A BATTLE IN THE AIR
“Phew, but this is hot!”
“I guess we’re going to pay up for that wet weather we had.”
“I wonder how many more miles we’ve got to hike over this road?”
“No less than three, so the top sergeant told me,” answered Dave, to
whom the question was put.
It was about a week after the events narrated in the last chapter, and
the fighting engineers, as they were familiarly called, were once more
forging toward the battle front. The storms of the past three weeks had
cleared away, and the hot summer sun beat down upon them with all its
intensity.
During the time spent in camp Roger had recovered from the injury to
his ankle and was now around as before. He had had another conversation
with Phil regarding the letter received from Laura, and both had again
decided not to say anything to Dave concerning Max Gebauer. But they
had spoken to Dave in a casual way about his not receiving a letter
from Jessie and had said that possibly she was not getting the letters
he had forwarded.
“Well, I can’t do anything more than write and mail the letters,” had
been the young sergeant’s reply to this. Nevertheless, his chums had
noticed with satisfaction that he wrote another letter to Jessie that
very evening and was particular to see that it was properly addressed
and taken care of.
In the meantime Roger had forwarded his reply to Dave’s sister, and in
that communication he told Laura he hoped she would keep her eyes on
Jessie and see that Gebauer did not have a chance to become intimate
with the girl. He also asked Dave’s sister to send him word if anything
out of the ordinary occurred.
The engineers were moving along with their full equipment on their
backs. Behind them came a string of motor-lorries, carrying great
quantities of tools, and also some explosives.
By nightfall they had reached a spot not far from the fighting front.
They had turned off from the main road and were now passing through a
small French hamlet, beyond which was a small hill hedged in on all
sides by a thick forest.
“Orders are to clear a road around one side of this hill, and do it as
quickly as possible,” announced Captain Obray. “We’ll have to blast
out some of the rocks and cut down a number of trees, I am afraid.”
The work was started early in the morning, after a night which was
not altogether a comfortable one. There was a rumor throughout the
camp that the Germans might make a raid over No Man’s Land, probably
with the idea of obtaining some prisoners from whom they could obtain
much-desired information. Consequently the engineers were all more or
less on their guard.
“I’m sure I don’t want to become a German prisoner,” remarked Ben.
“From what I’ve heard, they don’t treat their prisoners very well.”
“Well!” cried Phil. “They treat ’em the meanest ever!”
“Say, that puts me in mind of a story I heard the other day,” said
Shadow. “Oh, this is true!” he added hastily, when he saw several of
the others shake their heads. “A tall, lanky Western doughboy was at
the front on duty at night when he heard somebody approaching. He
immediately called to the fellow to halt. Then he discovered that
the fellow was walking with both hands high in the air and muttering
something to himself. The fellow kept coming on until he was right at
the end of the doughboy’s bayonet. Then the doughboy gave him a little
jab, and the fellow set up a scream and suddenly opened his eyes. He
was a German soldier and a sleep-walker. Of course, the doughboy made
him a prisoner without delay.”
“Wow! what do you think of that?” cried Ben.
“Say, Shadow, you be careful that you don’t do any sleep-walking
yourself, like you did at Oak Hall,” broke in Phil. “You don’t want to
go over No Man’s Land and get on the ridge-pole of some schoolhouse,
like you did when we were at the Hall,” he continued, referring to an
incident the particulars of which were given in “Dave Porter and His
Classmates.”
“I’ve given up walking in my sleep. It doesn’t pay,” returned the
story-teller quickly.
“Talking about the sleep-walker giving himself up,” put in Dave, “I
heard a pretty good story the other day about a German who met one of
our men at the edge of the wood. He showed a white handkerchief--or
at least a handkerchief that had once been white--and then came over
to talk to the sentry. He said he had once been in Chicago and liked
our country first rate, and he was willing to surrender, provided the
sentry would let him go back and get his brother and his cousin, so
that they could all keep together and not feel lonely.”
“And did the sentry do it?” queried Roger.
“Yes, after he had taken away the fellow’s gun and helmet. The young
German was gone about a quarter of an hour, and then came back followed
by four others. They were his cousin and his brother, and two friends
who had likewise concluded to give themselves up. You can imagine how
proud that doughboy was to march that gang of five prisoners into camp.”
For three days the engineering unit to which our friends belonged,
aided by another unit from the East and two from the Middle West,
toiled at the task which had been assigned to them. Here and there the
rocks barred their passage, and these were blasted out as the easiest
means of getting rid of them. Not a few tall trees were chopped down,
and over two hundred of the engineers were set to work clearing away
the brushwood. In the meantime another unit of engineers worked on
a path leading to the top of the hill, and a little later a masked
battery was stationed there, ready to open fire on the German lines
northeast of that vicinity.
It must not be surmised that the work the engineers had to do was
without peril. Even though the spot was deep in the woods and somewhat
isolated, not a few German shells of large caliber were sent in that
direction.
“Confound it! those shells are coming too close for comfort,” remarked
Phil, one afternoon, when a projectile had gone whining over their
heads to fall less than a hundred yards behind them.
So far they had not seen any airplanes in that vicinity, but on the
following morning early they espied two German scout-planes high in the
air circling slowly about.
“I suppose they suspected something was going on around here and they
have sent out those machines to make sure,” remarked Frank Andrews to
our hero. “I wish our own airmen would get after them.”
His wish was soon gratified. Looking in the direction where they knew
the American aviation camp was stationed, the engineers presently saw
four of the planes taking the flight upward. They came on straight for
the spot where the engineers were working, and those below made up
their minds that a battle in the air was imminent.
“Gee, I hope our men get those fellows!” cried Roger. “It will serve
’em right for coming here to spy on us.”
As the four American aviators advanced they spread out, two keeping
somewhat to the rear while the third headed northward and the fourth
southward. Thus they soon formed a sort of semicircle around the German
planes.
By this time the enemy airmen had probably made all the observations
they wished or that they felt capable of making, and they turned back,
evidently with the intention of passing over their own lines.
“If only we had an anti-aircraft gun here and could take a few shots at
them!” sighed Dave.
The American fliers were still somewhat to the rear, but when they saw
the two enemy scout-planes trying to escape they opened fire on them.
Even at that distance the flashes from the guns could be seen, although
if there were any sounds they were lost in the explosions of the motors
and the distant firing of artillery.
The contest in the air now grew so exciting that nearly all the
engineers stopped work to witness it. One of the American airmen could
evidently get no speed out of his machine, and soon he fell behind. But
the other three kept on, and one of them presently came close to one
of the enemy planes. Then came a sudden flash of fire, and the German
plane was seen to crumple up and come down, a mile or more beyond the
edge of the forest.
“Hurrah! they’ve got one of them anyhow,” exclaimed Ben.
“And now for the other!” added Shadow.
The flight of the other plane continued, but soon it was evident the
German felt he could not escape by straight flying. He suddenly made
a dive to the northward, and then began to mount higher and higher,
circling and twisting first in one direction and then in another. The
three Americans went after him as quickly as they could, firing their
machine-guns whenever it seemed advantageous to do so. The American
airmen had, of course, to be careful so that they might not fire into
each other.
“That’s a battle royal, all right enough,” was Dave’s comment, as the
contest kept up as vigorously as ever. “If that German escapes he’ll
certainly have won his liberty.”
The fourth American plane had now dropped back still further, and soon
it began to head for the aviation camp, suffering probably from engine
or other trouble. Then one of the other planes began to move away. A
minute later its motor began to miss fire, and then stopped completely.
“See, he’s out of it!” cried Roger. “He’s going to volplane to the
ground.”
“He’ll be lucky if he reaches the ground without breaking his neck,”
announced Phil. And he was right; the second American had all he could
do to bring his machine down in safety beyond the big trees of the
forest.
With but two of the Americans left in the fight, the German airman
seemed to pluck up courage. He did not attempt to do any firing, but
made a new turn or two, and then started away, as if to try once more
for the German lines.
But now he reckoned without the cleverness of one of the American
airmen. This fellow put on a sudden burst of speed and, like a bird on
the wing, he came directly behind the German. His machine-gun began to
spit spitefully, and a moment later those on the ground far below saw a
portion of the German plane drop away from the machine proper.
“Hello, there goes his rudder!” cried Captain Obray, who was looking
through his field glasses. “The whole steering apparatus has been shot
away! Now I reckon he’s about done for.”
That was indeed the plight of the German airman, for with the rudder
gone, he was practically helpless to guide his machine. His motor
stopped--whether he turned it off or it stopped of itself they could
not tell--and then the scout machine began to turn and twist in a
fantastic course down from the sky.
“That’s the end of that flying man,” was Ben’s comment.
“I wonder if he’s doing anything at all to save himself?” said Dave.
“I don’t see what he can do,” returned Roger.
This way and that way rushed the helpless war-plane. As it came down
it made several turns, and then headed suddenly toward the forest where
the engineers were working.
“It’s coming down pretty close to this spot!” exclaimed Dave.
“Take care of yourselves, men!” cried Captain Obray. “Don’t give that
plane a chance to hit you!” He had not forgotten the accident which had
happened to Roger, Phil and Dave when a plane had come down in flames,
as related in our last volume.
All of the engineers were on the alert. But this caution was
unnecessary. Another dart or two through the sky, and then the enemy
airplane finally came down at a point in the forest some distance away.
As it did this it burst into flames, and soon those on the ground saw a
heavy smoke coming up from the spot where it was burning up.
“I wonder if the fellow who was running it escaped?” cried Phil.
“Let us go and see,” returned Dave; and, having received the necessary
permission, the young sergeant hurried off through the forest toward
the burning airplane, taking a detail of eight young engineers with
him.