UP ABOVE THE CLOUDS
"Good-bye, fellows. If I shouldn't come back--well, you know what to
do about writing the folks. I'll be back all right enough, though. I'm
just as sure as anything of that."
Seated beside Voissard in a gray French racer, Jimmy Blaise leaned
out for a last word and handclasp with his three bunkies. It was a
solemn-faced trio who stood beside the long, low car. Jimmy's Brothers
were trying to be glad because Jimmy himself was so excitedly happy. It
was hard work. They felt as though they were looking their last at good
old Blazes.
The final good-byes said, the racer, driven by Voissard, shot down
the road, started on what was to prove a most amazing trip for Jimmy
Blaise. It was three o'clock in the afternoon and the two men were
bound for a French escadrille, not far behind the American sector of
the firing lines. Jimmy Blaise was presently to go out with Voissard
over the German lines. This was the extent of his knowledge regarding
the expedition. Cousin Emile had offered not a word more than was
absolutely necessary in breaking the news to Jimmy and his bunkies.
As the racer left the village behind and struck a country road,
Voissard broke the silence which had fallen between them since the
start.
"Thus far I have imparted to you nothing of to-night's detail. You
must understand that I have been granted a great privilege in being
allowed your company to-night, _mon cher ami_. It is the first favor I
have ever asked of France. _Voila!_ You are here. Some distance behind
the Boche lines a long ammunition and supply train is making its way
to the German front. I am to lead an air squadron against it. It will
be a bombing raid and very dangerous. We shall start at three o'clock
to-morrow morning. The supply train, according to our calculations,
will be at a certain point to-morrow morning at four o'clock. It is
then that we shall attack. The craft that I shall use will be a Voisin.
In it will be only you, my bombardier and myself. Unless an unexpected
emergency should arise you will have little to do save be my honored
guest. It will be for you the interesting experience, _n'est ce pas_?"
"I should rather say so!" Jimmy drew a sharp breath. "It's the
bulliest thing that ever happened to me. I can't begin to find words to
thank you, sir."
"You need not try. I understand; _tres bien_," Voissard assured, a
smile touching his firm mouth.
With this he dropped the subject of the night's work and directed the
conversation toward more impersonal topics.
Outside the village, Jimmy was amazed at the activities of the
Allied war machine. All along the way they encountered numbers of
motor-lorries, trucks and ambulances traveling over the roads in steady
streams. Huge tractors puffed and snorted along in advance of strings
of farm wagons. Occasionally a racer, carrying staff officers, shot
by them. Once they passed a company of French soldiers on the march
from one battle section to another. Frequently motorcycles ridden by
despatch men chugged by them. In the fields peasant women and children
could be seen preparing the ground for spring planting. It was a varied
and interesting panorama that Jimmy gazed upon, wide-eyed and curious.
Arrived at the escadrille, a new world of wonder was opened to him. He
saw rows and rows of hangars, housing countless Allied fighting birds.
Though Voissard did not belong to this particular escadrille, he
was very much at home there. On the way to the headquarters of the
escadrille commander, the Flying Terror was greeted with admiring
respect by all whom they chanced to encounter. Everyone appeared to
know him, though he ruefully confessed to Jimmy that he could not
recall the faces of many of the aviators who claimed his acquaintance.
As the guest of Cousin Emile, Jimmy became also the guest of the
escadrille commander. It was almost unbelievable, he thought, that an
ordinary Sammy like himself should be eating luncheon with two such
great men. Luncheon over, he was taken on a tour about the aviation
field and saw new sights to marvel at. Standing somewhat in awe of
the commander, a very tall Frenchman with a somewhat austere face,
he soon became quite at his ease. Despite his severe expression,
"_Mon Captaine_," as Voissard affectionately addressed the commander,
was a very human sort of person and treated him with the benevolent
friendliness which an older man often displays toward a youngster.
Enjoying himself hugely, Jimmy longed, nevertheless, for the great
moment to arrive when he should take his first trip through the clouds.
At eight o'clock Voissard and himself both lay down for a few hours'
rest before the start. Jimmy was too thoroughly wide awake even to doze
off briefly. Now and then, by the faint rays of the night light burning
in the room, he consulted his wrist watch. Would two o'clock never
come?
Two o'clock, though slow in coming, finally came. Provided by Voissard
with the close-fitting head-gear and heavy fur-lined coat of the
aviator, the two made their way across the aviation field to the hangar
in which the Voisin reposed that Voissard was to fly that night. They
found there the bombardier, a slim, alert Frenchman with piercing black
eyes. Jimmy grinned in the dark to hear Cousin Emile address the man as
Gaston. The name brought humorous recollection of Bob's goat.
Watching Voissard by the flaring light in the hangar, Jimmy observed
the workmanlike manner in which the aviator examined his airplane. He
tested every point of it, giving the engine a most minute going over.
Meanwhile Gaston was equally busy attending to his own part of the
work. He tested the bomb carrier and counted his stock of percussion
caps for the bombs. He went over the machine gun, set the clock in the
front of the machine to the exact second, tested the altimeter and saw
that the compass was correctly hung.
Eleven other bombing planes besides Voissard's were to take part in the
expedition. His was the only plane to carry an extra man. The others
each had only a pilot and bombardier. Besides the twelve, five lighter,
swifter planes, Nieuports all, were to go along as a guard to warn the
bombers of the approach of hostile aircraft and to give battle should
the heavier planes be obliged to retreat.
To Jimmy it was indeed thrilling to watch plane after plane line up
at the end of the field for the start. In the flaring glow cast by
powerful lights set at each corner of the field, he could plainly see
the faces of the pilots and the bombardiers. They were laughing and
talking among themselves, unconcerned by the danger of the detail ahead
of them.
Soon pilots and bombardiers were seated in their planes, awaiting the
word from the squadron commander who had come down to see them off.
Voissard's plane was to make the first ascent. Seated behind, in the
place usually occupied by the observer, Jimmy held his breath as the
commander sang out, "All ready!"
"Turn!" shouted Voissard to the mechanician standing beside the plane.
The man spun the propeller and jumped back out of the way. The engine
tuned up and then--Jimmy felt the movement of the plane as it began
rolling along the field. It gathered speed, then began to rise. At last
he knew what it meant to fly.
Higher and higher the plane rose. Far below Jimmy could see the lights
of the aviation field as mere pin points. Soon these became completely
obliterated. Looking back, Jimmy could make out the other planes
stringing in a long succession behind them. Headed straight for the
German lines, the Voisin suddenly plunged into a cloud bank and the
flying squadron vanished from Jimmy's view.
At length, emerging from the clouds, he could see none of the squadron.
He guessed that they were now going through the same bank that had
lately engulfed Voissard's plane. His first sensation of dizziness now
past, he began to realize that it was very cold up there in the clouds.
He was grateful for the warmth of his fur-lined coat. He calculated
that they must be sweeping the skies at the rate of at least eighty
miles an hour. He wished he might speak to Voissard or Gaston, but the
roar of the engine was too great for that. Shouting his loudest he
would not be able to make himself heard. He wondered what had become of
the squadron. Had they lost their companions so soon?
Keeping up an anxious watch, he saw at last plane after plane reappear.
They had won free of the cloud bank. Presently he saw something else.
Fifteen hundred feet below him, he could make out red, twisting lines
of fire, accompanied by glaring, crimson flashes. He was over his
own lines. Those flaming lines and vivid flashes proceeded from the
American guns.
Now the plane was beginning to soar higher. Voissard was getting safely
above the up-climbing curve of the American shells. On they went. They
were now crossing what looked like a dense black patch. Jimmy knew it
to be No Man's Land. He could see it plainly, as, ever and again, a
star shell rose and bathed it in a radiant, bluish-white light. It was
the deadly, cruel land that had claimed poor Schnitz.
Soon the writhing lines of fire were again visible. They had crossed No
Man's Land and were over the German lines. Both sides were furiously
at it. It was evident to him, even at that height, that Fritz was
getting heavier punishment than he was inflicting. The air shock of the
explosion of American shells made the plane rock like a ship at sea.
With the German lines safely passed, the plane flew steadily onward
toward its objective point. Engaged in keeping track of the squadron,
Jimmy felt relieved when, one by one, they began to draw closer. They
were gathering for the attack. He decided that it must be nearing four
o'clock. From then on he kept his eyes trained downward in an effort to
pick up a long, dark outline, which would be the supply train. Though
it was still dark it was the gloom that precedes dawn's first faint
light. A few minutes and he should be able to see the earth below quite
plainly.
Presently Voissard began to spiral down. His example was followed by
the pilots of the other planes. With motors shut off the squadron
volplaned. Jimmy could now distinguish the thin black line. It appeared
to be creeping very slowly. In the bomber's seat, Gaston was making
ready to drop his bombs. As flight-captain, Voissard would give the
signal. In turn each machine would come to an even keel at a point set,
drop its bombs and dart away. Voissard's machine would be the last to
go. The whole performance would last hardly more than a minute.
As each plane did its work and scudded off, another took its place.
Each bomber strove to land his bombs where they would do the most good.
Peering downward with strained eyes, Jimmy saw and heard that which
filled him with delirious joy. Amid continuous explosions and angry
tongues of fire, the long black line appeared suddenly to completely
dissolve, and disappear. Few of the bombs had missed their mark. Jimmy
could well imagine the devastation attending that raid.
It was over now. Gaston had done his bit and Voissard was flying for
home. Directly behind him came the fighting Nieuports, ready to cover
the retreat of the bombing planes. They would be needed. Across the
rapidly coming dawn half a dozen German Aviatiks were hastening to
the fray. From below Boche antiaircraft guns were now pegging at the
returning bombing party.
The speed of the Aviatik being very great, five of them soon drew upon
the Nieuports and attacked them viciously. The first Aviatik to the
scene swept straight over in pursuit of Voissard, opening fire upon the
plane. Very trickily it kept behind and a little lower, thus making it
impossible for Gaston to pepper it with machine-gun bullets.
Voissard, however, had no intention of permitting the Aviatik this
liberty. By a clever ruse he caused his plane to dive sharply, as
though hit and disabled. Allowing it to careen wildly for an instant,
he made a lightning drop in front of the German plane, then swept past
it like a flash. When he again brought it to an even keel it was under
the Boche plane and a little to its rear.
Gaston whooped with joy and turned the machine gun upon it. Incidental
with this, one of the Nieuports came to the rescue. Under a heavy
fusillade the Aviatik promptly took to her heels and sailed out of
danger.
Again Voissard took up the homeward flight. The plane was still behind
the Boche lines when a well directed shell from a German Archie grazed
it, causing it to pitch violently. The shock of the explosion, coupled
with the wild rocking, would have thrown Jimmy out of the plane had
he not been securely strapped in. He saw Gaston clap a hand to his
breast and crumple. Splinters flew from one of the struts. The plane
continued to stagger. It was dropping now. Yes, Voissard was still at
the controls, working like a madman to keep the plane under guidance.
Still the rushing descent continued. Jimmy felt a queer giddiness sweep
over him in long, sickening waves. This was the end.