Air Service Boys Flying for Victory; Or, Bombing the Last German Stronghold
fact that Harry had made some sort of discovery calculated to thrill
them both.
"Stand still, Tom!" hissed the other. "I didn't like the way that chap
dodged down over there. Couldn't have been one of the guards, for they
stick to their posts. I wonder now if one of those Boche planes dropped
a spy close to our field here!"
The idea was in line with Tom's reasoning. According to his mind the
Germans were getting desperate, and ready to attempt the rashest of
enterprises in the hope of checking this daily advance of the Yankees
under Pershing.
As much of the success of the latter depended on the work of their
flying squads in discovering the hidden machine-gun nests, and betraying
their position to the gunners, it stood to reason that the Germans felt
an ever growing hatred toward the airmen. Hence that night raid which
had been so neatly parried. Yes, Tom could easily believe what his
comrade suggested.
"Show me where you saw the sneak, Harry," he pleaded, as they continued
to crouch in the semi-gloom; for after that recent attack from the skies
almost every light about the aviation field had been extinguished, and
they felt obliged to depend on the stars to show them where the various
hangars lay.
"Notice that extra high hangar over there," came the soft reply. "That's
Beresford's, you know, where he keeps his monster four-man plane. The
Huns may have got wind of something unusual, and are plotting to destroy
his jumbo aircraft before he smothers them in a fight. There, did you
see that again?"
"It was a man slipping across from one shadow to another, as sure as
anything," breathlessly admitted the second watcher.
"No fellow would act that way unless he wanted to keep from being seen,
would he?" asked Harry.
"You're right there. Oh! I saw a second one follow him then, Harry!"
"Yes, there's a pair of the creepers. That makes me believe more than
ever they were aboard one of those bombing planes, Tom."
"It might be they fell when one of the Hun raiding planes was knocked
out," suggested the other, as an idea struck him. "Only one went down in
flames, I remember now. Those in the other may have managed to make a
safe landing, and bent on hitting us a crack before trying to get back
to their lines, they've crept into the camp here."
"Carrying some grenades, I'd like to wager, which they can use in
kicking up a big row, under cover of which they'll scoot off," Harry
went on.
"We must put a peg in their plans then," whispered Tom. "It'd be a shame
to let them do what their pilots failed in, and blow up a part of our
hangar field here."
"If they do they'll go up with the planes then!" Harry gritted between
his set teeth. "Come, let's move on and corner the Huns!"
This suited Tom. Discretion might have caused them to alarm the camp and
in this way cause the prowlers to disappear. But ambition, on the other
hand, had fired the hearts of the two boys. They saw an opportunity to
get in a telling blow by capturing those two spies. It was a chance to
gain a little fresh glory, as well as to protect the monster plane of
Beresford.
Accordingly they commenced to move forward, bending low and taking
advantage of every dense shadow that came in their way. Their objective
was the hangar that afforded shelter during the night to the novel and
as yet untried monster plane, of which so much was expected, and rumors
concerning which might have even sifted into the enemy lines.
Of course both Tom and Harry were keenly on the alert for the first
fresh sign of the prowling enemy, whose designs they had set out to
balk. Very probably the Huns would resist desperately, and there might
be a fight. Tom felt his heart beat tumultuously, but such a thing as
fear did not enter into his calculations.
CHAPTER XII
A LIVELY CHASE
"THEY'VE gone," presently whispered Tom, in a disappointed tone.
"Only hiding somewhere near by," Harry assured him, equally careful to
lower his voice. "We'll begin to circle around, and presently rout them
out. Be ready to jump the first chance you get, and let out a whoop at
the same time. It'll give 'em a shock, and start 'em to running. Then
we'll soon have a pack on their heels."
"What if they use their trench grenades on us?" asked Tom.
"Not likely to except as a last resort. But we've got to take the
chances. Dodge, that's all. Now to swing around the big hangar."
Harry squeezed his companion's arm while saying this. Both of them were
fairly quivering with the excitement, just as highly strung race horses
can be seen quivering while prancing up and down awaiting the tap of the
bell that summons them to the wire for the start.
It was not pitch-dark, but even the possessor of keen eyesight would
have had to look closely in order to make certain that a moving object
was a human being and not a dog.
Harry's surmise proved to be well founded, for they quickly discovered a
suspicious movement close to the large hangar. Yes, the two Hun spies
were undoubtedly there, and already busily engaged in doing something
that could only mean trouble for the American escadrille.
Closer the pair of watchers crept. They could now hear the men
whispering as they worked, and Tom even believed he caught a guttural
German word used. This convinced him their theory was founded on fact,
and that these were secret enemies in the camp.
Another half minute and he felt Harry nudge him. That meant the other
believed the time had arrived for them to make their leap; and when he
felt his companion start Tom stirred himself.
Both let out a yell as they sprang forward. Tom more than half expected
to hear an explosion, thinking the Huns, on finding themselves caught in
the act, would fire their grenades promptly.
Nothing of the kind came about. Instead both men instantly dropped flat
and started to roll away with incredible swiftness, as though escape was
the first thought in their minds.
Tom hurled himself through space. His intention was to pin one of the
spies to the ground and try to hold him there until help came. Their
outcries would of course arouse every man within hundreds of yards of
the spot, and lights must soon be brought to bear on the scene.
Although Tom's calculations may have been all right, he did not meet
with as much success as he had probably anticipated. Perhaps the wary
Boche guessed what was coming; at any rate he succeeded in squirming
from under, and when Tom landed it was only to feel the other rolling
out of his reach.
But he went after him like lightning, bent on attaining his goal.
The Hun was scrambling desperately in the endeavor to get on his feet.
Tom hurled him over, and closed with him. Finding his escape thus cut
off, the other commenced to fight like a tiger, clawing and struggling
furiously.
They had it "hammer-and-tongs" for a brief space of time. Then Tom
slipped and lost his grip, upon which the other rolled over several
times, got to his knees, then his feet, and started to run.
But he counted without reckoning on the staying qualities of the
American. Tom had always been called a "sticking-plaster" by his fellow
players on the football field. He was not to be counted out of the game
until the last whistle sounded and the referee's falling hand closed the
fun.
So he was after his man with grim determination not to let him get away.
Having gone to so much trouble, and received in addition several
scratches in the contest, he meant to keep everlastingly at it.
The Boche dodged to one side, as there were men running toward them, and
already several lights had sprung up. Tom was close at his heels, and
gaining rapidly, being spurred on by an ambition to complete the good
work he and Harry had started.
He saw the spy glance back over his shoulder. The situation must have
appeared very grave to the other, who could expect to meet with short
shrift if caught in the act of trying to destroy the hangars and planes
of the American aviators in this bold fashion.
Just then Tom saw the man raise his arm. Guessing what he intended to
do, the Yankee air pilot dodged just in time. Some object went hissing
past, close to his head. An instant later there was a loud explosion in
his rear that seemed to make the very air quiver.
Of course the Boche had hurled a grenade with the intention of making
further pursuit on the part of his persistent adversary impossible.
Tom hoped that was the extent of his supply of such ammunition, for he
might not be quite so successful in avoiding the bomb another time.
Again was the fleeing spy compelled to whirl aside because of
threatening peril ahead. Dodging in and out between the khaki-colored
canvas field hangars he sought desperately to throw Tom off his track;
but no hound ever followed its quarry with more pertinacity than the
Yankee air pilot followed now.
Then something happened. Tom came in collision with a runner, so that
the two of them fell headlong to the ground. By instinct Tom hugged the
other in his arms. He suspected on the spur of the moment that this
might be the other spy, trying to elude Harry, and cutting across his
track by the merest chance.
The fellow struggled furiously, but Tom managed to get a good hold on
him, and kept it tenaciously. As the other was also clutching him his
further pursuit of the fleeing spy seemed doomed to failure; and so Tom
felt that the only thing left was to make sure of this party.
"Hey, Tom, let go! You're choking me!" came a voice that electrified
him, and caused him to release his clutch.
After all it was Harry upon whom he had fallen, Harry who having lost
all track of his man was rushing wildly this way and that in hope of
once again getting in touch with the fellow.
"Quick, before it's too late, join me!" shrilled Tom, scrambling to his
feet again as best he could, and feeling angry because of this
ridiculous accident. "There he goes, Harry! After him again!"
So they both started once more to run at top speed. The agile spy had
been able to put considerable distance between them while his pursuers
struggled on the ground, and seemed likely to escape. But there was one
thing that stood in his way.
Men were running this way and that in every direction, calling to one
another, and trying to understand what all the row was about. A squad of
oncoming hostlers blocked his passage. They evidently were beginning to
get light on the situation, for discovering the panting runner they now
set up a concerted shout.
This compelled the hunted Boche to turn again on his heel, and so he
lost a portion of his previous gain. Tom took fresh heart on seeing
this. Given one or two such lifts as this, and he believed he would
again come to hand grips with the fellow. And with Harry close at his
heels he fancied the next encounter would surely terminate badly for the
Hun spy.
"Spread out some, Harry!" he managed to shout.
His object in saying this was to make it more difficult for the Boche to
hold his own when necessity compelled him to veer to one side. They
dodged the hangars that barred the way, running in and out of the lines
with the swiftness of a hare followed by the eager hounds.
Once a waiting figure tried to bar the path of the spy, only to be
promptly bowled over. Desperation nerved the arm that struck that blow.
The German knew that his chances were almost at the zero mark, and for
the time being he was like a wolf at bay, ready to snap right and left
and do what damage he could before yielding himself a prisoner.
Once more Tom had made a gain. The Fates were favoring him, it seemed,
and with set teeth he kept up the hot chase.
Suddenly the Hun collapsed.
Tom almost fell over him as he ran on; and when Harry came up was
bending above the spy, muttering to himself after the manner of a sadly