THE “FATE” COMES HOME
“I thought we had the border patrolled,” scoffed Hugh somewhat later.
“We haven’t seen a patrol since we crossed. No wonder Roza finds it
dead easy to make his raids!”
“Hm,” Jack commented. “Ever consider that there are some thirteen or
fourteen hundred miles of said border, sonny? Putting patrols even a
quarter of a mile apart would take somewhere around five thousand of
them.”
“Well, what of it? We’ve got that many in the army, haven’t we? I
should think that would be better than letting Roza and the other
bandits run across whenever they like and steal everything in sight!”
“I guess we’re not as fast asleep as it looked,” answered Jack.
“There’s a plane coming.”
“About time,” grumbled the other. “If we were one of Tito Roza’s
outfits we could have bombed a couple of villages and got away without
hurrying. That’s a De Haviland, old son. I trained in one of those at
Pensacola. Wish we could get a message to them. I don’t believe those
chumps back there at Tiamina will do anything with that message but
look at it.”
“We might try the megaphone,” Jack suggested.
“No good. The engine sounds would drown it. And they won’t dare come
very close, I guess.”
Nor did they. The flyers swept down from the northeast, probably from
Fort Phillips, and, keeping at a respectful distance from the big
aircraft, circled and waved, the observer standing up and putting much
gusto into his greeting.
“Guess they had us down as lost,” said Hugh, “and the fellow is saying
‘Welcome Home.’” The boys waved back and the airplane shot away again
toward the west as it completed its circle. Soon after a squad of
cavalry was sighted some three or four miles northward, but it was
decided not to change the dirigible’s course in order to give them a
message since, as Jack pointed out, they were probably further from a
telegraph or telephone than the _Fate_ was. For some time they skirted
the southern foothills of the mountains that lie jumbled together in
the Big Bend country, on several occasions having to alter their course
rather than try for more elevation. The sight of a railroad following
the winding course of a small river brought from Hugh the remark that
it looked like they were at last back in civilization. There were small
towns along the line of the shining rails and a second message was
dropped, this time with more prospect of attention. The passing of the
dirigible occasioned little interest, so far as they could see, but
their message was rescued from the roof of what appeared to be a livery
stable, and, since there was a telegraph office there, they concluded
that Fort Stanton would soon learn of the _F 8’s_ safe return. It was
close on six o’clock when they crossed over the Pecos River at a point
some fifty miles north of the border, and nearly eight when, in the
lingering twilight, they sighted Fort Phillips. News of their arrival
had evidently preceded them, since when, with engine throttled low and
the balloon making scarcely more than headway into a light easterly
breeze, they nosed down toward the big landing field west of the long
line of hangars, a force of groundmen awaited and the big searchlights
were focused on them. That, to Hugh and Jack, was trying work. There
were acres of space in which to land, but it was all new stuff to them
and they were horribly afraid that they would make a mess of it. They
had remembered in time to splice new cable onto the forward and aft
guys, and these they dropped long before the dirigible was near the
ground. Fortunately, the planes answered the controls perfectly and
after many minutes of misgivings and nervousness the _F 8_, with engine
running idle, came to a halt, her cables manned and the boat swinging
just above ground. Hugh shut off the engine and sank on to the bench.
“_Gee!_” he gasped.
“I’ll say so, too,” said Jack fervently.
“Toss the ladder over,” muttered Hugh meekly. “Some one’s jabbering
down there.”
Jack obeyed, and a grizzled major whose jacket bore the Army Aviation
Corps insignia popped his head over the side.
“Who’s in command here?” he asked.
“I am, sir,” answered Hugh, getting his feet under him again. “Ensign
Clode.”
The major scrambled into the cockpit. “Glad to meet you, sir! My
congratulations. Quite a trip, you must have had. My name’s Warren;
Aviation.” He shook hands heartily with Hugh and then with Jack. “We
got word from Camp Stanton about an hour ago that you were coming and
so we got ready for you. Understand the Navy had given you up for lost.
Must have quite a yarn to spin. Soon as you’re ready I’ll show you
over to the quarters. Got some food waiting over there for you, my
boys.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Hugh gratefully. “Food’ll taste pretty good to
us. Jack, see that everything’s all right for’ard, will you? Have you
any way of anchoring this ship, sir?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Clode, but we’ve got two infantry details to look
after her until morning. There are orders for you at quarters. Rather
think they expect you to take the balloon on to Punta Rio.”
“I hope not,” replied Hugh. “I’ve had enough for awhile. These things
weren’t made for two men to sail.”
“I should say not! Guess we can give you some help, though. That you,
Lieutenant? Come aboard. Meet Ensign Clode, Lieutenant Groat; and
Ensign Sterling. If you’re ready we’ll go across.”
“What about riding lights, Hugh?” Jack asked.
“Blessed if I know. Guess you’d better switch ’em on, though. No chance
of a wind to-night, is there, Major?”
“No, no fear of that. There hasn’t been a cupful of breeze since the
storm that you chaps got into, and no prospects yet. All right now?
After you, Lieutenant.”
The boys found a warm and admiring welcome awaiting them in the
officers’ quarters, and, after a doctor had attended to Jack’s wound,
such a meal as they had not enjoyed for many days. Major Warren and
the dozen or more officers who had flocked from all points of the
fort left them to themselves during the meal and they were able to do
full justice to it without having to make apologies. Afterwards Hugh
received and initialed for a copy of the orders addressed to him from
headquarters at Punta Rio.
“Clode, Ensign, commanding S. D. _F 8_; Congratulations. Afford
all information regarding detention of your officers to Commanding
Officer Fort Phillips. Report at once whether _F 8_ is fit for further
immediate service. If so can you bring her here with aid of working
crew from Army Aviation Corps and how soon? Thomas, R. A.”
Hugh handed the orders to Jack. “What about it?” he asked. “Want to try
to make home, old son?”
“Sure! With a couple of these fellows to help, and some more gasoline,
we can do it, can’t we?”
“I think so. We’ll try it, anyway. I’ll get an answer off and see the
C. O. Want to come along?”
“Not unless you need me. You can tell the yarn better than I can. All
I want now is about ten nights’ sleep!”
But if Jack thought he was to escape without telling his story he was
much mistaken. The officers allowed Hugh to get away, but they nailed
Jack, sat him in a comfortable chair out on the wide veranda, drew
close and told him to get at it! And so Jack, fighting off sleepiness,
told the story of the _Fate’s_ journey from start to finish to a much
interested audience. And when he had ended he had many questions to
answer. Some of the younger officers expressed fear as to the fate of
Lieutenant Commander Weeks and his companions, but Major Warren, who
had fought along the border before entering aviation, was optimistic.
“That Roza hombre has plenty of sense,” he said. “Some of those
fellows, half-breeds, most of ’em, might start shootin’, but Roza
knows we’d get him sooner or later if he tried that game. What he’ll
do is break camp and hide out somewhere in the hills, taking his
prisoners along with him. We’ll have to find him. That’ll be our part
of the game, gentlemen. I wouldn’t wonder if some one had to pay those
ransoms, either. That’s a fierce country down there when it comes to
finding any one who doesn’t want to be found! Look at the time we had
trailing Villa!”
“Think they’ll leave the job to us, Major?” asked a young lieutenant.
“No, they won’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if they dumped a couple of
regiments of cavalry over the line. Of course the Navy Aviation fellows
have the first call, and they won’t let us in on it unless they have
to. But I guess they’ll have to. We’re two or three hundred miles
nearer than they are, you see, and quick action’s going to count. Guess
some of us’ll be going up on S. D. to-morrow!”
“Hope so!” said one of his hearers, and others grunted agreement.
More discussion followed, to which Jack listened sleepily until Hugh
returned. After that, with Hugh there to attend to conversational
demands, Jack settled down in his chair and relapsed into a delicious
state that was neither waking nor sleeping and into which the talk
flowed in soothing murmurs. He was never fully and entirely awake again
until morning.
The _F 8_ cast off at 6:10, Hugh at the engines and Jack in the
cockswain’s seat. With them went three young officers of the Army
Aviation Corps, highly delighted with the adventure. None of the latter
had had balloon training, but all possessed sound common-sense and a
general knowledge of aëronautics. The dirigible found her level at
slightly over two hundred feet, for her buoyancy was low owing to
depleted balloonets; and helium gas was not to be had nearer than Punta
Rio. But a study of the map showed that an elevation of two hundred
feet would carry them safely over all obstacles. Jack swung her nose
southward toward the river and when that was reached its course became
the general course of the balloon. They had to buck a southeast breeze
that grew fairly stiff as they neared the coast. Hugh started out with
the starboard engine, but at the end of the first hour it developed
sounds that he didn’t like, and he shifted to the port. Eventually he
was obliged to alternate them for brief stretches, as neither worked
smoothly and the troubles were beyond his knowledge. He managed,
nevertheless, to average just over thirty-two miles an hour, and,
greeted with acclaim at every town they flew over, they sighted the
radio towers at Punta Rio shortly after seven o’clock. An hour later
the _F 8_ was once more back in her shed and the amateur navigators had
delivered Lieutenant Commander Weeks’ dispatch to Rear Admiral Thomas
and were doing justice to a late supper in the officers’ mess-hall.
Afterwards they made their way back to headquarters and found a
good-sized audience awaiting them. Spreading a map of Northern Mexico
on the table, Rear Admiral Thomas asked them to indicate as nearly as
they could the location of Perdero. To their bewilderment they found
the word set down a good thirty miles north and east of where it should
have been placed according to their belief. “Don’t let that bother
you,” they were told. “There isn’t a map of Mexico that isn’t chock
full of errors. I saw one once that showed Mazatlan nearly a degree
north of where it belonged! Point out where you believe Perdero to be,
Mr. Clode.”
“About here, sir,” said Hugh, after some study. He glanced inquiringly
at Jack and the latter nodded confirmation. The admiral marked the spot
with a pencil. Then, while the other officers and the boys looked on,
he plotted distances with a pair of dividers. At last:
“Call it an even four hundred miles in a direct line,” he said. “Seven
hours, we’ll say, for the F Class ships, four hours for the planes. You
told me, I think, that your engines were not working properly to-day,
Mr. Clode. Do you know what the trouble was?”
“No, sir. I――I’m not enough of an engineer to be able to say.”
“Naturally. Well, never mind. We’ll get a report soon. Now tell us what
military resources you believe this General Roza to have at or about
Perdero. Sit down, please. There are several things Commander Weeks
doesn’t tell in his dispatch that we ought to know.”
At the end of an hour the ordeal ended. “Now you two had better turn
in,” advised the admiral. “Get all the sleep you can. You may have
a busy day to-morrow. And, by the way, it would be a good plan to
telegraph your folks that you’re all right. The papers have been rather
full of the _F 8’s_ disappearance and I’m afraid the impression got out
that she was lost.”
“Guess she was,” observed one of the officers, “but she found herself
again! Anything from Washington yet?”
“No, but I’m expecting a message every minute and―――― What’s that,
Griggs? Oh, you’re decoding it now. Good! Just a minute, gentlemen, and
we’ll see what the verdict is. Sound promising so far, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Griggs looked across from under the green-shaded
drop-light at his desk and smiled. “Discreet but――promising, sir.”
“Hope so, I’m sure. Can’t let that brigand get by with this last
outrage. Besides, those officers too good to lose. One of our best,
Weeks. Traine’s another, eh? Ah, thank you, Griggs. Hm!” The admiral
set his glasses half-way down his long nose and swung to the light. As
he read the others leaned forward a little in their chairs, perhaps
without realizing it. After an instant of silence the admiral chuckled.
Sympathetic smiles appeared. Some one cleared his throat.
“Here we are, gentlemen. ‘The Department believes that the entry into
Mexico of any military expedition at this present critical stage of
negotiations would be unwise, and your request is therefore denied.
This decision should not, however, be held to prohibit the dispatch of
unarmed aircraft into territory controlled by anti-Federal forces for
purposes of observation if in your judgment such action is advisable.
In such case you are directed to strictly prohibit the use of arms save
in defense of life or property. Re A N 161: The matter of payment of
fines levied against certain officers of Scout Dirigible _F 8_ under
restraint at Perdero, State of Coahuila, Mexico, referred to Department
of State. Pending a decision it is believed that the Department will
duly enter into negotiations for the release of the officers in case
other means of persuasion fail.’”
There was a moment of silence. Then some one laughed softly. “Sort of
contradictory, isn’t it? We’re allowed to send unarmed aircraft and to
use arms only in defense!”
The admiral nodded, smiling. “Sort of,” he conceded. “But the ‘kick’ is
at the end of it, Tom. ‘In case other means of persuasion fail.’ Get
that?”
“By Jove, I didn’t! Well, then――――”
“Surest thing you know! Start at five-thirty if they can get the _F
8_ in trim by that time. The _9_ had trouble with her machine-gun
mounting, and maybe it’ll be the same with the _8_, but we’ll start
them off the moment she’s in shape. Fallen’s working two shifts on her
and I guess he will get her ready.”
“Planes, too?” one of the officers inquired.
“Five. Ought to be enough, eh?”
“Well, yes,” replied the other dryly, “for a purely observational
expedition that ought to answer!”
The admiral chuckled again. “Wish I were going myself! Well, I think
that is all to-night. Captain Tweed, I’d like to see you a few minutes,
please. Yes, Mr. Clode?”
“Beg pardon, sir,” stammered Hugh, “but are we――could we――er――we’d like
to go, sir, if we might! On the _Fate_, sir.”
“I don’t see how you can get out of it, Mr. Clode,” answered the
admiral gravely, but with a twinkle in his eye. “You haven’t been
detached, have you? Thought not! Well, that’s that!”
Jack found mail awaiting him, and, although it was already getting
on toward ten o’clock, he stayed up and wrote a long letter to his
folks. Then he and Hugh climbed into their bunks, but not to sleep.
Envious and curious young luffs and ensigns demanded a recital of the
_F 8’s_ adventures, and even after they had gone away again sleep
refused to come to the boys. For his part, Jack was much too excited by
the prospect of the morrow’s expedition. But some time after midnight
slumber claimed them. Then it seemed but a minute later that they
were awakened in the slatey darkness to grope for their uniforms and,
dressed, seek the mess hall for coffee and eggs and scorched toast
served by yawning attendants. It was still half dark when they hurried
out in the coolness of the before dawn hour and made off for Number 6
Shed as fast as their legs would carry them. Ever since becoming fully
awake they had been haunted by the direful possibility of the _Fate_
sailing without them!
But they were spared that disappointment. Big and black and formless
against the dark sky, the mammoth airship was already out, tugging
gently at her cables in a wispy breeze from the southeast. Vaguely,
as they drew near, they could distinguish the rows of groundmen at
the ropes. Suddenly the darkness further along the row of sheds was
dispelled by a flood of white light, and looking that way under the
suspended shadow that was the _Fate_ the boys saw the big nose of the
_F 9_ move into sight. The flood-lights threw the great envelope into
black relief as it emerged slowly from the hangar, and the lines of
groundmen, shuffling across the trampled earth, sent queer grotesque
shadows scampering across the ground. Finally the airship was out, and
when the tail was free of the building the lights went off as suddenly
as they had come on, and darkness again enveloped the scene.
The boys made their way to the _Fate’s_ boat, hanging just clear of the
earth. Two of their companions of the voyage were already on hand, and
the four made themselves known to each other. The eastern sky showed
a pale band near the horizon and the stars overhead began to lose
their brilliancy. Hugh held his wrist watch close. “Five-three,” he
announced. Two other officers came toward them through the deceptive
gloom. Overhead, the big bag creaked and rasped. The low voices of the
men at the ropes, and the occasional shuffling of their feet, were the
only other sounds in the gray-black silence.
“All here?” asked the commander as he joined the little group about the
ladder. “Let’s get aboard then.” He led the way, the others following.
Lights sprang into sight in the cockpits, at nose and tail, at port
and starboard. The engineer officer turned his engines over slowly
for a minute. Controls were again tested. In the radio cockpit Hugh,
“earmuffs” on, tapped and listened. Men climbed the ladder to confer or
report. The minutes went slowly. The eastern sky showed a flush of pale
rose. From their station the boys could now see well to the bow of the
boat. The _F 9_, a hundred yards further afield, no longer looked like
a silhouette cut from black paper, but was rounded and grayish. Her
running lights flashed wanly in the coming dawn.
“Five-twenty-five,” announced a voice forward. “All ready, down there?”
“All ready, sir!” answered a voice from the earth.
Interminable moments of waiting. Then the clear call of a bugle at the
far end of the camp, taken up nearer at hand. A blaze of golden glory
touched the edge of the sea.
“Cast off!”