ATTACKED FROM THE SKY
On a wonderful September evening, with a crisp autumnal air making
every fellow feel like a young kitten, the _Dewey_ again glided away
from her anchorage in the harbor of Chatham, one of the important
English naval bases, and fell into her position in the convoy of ships
spread out as an escort for a trio of troopships. They were crowded
with thousands of young chaps, the majority of them Americans and
Canadians, on their way to join the armies "somewhere in France."
Bronzed and sturdy as a result of their summer's training in home
waters and their activities aboard the submarine in the North Sea,
Jack and Ted stood out on the deck of their craft more eager than
ever to get back into active service again, notwithstanding the
rigors of the service in which they had enlisted.
"Little Mack," now completely recovered from his injuries, was in
command again and smiling good naturedly at "his boys" as they stood
grouped about on the deck of the _Dewey_.
They were thrilled with the anticipation of marvelous new exploits
in which they were likely to participate, now that the United States
had sent a naval commission to cooperate with the London admiralty
and the French naval experts in what was expected to be a campaign
to carry the war by naval tactics right home to Germany.
"Ain't no use in expecting that German navy to come out in the open
and fight to a finish," commented Bill Witt, as the conversation
turned on the likelihood of a big battle between the German high
seas fleet and the combined fleets of the United States, Great Britain,
and France. "Those fellows would sooner lay back safe in the Kiel
Canal; they know full well we'd make short work of them if they ever
came outside."
"Ten to one your Uncle Sam don't wait for them to come outside," put
in Jack earnestly. "Now that they have all got together and figured
out what to do as a result of the sessions of that joint naval board
in London, we're likely to be sent right in after them."
Jack's eyes glowed as he thought of the daring feats possible under
such a naval policy.
"You can bet the _Dewey_ will be in on any such stunts as that,"
pursued Ted. "And why shouldn't we go right after them? The United
States Navy never did lie back and wait for the enemy to come out."
Passing along, the deck to the conning tower, Lieutenant McClure
stopped to eye the little group.
"You fellows just aching for a scrap again," he said finally. "Well,
there's no telling when we might run right into one to-night. Those
German destroyers are likely to make a sortie from Ostend. Besides,
you never can tell when some of the Kaiser's air navy is likely to be
popping around."
As he spoke "Little Mack" scanned the sky to the east. Turning to the
boys, he remarked laughingly: "You three pretty good chums, aren't
you?" gazing along the line, from Jack to Ted and then to Bill Witt.
"Just like three peas in a pod," declared Bill Witt. "These two
Brighton boys took me right in---and me a rank outsider! I'm sure
lucky to have struck two such good friends."
Everybody laughed at Bill's frank avowal of friendship and Jack
responded with a crack on the back that made Bill wince.
"Guess we know good goods when we meet it," he added.
"Little Mack" had been taking it all in with approval.
"That's right, boys," he smiled. "You've got the right spirit.
That's the kind of democracy we stand for, and that's why the good
old U.S. Navy is the best in the world---fellows all pulling together.
I'm mighty proud of all my boys," continued the little lieutenant.
"You've made a great record so far, and I only hope you keep up the
good work. Stick together like pals---and be proud of that flag
of ours."
With a wave of the hand the ship's commander passed along the deck
and into the conning tower.
"There's an ace for you," said Jack, with an admiring glance at the
retreating figure.
"Ace! I should say so," sputtered Bill. "Why, if 'Little Mack' told
me to go get von Tirpitz I'd go right after him."
Soon it was dusk and the little fleet had gotten out of sight of land
into the North Sea. Stealing away like shadows into the gloom, the
fleet of transports trailed along in battle formation ready to turn
back any attack. The crew of the _Dewey_ had retreated into the hold
and the vessel was riding awash, with Commander McClure at the wheel,
observing the deployment of the fleet from the conning tower.
Down in the torpedo room, bottled up under water where no sound could
escape to attract the attention of the outside world, Mike Mowrey
had tuned up his old banjo and the boys were having an old-fashioned
songfest.
"For it's always fair weather," came the jolly strains that sounded up
in the conning tower above the whirr of the ship's engines.
"Everybody's happy to get out again," laughed Executive Officer Cleary
to his chief, as he swung the periscope to port for a full sweep of
the sea.
So far there had been no incident to mar the safe convoy of the
troopships. Plowing straight ahead, the destroyers that flitted
here and there through the filmy darkness danced about the transports,
alert to challenge any foe. Another hour and the short trip to the
French port where the troops were to embark would be concluded and
the _Dewey_ free to dash off to her post along the Belgian coast,
where Commander McClure had been ordered on guard against the German
destroyers that lately had been showing a desire to engage in brushes
with the allied ships.
"Guess we are not going to be molested to-night," said "Little Mack"
as he looked at his wrist watch.
"Doesn't seem like it," rejoined Cleary.
But they had reckoned without the two-mile-a-minute birdmen that
circle the heavens like giant eagles and swoop down on their prey
from high altitudes to send forth their flaming bombs and death-dealing
hand grenades. A lookout on one of the destroyers detected at this
moment an aerial fleet looming out of the north like spectral dots
in the dim light of the skies. From the masthead of the vessel glowed
instantly the light that had been agreed upon as a danger signal.
"Airplanes!" shouted the _Dewey's_ commander, as he strained his eyes
through the portholes of the conning tower in a vain effort to search
the skies. In another moment, after giving the "wheel" over to his
flag officer, the lieutenant had thrown open the conning tower and was
gazing into the heavens with his binoculars.
"Yes, there they come," he announced, after a short pause.
"Two---three---four; there's a half dozen or more of them," he
continued after a careful survey of the sky.
The singing down in the hold abated when the reported approach of the
air fleet became known throughout the ship.
"What's up?" queried Ted, as he joined his chum outside the wireless
room.
"The Kaiser's imperial flying corps is out for a little evening
exercise," answered Jack, as he hurried along to keep within call of
his commander.
For the men in the _Dewey_ there was nothing to do but take the
reports from the conning tower as to what was going on outside the
submarine. Their impatience, however, was short-lived, for there came
very quickly an order to man the anti-aircraft guns on deck. The
hatches fore and aft were thrown open and the gun crews scrambled on
deck.
"Not afraid of 'em, are we?" chuckled Ted, as he followed Bill Witt up
the ladder.
"Chances are they can't see us in the twilight," answered Bill. "And
this is a real chance for us to give the 'twins' a little tuning up."
From the conning tower came the order to unlimber the guns, load and
stand by.
"Wait until they come within range, and then fire away!" directed the
_Dewey's_ commander.
From a height of five thousand feet the leader of the "air cavalry"
suddenly turned the nose of his craft downward, and came volplaning
toward the sea at a dizzy pace. Following suit, the remaining units
of the attacking squadron dived to get within better range.
"Now, boys!" shouted Lieutenant McClure.
Time-fuse shells had been inserted in the "Twins," the breeches closed
and the muzzles elevated to point at the fast-flying airships. At the
aft gun Ted gripped the trigger ready to fire, while Mike Mowrey jammed
his good right eye into the telescopic sight to make sure of his aim.
"Fire!" he yelled, and Ted, let her go. The shot sped away into the
sky while the crew gazed eagerly upward to watch for the explosion.
Soon the shell burst with a white puff of smoke.
"Little too far to the right," said the observer.
Now the aft gun spoke. From every vessel of the protecting fleet came
answering shots as they belched their fury at the armada of the air.
The dull gray of the night sky was lighted at intervals by the bursting
of shells as the German air fleet soared forward over the allied naval
fleet. Observers were hurling bombs from above and they were splashing
into the sea on every side. One of them striking the hull of the
_Dewey_ would blow the ship into atoms!
"Keep it up, boys! Make every shot count!" sang out Commander McClure.
Mike Mowrey was growling because he was unable to make a hit. "Let's
get one of 'em---just one of 'em!" he bellowed in rage.
One of the winged fleet was circling almost overhead at this moment
and seemed tantalizing near. With a twist of the wheel Mowrey swung
the muzzle of his gun up a couple of inches and gave the signal again
to fire. Following the shot for a moment the frenzied gunner was
elated to note that the machine just above sagged suddenly to one side.
Like a bird with a broken pinion it swerved drunkenly in its course
and began slowly to come down. Sustaining wires had been cut by the
shell fire from the _Dewey_ and the airplane was out of commission.
"Guess that fellow is done for," said Mowrey.
It was soon evident that the machine was badly crippled, for it came
on downward like a feather floating in the still air. Only a few
minutes elapsed until it had settled on the water.
"Hydro-aeroplane," announced Commander McClure as he stood in the
conning tower observing the wounded airship. The other planes were
engaged over the remainder of the allied fleet and the _Dewey_ was
free to take care of the craft in front of it.
There was now a chance that the American submarine might move alongside
and take prisoner the German birdmen in the damaged machine. The
ship's course was altered toward the floating plane and the _Dewey_
crept up on her foe.
"Train your forward gun right on that fellow; he is apt to shoot unless
both pilot and observer are injured," cautioned McClure.
And that was just what happened, for the words had hardly escaped the
lips of the Yankee skipper before a gun rang out from under the canvas
wings of the airplane and a shell came whizzing over the _Dewey_.
"There's another machine almost directly overhead," bawled Mowrey, as
he spied a second flying craft near at hand.
Having witnessed the fall of the crippled airship, another member of
the attacking squadron had put back to the rescue. As it soared now
within range of the American submarine a bomb came splashing into the
water not two hundred feet away.
Commander McClure began to figure that it was getting too dangerous
longer to risk his thin-skinned vessel before the rain of the lyddite
bombs, and accordingly gave orders to submerge. Jamming their guns
back into their deck casings, the crews melted away through the
hatches into the hold of the _Dewey_. Ballast poured in through
the valves and the ship began to submerge.
And then, just as the submarine began settling in the water, a shell
came whizzing over the water from the wounded airplane and burst
directly over the conning tower. There was a crash of rending steel
and then a great clatter on the forward deck of the submarine that
reechoed through the interior with an ominous sound.
"Great Scott!" ejaculated McClure. "They've torn away both our
periscopes!"