Lady Luck Deserts
1
There followed three days of maddening inactivity, during which time the
squadron fretted and became as edgy as so many caged tigers. McGee made
use of the time by securing a trim fitting uniform, the very sight of
which threw Larkin into new outbursts of rage concerning the
disappearance of his English uniform. A joke was a joke, when not
carried too far, he argued, and admitted that he was exceedingly weary
with the comments made concerning the fit of the issue uniform that he
was compelled to wear. Every man professed innocence, but Larkin did not
believe a word of their stout denials. The manner in which he took the
joke was evidence of the irritability caused by the days of inaction.
Every member of the squadron was looking for something over which they
could quarrel.
Then one night, about nine o'clock, orders came down for a dawn patrol
of two flights of five ships each.
Cowan summoned McGee and Larkin to his headquarters and gave them
leadership of the flights. McGee protested, pointing out that he did not
want to gain the honor at Yancey's expense, and particularly since he
considered Yancey worthy of the command. But Cowan was sure of the
wisdom of the move, and made his own selection of the men who were to go
on this first patrol.
The posting of those names on the bulletin board brought shouts of
delight from the lucky ones and growls of disgust from those who were
not selected.
Even Nathan Rodd, still wearing bandages on his head and right hand,
broke his silence and wolfed loudly over the fact that he had been left
out.
"Aw, dry up!" some other unfortunate pilot growled at him. "You're still
seein' stars from that last crack you got on the head. What do you
want--all the luck?"
It was an expression peculiarly fitting to the situation. Some of the
names on that bulletin board might next appear in the casualty reports,
yet every man wanted his name on the board, firm in the belief that
death would somehow pass him by.
In McGee's flight appeared the names of Tex Yancey, Hank Porter,
Randolph Hampden, and of all luck--Siddons!
McGee started to make protest, thought better of it, and biting his lips
savagely left the group around the board and went to his quarters. Of
all the good men in the squadron, why should that traitorous scoundrel
be included and other loyal deserving pilots be left behind? Someone was
being pig-headed indeed!
2
Along about two o'clock in the morning the eager pilots, tossing on
their beds in a sleeplessness induced by the promise of the coming of
dawn, were more fully awakened by the deep and sullen thundering of
thousands of big guns hammering at the lines. It was no fitful,
momentary outburst; it was the constant earth-shaking roar that presages
a drive. To the north and east the sky flickered with the light coming
from thousands of cannon mouths. It was like the coming of a summer
storm when the thunder god growls his wrath and lightning plays
constantly over the giant thunderheads.
There could be no sleep now for the anxious pilots. Something had popped
loose up there, and in a few more hours they would be on their way up to
witness this far-flung duel.
The flickering, flashing light of cannon fire faded at last before the
salmon and rose colored morning light that streaked the smoke clouds
lying across the pathway of the coming sun. Long before that orb of
light arose, red-eyed, over a new scene of carnage, ten planes were out
on the line, motors warming, while the pilots and mechanics made last
minute inspections. Every member of the squadron was present; the
unlucky ones to bid good luck to those chosen for the mission and to see
the take-off of this first dawn patrol. Their interest was intensified
by the throaty rumbling of the distant guns.
It was an hour of high suspense. For this hour every man present had
waited with a keen desire that had been his prompter and spur through
all the long, wearying months of training. All the schooling in theory
was now behind. Experience, that hard teacher, was now at the controls.
The school of machine gunnery, where dummies and swift moving targets
had served as theoretical enemies, was now to become a real school where
the enemy was also armed and where mistakes and misses were likely to
hurl the pupil out of the class with never a chance to profit by the
mistake.
The dawn patrol! The day! From this hour they would begin to tally their
earned victories. On this night, if lucky enough to encounter the enemy,
some of them would send in reports that would start them up the ladder
toward that coveted rank--an ace! It never entered the mind of any one
of them that some enemy pilot, already an ace and rich in experience,
might send in a report fattening his record and increasing his fame. No,
no! Air battle is made possible only by thoughts of victory.
McGee walked over to Yancey's plane. The gangling Texan was testing his
rudder controls and flipping his ailerons with jerky movements of
evident impatience.
"I want you to know," McGee said to him, "that I did not ask for this
flight. It is yours, by rights."
Yancey's grin was genuinely friendly. "Shucks, that's nothin'. I'm glad
to be out. Bein' a flight leader sorter cramped my style anyhow. This
way I can do a little free-lancin'--if I see some cold turkey."
"You leave cold turkey alone and stay in formation," McGee replied.
"Just remember, old man Shakespeare was talking about the air service
when he said 'things are not always what they seem'."
"I'll be good unless I spot some of those German observation balloons.
I've a sneaky feelin' I could eat up two or three of those sausages
before I come back here for breakfast without havin' my appetite
spoiled."
McGee shook his head in serious warning. "Leave them alone, Yancey. They
look easy, but the Archie gunners can fill the air around 'em so full of
lead that a bee couldn't fly through. And as for flaming onions--boy! We
are out on combat patrol, remember. This is no joy-ride."
"Sure. But--"
That moment Major Cowan came running across the field and hurried up to
McGee. His excitement was evident in every movement.
"Orders just came," he began, hurriedly, "for every available ship to
proceed to the bridges at Dormans and Chateau-Thierry. Bombers are going
up, also. The Germans have started a big drive."
His manner, and the electrifying words, had drawn every man around him
in a close circle. "That's what all the gun fire is about--barrages and
counter-barrages. Disregard the patrol orders, Lieutenant, and proceed
with these two flights to Dormans--at once! You are to do everything in
your power to retard the enemy advance, harass their troops, and
especially harass their advanced positions and lines of supply. Do you
understand?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Good! Take off at once! I will at once get out all other available
ships and lead them against the lines at Chateau-Thierry. You've the
head start, and must, therefore, take Dormans. Snappy, now!"
A cheer went up from those pilots who a moment before had been cursing
the luck that had left them behind. They started running for the
hangars.
As McGee climbed into his plane, Yancey "blipped" his motor and shouted,
"Who said this wasn't a joy-ride?"
The revving motors drowned out all other sounds. Helmets were given a
last minute tug.
McGee looked along the line and lifted his hand. The nine others chosen
for dawn patrol signaled their readiness.
Out came wheel chocks, motors roared into the smooth sound of ripping
silk as one by one they lurched down across the field and took the air.
The heart of every man in the flight, save McGee's, was racing in tune
with his motor. Here was a mission so much more exciting than any dawn
patrol.
Harass the advancing enemy! And their line of supplies! Storm down and
spew out lead on the bridges where the troops would be crossing! Here
was action of the highest order, in which, in all probability, formation
flying would be broken up and it would be every fellow for himself.
McGee alone knew the danger and hazard of their mission. In a big push
the enemy planes would be out in great number, determined to sweep the
air free of resistance. To harass troops, McGee knew, they must fly low.
In so doing they would run a constant gauntlet of machine gun and rifle
fire, in addition to frequently traversing the line of flight of high
angle heavy artillery. It was not pleasant to think of meeting up with
one of those big G.I. cans loaded with enough high explosive to
demolish a building. Just get in the way of one of them and what would
be left could be placed in a small basket. Added to all this was the
fact that all altitude was sacrificed, and a green pilot, out cutting
eye-teeth, needs altitude in case of attack.
To McGee the outlook was gloomy enough. Doubtless the venture would run
up a stiff casualty list, but every needed sacrifice must be made here!
And now! The French and Americans below must not let the Hun break
through. Paris, all too near, was the objective of the drive. If they
broke through and reached Paris--well, they must not break through!
McGee saw the planes of another American squadron working up toward the
front on his left. High above his flight was a large group of French
Spads. He watched them, turning his head aloft from time to time. They
seemed to be hovering over him and following his course. Far ahead, and
below, he could see enemy observation balloons straining at their
cables. Black geysers of earth, sand, and mud, were spouting from the
tortured strip along the river. The earth below was an inferno of
flashing, thundering shells. The front! And the drive was on!
He glanced up again. The French Spads were still above, a trained,
experienced group of war hawks sent up to take care of the "upstairs"
fighting while the Americans did the dirty work below. Cowan had not
mentioned this. Perhaps he did not know of it. McGee knew that in big
operations, and especially in such emergencies as this, orders were
issued without disclosing the whole plan to all participants. If each
unit obeys and carries out the orders received, then all goes well.
So far, all was well, and McGee was extremely grateful for that
protecting flight of Spads.
He determined to cross the river west of Dormans, make a thrust well
back of the lines, cut out again over Dormans and then, if luck were
with them, repeat the performance. No need to lay plans too far in
advance. Too much can happen in the tick of a second--things that knock
plans and the planner into a cocked hat.
Below them now was a far-flung battle of raging intensity. German troops
could be seen moving along toward the river, and a little farther inland
McGee spotted a long line of infantrymen along a road paralleling the
river. But they were moving westward, in the direction of
Chateau-Thierry, instead of toward the bridgehead at Dormans. And in
addition to the marching men, the road was choked with artillery,
caissons, ammunition wagons, and ambulances.
Here was an opportunity made to order, and just as McGee was preparing
to give the signal, he saw Yancey cut out and dive toward an observation
balloon that was being rapidly drawn down by excited winchmen. No use to
try to signal Yancey; that wild Texan was off on his joy-ride.
Archies and machine gun fire tried vainly to stop Yancey's wild dive.
Flaming onions began surging upward in their terrifying circlets, but
Yancey was as scornful of them as is a Texas steer of a buzzing deer
fly. His guns rattled in a short burst and the balloon exploded with a
terrific blast of flame and smoke. Yancey's plane rocked perilously. His
inexperience in "busting balloons" had come near being his own undoing.
But he righted his plane, somehow escaped the hail of shot and steel all
around him and came plunging back down the road filled with
fear-stricken men and plunging horses, his guns rattling joyously.
McGee, followed by Siddons, Porter and Fouche, swooped along the road
from the opposite direction, scattering the troops like chaff. With
death raining down on them from opposite but converging points, the
German infantrymen broke wildly for cover. Their less fortunate
comrades, the cannoneers and drivers of caissons and supply wagons,
stuck to their posts, trying to calm the rearing, plunging horses and
cursing the inexorable wasps that sent stinging death down on them.
Yancey, in particular, seemed to be in his glory. Half a dozen times he
swung around, gained a little altitude, and again went plowing down
along the road, his guns jumping and smoking in fiendish delight.
Harass the advancing enemy, eh? And the line of supplies? A job exactly
suited to Yancey's heart and spirit.
But McGee was wise in such matters, and having delivered a blow drew off
and sought other fields to conquer. It was not wise to stay long in any
one place.
He had expected Yancey to follow, but that worthy was too delighted with
his find, and when he tired of it at last it was to discover that he was
very much alone. Nothing could have suited him better. Now he was
answerable only to himself--and to Luck!
He began climbing, and casting an eye over the sky for balloons within
striking distance. After all, strafing infantrymen wasn't half as much
fun as knocking down balloons. They went up with such a glorious bang!
And it was delicious to watch the frightened observer tumble over the
side of the basket in an effort to escape by parachute. That last one
had somehow gotten fouled in the rigging and had been clawing
frantically when the bag exploded. As for that, Yancey had been sorry;
not for the man, but because he had wanted to see the parachute
_poof-op!_ into a suddenly blown white flower at which he might
take a few shots by way of testing his aim. Well, maybe he'd have better
luck with the next one.
With no thought of danger, and with his heart racing in a new
exhilaration which he had never before felt, Yancey started out alone on
a career that was to bring him a fame coveted by every man in the
squadron, but a fame which they did not care to gain by this most
hazardous of war sports--"balloon busting." Only men who cannot, or will
not weigh danger, become balloon busters. And of these was Yancey, the
"flying fool" of the squadron, concerning whom there was never any
agreement among the others as to whether he didn't know any better or
knew better and did it _because_ it was dangerous.
* * * * *
McGee, with Siddons, Porter and Fouche following, swung eastward toward
Dormans. Above them, as a protecting layer, flew Larkin with his flight,
and still above them, much higher, were the French Spads.
This state of affairs could not last long, McGee knew. It was only a
question of time until German planes would come up and accept the gage
of battle. It was a situation, therefore, calling for the greatest
effort possible in the shortest length of time.
Every movement below offered positive proof that the enemy were
concentrating in the direction of Chateau-Thierry, and if they were in
fact making a thrust to the eastward it was only to draw attention from
the real objective.
For once McGee decided to disregard the Major's orders and, instead of
proceeding to Dormans, swing back and do all he could at the bridgeheads
at Chateau-Thierry.
He swung around, and as he banked caught sight of seven or eight German
planes coming up from the northwest. He looked aloft. The Spads had seen
them, too, and were closing in.
McGee began climbing, and noted with satisfaction that Larkin, on the
alert, was waggling his wings as a signal that he too had seen them and
was prepared.
Then, for apparently no reason at all, Siddons cut out of the flight and
started streaking it for the lines.
For a brief moment McGee felt a burning desire to take after him and
turn his guns loose on him.
"Traitorous hound!" he muttered to himself. "I wondered how you could
follow when we were strafing those troops. I'll bet anything he never
warmed his guns. Of course he wouldn't!"
But just now there was business at hand more urgent than chasing after a
man whom he felt sure was both a traitor and a coward.
Above him the Spads were engaged in a merry dog fight with the German
Albatrosses. But two of the Germans had somehow eluded them and were
diving down on Larkin's flight.
The action of the next moment was too swift for words. The two
Albatrosses came bravely on, scorning the odds against them. Larkin's
plane engaged the first one, but the second one got in a lucky burst
that sent one of the Nieuports nosing down in a disabled effort to make
a safe landing. And perhaps the luckless pilot could have saved his life
to spend the rest of the war in a German prison camp but for the fact
that the German who had crippled him, tasting blood, wanted a more
complete victory. Down, down, he followed the plane, spitting lead at
the poor pilot who seemed unable to think of anything except getting to
the earth.
As the planes came down to a level with McGee's flight, Red whipped
around and closed in on the pursuer. Too late! Flame came curling,
licking from the motor of the Nieuport. That second, for the first time,
McGee recognized it as Randolph Hampden's ship. Poor Hampden! The only
man in the squadron who ever had a good word for Siddons, and now he was
going down in flames while Siddons, supposedly his friend, was
high-tailing it for home.
With bitterest venom McGee thumbed his trigger releases as he caught a
fleeting glimpse of the Albatross in the ring sight. But that German was
not only courageous--he was a consummate flyer. He whipped around with
surprising speed and came streaming at McGee with both guns going. Head
on he came, and there was something about the desperation of the move
that told McGee that the battle-crazed fellow would actually ram him in
mid-air.
McGee dived. So close was the other upon him that he imagined he could
feel the wheels of the undercarriage on his own wings.
He Immelmanned, only to discover that by some brilliantly rapid
manoeuver the German had rolled into position and was rattling bullets
into the Camel's motor. Crack! One of the bullets struck a vital part
and the motor started limping. McGee's heart came into his mouth. He was
disabled and--
That moment Hank Porter and Fouche closed in on the German and Larkin
came diving down from above. Three against one! McGee, despite his own
predicament, felt like saluting the fellow's dare-devil courage. Larkin
could take care of him alone, even should Porter and Fouche fail.
Certain of the outcome of the now unequal struggle, McGee turned the
nose of his pounding plane in the direction of the lines near Mezy, and
prayed fervently that the failing motor would not conk completely before
he reached and crossed the river. He had no desire whatsoever to spend
the remainder of the war in a German prison. Even that, however, was
preferable to being sent down in flames, and he kept a sharp lookout for
any attack that might come from some keen-eyed German looking for "cold
meat."
Presently he noticed a shadow sweep across his plane. He glanced up
fearfully, and then smiled with delight. It was Larkin, following along
to give battle to any or all who might pounce upon his friend. McGee
felt a new surge of hope. Why had he even thought he would have to make
the trial alone? Larkin, who never deserted, who never failed in a
pinch, had disposed of that German in great haste and was ready for
whatever the next few minutes might bring.
For McGee those next minutes were filled with a thousand misgivings. The
ship was losing altitude rapidly, and the motor was pounding furiously,
but if it would only hold up he could make it.
When he flashed across the river at Mezy, with some eight hundred feet
to spare, he turned and waved a light-hearted O.K. to Larkin, and began
to look for some landing place free of shell craters.
It was not unlike looking for land in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
Barrage after barrage had marked the earth with the deep scarred pocks
of war. He must push on toward the rear with the last inch that could be
wrung from that motor and then land straight ahead, leaving the outcome
to Lady Luck. She had never deserted him completely--
That moment she deserted. The motor conked with a non-stuttering
finality. Now for a dead stick landing, straight ahead! If he could only
pancake her down just beyond that big hole, maybe she would stop
rolling--
He pancaked, but in doing so struck too hard. The undercarriage was
wiped out completely. He felt the bound, followed by a terrific up-fling
of the tail, and then a thousand stars went shooting before his eyes and
it seemed that a lightning bolt rived his brain. Then darkness--and an
infinite peace....