to depend exclusively on his own ability to overcome the
difficulty.
To get at the seat of trouble necessitated considerable disarrangement
of the motor's parts. This consumed more or less time, and the minutes
passing were jealously given up by the impatient Jack.
But the boys worked fast, and finally all had been accomplished. Tom
tested the engine, and pronounced himself satisfied, while Jack looked
over the field ahead of them.
"It's going to take us to Dunkirk without any further trouble, I give you
my word for it, Jack," he said. "How long have we been here?"
"Just one hour, lacking three minutes," came the prompt reply.
"Then I'm safe," laughed Tom; "for I said within the hour. Come, pile
aboard and we'll be off. Sure you examined the ground ahead, and saw to
it we'd hit no bumps that might give us trouble?"
"It's all right there, Tom; could hardly be better. But be sure you don't
change from a straight course, because there's a nasty shell-hole, about
ten feet deep, to the left. If we struck that--good-night!"
"I notice you marked it with that pole, Jack, and I'll swing clear, you
can depend on that."
They had no difficulty in making a successful ascent. Once free from the
ground, the plane's nose was again turned toward the southwest. Tom had
long before marked out his course, and kept an eye on the compass as
well as on his little chart.
He knew they were heading for the Channel port as straight as the crow
flies. The sun was getting far down in the western sky, and it was now
necessary to shield their eyes when looking ahead, on account of the
dazzling glare that at times threatened to blind them.
The character of the country below had changed materially, Jack told the
pilot, who seldom had a chance to look through the glasses, since his
entire attention was taken up with manipulating the engine, watching its
rhythmical working, and keeping the plane pushing directly on its course.
"Heine didn't get a chance to ruin things here when he passed through,
going to Paris and to his smash on the Marne," Jack explained. "Towns and
villages look natural, as I see them, and they must have harvested crops
in those brown fields. This is a bit of the real France, and entirely
different from the horrible desert we've been at work in so long."
The afternoon was wearing away. Jack frequently stared eagerly off to the
west, when the sun's glowing face was veiled for a brief time by some
friendly cloud. Several times he believed he could see something that
looked like a stretch of water, but dared not voice his hopes.
Then came a time when a heavier cloud than usual masked the brightness
of the declining sun. Another long earnest look and Jack burst out with a
triumphant shout.
"Tom, I can see the Channel, as sure as you're born!" was the burden of
his announcement; and of course this caused the pilot to demand that he
too be given a chance to glimpse the doubly welcome sight.
There could not be any mistake about it. Tom corroborated what Jack had
declared. It was undoubtedly the English Channel they saw, showing that
their journey from the American front had been successfully accomplished.
"Now for Dunkirk!" jubilantly cried Jack, looking as though he had thrown
off the weight of dull care, and was once more light-hearted. "And by the
same token, Tom, unless I miss my guess, that may be the city we're
heading for over yonder a little further to the south."
"Then I kept my course fairly well, you'll admit," the pilot shouted at
him, naturally feeling conscious of a little pride over his achievement.
Rapidly they pushed on with a slight change of course. Jack kept using
the glasses and reported his observations to the busily engaged pilot.
"It'll be dusk, likely, when we land," he observed at one time. "But that
doesn't cut much figure, for we can easily find our way down to Beverly's
hangar on the coast. He said it was only a few miles from town, and
they'll know at the aviation field, of course."
"He gave us the name of a British officer who would post us," added Tom.
After a bit they were passing over the outskirts of Dunkirk, and making
for what appeared to be an aviation field, since they could see various
hangars, and another plane was just settling ahead of them.
Ten minutes passed, and Jack was delighted to find that they had made a
successful landing. A number of French and British aviation men hastened
to surround them, more than curious to know what strange chance had
brought two Yankee fliers to Dunkirk.
Of course neither Tom nor Jack meant to afford them the least
satisfaction. They had certain business to transact, and after that was
off their hands the great adventure loomed beyond.
Accordingly, their first act was to find the man to whom they had been
referred by Lieutenant Beverly.
"We want to see Major Denning; can anybody direct us to him?" Tom asked.
"That happens to be my name," remarked a red-faced officer on the
outskirts of the crowd and who had just arrived. "What can I do for you?"
"Lieutenant Colin Beverly of the American aviation corps referred us to
you, Major," said Tom. "We have a message for you, after which we must
deliver an official packet sent by our general to the command here and
make arrangements to have our plane sent back to where we started from
some hours ago, on the American fighting front."
"I shall be pleased to give you any assistance in my power, gentlemen,"
said the British major, being apparently a very agreeable and
accommodating man indeed, as Beverly had informed them they would find
him.
Stepping away from the crowd the Air Service Boys delivered their
message, which was really a sort of prearranged password.
"Lieutenant Beverly is a cousin of mine, you know; which makes me more
than anxious concerning him just now," went on Major Denning, after these
formalities had been gone through with.
"Why so, Major?" demanded Tom, while Jack looked worried.
Whereupon the red-faced major drew them still further to one side,
and, lowering his heavy voice so as not to be overheard by others,
went on to say:
"I, as you know, know something about that wonderful big bomber he's
had sent over, and how he means to give Berlin a scare shortly. I've
even had the privilege of looking the monster over, and feeling a
thrill at picturing how it would give the Huns a fright when it
appeared over Berlin. But you see its presence here is a secret, and
known to but few of us."
"Glad to hear it, Major," Tom remarked. "But please explain why you are
worried about Beverly."
"That is," continued the officer, "because an explosion was heard,
coming from the south, just a short time ago. Everybody believes it
must be the airdrome sheltering the dirigible Britain sent over here
for use, and which lies further down the coast. But, much as I hate to
say it, I fear something serious has happened to Beverly's hangar; in
fact that a bomb has destroyed it, or else some rank Hun treachery has
been at work there!"