THE GERMAN AVIATOR
The smoke from the burning airplane was plainly visible over the tops
of the trees, so that Dave and the detail of engineers under him had no
difficulty in heading in the right direction.
But to get through that tangle of underbrush and over the jagged rocks
was not easy, and consequently their progress was rather slow, even
though they pushed along as vigorously as circumstances permitted.
“If that airman came down in his burning plane he has probably been
burned up,” remarked Phil, as they hurried along.
“I hope not,” returned Dave. “I hope he escaped and we have the honor
of capturing him.”
“It’s too bad the plane caught fire,” put in Roger. He knew that the
rival air forces liked very much to capture an enemy plane intact, or
nearly so. On such a plane they would often find maps and instruments,
not to say anything of machine-guns.
At last they came in sight of the burning plane, which still blazed
forth fiercely. It was caught in the branches of a low tree. Its
gasoline tanks had burst and the inflammable fluid had run down over
the tree trunk making of it a great torch.
As the engineers reached a little opening to one side of where the
scout-plane and the tree were blazing fiercely, they heard a shrill cry
in German for help.
“Look! Look!” burst from Phil’s lips, and he pointed with his hand as
he spoke.
All gazed in the direction indicated and saw something which filled
them with horror. Caught in a fork of one of the limbs of the tree was
the German aviator. His jacket had become fastened on the branch, and
he was trying vainly to extricate himself from his perilous position.
The flames were already within three feet of him, and the back of his
heavy fur jacket was singed and smoking.
“He’ll be burned up as sure as fate!” cried Ben.
“He will be unless we can save him,” returned Dave.
“I don’t see how you are going to do it, Dave,” remarked Shadow. “How
are you going to reach him?”
The helpless airman was at least twenty feet from the ground. All he
could do was to twist himself in his perilous position, but to get
free from the limb seemed impossible.
“Gee! he doesn’t seem to make much of an effort to free himself,”
observed one of the other engineers. He did not realize the truth of
the situation, which was that the apparently helpless man was suffering
from a broken arm and a dislocated shoulder.
The gasoline from the broken tanks had flowed over the brushwood at
the foot of the tree, and this was now causing the flames to mount
up directly under the German. This being the case, even had he freed
himself he would have dropped into the fire.
Dave was the first to act. His quick eye had noted a tall tree standing
five or six yards away, and he made for this without delay.
“Boost me up, you fellows, and be quick about it; and then some of you
follow me,” he ordered.
Roger and Phil helped him to mount into the tree, and then the two of
them, aided by the other engineers, came up also. By this time Dave had
selected the limb he wished to utilize, and he crawled slowly out on
this, testing its strength as he progressed.
“It’s plenty strong enough to hold all of us,” he announced to his two
chums. “Come on out. I want it to bend down as much as possible.”
By this time the others understood the scheme which had entered our
hero’s head. The tall tree was a wide-spreading one, and the branch
he had selected bent over in the direction of the tree which was on
fire. Soon the combined weight of the three engineers caused it to bend
until the outer end was directly over the spot where the German aviator
rested.
“Now you fellows get back a little and I’ll go forward,” said Dave.
“As soon as I’ve got hold of him you go back farther yet, so that the
weight of the four of us won’t crack the branch off.”
Phil and Roger understood, and as Dave went forward they retreated just
enough so that the outer end of the branch might remain in practically
the same position.
It was a perilous climb for the young sergeant, and no one realized
this more than himself. Being directly over the branch where the German
rested, he was likewise over that portion of the brushwood below which
was on fire. The smoke was coming up thickly, choking and blinding him.
At last he was out to within three feet of the end of the limb. He had
his legs around it firmly, and now he bent down and by teetering the
limb just a trifle managed to get within distance of the fellow below.
The German aviator had continued to call for help in his own language.
Now, as Dave drew closer, he heard the talk of the Americans and cried
out in broken English:
“You safe me, blease! You safe me, blease!”
“I’ll do it if I can, Fritzie,” answered Dave. “Give me your hand.”
“I gif vun hand! Other arm broken!” gasped out the hurt airman.
As well as he was able, he put out his uninjured arm, and Dave grasped
it. Then, holding tight with his legs, the young sergeant succeeded in
raising the fellow from his position in the crotch of the branch which
had now taken fire. He had to pull with considerable force to get the
fellow free from his entanglement.
“Look out, Dave, or you’ll both fall!” warned Phil.
“I’ve got him, but I don’t just see how I’m going to get him down from
the tree,” announced our hero.
The smoke was now coming up so thickly that he was almost blinded, and
both he and the hurt aviator began coughing.
“Swing him around so that we can get hold of him,” suggested Roger.
[Illustration: AS WELL AS HE WAS ABLE, HE PUT OUT HIS UNINJURED ARM AND
DAVE GRASPED IT.--_Page 66._]
With great care Dave shifted his position, and then worked his way
backward about a foot along the limb. Here he felt a little more
secure, and then swung the hurt man around until Phil and Roger
could get hold of him. The German uttered several moans of pain and
then collapsed into insensibility.
“Be careful how you handle him, fellows,” said Dave, when he and his
chums had the airman safe between them. “He said his arm was broken.”
“He can be thankful he didn’t break his neck with such a tumble as
that,” returned Roger.
One of the engineers on the ground below had a strong rope with him,
and this was thrown over the limb of the tree. A noose was placed
around the German’s body, and then he was slowly and carefully lowered
to the ground, after which Dave and the others descended from the tree.
While the rescue was taking place three of the engineers had gone
around to the other side of the blaze, trying to get at the burning
plane. They had managed with long sticks to poke a few things away from
the fusilage, but these proved to be of but little importance and were
carried off by all of the crowd merely as souvenirs.
The German was still insensible, and it was not until he had been
carried to a safe distance and the engineers had dashed some water
into his face that he recovered and opened his eyes. In the meantime,
five of the men were detailed to watch the fire and see to it that it
burned itself out without starting a general conflagration through the
forest.
“We don’t want these woods burned up just yet,” was the way Dave
expressed himself. “We need the trees to screen our operations in this
vicinity.”
The prisoner proved to be a man not over twenty-five years of age.
That he was well educated was evident. Like most aviators, he was of
slight build, and he had light hair and gray eyes. He gave his name as
Heinrich Eberhardt, and told the aviation unit to which he belonged.
“I am very thankful to you for having saved my life,” he said, in his
broken English, to Dave and the others. “If you had not come to my aid,
I would have been burned up,” and he shuddered.
“I’d hate to see anybody burned alive,” returned Dave. Then he
questioned the aviator about himself and learned that the fellow had
leaped from the burning scout-plane while he was yet a hundred feet or
more above the tree.
“Had I not done that I would have been burned alive in mid-air,”
continued Heinrich Eberhardt, in his broken English. “Such things often
happen. One of my best friends was burned up that way last year.”
As the hurt aviator was in no condition to walk, word was sent back
to the camp of the engineers, and a little later hospital men came
after him with a stretcher. This, however, took some time, and in the
meanwhile Dave had an opportunity to ask the fellow some questions,
being glad to know that the man could speak English, even though
brokenly.
“I and my twin brother, Fritz, are alone in the world,” said Heinrich
Eberhardt. “Both of our parents died when we were small boys, and we
were brought up by an uncle who had spent a few years in America and
England. He could speak English very well indeed, and he insisted upon
it that we learn something of the language, stating that it would be
good for us in business. But neither my brother Fritz nor I cared to
study any too well, so we didn’t learn any more than we had to,” and
Heinrich Eberhardt smiled faintly. Dave and the others had rendered him
what first aid they could, and made him as comfortable as possible on a
pile of brushwood. He was, of course, suffering much pain, but he was
too plucky to complain.
“Well, what do you think of the war?” questioned Roger.
“I think it’s a bad affair--a very bad affair indeed, especially for
the English and the Americans,” answered the German aviator readily.
“Then you still think Germany will win?” put in Phil.
“To be sure. Why not?” returned the German in his broken English.
“No combination of nations can master the _Vaterland_. It cannot be
done. We are too strong for them. We have too much system and too much
science.”
“But what do you think of the American army?” questioned Dave.
At this Heinrich Eberhardt pursed up his lips and was silent for a
moment.
“You have been very good to me, so why should I say anything against
you?” he answered finally. “But if you must know the truth, let me say
I think you can do little or nothing in this war. You are too far away.
Your President may send a few hundred thousand men over here, but that
will count for nothing.”
“Don’t you know we have over a million men in France already?” demanded
Phil.
“A million? Oh, no, nothing like that! You couldn’t possibly get them
here. Our U-boats would stop your troopships and sink them. At the
most, you may get over a few hundred thousand. But I doubt very much if
it will be that many.”
“Some day you’ll have your eyes opened to the truth of what is going
on,” said Dave. “But now you had better keep quiet. I have sent for
the stretcher-bearers, and I think they’ll get here before long, and
then they’ll carry you to the hospital, where you will get proper
treatment.”
“Could you send word back that I am alive?” asked the hurt man eagerly.
“I guess that can be arranged through the Allied airmen,” answered
Dave. He knew that there was an unwritten law among all the fliers of
the various nations that word concerning any airman who was killed,
injured, or captured, should be carried over the enemies’ lines by
means of a note dropped from some flying machine.
“If that is done I shall be very, very grateful,” said Heinrich
Eberhardt. “I want my brother Fritz to know that I am alive.”
Presently the stretcher-bearers came into view, and Dave saw to it
personally that the captured German received proper attention. Then the
aviator was taken away.
“Not a half bad sort,” was Roger’s comment, when he and the others were
making their way back to the engineering camp.
“They’ve all got the same idea regarding the United States,” answered
Dave. “They think it’s impossible for Uncle Sam to get a big army over
here. They won’t believe the story that we already have over a million
men in the field.”
“And another million or two on the way,” added Phil.
“Well, it’s a tremendous undertaking,” broke in Ben. “Think of sending
so many men as that on a sea voyage of three thousand miles, and then
taking care of them after they arrive!”
“It is a big undertaking,” said Shadow. “And it’s no wonder that it
takes billions of dollars to do it.”
“It must be exciting to be an army aviator,” continued Dave. “Far more
exciting than being just an engineer.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” answered Roger. “Of course, some of the
airmen--especially those who get to be aces--have plenty of things
happen to them. But I was talking to one of the French aviators not
long ago--one who has been in the service since the war started--and he
said all he had been able to do was to go up and take observations and
report. There couldn’t be anything very exciting about that.”
“Oh, we’ve had excitement enough--no doubt of that,” returned Dave.
“And it looks to me as if there was a good deal more excitement ahead.”
“Right you are, Dave!” cried Roger. “I’ll wager before we know it we’ll
be in the very thick of it.”