HELD IN WARSAW.
THE din of battle had long since ceased to be an inspiration of terror
with the Boy Aviators. They were case-hardened by continual contact
with the war game, and too careless, perhaps, of flying lead.
Reclining in the trenches, they indulged in all sorts of surmises as to
the whereabouts of Roque and Schneider, wagered back and forth, one way
and the other, on the proposition of whether the chief would appear in
person within the allotted time or put it up to them to interpret the
message in Billy's pocket.
With the passing of two days, the hours in the next one seemed to move
on leaden wings.
"I don't even know in what direction to look for his coming,"
complained Henri. "If he is coming," he corrected himself.
"No use getting in a stew about it," advised Billy, concealing the fact
that he himself was nearing the boiling point as the last few hours of
waiting wore away.
The morning of the fourth day, and no sign or sight of the absentees.
Billy and Henri sat in council, and the former opened the paper that
had haunted his dreams during the previous restless night.
"If alive, we are in Warsaw."
"I guessed that once." Billy lifted his eyes from the paper.
"Go on," impatiently urged Henri.
"Of either fact you may learn by following instructions.
You are to bring both biplanes, early morning, and circle
over the city. In the south section you will note tall
column with figure on top in center of square. Back of same
is elevation on which rise two towers. Watch these. If
one flag shows, hold over high road running west; if two
flags, sail north and land at lodge house where canary sang
for us. There wait. If highroad route (one flag), see red
scarf signal for drop. When you read and commit these lines
destroy."
"What a system that old fox controls," observed the reader. "Killing
one of his men didn't close the show in Warsaw. Do you get all this,
pard?"
"I think I do," asserted Henri, "but let me go over it again to be
sure."
Both boys having Roque's communication pat in their minds, Billy tossed
it into the flames of the nearest campfire.
The aviation lieutenant serving with the division gave them free reign
and all possible assistance in preparing for their flight. He asked no
questions.
Crossing the river, the young aviators ascended to great altitude,
hardly visible to any casual ground view, and taking lower levels
gradually over the city. Each with an eye on the compass, the pilots
mentally rehearsed their instructions.
Operating in unison, though a hundred yards or more apart, they checked
speed when sighting the burnished tower tops showing above all other
structures on the south line, first identified by the tall column and
its surmounting statue in the square.
The aërial maneuvering continued for a seeming quarter of an hour, and
while the sun rays splintered on the glistening turrets over which they
were keeping vigil, no other manifestation appeared.
Through this long exposure to the danger of attracting unwelcome
attention, the boys were momentarily expecting some aëroplane
demonstration from the Russian military camps showing to the east.
On the highroad, finally, the aviators saw two horsemen galloping their
mounts towards the hill, and then lost to view between the twin bases
of the towers.
A flag swung out from one of the tiny windows under the gilded domes.
One flag:
The signal to hold over the road, which stretched whitely for a mile or
more and merged into the fertile fields without the city.
The red scarf next. Would it call the suspended biplanes in swift swoop
to the earth?
Skilled hands gripped the levers in readiness to instantly respond to
the signal.
A cart with two muffled figures in it rumbled leisurely down the road.
There was no urging of the sorry steed straining at its belled collar.
The biplanes perceptibly lowered, though it was merely guess work on
the part of the aviators. The movement of the cart might have been just
one of ordinary traffic, the occupants just plain, everyday peasants.
Suddenly the hovering airmen got a signal, but not the expected flash
of scarlet. One of the carters, a big fellow, rose from his seat and
frantically waved his arms, and the boys were then so near that they
could plainly see that he varied the queer performance by pointing
skyward with the long whip he was holding.
So intent had been the aviators in trailing the cart that they had
neglected for a time to look elsewhere about them.
The gestures of apparent warning that they were witnessing returned
their wits to normal, and what they had from the first low flight
feared was about to be realized. Barely a half mile away, and buzzing
toward them, were three aëroplanes, which, unnoticed by the otherwise
engaged lads, had risen from the Russian camp.
Billy and Henri, now wholly confident that the antics that had awakened
them to the impending peril were those of no other than Schneider, gave
that good friend a parting salute of cap waving and turned about at
full speed to lead a stern chase over and beyond the city--far beyond,
it proved.
The pursuing biplanes, of the largest type, carried a crew of three men
each, and that they had tremendous motor power was evidenced by their
catapult coming.
But, light-weighted, the No. 3's were not to be easily overhauled. It
must have been a contrary spirit that induced Billy and Henri to do
other than head across the river to the German camp.
They were in their element, however, and it was the kind of exploiting
that most appealed to them. Keeping out of range of the guns of their
armed pursuers was the first care, and no other care had the lads how
long the chase continued.
They would even hold, as a bait to keep the fun going. That grave
consequences might follow capture was not at all an issue. The boys had
no thought of aught else than that they were jockeying in an aëroplane
race.
How far afield they had driven they did not realize until with waning
day they had outdistanced their pursuers.
They were compelled to land in strange territory, for they feared
to take the chance of exhausting the supply of petrol carried by
the aëroplanes, and, besides, the continued strain on the aviators
themselves was beginning to tell.
"Oh, for a 'lodge in some vast wilderness,'" spouted Billy in actor
style. He had a very pleasant memory of that lodgekeeper's kitchen, in
which they, cold and hungry, had been warmed and fed. "I'd like mighty
well," he added, "to hear that canary twitter right now."
"Barring all that," remarked Henri, "we might be in a worse fix,
considering that we have something to eat with us and a good pair of
blankets for a bed."
"I am not particularly impressed with these surroundings, though,"
argued Billy, "a swamp on one side, a bunch of stunted willows on the
other, and a regular no man's land front and back."
"Oh, quit your kicking, Buddy, and let's make the best of it."
Henri started for the willows, in the hope of finding enough dry
material to make a fire.
He succeeded in coaxing a small blaze out of a little pile of twigs.
Dead tired, the boys rolled into their blankets and slept like logs.
But they had a rude awakening, particularly in the case of Billy.
As he lay snoring, a flash more vivid than lightning dragged him out
of dreamland, and his hands flew to his eyes to protect them from
the blinding glare. A searchlight was playing full on his face. He
heard the clatter of horses' hoofs, and before he could see what was
happening, a hand was on his shoulder and a revolver was pressed
against his breast.
Henri, startled into sitting posture, looked dazedly upon the
proceedings.
A Russian cavalryman, dismounted, was behind the revolver, and the
searchlight was directed from a wagon.
A stalwart figure in gold and brown, an officer in the service of the
Czar, moved briskly into the circle of light to inspect the prisoners.
Stroking his tawny mustache, he concluded brief comment with a short
laugh. Translated, what he said was:
"You have caught a pair of lambs, Peter."
The soldier addressed as Peter hastily restored the revolver to his
belt.
Another soldier just then discovered the biplanes, and the officer
deemed this find of great importance. He tried the French language on
the boys in starting a series of blunt questions.
"Who and what are you?" he demanded.
"Aviators by profession, foreigners by birth, and prisoners because we
couldn't help ourselves."
The officer smiled at Henri's smart answer.
"I suppose you came to this spot in those machines?"
"Yes, sir," replied Henri, less snappy in tone.
"We will hear more from you when we get to Warsaw," advised the Russian.
"Shades of Tom Walker," thought Henri, "'out of the frying pan into the
fire.'"
"Peter and I will go along with you by the air route," proposed the
officer; "I like the looks of those machines. We need them. Now, Peter,
you must not let your pilot run away with you."
Peter grinned and tapped the butt of his revolver.
Captain Neva, for such was the Russian officer's title and name, was
a rather advanced amateur in knowledge of aircraft, and he shrewdly
estimated the value of the prizes that had come to his hand on this
night's march. The subaltern, Peter, had also some flying experience,
though he preferred a good horse under him rather than a board, and
he, too, noted the fine points of the No. 3's.
"A pretty present for the general, my captain," he rejoiced, "and all
ready for delivery."
The boys were given a substantial breakfast, and Henri learned that
they were about 150 miles north of Warsaw. As this was figured on
straight line measurement, the aviators realized that in the excitement
of yesterday's racing they must have left the direct course many times,
for considering the time they were in the air and the speed maintained,
150 miles was not a great distance.
From one of the many wagons, loaded with ammunition and military
supplies of all sorts, was produced a fresh supply of petrol for the
biplanes.
"You see, we have quite a number of these flying machines up in
Warsaw," explained Captain Neva to Henri, "and we are carrying plenty
of this stuff to feed them."
In a few minutes the biplanes were off for Warsaw, Henri and the
captain in one machine, Billy and Peter in the other.
Three hours later the boys walked behind the captain into army
headquarters, and soon into the presence of a man of most distinguished
bearing, in full field uniform of a Russian general. Though gold lace
sparkled on his shoulders and his cuffs, the striking note of his
attire was the orange and black ribbon of the Cross of St. George that
appeared along the buttoned edge of his field coat.
Captain Neva presented the compliments of his colonel, told of the
near approach of the supply wagons and convoying troops, and mentioned
the handsome addition to the aërial fleet so luckily and peculiarly
acquired. The captain's brief relation of the latter incident, a little
break in the pall of war, seemed to interest the general, for he
glanced at the lads, standing at respectful attention nearby.
"What is your name?" he asked, speaking in French, and looking directly
at Henri.
The boy politely bowed and named himself.
"I would conclude from the sound that I have spoken in a tongue within
your complete understanding. And the other?"
Henri registered Billy, name and nation.
The boy from Bangor flushed with gratification when the general, in
excellent American, called him forward.
"You're a long way from home, young man."
Billy admitted the fact, and added, "I have been wishing many times of
late, sir, that the distance could be reduced three-fourths and I had
already traveled the other fourth."
With the incoming of the staff members, reporting from the front, the
general consigned the boys for the present to the custody of Captain
Neva.
"They've wasted no time," observed Billy, pointing to the familiar
lines of the No. 3's, glistening with new color.
That a couple of Polish carters should happen to be gaping at the
aviation show was not an unusual occurrence or usually worthy of notice.
But there are carters and carters, and some seeming carters are not
carters at all!