CLOWNS ON THE WING
Boom!
What followed that first heavy detonation was very much like a riot. The
audience became frantic under the belief that it meant an attack on the
town, and that the missiles would presently drop upon the roofs, working
destruction to everything around.
It was the actors, however, who were the most exercised. One and all
they understood what it meant to them. Their planes were in danger of
being demolished! In some way the Teutons must have learned about the
entertainment, and realized that almost every Allied pilot would want to
attend it. They rightly guessed that for once the guard about the
aviation field and numerous hangars where the dozens upon dozens of
planes of every description were housed when not in use, would be
unusually light. They had also taken advantage of the bright moonlight
to make a bold sally over the French lines and reach this distant point
undiscovered.
Boom! boom! boom!
Other crashing sounds announced that the enemy machines were busily at
work. Each pilot pictured the entire camp under bombardment, with the
utmost disaster overtaking the airplanes upon which General Petain was
depending so much to serve as the "eyes" of his brave army.
There was a general and maddened rush. Every one wanted to get to the
camp in the briefest possible space of time. There was no chance for the
actors to change their clothes. They were glad enough of an opportunity
to snatch up a heavy fur-lined coat, either their own or some other
person's. With this to hide their ludicrous attire, and also give some
needed warmth once they went aloft, they hastened to find a waiting car,
which, when loaded to its capacity, would be sent like mad along the
road to the aviation field.
It was one of the most amazing sights imaginable, to see those pilots,
many of whom were world famous, thus garbed. It looked as though some
asylum of freaks had opened its doors and allowed the inmates to escape
to the highways and byways.
Only one thought possessed them all, which was to get to the hangars in
the shortest possible time. When they arrived each anticipated seeking
his particular plane. If that chanced to be out of commission, then
commandeering any other, it mattered little whose, so long as they were
able to go up, and give battle to the audacious Teuton pilots who had
raided their camp at Bar-le-Duc.
"We've got to save our machines!" cried Tom. "Come on!"
"Right you are!" responded Jack.
Tom and Jack were with the rest who found some way to crowd aboard one
of the waiting cars that were seized upon to carry the pilots to the
field. As they went booming furiously along the road they could still
hear those frightful explosions ahead, each one accompanied by a flash
as of lightning. The reports were almost deafening.
Eager eyes were turned aloft. The moon shone, but it was difficult to
make out so small an object as an airplane at a height of a mile or more
without the use of searchlights, and even these were not very efficient
on such a night.
Still, some of the pilots believed they could see several enemy planes
swooping over at a lower level, possibly, they thought, on the lookout
for the procession of cars bearing the aroused Allied aviators to the
hangars.
Bang!
A bomb fell not fifty feet away from the car in which the two chums were
seated. One of their companions received a trifling wound from the
effect of the explosion of the TNT contents of the bomb, said to be the
most powerful known for such uses, and handled by the engineers of all
the armies, under different names.
If the design of the Boche who swooped down for the purpose of waylaying
the cars carrying the French and American airmen was to rob the Allies
of the services of a dozen eminent pilots all at once, it failed in
execution.
At last the aviators arrived on the scene. It was lively enough, with
bombs still bursting here and there. Already considerable damage had
been done to some of the hangars.
The Allied pilots were "mad all the way through" at having been caught
napping by the foe. They paid no attention to the danger that still hung
over their heads, with the enemy's supply of explosives as yet
unexhausted. While the dreadful detonations continued, sometimes
exceedingly close by, the various pilots seized upon such mechanicians
as they could.
One by one the planes rolled along the field and began to climb upward
by way of the usual spiral staircase route, to give battle to the enemy,
regardless of any superiority in numbers.
Jack was dismayed to discover that his plane was badly wrecked by one of
the explosions. Indeed, it was afterwards found that he had to have a
new machine, since the repairs necessary to put the old one into service
again were too complicated to be done at the front.
Tom was more fortunate. His hangar had also suffered to some extent, but
so far as could be seen in a hasty examination his plane was not injured
in the least.
He too went up, burnt-corked face and all. There were clowns abroad that
night who could give Tom many points in the game, so far as comical
looks went, and still easily win the stakes. But all else was forgotten
under the spur of the moment, save that each man was eager to get in
touch with the Boche pilots who had almost spoiled their one great
evening.
But no longer were those crashing detonations coming. This told the
story only too well. The Germans had either exhausted their supply of
bombs, or else they deemed discretion the better part of valor. They had
evidently taken their departure before the first Allied pilot got up to
the elevation they had been using in their bombardment.
Nothing could be seen of them, though had the Allied pilots been able to
use their ears, which was impossible when their own motors were making
such loud noises, they might have heard, in the distance and to the
east, the telltale music of Teuton propellers beating the air in a rush
for home ports.
A pursuit was organized, and several planes followed the retreating
invaders over the entire distance to the front; but it was of no avail.
The enemy planes had had too good a start, and were being pushed for all
they were worth to get beyond the danger zone.
There had been several accidents at the Bar-le-Duc field, but none of
them fatal. This was not at all surprising, considering the haste shown
by the pilots to mount and engage the foemen.
Too, several of the planes besides Jack's had been damaged, a
circumstance which brought about disaster before the aviator was able to
leave the ground.
As the fliers came back one after another, filled with indignation and
disappointed hopes, Jack stalked about, with his black face, yet laughed
to see what comical pictures most of his fellow aviators made.
By degrees most of them began to realize that the joke was on them, and
joined in greeting with noisy shouts each fresh arrival from above. The
damage had not been so very serious after all, since most of the Teuton
bombs had either failed to explode when aimed true, or else only dug
enormous craters in the ground where it did not matter, sometimes even a
quarter of a mile away from the hangars. Jack's machine, it was found,
was the only one badly damaged.
From that time there was one subject on which American and French pilots
were agreed. They must certainly repay their enemy rivals for this
visitation. The honors could not continue to be all on one side.
So from that hour every Allied pilot who went far back of the German
lines used his glasses diligently, in the endeavor to locate the secret
aviation field of the Boche. This would naturally be camouflaged in the
customary fashion, at which the Teutons had become almost as proficient
as the French; but trust an airman to spy out the lodging place of his
kind.
Step by step they learned which direction the enemy planes took in
coming to the front, and retiring when through for the day. Thus in good
time the hiding place was found. Great was the delight of the whole
Lafayette Escadrille when this confidential news was passed about. And,
later on, a party of Allied aviators paid a night visit to the German
camp, and dropped several tons of high explosives from bombing planes,
that were heavily guarded by the fighting Nieuports.
They had reason to believe from what they themselves saw, as well as
through a secret report received from a French spy, that their aim had
been remarkably fine; and that many times the amount of damage the
Germans had done at Bar-le-Duc had been carried out on the reprisal
sally.
After that it seemed as though the slate had been wiped clean. Their
honor had been fully purged of the stain that had rested on it ever
since that dreadful night when they were caught off their guard.
It turned out that the enemy had meant to start an action on the
following day, and it had been hoped that the squadron of airmen might
so cripple the French service that the advantage would be all on the
side of the assailants.
Something happened, however, to balk the plans of the Crown Prince.
Perhaps he had a reprimand from his august father and emperor for so
recklessly sacrificing such vast numbers of his men in a fruitless
assault against the stonewall defensive of the French army. It may also
have been something else that called the attack off, but at any rate it
failed of accomplishment.
The stagnation along the front continued; but all this while General
Petain was making quiet though effective preparations, in order some day
to strike a staggering blow, such as the French had before given, which
would take the enemy by surprise, and push him still further back.
Jack was fretting because thus far he had seen so little of real action.
Since his Nieuport had been sent away, and another had as yet failed to
arrive for his use, he often bewailed his ill-luck. He even assured his
chum the "green mould would be growing all over his person if something
didn't soon come to pass to break the terrible monotony."
But every lane, however long, must have its turning; and Jack's hour
struck at last.