CHAPTER XIX--THE PERILOUS GAME
At times, when the gravest dangers threaten, the human faculties, insome mysterious way, gain a strength and mastery which completely banishterror. Such was the case with Don Hale. As quickly as it was humanlypossible to do so, he turned his plane so that the engine was betweenhim and the showers of bullets. Then, obeying the injunction thatself-preservation is the first law of nature, he set the Vickers machinegun into action.
And thus began a terrible duel in the air just beneath the tossing edgesof heavy and turbulent masses of vapor. It seemed almost certain thatone of the machines must be quickly sent crashing and hurtling downward.
The German pilot was evidently a master of his machine, and hisevolutions were performed with the greatest brilliancy. Don Hale had aconfused vision of a scarlet object flashing around, above and below himwith inconceivable rapidity. And he himself, in order to avoid theenemy, was obliged to execute the most thrilling and daring maneuvers.
And at every favorable opportunity the wicked crackling of the machineguns rang out. Each pilot was fighting with that desperation whichcharacterizes a hunted animal, brought to bay. To Don Hale it seemedmore like some thrilling, wonderful sport than an actual combat in whichdefeat might mean the end of all things earthly. Scores oftracer-bullets, leaving for an instant their long, thin trails of smoke,sped by him whichever way he turned, some passing close to his seatbetween the planes.
The fight was so fast and furiously contested that Don felt sure it mustcome to a speedy termination. Every instant he expected to see thebullets from his Vickers put an end to the battling career of that lonemember of Captain Baron Von Richtofen's Red Squadron of Death. Yet,extraordinary as it seemed, the enemy plane continued to flash andcircle about him with dazzling speed,--so fast indeed that only aconfused and blurred vision of its movements was registered on DonHale's brain. Waves of dizziness swept over him; his face was smartingand stinging from the terrific rush of air, while a touch ofair-sickness, a malady which sometimes affects even seasoned flyers, wasbeginning to threaten him.
But, notwithstanding, he managed to keep a firm grip upon all hisfaculties. One instant of panic--one instant of relaxation he knew wouldbe enough to bring this strange air duel to a dramatic and tragicconclusion. His main effort was to keep zigzagging behind the enemy'stail, and thus make him waste his bullets on the empty air.
In this he was not always successful. Often he found himself facing thesinister-looking scarlet Albatross, to get instantaneous glimpses of itshooded pilot glaring toward him.
And even in those terrible moments, when the machines threatened tocrash into one another, Don Hale could not help thinking what an amazingthing it was that he and this man, whom he had never met, whom he hadnothing against, and who, equally, had nothing against him, should befighting desperately, with all the ferocity of maddened tigers.
The combat, which seemed to be long-drawn-out but which in realityoccupied only a very short time, was brought to an end by Don Hale. Asthe German plane, momentarily occupying an advantageous position, dovetoward him, firing as it came, the combat pilot of the LafayetteEscadrille performed an evolution known as the renversement. He sent theNieuport with meteor-like swiftness upward, and, while making a partialloop, flying head downward, the red Albatross flashed beneath him.
Still defying the laws of gravity, Don Hale straightened the course ofhis plane, so that it was flying horizontally in a direction exactlyopposite to its line of flight at the beginning of the evolution. Hethen cut off the motor and operated the ailerons at the sides of theplanes, which caused the machine to turn over sideways in a semicircle,and thus bring it back to a natural position.
The renversement was made with such remarkable swiftness that before thered Albatross could swing around to renew the attack Don was shooting inan upward drive straight for the shelter of the clouds.
Almost like a bullet from a machine gun he entered the lower strata andcontinued to climb, safe at last from the enemy who had sought todestroy him. But the lightning glared brighter than ever; the thunderrolled more ominously. He felt sure that only a short distance away therain was falling in torrents.
Quite naturally, the boy's brain was in a whirl, but a feeling ofthankfulness that after encountering so many perils he had escapedunscathed predominated.
Finally emerging from the murky darkness into the light above, Don,scanning the heavens with the most earnest attention, could see no signsof other planes.
"Well, I have had all the adventures I wish for one day!" hesoliloquized. "Whew! It was certainly a series of nightmares! Now I'lljust stay up here, wait until the storm is over, and after that beat itso fast for the airdrome that a marmite wouldn't stand any chance in therace. How wonderful it is to be up here in this bright sunshine! Itseems as though I must have drifted into the arctic regions by mistake.This is certainly great!"
It was, indeed, a singular scene upon which the combat pilot gazed. Theupper surfaces of the ever-rolling and tossing clouds, of the purest andmost dazzling white, like a vast field of snow and ice, stretched off tothe limits of vision. It seemed like a glimpse of another world--a worldof wonderful and impressive solitude. Not a sign of life could be seenin all that great circle. There was nothing to link one's thoughts withthe world below.
As before, Don saw the shadow of the wind-buffeted plane fantasticallyskimming over the crests of vapor. Very soon vivid lightning wasflashing from cloud to cloud and the rolling, booming reverberations ofthunder were beginning to fill the upper region with solemn andawe-inspiring volumes of sound.
Don felt that he must rise still higher. Every gleam filled him with astrange foreboding; it seemed as though, no matter which way hetraveled, there was no possibility of escaping the gravest danger. Thepilot was having difficulty, too, in navigating the Nieuport in thesweeping gusts of wind. Sometimes it was carried rapidly aloft like achip on a rising wave, to drop, a moment later, with a suddenness thatalmost took away his breath.
His altimeter began to register an increasing height, and at length theboy, in an icy region, was looking down upon far-off masses of clouds.
If the young combat pilot of the Lafayette Escadrille had not been sointensely lonely or so worn out with excitement and fatigue, he wouldpositively have enjoyed the strange and unique experience. But now hemost ardently hoped that the fury of the tempest would soon abate.
Over what part of the country was he? Perhaps he had gone miles andmiles out of his course. There was no way to tell.
And what if anything should happen to his engine, as it had done before?
Now and again his thoughts involuntarily became fixed upon such aneventuality, causing, anew, chilling tremors to sweep through his frame.As important, now, as the beating of his heart were the pulsations ofthe motor. It filled him with a sense of awe, and his keenly-listeningears were attuned to catch the slightest change in the never-ceasingroar of the engine.
"By this time the boys must think I'm a goner," he communed to himself,aloud. "Poor George Glenn! I'll bet no one dreams that I'm away up here,condemned to sail around in great circles until warring nature gets overits tempestuous fury. And, oh boy, but it's cold! Even with these heavygloves, my hands are becoming numb. I'm beginning to realize now justhow an icicle feels. I don't know where I am, but I certainly wish Iwere somewhere else!"
Time began to drag out interminably. Anxiously, he kept glancing downupon that glorious, shimmering, white expanse in the hope that he mightdiscover signs of the clouds beginning to break away--of some littleragged opening through which he might get a glimpse of the earth. But italways presented the same monotonous expanse.
"Not yet! Not yet!" he sighed.
Like a rider driving a fractious steed, he was obliged to pay theclosest attention to the navigation of the speedy Nieuport; and as theunruly horse may sometimes take the bit in its mouth, defying the willof its master, so the airplane, aided and abetted by the gale of wind,often gave him cause for th
e greatest anxiety.
Between the blue heaven above and white clouds below, he kept on flyingin great circles, having in his ears the never-ceasing reverberations ofthe rolling and booming thunder. Would it never end! How long was hecondemned to remain so high aloft?
The sun, at length, was descending in the west and before very long mustdisappear behind the distant masses of vapor. More than once Donconsidered tempting fate by a descent through the clouds, and each timethe peril deterred him. How would it be possible for the Nieuport tolive amidst such a raging storm!
"No, no! I can't risk it," muttered Don. "By George! Was a human beingever placed in such a position before? Just now I can't say that I wantto enjoy the caressing touches of those wind-blown clouds on my cheek."
Bravely, the boy tried to divert his mind, but the physical discomforts,besides the increasing sense of being out of the world, made it quiteimpossible. The storm had now reached its height. Forked tongues oflightning were flashing incessantly in the clouds, illuminating theinterior of their swiftly-flying masses with a weird and spectral bluishglare.
"Not yet! Not yet!" sighed Don, again. "Great Scott! I can't stay uphere forever. This is certainly a case where a fellow needs a friend.Hello! Something besides clouds and blue sky at last!"
Far below, just tiny specks, the pilot had observed a flock of birds,skimming close to the ragged, tossing edges of vapor--so close, indeed,that at times they became lost to view as it closed about them.
That sight was, indeed, a grateful one to the lone occupant of the upperair. He turned his machine to watch them, until at length they grewfaint in the distance, then became lost to sight, leaving him to feelmore alone than ever.
As the sun crept still lower toward the horizon, the effects began tochange; the arctic whiteness was being replaced by softer and moremellow tints; delicate purplish shadows filled the hollows of theclouds, and the deep blue of the sky above was slowly fading. The sceneconstantly grew more wonderful and impressive. The rays of the greatcoppery-colored ball, at last partly submerged in the clouds, weretipping the masses of flying vapor with an orange glow. Sometimes theirvarying forms suggested mountain peaks or stretches of rolling hills;sometimes the keenly imaginative Don Hale could see in them suggestionsof fairy-like cities, with minarets sparkling like spots of goldenflame.
The knowledge that the day was coming to a close made him more and moreeager to begin his homeward journey. But, with a persistency that wasexasperating--alarming--the storm continued to expend its fury. Stillthere was not a rift--not a sign to give him either cheer or hope.
And now a new worry--a new apprehension--began to attack him; thegasoline was giving out. He could not hope to keep up his flight muchlonger. The thought made the blood fairly pound in his temples.
Thrilling as all his adventures had been, was fate going to crown themall with one infinitely more thrilling--infinitely more dangerous?
The combat pilot shuddered as he pondered over the situation. CaptainBaron Von Richtofen's dreaded Squadron of Death seemed indeed puny andinsignificant when compared with the tremendous forces of nature whichhe must eventually face.
A short reprieve from the terrible danger remained. He could not yetbring himself to make that great plunge--a plunge where all the elementsof chance were dead against him--where he could expect no mercy--whereno human power save his own could be availing.
Five minutes passed; then ten. He dared not delay much longer. With atense and drawn face, Don Hale again peered over the side of the cockpitin an effort to discover some point where the storm had spent its force.
There was none.
"It's as bad as staking one's life on the flip of a coin," he groaned."Well, here goes!"
The boy firmly pursed his lips, operated the ailerons by means of thecontrol lever, and, next instant, the plane was speeding downward. Hecould see the golden lights and purple shadows apparently flashing up tomeet him; he could feel the plane, in the grip of the stronger currentsof air, shivering and trembling.
And then a saying of the French pilots came into his mind: "The planefell like a dead leaf to the ground." Was his Nieuport, too, destined to"fall like a dead leaf to the ground"?
That question must soon be answered.
For one brief instant he pulled up the machine. During that interval oftime, short as it was, he had a terrifying vision of a quivering,glimmering light which filled the whole surrounding air. The appallingboom and crash of thunder overwhelmed the sound of the motor. He seemedto be sailing just above some frightful inferno resembling nothing hehad ever before encountered.
With a sinking feeling at his heart and a muttered: "Now!" the pilotonce more turned the nose of his machine downward.
The dreaded plunge was made.
In a second's time he had left the gold and purple of the upper worldand was immersed in the storm-clouds. As though dipped in an icy bath,he felt cold chills running through him and running through him again.Flash after flash of lightning, blinding in its bluish glare,momentarily tore asunder the darkness, and he had instantaneous glimpsesof phantom-like masses of vapor and portions of the moisture-ladenmachine gleaming with a sharp, metallic light.
Electricity seemed to be forming all about him. He could not rid himselfof a terrible fear that the machine might get into the path of one ofthose zigzag streaks of flame chasing each other in every direction. Thethunder was cracking like pistol shots multiplied a thousand fold. Itcame, too, in wild, gurgling notes, or in mighty, deafening detonationsthat dazed and bewildered the pilot.
In the anguish of his soul, he cried out, not once but many times:
"I am lost! I am lost!"
And so it really seemed; for the bravely-battling plane, almost shakento pieces by the onrushing wind, was driven first one way and thenanother, or beaten back, threatening at every instant to topple over onits back and complete the rest of its journey in an uncontrollablespinning dive.
Don Hale was fairly gasping for breath. Every bone in his body ached.His brain was dizzy and reeling. But that powerful instinct ofself-preservation implanted in every one prevented him from giving up inutter despair, though he fully expected that the airy caverns of theclouds would be the last thing his eyes were ever destined to look upon.
With teeth gritted together, he fought on, matching his wits and brainswith the seething, shrieking vortex that toyed with the plane and seemedbent upon his destruction. And each hard-won victory brought a littlemore hope to his heart and lessened the strain on his overwroughtnerves. Yet it all appeared unreal, unnatural and unearthly--like achaos--nature itself in the grip of anarchy.
But how thick were the clouds? He could not understand why he should beso long immersed in their humid depths.
However, when torrents of rain presently began thudding and splashingagainst him he realized that he must be approaching the lower surfaces.How earnestly he longed for the moment to come! Each blinding glare oflightning, each mighty peal of thunder still had a terrifying effect. Hecould not rid himself of an awful dread that the fates would, at last,decide against him.
Thus, when the Nieuport actually staggered through the last strata, theboy almost felt as if it was something scarcely to be believed. He couldnot realize that the most terrible part of the voyage was over and thatas he had cheated the Germans in their prey so had he cheated the StormKing.
But dangers were not yet ended. All around him extended a curiousexpanse almost as obscure, almost as gloomy and murky as that throughwhich he had just passed. And where was he to land? In what directionlay the encampment of the Lafayette Escadrille? Don was even in doubt asto whether he had gone beyond that devastated strip of territory--"NoMan's Land."
"I reckon there's nothing to do but trust to blind luck," he murmured tohimself. "Ah, old earth--good old earth--I never appreciated you so muchbefore!"
Down, still further down glided the Nieuport, while the boy strove topierce the enshrouding darkness.
At last the very faintest of blurs brought
an exclamation of joy to hislips. But as the utmost caution was necessary in approaching the earth,he began to volplane at an angle less steep. It would be the easiestthing in the world, he knew, to smash the biplane in landing, and thusbring disaster at the journey's end.
But still everything was too indistinguishable, too hidden by the rainand shadows for him to gain any idea of the nature of the terrain. Allhe could make out were faint and mottled grayish patches merginginsensibly into one another.
A decision must soon be made. The gasoline was running dangerously low.
Still nearer the earth, like a storm-tossed gull, the Nieuportdescended.
It was only a few hundred feet in the air when Don Hale made a discoverythat brought a hoarse cry from his lips.
He had seen the faintest possible gleams of ruddy color tingeing thegray gloom to the west.
What was that light? What did it mean?
With joy surging through his heart, Don Hale thought he knew the answer.The light came from flares, lighted on the aviation grounds, to act as abeacon of safety to belated airmen.
"As sure as I live, that's what it must be!" he cried. "But----" Asudden doubt entered his mind. "Does it come from 'Germany' or France?"
The boy felt, however, that to hesitate any longer would be foolhardy inthe extreme. He guided his plane toward the faint light, watching itslowly growing stronger with an inexpressible feeling of thankfulnessand relief.
Very soon he could faintly trace the lines of a gigantic letter T,formed by a number of fiercely-blazing fires.
There could be no further doubt; it was certainly an aviation field.
Only the knowledge that he must keep all his faculties alert in order toguide the plane prevented the pilot from uttering a series of jubilantshouts.
Now the blazing flares were becoming clear and distinct. He could makeout the tongues of flame, and the illumination spreading out on allsides, to cast a faint, delicate glow for a short distance on thewater-soaked ground. Then he began to detect the presence of humanbeings gathered in little knots or running in the direction of theplane.
Steadying his overtaxed nerves, Don Hale skilfully maneuvered his plane,with the rain and the wind still beating fiercely against him.
A bright flash of lightning--the brightest he had seen since leaving theclouds--suddenly bathed the earth in its vivid glare. And that swifttransition from almost the darkness of night to the brilliancy ofnoonday brought peace of mind to the young combat pilot of the LafayetteEscadrille. What cared he now for Captain Baron Von Richtofen and hisRed Squadron of Death or the loud and angry rumbling of his otherenemy--the Storm King! For there, right below him, were the familiarhangars, the familiar fields--the headquarters of the escadrille itself.
And, only fifty feet above the ground, he could hear, above the wind,which still played its wild symphony on the wires of the machine, thewelcoming shouts and hurrahs of his fellow pilots of the squadron.
Twenty-five feet--then ten! And presently the rubber-tired wheels jarredagainst the ground, and the Nieuport, traveling a short distance, wasbrought to a stop by the gusts of wind that bore down upon it.
And that had no sooner happened than Don Hale, the happiest boy in theworld, was lifted out of the machine by his loudly felicitating andjoyous friends.
The perilous game had been played and won.