CHAPTER II
YANKEE PLUCK
WHEN Tom Raymond sent one of his Hun opponents whirling down toward thefar distant earth he naturally experienced the glow that comes to avictor in a stubbornly contested battle.
The gratification was all the more profound because of the fact that hehad taken on two adversaries at the same time. Any air pilot who wascapable of holding his own against an enemy numerically superior hadreason to feel satisfied.
He quickly saw, however, that this did not mean the end of the fight.That other crafty Hun had swung unexpectedly and was now pouring in afurious fire. Tom realized that his assistant had ceased firing. Had themachine-gun become jammed? He was hanging partly from his seat. Was hebadly injured in the bargain? Still, despite all this handicap, Tomwould possibly have come through in good shape had not somethinghappened to his engine just then. After all, even a Liberty motor couldplay a trick on its pilot master, just as that fine French engine on hisformer Spad machine had done a few times.
The airplane started to shoot downward at frightful speed, leaving theHun far behind. Tom kept his head, and bent every energy to trying toget the motor started again, meanwhile working also to keep on a fairlylevel keel. He had passed through a similar experience on otheroccasions, but never when hovering over the German lines with a battlein progress under him.
A sickening sensation gripped his heart, for it flashed before his mindthat this might be the end. Like every other aviator, he had defied Fateevery time he went up, and at last the dreadful moment had come for himto pay the price!
Not for a single second, even while feeling that queer sensation griphim, did Tom cease working frantically to start his engine. He knew hehad one last forlorn chance left. A few seconds would tell the story,and either he must be lucky enough to have his balky engine suddenlystart again in response to his frantic efforts, or else--well, he darednot allow himself to dwell on what would happen to him when he struckthe ground with all the frightful momentum of his falling machine.
The air service boy lived ages in that brief period of time. Never couldhe forget the agony that gripped his soul. There flashed before hismemory the faces of those he loved at home, those whom he might neversee again.
Then it was over. The engine had suddenly yielded to his franticefforts, and once more commenced to throb with renewed life. Tom, withtremendous exertion, managed to right his tottering plane and steady iton an even keel.
His observer lay in a huddled heap in his seat. But for the safety belthe must have slid into space. Tom could not tell whether he was dead orhad simply swooned.
That was a matter for the future. Just now he must concern himself withthe task of extricating himself from his fresh perilous position. Sorapidly had he fallen that amidst the swirling smoke clouds he couldplainly see the Germans just below; and that he must be visible to hisenemies he quickly had reason to understand.
Even as he started to spin away, shrapnel burst close beside his plane.Machine-guns also began to chatter underneath, and he saw that the wingsof his plane were being cut by the hail of missiles that came up inswarms, like buzzing bees, each armed with a sting.
Dodging this way and that in eccentric lines, Tom brought into play allhis acquired knowledge of a pilot's tricks in order to avoid being madea victim of this hot fire. He fully expected that, after all, the enemywould get him, but he was grimly determined that it would be only afterhe had exhausted every device possible.
He kept his head, and while dodging back and forth managed to follow ageneral course that promised soon to carry him closer to the Americanfront. At one time he found himself above what seemed to be a veryinferno of destruction. The air palpitated with the shock of a terribleexplosion, as though a great mine had been fired. But Tom knew what itmeant.
That must be the Big Bertha which for some days now had played animportant part in shelling the rear of the American lines, even toknocking a temporary field hospital into fragments.
How Tom wished just then that his had been a bombing plane. With whatsavage joy would he have dropped his whole supply of air torpedoes downupon that mighty engine of destruction, forever silencing its thunderousvoice and ending its power to do injury to the cause in which his wholesoul was enlisted!
After that his way became somewhat easier, for Tom had succeeded inclimbing higher, so that he was screened from the gunners below. Then hefound himself passing over the American front, with the open field insight where the temporary aerodromes could be seen, looking like dingypatches of yellow earth.
Of course there was nothing to do but to return immediately. Hisobserver was injured, if not dead, and would need looking after; whileTom felt that his machine could hardly be called in trim for furtherwork, as it needed a thorough overhauling after the recent roughtreatment accorded to it by the fighting Boches.
Despite his crippled machine, the young air service boy managed to makea fairly good landing, with the help of several orderlies andattendants. They had come on the run, understanding that something waswrong, because the observer hung part-way over the side, and it could beseen that the plane itself had been in action.
Tom's first thought was of his comrade. He himself had received only onesmall cut in the arm from flying shrapnel splinters, though it persistedin bleeding profusely, and would have to be tied up at the nearest fielddressing-station.
He breathed easier when he discovered that his observer, while badlyinjured, would have more than a fighting chance to pull through. Adoctor was quickly on the spot, and managed to give temporary treatment,so as to stop the bleeding. The poor fellow waved his hand to Tom as hewas being taken away on a stretcher to the nearest field hospital fortreatment.
"Here, let me have a look at that left arm of yours, Raymond, while I'mabout it," said the surgeon, noticing that the pilot kept wiping dropsof blood from his fingers with a handkerchief that had begun to assume agory appearance.
This satisfied Tom, and the wound was speedily attended to, a bandagebeing bound in place. The only thing that was troubling the young airmanwas a haunting fear that he might be kept out of the fighting forseveral days; and at this exciting stage of the advance that would seemlike a real calamity to so ambitious a pilot.
"I suppose you'd kick like a steer," said the surgeon, with a smile, "ifI advised you to keep quiet for a day or two, because I know your breed;but if you must join in, be easy on that arm, Raymond. It might give yousome trouble if inflammation should set in."
"Oh, I've had much worse scratches than that and never been laid up,Doctor," Tom remarked with the assurance that goes hand in hand withyouth and abounding good health. "But I will favor it all I can.Couldn't keep me out of this riot unless you chained me to earth.There's something that keeps calling me up there, some thing that'smighty hard to resist."
"Yes, I know. You're all alike, you daring air pilots," said the other,shaking his head disapprovingly. "But you're splendid, splendid! AndI'm certainly proud to be an American these days. You boys have set apace that every British and French aviator will have to hustle to equal.Your coming has been the turning point of the war. The Hun is alreadywhipped, only he doesn't wholly realize it just yet."
Tom, instead of seeking his quarters at once for rest, "loafed around"watching all that went on. Never a plane that came back but he was thereto receive the comrade with enthusiasm. Some had been in the fight andbore signs of the experience through which they had passed. Oneespecially was burning with disappointment because he had lost his"prize."
"Had him going, too, when this motor of mine went back on me and startedin to miss fire so often that he got away," he spluttered. "Never was somad in all my life as when I had to turn and sneak back home like a dogwith his tail between his legs. But me for another machine, and back tothe game again. I'll get that Hun yet, see if I don't!"
Often did Tom strain his eyes trying to pick out the plane of his chumamong those that from time to time could be seen far distant, someengaged with the enemy, while others
were seeking to gain information ofvalue to the American commander.
When a whole hour had gone and there was still no sign of Jack, hebegan to feel worried. Vainly he questioned some of the returningpilots; for as the battle waned both above and below they were nowcoming in by shoals, tired, yet full of enthusiasm over their recentexploits.
From one Tom managed to secure the only tip that seemed of value; and itwas hardly encouraging.
"I am sure I saw Jack having a lively circus with several Boches aboutan hour back," this man informed Tom. "Don't know how the jig ended,because I found myself in a mix-up soon afterwards, and it kept my handsfull. But let's hope the boy came through O K. I saw you drop your man,Tom; and it must have been a close shave for you in the bargain."
The man went on about his business, and Tom again took up his wearywatching and waiting. The minutes dragged by, but still no Jack, nor didthere come any further word of him. Finally, weary and discouraged, Tomturned back toward his temporary quarters.
On arriving there, however, he found something that for the moment tookhis mind off the uncertain fate of his chum.