Don Hale with the Flying Squadron

  CHAPTER XV--A BATTLE IN THE CLOUDS

  During the following afternoon Don Hale and T. Singleton Albert weredetailed, with eight other pilots, to act as an escort to a big Caudronphotographic machine, which was to make a trip to a point many milesinside the German lines in order to take photographs of a railroadcentre.

  Don Hale's machine on this occasion was armed with eight rockets, withdart-like heads, four on either side of the fuselage. These are designedfor the purpose of destroying observation balloons, bullets from themachine guns not being sufficiently large for the purpose. The rocketsare projected into space at terrific speed by means of powerful spiralsprings, and ignite at the instant of departure.

  The art of photography has been a great factor in the world war, drivingsecrecy from its cover and enabling the opposing forces to make analmost complete record of what was taking place on the other side of theline.

  The two-seater Caudron machine which the combat pilots were designatedto protect was armed with only one swivel gun. The cameras, pointingdownward, were attached to the sides of the fuselage, and in order totake a photograph it was necessary only to pull a string.

  It was rather late when the commanding officer gave the signal for thedeparture. In a spiraling flight, the Nieuports rose in the air, and, atan altitude of about six thousand feet, waited for the photographicmachine to meet them at their airy rendezvous.

  Immediately arranging themselves in a V-shaped formation, with the bigCaudron at the apex, the fleet of planes headed for "Germany." Very soonsome of the fighting Nieuports dropped below the machine they wereescorting, while others soared a thousand feet above.

  The weather was hot and sultry, and frequently the swiftly-speedingplanes cut through patches of lazily-floating clouds, which left shiningdrops of moisture clinging to spars and struts. They sailed high above along line of French observation balloons, and could see others belongingto the enemy--faint yellowish dots in the distance. But Don Hale waspaying very little attention to them, for the famous town of Verdun,responsible for some of the most desperate battles ever fought in thehistory of the world, appeared before his eyes. Here and there weregreat gaps among the red-roofed houses, showing where the high-explosiveshells of the Germans had shattered and torn and blown everything topieces. Faintly, he could see those mighty forts--Vaux and Douaumontand, in another direction, the famous Mort-Homme, so valiantly defendedby the French.

  And the same scenes which he had witnessed on all his trips over thefront were again before him--the haze of smoke floating high above thebattle-field, the batteries in action, the flashes of the explodingshells, and the airplanes either hovering like flocks of birds orpatrolling the lines.

  As they passed over the trenches the Caudron and its escorting Nieuportsrose to an altitude of fifteen thousand feet; for the air beneath themwas filled with the little balls of black smoke which told that the"Archies" would have liked nothing better than to bring them crashing tothe earth. The pigmy and futile efforts of the gunners, however, onlyserved to amuse Don Hale. How harmless the exploding shells appeared!Yet how terrible they were when viewed at closer range!

  At various points, silhouetted against the blue of the sky or thescintillating white of the clouds, he could make out hostile airplaneswhich, as was often the case, were keeping well to the rear of their ownlines.

  Would they be attacked?

  Don Hale scarcely thought so, or, at least, not so long as the formationkept together.

  Thus, with his mind at comparative ease, he thoroughly enjoyed the swiftflight through the cool air high above the earth. Gazing over the sideof the little cockpit, he studied the territory occupied by the Germanswith an interest which familiarity never seemed to lessen. OccasionallyDon's view of the network of roads, the tiny villages and the farms,surrounded by their vari-colored fields, was blotted from view by theconstantly increasing layers of fleecy white clouds. Their shadows werechasing each other over the warmly-tinted earth.

  The wind was blowing straight into "Germany," and, to Don Hale, theweather conditions seemed to be fast becoming ominous and threatening.This thought at length became a little disquieting. If anything shouldhappen to their planes while over the enemy's country it might mean adescent; and a descent would undoubtedly mean capture--an inglorious endto a flying career--a fate particularly dreaded by the airmen.

  "I won't be sorry when this trip is over," muttered Don to himself."This kind of life certainly gives a chap fifty-seven different kinds offeelings."

  Owing to the great velocity of the flying flotilla, their destination, atown of considerable size, soon afterward came into view, and the wholeformation volplaned to a lower level. Now they plunged through theclouds. And on emerging Don could see many evidences of life andactivity going on below. Here and there were aviation fields bordered bygray hangars. Almost directly beneath a column of troops on the marchsuggested so many tiny ants creeping slowly over the ground. A long lineof moving dots on a white road indicated a convoy going up nearer theline, while on a railroad leading into the town the eager and interestedyoung combat pilot espied a train traveling, apparently, with a strangeand sloth-like motion.

  And now the peaceful character of the voyage came to an end. The"Archies" were at work again, and on every side, and dangerously near.Don Hale saw the wicked, lashing little balls of black smoke, though theexplosions of the shells could scarcely be heard. Nor were the flyingmen threatened by the anti-aircraft batteries alone: Albatross andFokker machines were approaching. And, in order that the enemy planesmight not gain too great an altitude and be in a position to dive downupon them, the leader of the flotilla gave a prearranged signal;whereupon several of the convoys began following him to a higher level.

  Don Hale, however, had been instructed to remain below, while thephotographs were being taken, and the prospect was not altogether apleasant one. He well knew that the Caudron would take all sorts ofrisks in order to obtain the desired pictures; and the protectingNieuports, to fulfil the duties imposed upon them, must all expect torun a fiery gauntlet of shrapnel.

  Down--still further down, as though unmindful of their spitefulpresence, the big Caudron flew in a circling flight directly over thetown.

  Now in light, now in shadow, the collection of buildings made a pleasantpicture. The golden cross surmounting the spire of the lone churchoccasionally reflected the mellow rays of the sun, and, like a jet offire, sent its light into the sky.

  But these were things to which Don Hale paid not the slightestattention: his mind was wholly wrapped up in the work ahead of him. Hewas playing a game in which life and liberty were at stake, and, as theNieuport rocked and shook in the currents of the air disturbed by thealmost continual explosions of the shrapnel shells, he warily watchedthe movements of the enemy planes.

  Somehow or other, now that the perilous moment had come, he felt neitherexcited, apprehensive nor alarmed. An almost unnatural calmness seemedto have a hold upon him; and even when he saw a hole suddenly appear onthe left-hand side of the upper plane, which meant that a piece offlying lead had pierced it, he did not lose his steadiness of hand orpresence of mind.

  He seemed to be fairly surrounded by the bursting shells. In everydirection he turned they were there to meet him. The "flaming onions,"too, were beginning to cut their fiery passage through the air; and asthey traveled with terrible swiftness the danger from them was evengreater than that from the anti-aircraft guns.

  Around and around soared the photographic machine; and around and aroundsoared the Nieuports, both above and below. It was a veritable ride ofdeath, with a chance that some of the combat pilots would pay thepenalty for their daring, and be recorded in the brief officialcommunique as among the missing or the dead.

  Suddenly the photographic machine darted downward. Don Hale, with hiseyes fixed upon it, almost held his breath with suspense andapprehension. It seemed scarcely possible that the pilot could riseagain.

  However, just as this gloomy thought was becom
ing fixed in his mind, theairplane began to ascend.

  Intuitively, the boy realized that the dangerous mission of thephotographer and his pilot was over; for, like a captive bird escapingfrom its imprisoning cage, the Caudron shot steadily upward, and wassoon far beyond the reach of the guns below.

  The lower escorting planes, which many times had come close todestruction, immediately followed.

  And then Don Hale, strange to say, began to feel the effects of areaction. The hand, so steady in the midst of terrible peril, nowtrembled slightly. He found it hard to shake off a curious foreboding--aforeboding that sometimes sent chills along his spine--that much mighthappen in that perilous return journey over a hostile land.

  To show that his fears were entirely justified, when once again the boygazed aloft he discovered that some of the bolder enemy scouts, nowassembled in a formation as formidable as their own, were hot on thetrail of the fast retreating Americans.

  "Looks like a scrap," murmured Don.

  The pilot cast a look at his machine gun and belt of cartridges, allready on the instant.

  Should he have to use them? He hoped not; yet it looked that way.

  And all the time the wind was steadily increasing in force, makingnecessary the closest attention and most extreme care in handling thebiplane. Thus, with the elements against him and surrounded by thegravest danger, Don Hale decided that by the time he reached theaviation field, if he ever did, he should be able to recount a tale asinteresting as any of those he had often heard.

  Occasionally he glanced over the side of the fuselage, to see the bigCaudron, now considerably below him, sometimes skimming close above theclouds and sometimes enveloped in masses of vapor. He very well knewthat if an attack were made the photographic machine would be theprincipal object sought for, owing to the value of the records it wascarrying.

  And while Don was busily reflecting upon this he suddenly realized thataction both above and below him had begun. He could see several planeswhirling and darting about, and though the rapid reports of the machineguns were unheard amid the roar of his motor he caught sight of narrowlines of smoke left by the passing tracer bullets.

  "Great Julius Caesar!" he muttered. "I am in for it. I wonder when mypart in the show begins!"

  It came much sooner than he had expected. While several of the Lafayettemachines below and to the rear of the Caudron were engaged in deadlycombat by the enemy a fighting plane with the ominous Maltese crosses onits wing flashed past Don Hale, diving vertically toward the tail of theCaudron.

  The crucial moment had arrived. Don Hale's heart was throbbing fastagain; his lips were compressed; his eyes flashing. Then, without asecond's indecision--without a thought of the consequences--he, in turn,began a headlong swoop through space.

  In a moment or two he shut off the motor; for he was about to executethat evolution taught in the acrobatic school at Pau known as the"Russian Mountain." Although he had performed it many times underdifferent circumstances, the terrific downward rush never failed to makehim gasp for breath. It was the same on this occasion, and his earsseemed to be almost bursting. The rushing wind beat fiercely againsthim, its whistling notes, ominous and threatening, ringing out loudly.Like a plummet dropped from the clouds, he still plunged in a verticaldescent. Now he dashed past, dangerously close to some of the fightingmachines, and through an air filled with tracer and flaming bullets.

  By this time the Caudron was desperately trying to avoid the enemy inthe rear. But it seemed impossible that it could escape from themarvelously swift and brilliantly maneuvered German plane. This machinehad just succeeded in gaining an advantageous position when Don Haleswept by.

  Now he pushed the control stick away from him, which, raising theailerons, caused the machine, with startling abruptness, to end its falland come out on an even keel.

  Though jarred and dizzy, the combat pilot lost not a second in startingthe engine. Another movement with the control lever, and the Nieuportwas shooting upward directly toward the tail of the German plane. Itspilot was already busily engaged in pouring a hail of bullets in thedirection of the Caudron.

  Don had gone through some thrilling experiences in the war zone, butthere had been nothing like this. He realized that the fates had decreedthat through his efforts alone the safety of the photographic machinedepended. Never before had he fired a Vickers gun in actual combat, andfor the briefest interval of time an overwhelming sense of agitation--ofexcitement gained a hold upon him; and before it had passed, and whilethe perspiration stood out on his face, he took aim, operating the gunwith his left hand, and fired.

  He could hear the spitefully-crackling reports; he saw the bursts ofsmoke spreading outward and upward. Then his machine swept past, in anascending flight, at a distance of not more than fifty yards.

  It was a strange sensation to be gazing upon an enemy's machine so closeat hand, and, in his instantaneous glance, the details seemed to beindelibly impressed upon his mind. He saw the helmeted pilot turn; andfor the fraction of a second the two gazed into each other's faces.

  Before Don Hale could maneuver his plane, in order to renew the attack,he passed through some instants of terrible suspense.

  Had his shots taken effect? Or was the photographic machine doomed,after all?

  But what the boy saw when he looked again made him feel like uttering ashout of joy. The machine with the black crosses on its wings wasdescending abruptly, with erratic movements.

  "I got him!" breathed the boy.

  Triumphant, with his fighting blood aroused to the highest pitch, theyoung combat pilot, yielding to the now irresistible call of battle,shot toward another _avion de chasse_ which bore the enemy's markings.He had not gone very far, however, when he was startled by a fusilladeof flaming bullets, passing close to his wings on the right.

  A German pilot had stolen upon him from the rear, and Don was in theworst possible position to defend himself.

  Instantly he sent the nose of the Nieuport upward, gave the controllever a swift jerk forth and back, and, like a flash, the machinedescribed a complete backward somersault, while its pursuer shot pastbeneath.

  The almost breathless Don Hale realized that his escape had been of thenarrowest sort--that he was still in the gravest peril. Other machineswere speeding toward him. The odds were entirely too great for aninexperienced combat pilot. Moreover, he had caught a glimpse of threenew French planes coming to the rescue. Don's own safety lay in theclouds just above, and he flew toward them with all the speed of whichhis Nieuport was capable.

  And in that upward journey, brief though it was, he sensed rather thansaw that the air close about him was filled with fiercely contestingplanes, darting, swirling, almost tumbling over one another. Theatmosphere, too, was literally criss-crossed by the multitude of faintbluish lines left by tracer bullets.

  When the clouds closed about Don Hale and he found the view completelyobscured, he experienced a wonderful sensation of relief. Yet his nerveswere pretty badly shaken. Like the game hunter who has momentarilyescaped the lion's claws yet knows that the mighty animal is lurkingnear to renew the attack, his thoughts of what the immediate futuremight have in store for him sent renewed tremors through his frame.

  War is a cruel and pitiless thing, in which compassion and the kindlierimpulses of the human heart have no place. He himself could give noquarter, nor could he expect any.

  And now there was something else besides the relentless foe which beganto cause him anxiety--even alarm. The weather conditions had beenbecoming steadily worse, and the force of the wind, still blowingsteadily into "Germany," made the movements of the Nieuport like that ofa boat wallowing in the trough of a heavy sea. Sometimes, without aninstant's warning, he found himself dropping like a shot, and the nextmoment, as though raised on the crest of a mighty billow, sent shootingupward.

  The clouds were growing thicker; the curious, half luminous light wasbeing replaced by a deep and forbidding gloom, not like that of night orof anything else he had ever seen.
And through this weird and seeminglyunnatural darkness there occasionally came gleams of spectral bluishlight which told him that the greatest artillery in the world wasrapidly getting ready for action, and that before long it might beexpected to break loose in all its majestic power.

  Where was he?--far over the German territory? He could not tell; yet itseemed very likely that such was the case. At any rate, he must make forhome. How?--below the clouds? No. There are limits to which one's nervescan be subjected. He must climb through them and fly above.Single-handed it would not do to face those lying in wait below. He feltterribly alone--terribly friendless.

  The darkness was suddenly torn asunder by a brighter flash and, for thefirst time, he heard a sullen rumble, which, beginning like the roll ofmuffled drums, rapidly increased until it was sounding in a crashingcrescendo.

  "Great Scott! This is about the worst ever!" muttered Don. "Yes, Icertainly shall have something to talk about--only, it will be too much!I never expected that I'd be witnessing a storm from a balcony seat."

  He tried to impart a little jocularity to his tone, but the attempt wasunsuccessful.

  It was a pretty awesome thing to be amid the storm-clouds, with thecoppery colored and bluish gleams now playing almost constantly abouthim; and this singular situation conjured up all sorts of strangefancies.

  Now the wind was buffeting the Nieuport wildly about, tearing againstthe fuselage and planes in heavy gusts.

  But at last Don Hale's heart was gladdened by the sight of a circularpatch of misty light; and presently shooting through a ragged opening inthe clouds he saw the illumination spreading out on every side andcaught a glimpse of blue in the great expanse above. Probably the mostinspiring thing he had ever seen, it lifted a load from his mind. As theshadows produced a depressing effect, so the light seemed to radiateoptimism and cheer.

  Presently the flying Nieuport carried him to another world equally asstrange as the one through which he had just passed. Just below him, tothe limits of vision, there extended, like a soft and moving blanket,the billowing forms of the wind-swept clouds.

  And skimming across their surface was the grotesquely-shaped shadow ofthe speeding aeroplane.

  Then it suddenly occurred to Don that his situation wasn't so very muchimproved after all. During the melee and his subsequent experiences hehad totally lost track of his bearings. In which direction was theaviation camp? That was a question he could not begin to answer. Onething alone cheered him--he was, at least, headed for the French lines.

  And while debating in his mind how soon he might dare to make a plungethrough the vapor he happened to glance behind him. And that singleglance was the means of causing him to make a discovery--a discoverythat was so startling, so terrifying that the blood seemed to almostfreeze in his veins.

  Bearing down upon him, and almost within firing range, were two greatAlbatross planes--both of a scarlet hue.

  There could be no doubt about it--they belonged to Captain Baron VonRichtofen's Red Squadron of Death.