CHAPTER XVIII--THE RED SQUADRON
When Don Hale saw the red planes of Captain Baron Von Richtofen behindhim he certainly received the shock of his life. The oncoming storm, thesense of solitude and the great expanse above the clouds had all lulledhim into a sense of security.
A moment's indecision nearly finished his career as a combat pilot.Streams of bullets were flashing past, and one of them, crashing throughthe little curved wind shield in front of his head, brought him to arealization that only the quickest possible action could save his life.
He did then what many a flying fighter had done before him. A quickmovement of the control lever dipped the rear ailerons, sending theplane almost vertically downward toward the earth. With the enginestopped, he tipped to one side, and the machine entered the vrille, orspinning nose dive.
With frightful velocity, turning on its axis, the Nieuport dove throughthe agitated storm-clouds. The wind roared past him as it had neverroared before, singing and moaning, like the strains of some wild, weirdsymphony as it beat against the plane's wires and supports. Gasping forbreath, almost dazed by the fearful whirling motion, the boy,nevertheless, felt the joy of triumph surging within him. He had cheatedthe birds of ill-omen of their prey. He could laugh at their efforts.They would never catch him now that he knew of their presence in thesky.
Down, down shot the little biplane through an obscurity so dense thatnothing could be seen in any direction. And soon, while still surroundedby the heavy vapors, it straightened out parallel to the earth, and,shaken and rocked by the wind, sailed swiftly ahead.
But at that instant, just as all danger seemed to be passed, Don Halemade another most alarming discovery--something had happened to hismotor, and though he strove with the utmost desperation to get itstarted it persistently refused to work.
"Tough luck!" he burst out, aloud. "This is the worst ever! Here I ammiles over German territory."
Filled with apprehension, with all sorts of dreadful fancies runningthrough his mind, and the dread and uncertainty of it all making hisnerves tremble and twitch, the young combat pilot volplaned through theclouds.
Presently he skimmed through the thinner mists, and saw the darkened andsombre-looking earth beneath him. His head was still aching from theeffects of the headlong plunge. His breath, too, came in short andpainful gasps. But all these physical manifestations were almostunnoticed in the pilot's excited state of mind.
Was there nothing that he could do to avert the fate for which he seemeddestined?
There must be. Surely his career as a combat pilot was not going to cometo such an inglorious end!
Feverishly--energetically, Don Hale continued to manipulate the leversthat controlled his motor. But there was no sign of it awakening intolife. And all the while he was gliding nearer and nearer the earth.
Now the vague, indefinite blurs of color were becoming definite formsand shapes, and the meaningless patches of light and dark houses andtrees.
Sick at heart, feeling that everything was lost, with the direst fear ofan impending tragedy uppermost in his mind, the boy at length sat backin his seat, and, for the first time, paid close attention to the groundthat seemed to be rapidly rising to meet him.
He had concluded that in the all-pervading gloom the Germans had notdiscovered his presence, but almost immediately the anti-aircraftbatteries got into action and the surrounding air became suddenly filledwith exploding shrapnel shells.
Now he could hear their viciously-sounding detonations, and the steadycrackling of the guns which had sent them aloft.
Though faint and weak, the instinct of self-preservation asserteditself, enabling him to turn the machine this way and that, in an effortto dodge the hail of missiles. The Nieuport was wildly careening fromside to side or dropping short distances at lightning speed; and, to addto his dismay, streams of "flaming onions," like rockets of a greenishhue, darted toward the helpless airplane, sparkling brightly in thedarkened atmosphere.
Yet, despite the terrible reality of the situation, it seemed to Donthat he was going through some strange, weird dream. Dumbly, he wonderedhow soon the end would come. Only a miracle, it seemed, had saved himthus far. He could not expect such good-fortune to continue. He seemedto stand on the dividing line between life and eternity.
And when a strange, inexplicable calmness had taken possession of himand he felt resigned to the impending fate, the resounding din of thebatteries below and the ear-splitting, appalling detonations of theshells suddenly ceased, and he was gliding through the smoke-filled airas unmolested as though on his own side of the line.
What did it mean?
The explanation was simple. The Germans below had at last realized thetruth. They were merely waiting for the machine to drop into theirmidst. It was a galling thought. Not three hundred feet below he couldsee them. And that picture of men gathering together in groups, of menrunning and gesticulating, made a curious impression upon hisoverwrought brain.
Many a time he had heard the boys jocosely referring to the words"Kamerad, kamerad," and for the first time he was in a position torealize fully what that cry must have meant to some of those who utteredit. And after the glorious, boundless freedom of the air--of the vastspaces--how could he stand the horrors of a detention camp, where men,penned in like sheep, were guarded and fed almost as if they were somany captured animals!
Now he was one hundred feet nearer the earth--one hundred feet nearerthe clutch of his enemies--and, with the smoothness of a toboggan, themachine was still gliding downward. Yes, the journey would soon be over!He began to think of what the boys of the escadrille would say. In hismind he pictured them sitting around the supper table, speculating as tohis unhappy fate.
How strange--how remarkable it seemed to be right there among the enemy!Still held in the grip of an unnatural calmness, he gazed indifferentlyat those gray-clad figures whose upturned eyes were fastened upon thedescending machine.
Now only seventy-five feet separated him from the ground. He would beglad when all was over.
"There won't even be any chance to set fire to the machine," he groaned,aloud. "The Germans will capture it intact. And who knows to what usethe crafty Boches may put it! But they'll hear no 'Kamerad, kamerad!'from me."
Suddenly a revulsion of feeling swept over the boy. The sight of theGermans crowding around seemed to fill him with an anger he could notrepress. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in impotent wrath.And with this fierce rebellion against the cruel fate that awaited himhis thoughts flashed back to Captain Baron Von Richtofen and his scarletplanes. How little he had thought when hearing about them in the CafeRochambeau that that selfsame Squadron of Death was destined to play apart in his own career!
For hardly a moment had Don ceased his efforts to get the enginerunning, and though it seemed useless--a futile task--he renewed themonce again. And just as he was about concluding that nothing remained tobe done but make a landing on a field toward which he had been heading,his ears caught a sound which fairly electrified him.
"At last!" he gasped.
With a preliminary cough, one of the cylinders of the motor started towork. Could it actually be possible?
A fierce, wild hope, painful in its intensity, seized upon Don Hale. Itwas an agonizing moment--a moment in which he suffered all the tortureof a mind agitated by the most violent conflict between hope and fear.
And while the combat pilot was vaguely wondering if he had received justanother cruel stab the old familiar, deafening roar, with startlingabruptness, began to resound.
Uttering a shrill whoop of joy, Don Hale sent the Nieuport upward.
No music composed by the world's greatest masters could have soundedmore sweet to him than the steady reverberations of the engine. It stillseemed unbelievable--something that could not be. All the joys of a manwho, having given up hope, is unexpectedly granted a reprieve were his,as the airplane buffeted its way against the teeth of theever-freshening wind.
The d
isappointed Germans immediately sprang to the attack, and thelittle Nieuport was running the gauntlet of rifle and revolver fire.Fast as it flew, the bullets sped faster, and though the combat pilotcould not hear their wicked hum and zip he knew that leaden missileswere flashing all about him, for several holes again appeared in theupper plane.
"Can I make it! Can I make it!" he kept repeating.
Sometimes that wild race against such heavy odds seemed hopeless. Hedared not rise too high, for that would give the antiaircraft gunners achance of bringing him crashing down to the earth. True it was, thatmany of the infantrymen seemed so paralyzed with astonishment at thesight of a wildly-speeding Nieuport right over their heads as to forgetto fire.
As moment succeeded moment, and Don Hale remained unscathed, he peeredcautiously over the side of the cockpit. Now he was flying above alittle village fairly swarming with the troops of the Kaiser. He couldsee the heavy camions rumbling through the streets and all the sightstypical of military operations which he had observed on the oppositeside of the trenches.
The thumping of his heart having in a measure subsided, and the chillingtremors almost disappeared, he found this flying over the enemy'scountry, in spite of the bullets that continually sped toward him, astrangely fascinating game.
The little village was presently left far to the rear, and the speedingplane was again over the open country, with its whitish roads and greenfields dotted here and there with farms and houses.
All at once he saw something in the distance which caused him to turnhis plane in a northwesterly direction. It was a faintish, elongatedyellowish spot suggestive of a giant caterpillar, lying close to theground.
"A balloon--an observation balloon which has just been pulled down!"cried Don Hale to himself. "I'll get a closer look at it. Great Scott!"
From some totally unexpected quarter he was once again being fired at,and a sharp metallic ring told him that some portion of his engine hadbeen struck by one of the marksmen below.
Once more he passed through an instant of overwhelming anxiety.
But the steady droning roar of the powerful engine brought cheer to hisheart.
"No--no; not yet!" he muttered. "I still have a chance to cheat theBoches."
The thrilling adventures and narrow escapes through which Don Hale hadpassed instead of lessening his courage and determination had increasedthem, though he fully realized how strangely the elements of chance hadfavored him. That sharp ping of the bullet striking the engine acted onhis nature like a spark applied to gunpowder, arousing all hiscombativeness.
As the plane neared the giant observation balloon a sudden and daringidea flashed into the young combat pilot's mind, and then, almost forthe first time, he thought of the part he had played in preventing thedestruction of the photographic machine. Why couldn't he add anotherfeat to his credit?
"By George, I'll make a good try!" he cried, his pulse beginning totingle anew.
The Nieuport was now almost upon the huge, unwieldy monster, and Doncould plainly see the details on its smooth and shining surface.
The balloon, anchored to a heavy motor tractor, swayed gently from sideto side as the cable to which it was attached was drawn down by awindlass. Dozens of men, too, were aiding in its descent by pulling onsmaller ropes.
A touch on the control stick sent the Nieuport climbing upward. Then,precisely at the proper moment, Don Hale put an end to the ascendingflight, and turning the nose of the machine downward, he shut off theengine and dove straight for the great gas bag.
He had a vision of soldiers scattering in every direction--and they ranlike men who were seized with all the mad and unreasoning panic ofanimals fleeing before a forest fire. There was somethingludicrous--almost absurd--in the picture they made which, even in thatintensely dramatic moment, involuntarily brought a half smile to theface of the stern, grim-visaged boy in the pilot's seat.
Don Hale knew that he was running a most appalling risk--indeed temptingfate in a way he had never done before, and staking his life upon hisability to make a success of his daring venture.
The instant for action had come. His machine was pointed directly towardthe slick, rounded surface of the balloon.
It made a most alluring target.
Don pushed a button, and by this action fired the eight rockets fastenedto the sides of the fuselage.
Instantly there came a resounding, awesome roar, and eight fiery trails,each headed by a brilliant greenish light, were flashing toward theballoon.
Before the pilot could come out of his dive several of the rocketspierced the silken envelope, and from as many points there came vividbursts of flame--the days of usefulness of that particular "sausage"were certainly over.
Elation was in Don Hale's heart. And then, just as he redressed[9] themachine, he caught a quick glimpse of a mighty burst of flame, which,enveloping the balloon from end to end, rose in ruddy viciously-curlingand leaping tongues high in the air. In a moment the Nieuport had passedfar beyond.
Casting a look over his shoulder Don saw an extraordinaryspectacle--masses of flaming gas swept off by the breeze andilluminating the surrounding gloom.
Triumphant--proud indeed, the boy decided to take no more risks, butmake straight for the aviation ground, and, if good fortune still heldsway, perhaps reach it before the rapidly gathering storm had burst inall its fury.
Notwithstanding the whirl of excitement, the young pilot had vaguelyimpressed upon his mind the disturbing truth that the lightning wassteadily growing brighter--the reverberations of thunder heavier. Tohandle the Nieuport successfully in the wind and rain he knew would be amost difficult task.
The boy began to feel, now, the inevitable reaction.
He was seized with a consuming anxiety to be away from the midst ofdanger. But the rushing currents of air being dead against the Nieuportit seemed to be just crawling along.
For the first time the pilot dared to rise higher. He was passing overone of those desolate stretches which told most eloquently of theterrible conflicts which had taken place. Everywhere great shell-holes,in places overlapping one another, pitted the earth, and the bottoms ofmany were partly filled with muddy water left by recent rains. Of allthe desolate, depressing sights which the eyes of man could look uponthis seemed one of the worst. It was as though a blight had descendedupon the earth, to wither and destroy everything which lay in itssinister path. Not a village--not a house remained; all were incrumbling ruins. Even the streets themselves could not be traced; and ofthe trees and patches of woods there remained but grotesque, gaunttrunks, entirely stripped of branches and leaves.
Of course this was not a new sight to the boy, and, under thecircumstances, he paid but little attention to it. Thoughts of thetrenches over which he must pass, and of the flying "Archies" the planewould be sure to encounter were in his mind. He must ascend stillhigher.
"This has been a trip, sure enough!" muttered Don. "But if I get throughsafely I'll never regret it. To-day, I feel that I have done my bit forthe Allied cause."
Continually, he glanced in all directions. Vigilance was the price oflife. Many an airman had been stealthily approached from behind andbrought down without ever knowing what had struck him, and in the gloomyshadows cast by the heavy storm-clouds it was doubly necessary to searchthe heavens for every sign of the foe.
But, in spite of all the pilot's extreme care, he was destined to makepresently another discovery--a discovery which once more set the bloodthrobbing in his temples. It was the sudden appearance, at about his ownaltitude, of another of Captain Baron Von Richtofen's planes. It hadapproached dangerously near, too, before he was aware of its presence.
It took Don Hale an instant to recover his wits. One moment he hadseemed to be alone in the vast expanse, and in the next he wasconfronted by one of the scarlet enemy.
With lightning velocity the Boche bore down upon the Nieuport, andbefore Don Hale could make a move to alter his course luminous bulletswere cutting a fiery trail through the gloom about him.
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Footnote 9:
Redressed--Straightened out.