THE SHINING PLANE
After one day of particularly grim and stubborn fighting, the Army Boys
found themselves quartered in an unusually large clearing in the dense
woods and underbrush that went to compose the Argonne Forest. Since
early morning they had been engaged in clearing out trench after trench
of Boches, menaced on every side by skillfully concealed machine gun
nests, but making steady progress, in the face of almost insuperable
obstacles. A number of their comrades had fallen, but not one of our
heroes had suffered anything worse than the deep scratches resulting
from forcing their way through innumerable barbed wire entanglements.
They seemed to bear charmed lives, for always there had been the whine
of machine gun bullets, and the scream of shrapnel thrown from the
heavier guns situated in the rear of the German lines.
Now, thoroughly exhausted, they had willingly obeyed the order that
meant the end of that day’s fighting, and had cast, first their packs,
and then themselves, down upon the camping ground that had been
designated as theirs for the night.
By the time “chow” had been eaten, they began to feel a little better,
but had nothing in mind except to turn in, when suddenly their
attention was arrested by the whirring hum of an aeroplane engine
coming rapidly to a position directly over them. The first thought of
every soldier is, “Is it an enemy machine?” but one glance served to
assure them that it was an American plane.
They naturally expected that the machine would continue on its course,
but suddenly Frank exclaimed, “Look at that, fellows! It’s circling
around as though the pilot intended to land. What in the world would he
want to come down here for?”
“Possibly he’s been having engine trouble,” speculated Tom. And he was
not far wrong, for this was indeed the reason for the aviator’s sudden
descent. Spying the opening in the trees, he had decided to make a
landing there, rather than proceed further and take the chance of being
forced to descend in even a more unfavorable location.
The boys watched with interest as the machine descended lower and lower
in graceful spirals, and finally took the ground as the aviator landed
skillfully on a smooth patch of turf.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Frank, as the friends started to run toward it,
“there’s something about that aviator that looks mighty familiar to me.
I knew it!” a moment later, “it’s good old Dick Lever, and he’s sure
a sight for sore eyes. How in the name of all that’s good did he ever
happen to get in this part of the world, I wonder.”
This question was soon answered, for by now the boys had reached the
machine, and amid joyful shouts Dick Lever was dragged from the pilot’s
seat and laughingly told to “give an account of himself.”
“Well, that’s not very hard to do,” he said, “provided, of course, that
you Indians don’t pull me limb from limb before I get the chance to.
It’s fine to be so welcome, but I’m beginning to be afraid I’ll never
be able to live through it. Have a heart, can’t you?”
“All right, then, come across with the information,” laughed Frank.
“We’re so used to questioning Hun prisoners, that we’ve got the habit,
and find it hard to be easy with you, I suppose.”
“Well, there’s not much to tell,” said the aviator. “I was just
recently detailed to this sector, and since arriving here I have been
having a busy time of it, I can tell you. The Boches on this sector
are right on the job, and don’t seem to scare nearly so easily as they
generally do. I had a brush with one several hours ago, and chased him
well back of the German lines. He landed safely, though, so I turned
around to get back, when my engine started missing. It wasn’t so very
bad, but I thought it would be better to land and tinker it up before
it got worse, so when I saw this opening through the tops of the trees,
I decided to come down and see if I couldn’t make temporary repairs.
But if I had known you fellows were down here waiting for me, I think
I’d have come down even faster than I did.”
“Well,” said Frank, “let’s take a look at your engine, and see if we
can’t locate the trouble. But I won’t really be sorry if we don’t,
because then you’ll have to stay here all night.”
“Yes, that’s true enough,” replied Dick. “But just at present I don’t
want to be put out of business over night if I can help it. Every
aviator on this sector is on the lookout for a certain Boche plane that
has been making a pest of itself around here, and the one that succeeds
in bringing him down is going to be considered a real ace.”
“Why, has he been doing such a lot of damage?” asked Billy.
“Damage!” exclaimed Dick, “I should say he has been doing damage. And
not only that, but he does it in such a way that none of us so far has
had any chance for a comeback.”
“How’s that?” inquired Tom.
“His favorite stunt is to come over our lines along about dusk, and
drop his load of bombs where he thinks they will do the most good.
Then he makes a quick turn about and escapes, either going directly
back to his lines, or, more often, rising high enough to reach a cloud
stratum, and hiding in that. And by the time our fellows get out
after him, it’s so dark that there’s no chance of seeing him. He’s
responsible for the death of any number of our fellows, and nobody
knows how much damage to roads and ammunition trains.”
“That’s the Boche’s regular game,” commented Frank, bitterly, “their
’planes always run the minute they think a superior force is coming out
against them. It would be wonderful if you could be the one to capture
him, Dick.”
“Wonderful! I should say it would,” exclaimed the young aviator. “But
that tricky way he has of cloud hiding, together with his habit of
only attacking right on the edge of darkness, makes it a mighty hard
proposition to come up with him. But I or one of the other fellows will
get him eventually, never fear.”
“If only there were some way to tag him so that he could be followed
easier,” said Frank, slowly.
“Yes, but that’s a pretty big if,” said Billy, “supposing you come down
to earth and give us some practical suggestion about how it’s going to
be done.”
“Well, maybe I will,” replied Frank, to whom had come the glimmering of
an idea, “you fellows know that illuminating paint they use for signs,
and so forth, so that they can be read in the dark, don’t you?”
“Right you are!” exclaimed Dick, who grasped the other’s thought in
the twinkling of an eye, “if we could douse this Boche’s plane with
some of that mixture, a blind man could follow his progress after dark.
But then,” he concluded, less enthusiastically, “the problem arises as
to how we are going to get the paint on his machine. It reminds me of
trying to catch a bird by putting salt on his tail.”
“Well, it might be worth trying, anyway,” said Frank, defending his
project. “Why couldn’t you take a pail of this with you, and then
there’s a bare possibility that you might be able to drop some of it
on him. One splash of that stuff on his machine, and you’d have the
easiest job in the world following him. The darker the night, the
better.”
“By Jove, it’s worth trying, anyway,” said Dick, caught up on a wave of
enthusiasm. “I’ll try anything once, anyway. But now the question is,
where are we going to get the paint?”
“There’s a supply wagon not over a mile from here,” replied Frank, “if
you’re game for the hike, I’ll go with you, and we’ll see if we can’t
get some.”
“You’re on!” exclaimed the aviator. “You two fellows stay here to see
that no one monkeys with my machine,” addressing Billy Waldon and Tom
Bradford.
“All right,” agreed Tom. “But you’d better shake a foot or some of
this bunch will be taking your machine apart for souvenirs,” and he
laughingly indicated the interested group of doughboys who had by this
time sauntered up.
Frank and Dick set off at a smart pace, as they were all eagerness to
try the novel experiment, and there was no time to lose, if it were
to be done that night, as it was then after five o’clock, and nearing
the time at which the German aviator usually made his raids. They
maintained a brisk pace, and it was not long before they reached a
group of supply wagons, carrying all sorts of supplies and equipment.
They had some difficulty in explaining matters to the officer in
charge, but at last he was moved by their enthusiasm, and gave them
permission to draw a small pail full of the illuminating paint. This
was a special mixture of chemicals, and was extensively used by our
army for signs, indicating arrows, etc., where it was impossible or
inconvenient to have a special light to show up the object at night.
The two friends made short work of the return trip, and surprised those
waiting for them by the promptitude of their return.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Billy, “I can see the finish of that Boche already,
when two speed merchants like you go romping on his trail. He’s got
about as much chance as a cootie in a disinfecting tank.”
“We haven’t got much time to spare,” said Dick; “it’s getting dark
already, and I’ve still got to clean the spark plugs in my machine.”
“We’ll all help you do that,” volunteered Tom, and with wrenches
that Dick gave them, they soon had the offending spark plugs apart,
thoroughly cleaned, and restored to their proper sphere of usefulness.
Then, while some of the onlooking soldiers held the plane, Dick gave
the propeller a whirl, and the motor started with a reassuring roar.
“That sounds good,” said Dick, as he climbed into the pilot’s seat.
“Now, hand me up that paint, and I’m off on the trail of the Hun.”
Billy handed him the pail, and Dick, after carefully depositing it at
his feet, waved his hand in farewell. The boys had just started a cheer
for him, when they were interrupted by the sound of a heavy detonation.
For a brief space the artillery of both sides had been silent, and they
could tell from the sound of the explosion that it was not caused by
a gun. Even as they all listened, it came again,--a dull, heavy shock
that caused the very earth to shake, and this time it seemed nearer.
“That’s our Boche friend!” exclaimed Dick Lever. “Let her go, boys!
Maybe this time I’ll have the luck to get the brute!” and as the
soldiers loosed their holds, the aeroplane swept forward, and then, at
a quick motion on Dick’s part, soared gracefully into the air. Dick
slanted swiftly upward into the gathering twilight, and soon became
indistinguishable to the straining eyes of those on the ground. Only
the sound of his whirring motor remained to tell them of the gallant
man willingly risking his life for his country.
As the sound of his motor grew fainter, the throb of another engine
insensibly mingled with it, but the later comer had the irregular
pulsations that all the Americans recognized as coming from a German
machine.
“I’ll wager anything that’s the Boche!” exclaimed Tom, and everybody
there agreed with him. It was now almost fully dark, and although the
boys strained their eyes they could make out nothing of the duel that
was going on a mile or two above the earth.
But suddenly a weird and fascinating thing happened. From out the black
vault of the night sky a rippling, streaming cascade of fire leaped
downward for a space, and then suddenly mushroomed out in a sparkling
splash of phosphorescent light. Smaller stars and streamers spread
out in all directions and gradually melted out as they fell earthward.
But there remained a faint, ghostlike, unreal patch of swiftly moving
light, that the breathless watchers knew must be the Boche aeroplane.
“It worked!” exclaimed Frank. “That Hun aviator is done for now,
because Dick can see him, and he can’t see Dick.”
Even as he spoke, a stream of red fire spit viciously out from a point
slightly above the German, who had now turned and was flying for dear
life back to his own lines. For a space the weird attack continued,
and the German, apparently giving up hope of safety in flight, turned
and fired desperately toward the stream of deadly fire that marked the
position of Dick’s machine gun.
But suddenly, one of the deadly bullets from the machine gun got home,
for the patch of light marking the Hun machine, wavered, swerved, and
then dived swiftly earthward.