TWO CAN HIDE IN A CLOUD
When, at three A.M., Mary walked up to her plane, she found Ramsey
waiting for her.
“I just wanted to tell you,” he said, “that you need not be frightened
if your fighter escort seems at times to disappear.”
“Disappear from the sky? How could you?”
“Even over the desert at times there are fleecy, white clouds, like a
filmy party dress.”
“And you hide behind them—not the dresses, but the clouds.”
“Quite right.”
“And then you come dashing out at the Messerschmitts?”
“Right again. That may seem like using your plane as a decoy. Perhaps
it is, in a way. But we’re guarding the airways and we must get those
flying rats. Two of our finest boys, the grandest in the world,
vanished over that desert, just last week.”
“We’ll be seeing you.” She climbed up to take her place in the plane.
She found Sparky looking rather bleary-eyed. “Big job getting that
burned engine into shape,” was his curt explanation.
“I’m all rested up,” she said. “Just as soon as we’re well in the sky,
I’ll take the ship. You’re due for two hour’s rest.”
“Guess that’s safe enough.” He handed her the “Form One” card. “Those
brigands of the air don’t operate close to this airport.”
She studied the card. He turned on fuel and ignition, then tested his
fuel tanks.
“Okay,” he murmured. At that he primed the motors, set the energizer
whirling, nodded to the mechanic, flipped on the fuel booster, nodded
once more to the mechanic, then they were away.
Five minutes later Sparky slipped from his place and Mary had the big
ship all to herself.
It was a marvelous day. They were flying at eight thousand feet. The
indistinct desert trails seemed mere lines. Camel trains were moving
insects.
As they advanced, the occasional villages began to disappear. At times
she imagined that she saw elephants and droves of zebras close to the
same water hole.
Their fighter escort caught up with them when they were an hour from
port.
“Port.” That was the name Mary found herself giving to the place she
had left. Why not? One left a port for a sea lane. Sea lanes were
carefully guarded these days. Their fighter escorts were like
destroyers. They guarded her air lane. And her plane’s load might, for
all she knew, be more precious than a big ocean freighter’s cargo.
“Well,” she thought, “we’re fully halfway between America and China and
they haven’t got us yet. We—”
Her thoughts broke off short. Had she spotted a plane flying low on the
horizon?
As if to confirm her suspicion, her escort flew in close. She
recognized the long, slim, sleek fighter flown by Ramsey. He dropped
his right wing in salute.
The last plane in Ramsey’s fighter formation gave her a real shock. The
pilot dropped the plane’s nose, then pulled it up short as if he were
riding a bucking bronco.
“That,” she told herself, “is one of Dad’s tricks. But he can’t be in
that two-seater. He’s taught the trick to one of his men, I suppose. I
wonder?”
For a full hour after that she zoomed straight on.
“We’ll be in Persia in a few hours, dining in one of those rare Persian
gardens.” For her Persia was Persia, the Persia of the golden moon.
People could call it Iran if they chose. She was all for the beauty and
romance that had been Persia.
There were fleecy, white clouds in the sky just as Ramsey had said. The
members of their flying escort seemed to be playing a game of
hide-and-go-seek among those clouds. Then, just as a thicker cloud shut
her off from the light of the sun, they all vanished.
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[Illustration: _The Fighter Planes Guarded Her Air Lane_]
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At that moment, as everything took on a darker hue, she seemed, to be
in a lonely little world all her own. She wanted to call Sparky but
could not get the consent of her mind to do so. “Poor Sparky,” she
thought, “he works so hard. And when he’s through the old ship moves on
like a placid river.”
Another quarter hour passed and then suddenly she called in a startled
voice:
“Sparky! Sparky!”
“What is it?” He was at her side in an instant.
She did not answer, only pointed forward and down, then set her plane
climbing toward a cloud, at the same time driving the engines into a
tremendous roar. Four powerful enemy fighters were all but upon them
and, as if bent upon suicide and destruction, racing straight on. If
these pilots had rejoiced because of their rare find, their exultation
was short lived, for, darting from a cloud, a flying fury sprang
straight at their leader.
“Ramsey!” Mary exclaimed. “It’s Ramsey! He’ll be killed!”
“Give me the controls,” Sparky’s voice was quiet. After slowing the
motors, he continued to climb.
“It’s our only chance,” he grumbled. “Not much of a chance at that.
Those Huns are too close. If it wasn’t for those fighters of ours we’d
be lost.”
“Lost before you could say it,” Mary agreed. “But Ramsey! Ramsey!” she
screamed.
The leader of the Messerschmitts had let loose a burst of fire at
Ramsey’s plane but, tilting his ship’s nose, he had gone shooting
beneath the enemy to execute a turn that was like a pinwheel and then
to send three short, sharp bursts at the flying Hun.
It seemed to Mary as she looked that the Messerschmitt had been sawed
squarely in two. It doubled up, began to smoke, then went spinning down.
“I’ll take the controls,” she said. “You man the machine gun. They may
come straight at us.”
Hardly had Sparky gripped the machine gun when one of the remaining
flying bandits came zooming in.
“He’s got a cannon,” Mary thought. “He’ll get our right engine and
then—”
But he didn’t. Seeming to have hopped off from the back of her plane, a
two-seated fighter leaped straight at the on-coming enemy.
As if fearing a collision in mid-air, the enemy pilot banked sharply to
the left. This left his broadside exposed. At the same instant, both
the gunner of the two-seater and Sparky let go a smoking fury of fire.
For a moment the enemy appeared to stand still in mid-air. Then its
nose turned swiftly downward as it went into a spin.
“Two of them!” Mary exulted. “We’ll have them all in a minute more.”
But when it comes to enemy fighting planes it would seem that four
minus two equals five for, as she looked again, she saw five planes
zooming straight at them.
The sun came out from behind the cloud. At that all the planes shone in
that bright light. Mary’s big plane with its precious load still
climbed, but to her excited mind it seemed so slow. “Like a lumbering
stage coach,” flashed through her mind.
The fighters, too, climbed. It was one of those times when a minute
seems an hour, when the work of a lifetime is rewarded for good or evil
in a trice.
Before the girl’s astonished eyes, a rare spectacle of the air formed
itself, then put on its deadly show. Six planes, three of the enemy and
three of her fighter escort, formed in a circle, head-to-tail. Each
striving for the advantage, went circling round and round.
It was Ramsey who broke this up. Darting out from a cloud he sent a
burst of fire into the tail-end enemy plane, then with a wide swing met
the foremost enemy head-on.
Mary caught her breath. It seemed to her that they must crash. A moment
more and they were hidden by smoke. One had been hit. Which one? She
could not tell.
Free for the moment, the remaining enemy of the three headed straight
for the big cargo ship. Then it was that the two-seater pilot, who had
given her the bronco-nose salute earlier in the day, got in some deadly
work, for, with surprising speed, he got on this last plane’s tail and
brought him down in flames.
“Good work!” she screamed. “But, Ramsey? What of Ramsey?” She was soon
enough to know.
After allowing her eyes to sweep the sky making sure that the two other
enemy planes were not an immediate menace, she turned once more for a
look at the spot where Ramsey and his opponent had been. They were not
there, but high in the sky and still climbing, Ramsey was in hot
pursuit of his antagonist.
“Both planes are smoking,” she said to Sparky who had come to stand at
her side.
“But neither badly,” was the quiet reply.
“There! Oh! There!” she exclaimed. “The Spitfire has gone into a nose
dive!”
“Don’t expect too much. He’s not badly hurt.”
Scarcely had Sparky spoken when the enemy plane, coming out of his
dive, spun around in a narrow circle to get on Ramsey’s tail and let
forth a burst of fire.
“Oh! He’s got him! Poor Ramsey’s gone!”
“Give me the controls.” Sparky took over while, with lips parted, eyes
staring, Mary watched for the end.
The end was not yet. Ramsey’s slender fighter staggered, spun half
about, tilted over, did two complete flip-flops, then by some miracle,
or by the sheer will-power of her master, righted herself.
By some good chance, Ramsey found himself facing his on-coming
opponent. He must have pressed the firing button and given her the
works for the enemy plane appeared to fall to pieces in mid-air—not,
however, until its pilot had sent one more burst of fire into Ramsey’s
smoking plane.
“He’s on fire! He’s going down!” Mary shouted. At that moment she was
seeing war in all its stark naked horror.
“There! Your friend Ramsey’s out of the plane,” Sparky said quietly as
ever.
“Good!” The girl settled back. “His parachute is open. He’s coming
down. But, Sparky! we’ll be right beneath him!”
Sparky banked sharply to the right. Mary leaped for the door. Bracing
herself against the current of air, she threw the door open, to stand
there waiting, looking up, hoping.
Yes, there he was drifting down. He was closer, closer, much closer. He
saw her. She could see him smile. She waved. He waved back. She shouted:
“I’ll be seeing you!”
He could not hear, but understood. With his hand he threw her a kiss.
Then he was gone. When Mary brushed her hands across her eyes, they
were wet with tears.
After that, seated beside Sparky, she sat in silence while miles of
desert and mountains, narrow, green valleys, and more mountains passed
beneath them until, with surprising suddenness, a small city with many
trees, domes and strange rooftops appeared beneath them.
“That’s it,” Sparky said quietly. “We come down here.”
A little beyond the city that nestled among the hills, they dropped
into a narrow valley and down upon a landing field.
As Mary stepped from the plane, she once again found herself staring at
a familiar, broad back and, as the man turned, exclaimed:
“Dad! It’s you!”
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