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[Illustration: THE FIGHT IN THE AIR. _Page 42._
_Our Young Aeroplane Scouts In Germany._]
OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN GERMANY
Or
Winning the Iron Cross
by
HORACE PORTER
Author of
"Our Young Aeroplane Scouts In France and Belgium."
"Our Young Aeroplane Scouts In Turkey."
"Our Young Aeroplane Scouts In Russia."
[Illustration: A. L. BURT COMPANY]
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1915
By A. L. Burt Company
OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN GERMANY
CONTENTS
I. SAVED BY QUICK WIT 3
II. A STIRRING HOLIDAY 13
III. A THRILLING MOMENT 23
IV. THE STOLEN PAPERS 34
V. WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT 45
VI. A FLYING VICTORY 56
VII. THE RAIN OF BOMBS 67
VIII. ALONG THE BATTLE LINE 78
IX. THE LUMINOUS KITE 90
X. THE CARRIER PIGEONS 101
XI. UNDER THE RED ROOF 112
XII. THROUGH FIRE AND FOG 123
XIII. CAPTURED BY COSSACKS 135
XIV. A WONDERFUL RESCUE 146
XV. DUEL TO THE DEATH 157
XVI. DRAWN FROM THE DEPTHS 168
XVII. A MIGHTY STONE ROLLER 179
XVIII. TRAILS THAT CROSSED 190
XIX. RABBIT'S FOOT FOR LUCK 200
XX. WINNING OF THE IRON CROSS 210
XXI. HELD IN WARSAW 219
XXII. AN HOUR TOO SOON 229
XXIII. A LEAP FOR LIBERTY 238
XXIV. AGAIN THEY WON OUT 248
OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN GERMANY.
CHAPTER I.
SAVED BY QUICK WIT.
"HOLD on there, I want a word with you!"
Billy Barry and Henri Trouville, the Boy Aviators, were in the act of
climbing into a superb military biplane on the great parade ground at
Hamburg when thus hailed by a mild looking man in citizen's attire,
with face half-hidden by a slouch hat and a pair of huge, horn-rimmed
spectacles.
There was a note of authority in that voice, gently tuned as it was,
and behind those spectacles were a pair of eyes as keen as gimlet
points.
The speaker was none other than Roque, the noted secret agent--"Herr
Roque," if you please, fitting into his masquerade as a merchant having
contract business with the authorities of the canvas city of aëroplane
hangars.
"Come over to quarters for a few moments, young sirs, won't you?"
The polite manner of request was for the benefit of the bystanders, who
had been awaiting the flying exhibit, but the slight gesture that went
with the words indicated a command to Billy and Henri.
They knew Roque!
Heinrich Hume, aviation lieutenant, who usually had a good deal to say
on those grounds, made no more protest than a clam at this interruption
of a special aëroplane test. He simply waved two other aviators on
duty into the machine, as Billy and Henri marched meekly away with the
imitation merchant.
While many of the spectators marveled at the apparent breach of
discipline, the lieutenant was content to let them wonder. At least, he
offered no explanation.
Billy and Henri did a lot of thinking as they crossed the parade
ground--there must be something brewing, or Roque would not have been
so impatient as to invade the parade ground at the time he did.
Roque conducted the boys into Lieutenant Hume's private office at
headquarters, closed and locked the door behind them.
Removing his spectacles, and throwing his slouch hat among the maps
that littered a big table in the center of the room, the secret agent
at the same time changed his form of address--the oily manner was
succeeded by abrupt and stern speech, which showed the real man of
brain and unlimited authority.
The secret agent had seated himself, without invitation to the boys
to do likewise. They stood, facing the real Roque they knew by former
experience.
"Where is Ardelle?"
Roque put the question like a pistol shot, and fiercely eyed the
youngsters before him.
The point-blank query failed to reach the mark intended.
Billy looked at Henri and Henri looked at Billy, and then they both
looked at Roque with never even a quiver of an eyelash. They had not
comprehended what was behind the dreaded agent's snapshot at their
nerves. The truth of the matter was, they did not know anybody by the
name of "Ardelle."
So Billy, with a bold front, remarked: "You can't prove it by us, sir.
Mr. Ardelle is not in our list of friends."
"None of that!"
Roque pointed a menacing finger at the astonished pair of youngsters.
"I have it beyond doubt that Ardelle was on these very grounds a day or
two ago, and by the word of a man who could not be mistaken. Fool that
he was not to be sure at the time, and only the garb of a sailor to
mislead him."
Then it jointly dawned upon the minds of Billy and Henri that Anglin,
the smiling secretary of the eminent director of affairs at Calais,
and later in the rôle of a bubbling sailor here in faraway Hamburg,
must be the Ardelle about whom Roque was talking.
They realized, too, that through their boyish delight in lending aid
and a helping hand to one they had known in intimate association with
that best of friends in France, they had unconsciously maneuvered
themselves into a dangerous game, a slip in which meant a dance with
death.
A tissue message from this very suspect that Roque was so eager to
apprehend even then burned against the breast of Henri, a little wad of
paper that now represented the price of the world to a pair of bright
boys.
Condemned of mixing in the battle of wits between the grim Roque and
his strongest wily rival from over the sea, and it were better that the
young aviators had tumbled from their aëroplane during the last high
flight.
But those who traveled in spirit with Billy Barry, the boy from Bangor,
Maine, U. S. A., and his plucky teammate, Henri Trouville, in France
and Belgium, can assure that it is no easy task to catch this pair
napping.
The courage tempered by that first and continuous baptism of fire was
good steel for any emergency.
Roque owned to himself that his quickfire had failed to get results.
His informant, himself just returning from a secret mission on hostile
soil, had noted the movements of the sailor suspect on the aviation
exhibit day, and also the attitude of Henri at the moment when the
message was passed. But of the message itself, the reporting agent
could have no knowledge. He was not near enough to detect a trick so
deftly done.
Roque and Ardelle had measured brains many a time and often, but
heretofore at long range, and the former had never seen the latter in
person. Had such been the case, the French agent's invasion of the
empire would have ended at Bremen, when these two masters of craft had
both been guests at the same time of the same café.
Roque's unerring judgment had convinced him after the first question
that the boys had no knowledge of the name Ardelle. Their first
profession of ignorance was too real to be mere acting. The boys took
care that the light that came to them as Roque proceeded did not shine
in the direction of the lynx-eyed questioner.
The rigid lines in the face of the secret agent relaxed. These boys,
after all, had once served him a good turn, with a skill, courage and
fidelity far beyond the ordinary, and, perhaps, he was not sorry that
he had apparently found them guiltless.
"Now, young sirs," said Roque, resuming the manner of the merchant, "I
have another little journey in store for you. I don't know for certain
that it will prove as exciting as the last jaunt we took together, when
you located a shipload of guns for me, but maybe so, maybe so.
"After we have made our excuses to the lieutenant," he continued, "we
will go over to my humble home in the city, where I have some new
clothes for you. I do not think you are warlike enough to want to
travel in any sort of uniform, especially with a simple tradesman like
myself."
It was on the tip of Billy's tongue to ask Roque why he kept up that
sort of talk with those who knew him without his mask, and when there
was no purpose to be served, but Billy concluded that he had better let
well enough alone.
A roomy carryall was in waiting at the further end of the parade
ground, toward which the merry old merchant led his young friends, with
a hand under the elbows of both. It was pardonable for the aviation
lieutenant to grin when the trio were passing, after making their
excuses.
It had not, however, occurred to Henri to smile a response. He was just
then indulging in a cold perspiration, caused by a leaping thought that
Roque might personally supervise their change of garments, and in that
curious way of his light upon the tissue billet pinned on the inside of
his (Henri's) shirt-front.
Because they had not fully understood the meaning of the dimly dashed
message, Billy had suggested that they keep it for another sitting. The
paper wad had not then turned into a torpedo.
Roque's house might have belonged to a retired gardener rather than
to the man with the iron grip who claimed it as home. The dooryard
blazed with red flowers, and the well-kept lawn was lined by earth beds
spangled with blooms in colors beyond count.
"Welcome, young sirs."
Roque waved the way into a wide hall, at the end of which yawned a
great fireplace. Bowing before them the boys saw the tallest man they
had ever met outside of a sideshow, a very giant, who wore a long gray
coat, with a good day's output for a button factory in front.
"This is my man of business, young sirs--Paul Zorn."
The "young sirs" instantly formed the opinion that Zorn would have no
trouble in cracking a cocoanut between the row of glittering teeth he
displayed when Roque so introduced him.
"We are going to put our young friends into store clothes, Paul. I hope
you will be able to properly fit them, and it will also be my care that
you do."
"Confound the man," thought Henri, "he has never since he called me
out of the machine shifted his eye long enough for me to get a hand on
that tissue, and now he's going to act as my valet. He's just full of
suspicion."
Billy, also, had been figuring some in his mind just what would break
loose if Roque should find the sailor's note in Henri's possession.
All of the powers of argument this side of the North Sea would then
avail nothing in the matter of convincing Roque that he had not been
double-crossed.
The only crumb of comfort that Billy felt he could hope for if the drop
fell was that Roque would quit his comedy acting behind the scenes
for the once--but that was scant comfort, surely, under this cloud of
anxiety.
The boys soon knew what Roque had meant by "store clothes," for
it was a regular storehouse of the styles of all nations that the
makeup magician maintained in the second floor back of his Hamburg
home--uniforms galore, the garb of the fighting man in the Old World
war, known under the folds of Britain's Union Jack, the Tricolor of
France, the black double-headed eagle of Russia, the sable Cross of the
German Empire; the attire of the dandy civilian, the sedate tradesman,
the student, the clerk, the livery of house and carriage service, and,
indeed, what not?
"A nice little collection, young sirs," observed Roque, which remark
again prompted the giant Zorn to display his mouthful of shining
molars.
"How do you think Paul would look in this outfit?"
Roque indicated on the display rack a regulation English uniform of
olive drab, with puttees, and a cap of the traditional French arms
shape, but of khaki color.
Even if the boys had been in the mood to say that Zorn would look like
the Eiffel tower in any sort of uniform, Roque gave them no time to
break in upon his humor.
"Nothing like keeping up-to-date, young sirs, in my business. It was
only a few weeks ago that this new style French soldier first appeared
in Havre. And here we can make his mate in a minute or two."
This cat and mouse play was wearing on Billy and Henri. Free of
anxiety, they might have enjoyed digging into the maze of disguises as
they would the pages of a popular detective story, but they had a play
of their own to make, and no chance yet to make it.
"Now, Paul, how will we fix up these young flyers for a bit of ground
work? Something plain, yet neat, I think, will do for the sons of
Doctor Blitz--I am Blitz to-morrow, I believe, Paul?"
Zorn simply showed his teeth. He was not expected to answer.
"Now, my bird boys, get out of those uniforms and I'll make a pair of
likely students out of you. Do you prefer Heidelberg, the School of
Arts, or the Conservatory? No matter, though, it is just a shift for a
short journey, and I guess I can make you up to pass muster."
All the time Roque was chatting principally for the amusement of
himself and Paul, his hands were busy sorting a pile of clothing and he
was ready to start a couple of young Blitzes into society in the most
finished style--from glazed cap to shiny shoes.
It was just at this moment that Billy was seized suddenly with a fit of
laughter, and his high glee was directed at Henri.
"Won't you set 'em going in that layout!" he howled.
With that he made a jump for his chum, as if to hurry the process
of transformation. The playful effort commenced at the throat and
scattered a few buttons. Henri resisted the attack, and for a second or
two held Billy in close arm lock--time enough for the assailant to get
a pin-jab in the thumb, and a wad of tissue paper in the clench of four
fingers!
Roque viewed the antics with a frown of impatience, but the assistant
of grenadier size roared his approval of the fun.
Henri was brisk enough then in taking off the old for the new, and by
the time Billy commanded attention there was no occasion for worry.
Billy had swallowed the tissue!