The first few seconds which passed after Ralph Stillinger and Tom
Cameron descried the huge envelope of the Zeppelin beneath their
airplane in the fog were sufficient to allow the American ace to regain
his self-possession. If his passenger was frightened by the nearness of
the German airship he did not betray that fact.
The thundering of the motors of the great airship, as well as the
clatter of their own engine, made speech between the two Americans quite
impossible. But the meaning of Stillinger's gestures was not lost on
Tom.
Immediately the latter sprang to the machine gun. The three pursuit
planes with which they had been skirmishing were now out of mind, as
well as out of sight. If they could cripple the Zeppelin the victory
would be far greater than bringing disaster to one of the _Tauben_.
The Zeppelin was aimed seaward. She doubtless had started upon a coast
raid along the English shore. If the Americans could bring her down they
would achieve something that would count gloriously in this great work
of fighting the Hun in the air.
To pitch down upon the envelope of the great machine and empty a clip of
cartridges into it might do the Zeppelin a deal of harm, but it would
not wreck it. A complete wreck was what Stillinger and Tom wished to
make of the German airship.
The American pilot's intention was immediately plain to Tom. He shut
down on the speed and allowed the airplane to fall behind the German
ship. The object was to trail the Zeppelin and pour the machine-gun
bullets into the steering gear of the great airship--even, perhaps, to
sweep her deck of the crew.
The fog was thinning--No! they were shooting out of the cloud. The
sunlight suddenly illuminated both Zeppelin and airplane. Both must have
been revealed to observers on the ground and in the air.
The presence of the American airplane, if unsuspected before by the crew
of the Zeppelin, was now revealed to them. Tom, bending sideways to look
down past the machine gun, saw the entire afterdeck of the Zeppelin.
There were at least a dozen men standing there, staring up at the
darting airplane.
Tom shot a glance back at Stillinger. The machine tipped at that
instant. The pilot waved an admonishing hand. Tom seized the crank of
the gun and turned to look down upon the German airship.
In that instant the crew of the latter had sprung to action. Their
surprise at the nearness of the airplane was past. Their commander
stood, hanging to a stay with one hand and shouting orders through a
trumpet held in the other hand. At least, Tom Cameron presumed he was
shouting.
All he could hear was the thuttering roar of the Zeppelin's motors and
the clash of their own engine. These noises, with the shrieking of the
rushing wind made every other sound inaudible.
The American machine was tipping. She was not far behind the Zeppelin,
nor far above it. The muzzle of the machine gun would soon come into
line with the after deck of the Zeppelin. Then----
Suddenly a flash of flame and a balloon of smoke was spouted from a
small mortar amidships of that deck. Instantly a shell burst almost in
Tom's face and eyes.
If the young fellow cringed as he crouched behind the machine gun, it
was no wonder. That was a very narrow escape.
He glanced back at Stillinger. The pilot had dropped one of the levers
and was holding his left wrist tightly. Tom could see something red
running through Stillinger's fingers--blood!
Shrapnel was flying all about the airplane. There was a second puff of
smoke and flame from the mortar on the Zeppelin. Tom heard the twang of
a cut stay. The airplane rolled sideways with a sickening dip--but then
righted itself.
This was a kind of fighting Tom Cameron knew nothing about. He did not
know what to do. Pivoted as the machine gun was, he could not depress
the muzzle sufficiently to bring the Zeppelin's deck into range. Was the
machine out of control? If the nose of it dipped a bit more he could do
something.
Another burst of shrapnel, and he felt something like a red-hot iron
searing his right cheek. He put up his gloved hand and brought it away
spotted with crimson. The Hun certainly was getting them!
He looked back at Stillinger. To his horror he saw that the man was
slumped down in his seat, held there by his belt. Tom Cameron did not
know the first thing about driving an airplane!
Again a shell burst near the rocking machine. It did no harm; but it
showed that the Germans were getting an almost perfect range.
Tom Cameron was not a coward. He gripped his even upper teeth on his
full lower lip, and by that sign only showed that he knew disaster was
coming. Indeed, it had come the next second!
The tail of the airplane shot up and the nose pitched to a sharp angle.
He heard the explosion of the shell even as he started the chatter of
the machine gun. In that short breath of time the muzzle of his weapon
was pitched to the right angle, and a swarm of bullets swept the
afterdeck of the Zeppelin.
He knew the tail of the airplane had been splintered and that the
machine was bound to fall. But as it poised on its wings for a few
moments, he poured in the shot--indeed, he finished the clip of
cartridges.
The man at the Zeppelin shell-thrower fell back and rolled into the
scuppers. Another--plainly an officer from his dress--crashed to the deck.
He saw the other members of the crew running to try to escape the hail
of bullets. Ah, if he could only have accomplished this before the
airplane was wrecked!
And that it was wrecked, he could see. He glanced over his shoulder.
Stillinger was no longer in his seat. Indeed, the seat itself was not
there! The entire rear part of the airplane was torn away, and his
friend and college-mate had fallen.
Those next few seconds were to be the most thrilling of all Tom
Cameron's life.
The airplane was plunging downward, seemingly right on top of the
Zeppelin. Then intuitively he realized that it would just about clear
the German airship.
He held no more guarantee for his life if he clung to the airplane than
poor Stillinger had in falling free. It was a swift spin and a crash to
the earth--death beyond peradventure!
The spread wings of the airplane still held the wrecked machine poised.
But in a moment it would slip forward, nose down, and "take the spin."
Tom scrambled over the gun and over the armored nose of the airplane. He
swung himself through the stays. The airplane plunged--and so did he!
But he flung himself free of the stays. Like a frog diving from the bank
of a pool, the American cast himself from the airplane, full thirty
feet, to the deck of the German airship!
A taut stay of the Zeppelin broke his fall. He landed on all fours.
Before he could rise two of the Germans leaped upon him and he was
crushed, face-downward, on the deck.
The fellows who had seized him seemed of a mind to cast him over the
rail. They dragged him to his feet, forcing him that way. He expected
the next minute to be spinning in the track of the airplane toward the
earth, five thousand feet or more below.
But suddenly there appeared out of the cabin, or "dog-house" slung
amidships of the great envelope, the officer that Tom had first seen
with the trumpet. Through that instrument he now roared an order in
German that the American did not understand.
The latter was released. He staggered to the middle of the deck, panting
and with scarcely strength remaining to hold him on his feet. He saw the
officer beckoning him forward.
He could not see what any of these fellows looked like, for they were
all masked, as he was himself. They were dressed in garments of skin,
with the hair left on the hide--a queer-looking company indeed. Tom
staggered toward the officer.
He was motioned to go into the cabin. The officer came after him and
closed the door. At once the American realized that the place was--to a
degree--soundproof.
The German removed his helmet and Tom was glad to unbuckle the straps of
his own. The first words he heard were in good English:
"This is the first time I have taken a prisoner. It is a notable event.
Will you drink this cordial, _Mein Herr_? It is an occasion worthy of a
libation."
His captor had opened a small cabinet fastened to the wall and produced
a screw-topped decanter. He poured a colorless liquid into two tiny
glasses, and presented one to Tom. The latter would have taken almost
anything just then. The stuff was warming and smelled strongly of anise.
"Yes, you are the first prisoner I have heard of taken in this way. And,
oddly enough, I may be bearing you homeward, only I shall be unable to
allow you to land upon the 'tight little isle'--you so call it, no?"
"You are making one mistake," Tom said, finally finding his voice. "I am
not an Englishman. I am American."
"Indeed? But it matters not," and the German shrugged his shoulders.
"You will go back with us to Germany as a prisoner. But first you will
accompany us on our bomb-dropping expedition. London is doomed to suffer
again."
Tom said no more. This _ober-leutnant_ was a fresh-faced, rather
dandy-like appearing person--typical of the Prussian officer-caste. His
cheerful statement that he purposed dropping his cargo of bombs over the
city of London brought a sharp retort to Tom's tongue--which he was wise
enough not to utter.
A subordinate officer looked in at the forward entrance to the cabin,
and asked a question. The _leutnant_ arose.
"I go to con the ship. We shall soon be over the sea. You, _Mein Herr_,
must be placed in durance, I fear. Come this way."
He did not even take the automatic pistol from Tom's holster. Really, he
knew, as did Tom, that to make any attempt against the lives of his
captors would have been too ridiculous to contemplate. Tom Cameron arose
quietly to follow the _leutnant_.
At the forward end of this cabin, or car, there was a door beside the
one which gave exit to the forward deck. The German opened this narrow
door, and Tom saw a small closet with a barred window. There was a
cushioned seat, which might even serve as a berth, but very little else
in the compartment.
He was ordered into this place, and entered. The door was closed behind
him and bolted. He was left to his own devices and to thoughts which
were, to say the least, disheartening.
He pitched the padded helmet and goggles he had taken off into a corner
and pressed his face close to the glass of the barred window. Again they
were smothered in fog. He could not see to the prow of the great ship.
He wondered how the officer could steer the Zeppelin save by compass.
This fog was a thick curtain.
Yet the Germans would cross the sea, of course, and find their way over
London. He had heard Englishmen talk of the damage done and the lives
sacrificed--mostly those of women and children--in these dreadful raids.
And he was to be a passenger while the Zeppelin performed its horrid
task!
Tom Cameron had recovered quickly from his fright and the shock of his
landing on the airship. He was convinced that nobody had ever before
done just what he had done. And as he had been successful in performing
this hazardous venture, he began to believe that he might do
more--perform other wonders.
It was not his vanity that suggested this thought. Tom Cameron was quite
as free of the foible of conceit as could be imagined. He was earnestly
desirous of doing something to balk these Germans in their determination
to get to the English shore and bomb London and its vicinity.
Gradually his eyes grew blind to what was going on upon the forward deck
of the Zeppelin. He was thinking--he was scheming. His whole thought was
given to the desire of his heart: How might he thwart the wicked plans
of the Hun?