THE ADVENTURES OF ERWIN
In the meantime, what had become of the two adventurous planes with
their occupants that had so blithely started out in search of the still
missing pilot and friend? Whither had their search carried them? How
was it that of the three who went forth only one had come back, perhaps
lifeless or barely alive, and in a German machine!
Verily in this new warfare of the air strange are the daily happenings
on that fated West Front; nor can anybody foretell what stranger things
may happen than have happened before, even to the best pilots of them
all.
During the air fighting when the Boches were sent back in retreat, with
some of their best planes missing, Erwin, after sending one already
half crippled Fokker crashing to earth, took after another German.
This last was a huge biplane manned by two men, one of whom lay
collapsed in his seat. The remaining pilot seemed bewildered. Already
the plane had received various punctures, though not sufficient to
prevent further flying.
"No use to let that chap get away," reflected Orris. "He's lost his
observer, and his wings are in bad shape. Our fellows can attend to
the rest of these Boches. We've got 'em whipped anyway."
Up, up went the German, with Erwin following, trying to circle round
into position to use his machine gun. But this was not easy. The
biplane, though crippled, was of such power and speed that it easily
kept well ahead of its pursuer who was yet far below. In fact, when an
altitude of several thousand feet was attained, the greater buoyancy of
the air at this stage was an aid to the half defeated foe. His vast
spread of double wings made it difficult for Orris, with his greater
motor power and reduced spread of planes, to much more than neutralize
their relative positions.
Straight into the northeast fled the German. After him came Erwin,
still below and striving to get onto his adversary's tail. But despite
all he could do, it failed to bring him within the proper distance for
direct attack.
"That is be up to now?" wondered the youth, for the Boche was half
rising in his seat, as if trying to lift something behind. "Hullo!
Blame me if he ain't trying to oust his dead mate!"
This was exactly what the Boche pilot was trying to do. But for some
reason, not at first apparent, the man had difficulties. At last, by
letting go with both hands of wheel and controls, half turning in his
seat, Erwin saw him lift up the body of the observer and attempt to
fling it overboard. But even that was hindered for a moment, and in a
way that filled the watchful American with horror and disgust.
Already the seemingly inanimate body was sliding over the sloping side
of the car, when Orris saw a hand stretch forth, seize the pilot's
extended arm and hang thus, half dangling over the side, the legs
kicking feebly.
"Why, his mate's alive!" almost shouted the American, more shaken by
this exhibition than anything that had hitherto happened to him in his
short but risky campaign along the West Front.
"Hey, there! You beast -- you villain!" Almost insanely Erwin was
shouting, for he was convulsed by a fury that made him for the time
being oblivious to the fact that he was too far away to be heard by any
one but himself.
For another instant the half alive man hung on, then was shaken loose.
Down he came, passing rather close to the scouting pursuer, his arms
and legs still working convulsively, and so on down to his inevitable
fate. By this time, and while Erwin was recovering, the big biplane
had recovered and was shooting eastward as before though with
accelerated speed, being now relieved of much of its former dead weight.
Still grinding his teeth, Orris shot after the foe, determined more
than ever to overtake and have it out with the inhuman beast, now alone
in his flight to safety but a mile ahead.
All thought of immediate return to his own lines was lost, at least
until he could wreak vengeance on the man who had just shown such
inhumanity towards his own comrade and countryman.
"Curse him!" still objurgated the youth. "It would be bad enough if it
was a foe -- one of us that was aboard that cursed craft!" Orris
expelled a deep breath, while he put on all the power his speedy plane
would stand. "I'll get him even if the Boches got me!"
From the course followed by the biplane Erwin knew that he was already
well to the northward of the point of his own return, provided he was
able to make the trip back in safety. Also it was clear that they were
now well over the rear German trenches and not very far from where
Belgian territory bordered on that part of northern France -- now so
long held by the foe.
So swift and fast did Erwin go that the transient aid afforded by
casting over the still living observer was soon more than neutralized.
The boy was almost within easy range.
"Just a little further and I'll get him." So ran Erwin's thought.
"But I mustn't waste ammunition. There's no knowing when or where I'll
need all I've got. Curse that beast! He shall die or I'll know the
reason why, even if I get into a narrow squeeze myself."
At last he felt that he might begin. He was on the tail of the
biplane, though underneath. To his gratification he also saw that in
nimble activity he was now the superior. And in close fighting it is
the nimble, ducking, dodging, twisting machine that usually has certain
advantage.
Pointing upward, he began to rain bullets and shrapnel into the fleeing
German, his Lewis gun working automatically, and with such precision
that the German shot off at right angles, dived, and strove to come up
underneath his assailant. But he was too slow. After the dive, as the
biplane came up in reverse position Erwin, prepared for this, half
wheeled, and shot obliquely downward, pointed straight at his
adversary. While he darted at a two-mile-a-minute pace, the deadly
Lewis again began vomiting its flaming death straight at the man seated
amidships, who was frantically trying to train his own gun on the
advancing foe.
On came the scouting plane from five hundred yards to less than two
hundred, almost while one drew an average breath. Evidently the German
misunderstood. He thought that the now reckless foe, casting
discretion to the wind, was bent upon something desperate. But --
what? Again and again he tried to train his own gun on the American,
but the latter kept edging just out of range, while at the same time he
drew near, nearer.
At last, when within fifty yards, Erwin let him have it. While his
Lewis was spitting forth a continuous fire, by some method not at once
comprehended by the other, Erwin ranged alongside, still at a distance
where he was free from air suction, and literally riddled that big
plane with holes. After a spattering fire that did no harm, the German
abandoned the gun and strove to nosedive, always a rather risky
proceeding in such a big plane when haste is apt to neutralize
efficiency.
Instead of presenting a slanting pair of wings, the big machine was
tipped in such a way as to present for a minute, its whole under side
to Erwin's view.
It was the critical moment. With feet on controls, and one hand on the
wheel, the lad managed to pour a continuous volley of those leaden
hailstones squarely into the entrails of the foe. Then up he climbed,
at almost lightning speed, and as he came to dancing level off the
German's tail, out from the sagging biplane pitched another human body,
this time not the murdered, but the murderer.
"Good riddance!" almost gasped Erwin. "He's gone to hell, where he and
his like belong! But -- what's this? Glory! His tank is busted; his
plane goes down with him and on fire!"
Erwin was correct. The biplane's tank -- always in danger in fights
like this -- had been badly punctured by the same hail of Lewis bullets
that had also hit the German, just as his plane got out of control.
Instantly the flames burst forth as the big airship plunged downward,
only a little behind the falling body of its pilot.
With great effort -- for the excitement had weakened the lad -- did
Erwin bring his scouting plane to an easier level and gait. Then he
looked down.
Already both burning biplane and falling pilot had vanished. Far
below, the earth was only faintly visible through the mantling haze
that now permeated the lower atmosphere. All directions looked alike.
The air was comparatively still, and only the far distant rumble of
artillery, seldom absent along that front, was audible. It sounded not
unlike intermittent thunder. What to do next? Which way should he go?
For the first time since starting he felt for his compass. It was
gone.
"What'll I do now?" he asked himself.
"Where is the sun? I suppose all the boys that started when I did must
have gone back long ago. The time must be at least mid-afternoon."
The mists below evidently were rising and thickening. The boy hated to
acknowledge to himself that he must be lost, but it looked that way.
Cautiously he descended to lower levels but the landscape thus opaquely
revealed showed but little that was definite. Lower still he flew. As
the earth grew more and more distinct its strangeness did not diminish.
Though it was risky, he went lower still, until the tops of trees, the
signs of half ruined houses began to appear. But nothing familiar was
in sight. About this time, with day waning and his anxiety growing,
Erwin was at last rewarded by glimpse of the sinking sun, seen hazily
through a canopy of clouds. There was no mistaking that it was the sun
and Orris found that he must have flown wrongly ever since he had put
the Boche biplane out of commission. Already he was heading westward
when from below there came a series of sharp reports from artillery
evidently close by.
"Surely they cannot be shelling our trenches from way back here. I
must be far behind the enemy lines -- much too far to suit me. Ah, I
what's that?"
That was an unmistakable whistle of bullets too close to be
comfortable. At least one or two perforated his wings. Then Erwin
pointed higher at the same time trying to keep his sense of direction,
imparted by a momentary sight of the western sun. More gun shots:
still more whistling of balls, and all too close to be comforting.
Up, up he went, veering more to the west. All at once came other
gunshots, this time in an extended roar from an area covering perhaps a
mile in extent.
"The Archies are getting too familiar," he grumbled. "I must put on
more speed. Won't do for me to fail to return."
About that time a breeze sprang up from the east and the skies cleared
through a narrow Vista, showing a war-scarred belt of country below
with a small town ahead; that is, toward the west. But before he had
time to consider this, he saw two airplanes rising from the main street
of the little town, while the detonations of the Archies grew into a
continuous roar.
"Guess they think they've cornered me," he thought, "but I'll give them
a race at least. If I have to, I'll fight."
While reflecting, his machine was still rising rapidly, with the two
Boche planes in pursuit.
"They won't catch me unless I'm crippled by those pesky Archies."
Even while he thought, a stray fragment of shell penetrated the
fuselage of the triplane and, striking one of the propeller shafts, so
bent it that the lightning-like blades began to revolve more slowly,
despite all his efforts to increase his motor power.
For the first time Erwin became seriously alarmed. Try as he might, he
was in no position to stop to make repairs, nor could he descend with
safety. Apparently the only thing for him to do was to speed up as
best he could, try to avoid this pursuit and, if it came to close
quarters, put up the best fight possible under the circumstances.
This, of course, he did. But the sight of their own planes pursuing,
and at the same time signaling to their friends below, caused Erwin at
once to become the target for a continuous line of Archies, extending
from the front line German trenches way back to the unknown distances
in their rear.
When the pursuing planes drew nearer, the shelling from below grew
less, while the condition of his own plane was such as to cause alarm.
He knew that he was cornered. Cornered, too, in a way seldom happening
to the birdmen who became temporarily lost in a raid. He eyed the two
nearing scout planes with no little aversion. Not only was his machine
going at less speed, despite his efforts, but the difficulty in
steering was greater. Apparently if would only obey the rudder slowly,
no matter how hard he tried to "get a move on her." As for wheeling,
volplaning, spiraling or doing anything that occasioned quick action on
his part with rudder or planes, he was nearly helpless.
Meantime the pursuing planes, both Fokker scouting machines, drew still
nearer and began to use their machine guns. The balls pattered all
about; but as yet neither he nor his plane was hit. He was zigzagging,
mounting, spiraling, but all in a much slower fashion than he had been
used to do with this same plane before.
"What's the use?" he groaned. "I can't get back at them, even if I am
running away. It's got to come. What's the odds? I'll turn and give
them one good try for their game, anyhow."
He was already turning in his lame evolutions when something like a big
shadow darkened the air for an instant overhead. It passed. Then back
came the shadow again, and a voice was megaphoning, not from below or
in the rear but from right overhead. It said:
"Hey, you, Orry! You're crippled! I can see that. But why don't you
come up higher? Get a move on!"
Erwin knew that voice. It was like a trumpet call to the lad.
Fiercely be seized his own megaphone and shouted back, while with one
hand and his feet he kept his own flier still going.
"Yes? I'm crippled but all right. I can't rise except slowly. Better
go while the going's good! Too many Archies below!"
While Orris was shouting, another shadow passed overhead. It was Buck
Bangs in his Nieuport. For hours they had been scouring the eastern
air-zone in a vain search for Erwin, when the sudden roaring of the
Archies turned them in this direction. While Orris was turning, trying
also to rise, he saw as he faced to the rear that two planes instead of
one were now charging the enemy. These had for a minute or more been
directing their machine gun fire upon the new arrivals. Erwin had
heard the noise of them, and wondered why he was not hit again. This
was the reason.
"Great boys, they are," he said to himself.
"But I hope looking for me has not led them where we all don't want to
go," meaning the prison camps of the Huns, from which had oozed stories
of starvation and cruelty that were more than bad enough.
"Considering how I'm fixed, I'll lay low down here and watch my chance
to help. That other chap must be Bangs. Well, those two have got
nerve anyhow!"