Air Service Boys Flying for Victory; Or, Bombing the Last German Stronghold
turned the nose of his plane, and quickly reached the elevation where
all this work was going on.
So the battle of the six enemy planes began, Jack immediately singling
out one of the Huns for his own particular attention. Alert, eager, and
fairly itching to get even with the Boche fliers for the fright they
had given him, Morgan crouched in his seat, ready to start firing when
the first favorable moment came along.
It must have been an inspiring sight to any who watched the fight from
below; at least, if he wore the khaki of the American army boys. The
Germans would hardly be so apt to suck consolation from the picture,
since it early became apparent that their representatives no longer
attacked with dash and enthusiasm, but seemed to be acting solely on the
defensive.
They may have been veteran aces, with a long list of disabled planes to
their individual credit, but there was something about the dash and vim
of these Yankee fliers that combined all the better qualities of both
British and French airmen, and discouraged the enemy greatly.
Jack swooped down upon his antagonist, and fired when he fancied he had
the enemy in range of his machine-gun fire. The Boche on his part was
reciprocating, so that the exchange of shots was mutual.
They passed at a little distance like swallows on the wing, the guns
chattering and smoking, and the air filled with a shower of missiles
that for the most part would be utterly wasted.
Then Morgan took up the challenge, and continued to pepper the speeding
Gotha as long as it remained within range. A turn on the part of Jack
put a temporary end to the bombardment. But now they were once more
spinning toward the enemy.
Around them a wild scene was being enacted, with the other quartette of
planes swooping down on each other.
Apparently all this work had so far been without result; but Jack could
plainly see that the Huns were quite satisfied with what little they may
have accomplished in the battle, and were anxious to pull out.
As if a concerted signal had been given, the three Gothas were soon in
retreat. No doubt the sight drew many a hoarse, derisive yell from
watching Americans below, who could not understand the feeling of
extreme caution that would tempt an air pilot to turn tail and run for
home when opposed on equal terms.
They made excellent speed, too, and after chasing them for a short
distance the Americans turned back. There was work much more important
awaiting their attention just then than following the fleeing Boche
fliers to some spot, where possibly a swarm of their mates would be
turned loose to cut off escape and bring the daring Americans down.
One of the two friendly machines that had so opportunely come to the
relief of Jack and Morgan now approached. To the delight of Jack he
recognized in the muffled figure waving a gloved hand at him no other
than Harry Leroy.
"A bunch of slick runners all right, Jack!" bawled Nellie's brother, as
the two planes passed not far distant from each other.
"They're all right when three to one!" answered Jack, as he circled in
order to keep close to the other for a brief time.
"What luck?" demanded Harry; for of course that was the one important
subject ever on their minds when thus out hunting for hidden snipers'
nests.
"Got two to-day so far," called Jack. "Then came over here looking for a
boss nest. Found it, too, down there; and we're going now to see what
our battery boys can do with it."
"Fine work, Jack! Here's wishing you luck. We'll move along and see if
we can duplicate your job!"
"Success to you!"
So they separated there, far above the seemingly endless forest where
the two opposing armies were grappling in a death grip, the one bent on
victory, the other striving desperately to put off the evil day as long
as possible, in the hope of a break in their favor.
Jack knew what he and Morgan had next to do. It was to begin signaling
to catch the attention of the observers with the American batteries,
doubtless waiting impatiently for a chance such as this, and which thus
far had been denied them.
He was at the proper altitude, safe from fire from below, and with all
enemy planes driven off. The growl of the big guns came less furiously
to their ears, so far removed from the ground were they. The incessant
whir of the Liberty motor that had come from American shops and the buzz
of the propellers rendered it difficult for him to hold converse with
his assistant.
"Felix, have you got your bearings sized up O K?" he called out.
"I could drop a bomb for a direct hit, Jack, if I had one," came the
confident answer.
"All right then; go to it."
As Morgan was the observer and signal man of the combination it now
became his duty to make use of the flags intended to convey the news
that one of those reported "strong nests," carrying from half a dozen of
the largest Boche machine-guns all the way up to twice that, had been
located.
Jack managed the machine so that his assistant might be best served. And
as Morgan knew just about where to look for an answering flag he
presently gave tongue in a way that told of success.
"Raised him, Jack!" he called out joyously. "Swing around more to the
left and we'll be exactly over that den. There! I can drop the smoke
signal now, all right, and well soon see what comes of it."
Immediately afterwards those in the distance who were eagerly watching
every action of the hovering plane must have seen through their powerful
glasses a trail of smoke dropping from its body. It signified that just
at that moment the Yankee flier was hanging over the object to which the
attention of the gunners was called.
Quickly would the necessary calculations be made, while Jack kept
circling around and around, just as a buzzard might when it had located
a promising feast below.
Jack, too, watched that sector as well as he could and attend to his
duties at the same time. He wished he had the binoculars in his hands
just then, while he steered with his knees; but it was more important
that Morgan retain possession of the glasses.
A yell from the observer announced that something had happened of a
pleasing character. Jack guessed its nature even before he heard the
other shouting.
"They've begun business, Jack! The whole battery let loose then in
concert! Say, there's yet another close by! And yes, they're breaking
into the game too! Oh, you Boche, I pity you now, nix!"
Jack looked directly below. He realized that a whole flock of Yankee
made shells was passing through the air, bound for the point of contact.
At the same time he wondered why there had not been a single shot fired
first as a feeler. The officers in charge must indeed be very confident
that they had figured to a fraction to thus risk wasting precious
ammunition.
A second, several of them, slipped away.
Then there came an upheaval below, followed by a succession of similar
explosions that must have shaken the very earth. A dense cloud of smoke
arose. Morgan now had his glasses fixed on the spot where all this
furious hurricane of fire had fallen.
He did not shout, but continued to stare. The wind drifted the pall of
smoke aside, and even Jack with unaided eye could determine that a
marvelous change had taken place down there since last he looked.
"Let me have the glasses, Morgan!" he cried, unable to believe his eyes
and wishing further confirmation.
Still silent as though awed, the observer obeyed. Jack knew from the
look on the other's face about what he might expect to see even before
he could raise the binoculars to his own eyes.
Then he too held his breath in very astonishment.
Never could there have been made a finer calculation than the one that
sent such an avalanche of shells hurtling through several miles of
space, to land exactly on a marked spot. In a thousand times the same
result might not have been secured again.
Jack saw desolation down there. For a space of a hundred feet, he
judged, earth and rocks and camouflage material had been thrown in every
direction by the falling shells, a dozen or more in number and of the
most destructive character known. A vast gaping hole told where the nest
had been.
Not a single man of all those waiting Boche gunners could have escaped
destruction. Jack could see the bodies of several hanging from the
neighboring trees, from which in turn most of their branches had been
stripped.
He turned an awe-stricken face to Morgan as he cried out:
"Send them the hold-up signal, Morgan, to tell them they've knocked the
nest to flinders and that there's no need of wasting another shot on
it!"
CHAPTER VIII
IN THE RED TRIANGLE HUT
NIGHT had come again. The work of the day was over, and weary khaki-clad
fighters could rest For they must be fit for the duties of the
succeeding day, which, like all recent ones, would bring its new
dangers, glories, and no doubt pain and death for untold numbers of
their fellows.
Still, in the camps where they were gathered that night, it would have
been hard to run across a single soldier who showed a sign of
discouragement or concern. Already they bore themselves with the mien of
veterans, ready to joke and laugh, and swarming to the Red Triangle huts
for a breath of entertainment, a glimpse of a rosy cheeked "home girl"
in the midst of all this ghastly business of tragic warfare.
There Tom found Jack and Harry when he turned up rather late that night.
He, too, had had a heavy and exciting though successful day's work in
the air, as had Jack. Nevertheless, on his return he had asked and
received permission to absent himself from quarters for a time.
Of course there was need of consultation with the accommodating hospital
nurse concerning the disposition of little Jeanne, the ward of the trio,
Jack, Tom, and Nellie, and Tom did not wish to neglect his duty--nor his
opportunity.
Late though it was, there still lingered a goodly crowd in the old
dugout once occupied by a number of German officers, but now taken
possession of by the girls and men who wore the uniforms of Y. M. C. A.
workers, when Tom reached it.
An old piano had somehow been brought along, and this was in almost
constant use, for numbers of the boys could play; and as for singing
there was an almost continuous chorus bawling out favorite songs, such
as "Over There," "Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag," "When You
Come Back," and the like.
When some daring man ventured to play "Home, Sweet Home," however, not a
sound was heard; and apparently many of the loudest talkers found
something wonderfully important in the magazines they chanced to have
before them, to judge from the way they bent persistently over while
reading. But then no soldier wants his comrades to see that his eyes are
swimming in tears, as pictures of those at home dawn upon his vision.
Tom quickly found his two comrades, to be instantly met with a rush of
remarks that, however, fell from him as water would from a duck's back.
"You seem pretty happy, I must say!" observed Harry, grinning, for he
understood what an attraction that pretty sister of his was to Tom.
"Oh, everything looks lovely, and the goose hangs high, whenever Tom has
spent an hour in Nellie's company," Jack remarked, going on with the
teasing.
"Seems to me, Jack," said the object of this joking, "that you're in
something of the same box yourself. What important news did Bessie have
in that letter you got this evening, and which you thought I didn't see
you smuggle into your pocket on the sly?"
"Oh, I don't mind telling you," Jack announced smiling. "Meant to later
on anyway. Why, do you know, Bessie has become a Red Triangle worker
now, as she and her mother had been transferred to that service. She