THE COMING DRIVE
"That big German drive seems to have slipped a cog somewhere," Bart
remarked to his comrades, a few days later, as they were resting after
a hard morning's work at organizing the position that their division
was holding.
"I suppose the Crown Prince is making up a new time-table," grinned
Billy. "He seems to have a passion for that. He ought to have been a
railroad man."
"The trouble is that they always go wrong," laughed Frank. "I'll bet
he's cross-eyed."
"Yet the Heinies fall for them every time," said Billy. "I suppose
they figure that just by the law of chance one of them will have to be
right some time."
"I thought that the drive had started the other morning, when the
Germans came down like wolves on a fold," said Bart. "But it seems
that things were quiet on other parts of the line, so that this must
have been just a local operation."
"Local operation!" snorted Billy. "In other days it would have been
counted a big battle. Why, if Waterloo were pulled off now do you know
how the papers would describe it? They'd say that there was
'considerable activity on a section of the line over near Hougomont
Farm yesterday, where certain units under Napoleon and Wellington came
in contact. The artillery fire was fairly strong, and there were
clashes between a few infantry regiments and the French were repulsed.
Apart from this there is nothing to report.'"
The boys laughed.
"Everything's topsy-turvy nowadays," said Frank. "It used to be armies
that did the fighting. Now it's whole nations. But look at that scrap
going on overhead. Its a dandy."
They looked in the direction he indicated and their pulses quickened,
for they themselves had once been engaged in a battle in the sky, and
an aerial combat had a personal interest to them.
Far up in the sky, which just then was as clear as crystal, a duel was
in progress between two planes. It was evident at a glance that both
of the rival aviators were masters of their profession. They circled
deftly about each other like giant falcons, jockeying for position,
each trying to get the weather gauge on the other where he could rake
his opponent with his machine gun without exposing himself to his
enemy's fire in return.
Swooping, climbing, diving, the planes pursued their deadly purpose,
while exclamations of admiration came from the lips of the fascinated
onlookers as some specially daring manoeuvre promised to give the
advantage first to one and then to the other of the antagonists.
"Classy work!" exclaimed Frank.
"They're both dandies," declared Billy. "It's a toss up as to which
will win."
"They're so far up that it's hard to tell which is which," said Bart,
"but I've got a nickel that says the Hun will be downed."
"Great Scott," cried Frank. "One of them was hit that time. See it
swerve."
"And look at the smoke!" Billy shouted. "It's on fire! A bullet must
have hit the petrol tank."
A burst of smoke and flame shot out from the doomed plane, and it began
to fall, fire streaming out in its wake like the tail of a meteor.
Down it came like a plummet.
"It's coming right in our lines!" exclaimed Bart. "Scatter, fellows,
or it will be right on top of us!"
The wrecked plane had fallen about two hundred feet, when a figure shot
from the burning mass, whirling over and over as it descended. The
aviator, knowing that his only choice lay between being burned or
crushed, had chosen the less painful form of death.
The body fell some distance off, but the plane itself came down within
a few rods of the boys. It was blazing so fiercely that they could not
approach very close to it, but they could easily detect the marking
which indicated that it was a French plane.
The Army Boys looked at each other regretfully.
"Score one for the Huns," remarked Frank. "You'd have lost your
nickel, Bart."
"It's too bad," said Billy, as he straightened up and shook, his fist
at the victorious plane.
But to the boys' amazement, the conqueror, instead of flying off toward
his own lines, was coming down toward them in long sweeping spirals.
"Why, it looks as if he were going to land here!" exclaimed Billy in
wonder.
"If he does, we'll have the satisfaction of taking him prisoner
anyway," observed Bart.
"It must be that his own plane is injured and he has to descend,"
suggested Frank.
But there was no sign of injury to the descending plane and it seemed
to be in perfect control. Swiftly and steadily it came down, and a cry
of astonishment broke from the boys as they saw that it bore American
markings.
"How's that?" exclaimed Frank. "There's been a fearful mistake
somewhere. This fellow has downed a French plane thinking that it was
German."
"He'll be court-martialed for that or I miss my guess," said Bart with
a frown.
"It's bad enough to have the Huns after us without trying to kill our
own people," growled Billy.
There was a level place nearby that made an ideal place for a landing,
and the American machine came down there with scarcely a jar.
The boys rushed toward it with reproaches on their lips, but their
wrath was lost in astonishment when they recognized, in the aviator who
stepped forth, Dick Lever, one of the most daring of the American
"aces" and a warm personal friend of theirs.
The reproaches died when they saw him, for only a little while before
he had saved them from a German prison by swooping down with his
machine and carrying them off from their captors. It was with mixed
feelings that they greeted him, as he came gaily forward, a smile upon
his handsome bronzed face. But Dick seemed to feel a certain stiffness
in their welcome that was unusual.
"Hello, fellows," he greeted. "What's the grouch?"
"No grouch at all, Dick," answered Frank. "We owe you too much for
that. We're only sorry that you happened to make a mistake and down a
French plane thinking it was German."
Dick's eyes twinkled.
"Come out of your trance," he chuckled. "I don't make that kind of
mistakes."
For answer Frank led the way to the wrecked and partly burned plane and
pointed out the markings.
But despite the evidence, Dick still seemed unabashed and his chuckle
broke into a laugh.
"That's one on you fellows," he snorted. "Those markings are pure
camouflage. Just another cute little German trick that went wrong.
That fellow set out to take photographs over our lines and he didn't
want to be disturbed, so he painted out his own markings, and put the
French in their place. If you'll come a little closer you can see the
Hun marks under their coat of white."
The boys did so and, now that their attention had been called to it,
they could readily see the tracings that had been almost obliterated.
"That's evidence enough," remarked Dick, "but to make assurance doubly
sure we'll go over to where the aviator fell and you'll see that he was
a German all right."
The body had been decently covered up before the boys reached there,
but the clothing and the effects found proved beyond a doubt that the
aviator had been one of their foes.
"Take it all back, Dick," said Frank. "You knew what you were about.
And I'm glad that you came out of the scrap safe and sound. But it
certainly was some scrap while it lasted."
"It sure was," replied Dick. "That fellow was as skilful and plucky as
they make them. He kept my hands full, and there was one time when he
came within an ace of raking me. But luck was with me. Poor fellow!
I'm sorry for him, but I'd have been still more sorry if it had been
myself."
"What beats me is the way you tumbled to him," puzzled Billy. "You
surely couldn't have read the German markings under their coat of
paint. How did you know he was a German?"
Dick smiled.
"Simple enough," he answered. "We Allied aviators have a secret system
of signals, something like Freemasonry. When we come near another
plane that seems to be one of our own, we make a certain dip of our
plane. That's like asking for the countersign. If the other fellow's
all right he makes a certain signal in return. If he doesn't do it the
first time, we try again, because there's always a chance that he
hasn't noticed our signal, or is too busy in handling his plane to give
the reply. But if after two or three times we don't get the
countersign, we know the fellow's a Hun and we open up on him."
"Good stuff!" approved Billy.
"That's what happened this morning," continued Dick. "This fellow came
sailing along as calm and cheeky as you please, and was having a bully
time taking pictures of our positions. At least I suppose that is what
he was doing, as he evidently wasn't out looking for fight. I thought
it wouldn't do any harm to take a look at him, although I saw the
machine had French markings. I gave the signal, but of course he
couldn't give the countersign. I repeated it three times without
getting an answer, and then I pitched into him. That makes the
thirteenth that I've brought down."
"Thirteen was an unlucky number for him, all right," remarked Billy.
"How are you fellows getting along?" asked Dick, stretching himself out
on the ground for a brief resting spell. "I notice that you've been
right up to your neck in fighting lately."
"Its been pretty hot along this sector," Frank admitted, "though I
suppose it's nothing to what it will be after the big German drive gets
started. That is if it ever does start. I sometimes think they've
given up the idea."
"Don't kid yourself," replied the aviator grimly. "It's coming, all
right. If you fellows had been up in the air with me you wouldn't have
any doubt about it. The roads back of the German lines are just black
with troops. It's like an endless swarm of ants. The trains move
along in endless procession and they're packed. Big guns, too, till
you can't count them. It seems as if all Germany was on the move.
It's the old invasion of the Huns over again."
"Where do they get them all, I wonder," remarked Billy.
"That's easy," replied Frank bitterly. "They're coming from the
Russian front. The breakdown of Russia means a cool million at the
very least added to the German troops on the western front."
"That accounts for most of them," agreed Dick. "Then in addition
Germany's combing out her empire to put every available man into
service. She's enslaving the Belgians to work in her factories so that
German workmen can be sent into the ranks. She's calling up mere boys
who ought to be at their schoolbooks. I tell you, boys, Germany's
desperate. She's beginning to realize what a fool she was to bring
America into the war, and she's going to try to get a decision before
we get a big army over here."
"She'll have to get busy mighty soon, then," said Bart, "for Uncle
Sam's boys are coming into France by the hundreds of thousands. And
those hundreds of thousands will be millions before long."
"Right you are," agreed Dick. "The jig's up with Germany and she's the
only one that doesn't see it. It's fun to see the way she tries to
belittle America to her own people. Almost every week she has to
change the story. At first she said that America wouldn't fight at
all. We were a nation of money grabbers. Then even if we wanted to
fight the U-boats would keep us from getting over; Then even if we got
over, our troops would be green and run like hares as soon as they
caught sight of the veteran Prussian regiments."
The boys looked at each other with a grin.
"We've run, all right," chuckled Billy, "but we've run toward them
instead of away from them."
"They thought our marines would run too," laughed Frank, "but do you
see what they're calling them now? _Teufelhunden_. They're
devil-hounds, all right, and the dachshund yelps when he sees them
coming."
"What do you think the Germans will aim for when they do begin their
drive?" queried Bart.
"The Allied commanders would give a good deal to know that," smiled
Dick. "Of course the thing the Huns want to do above everything else
is to separate and crush the Allied armies. Everything would be easy
after that. But if they can't do that, they'll probably make a break
for Paris. They figure that if they once got that in their hands the
French would be ready to sue for peace. Or they may try to take the
Channel Ports, where they'd be in good position to take a hack at
England. The only thing that's certain is that the drive is coming and
when it does come it's going to be the biggest fight in the history of
the world."
"Let Heinie do his worst," said Bart.
"Yes," agreed Frank. "And no matter what he does, he'll have to reckon
with Uncle Sam."