CHAPTER XII. A PERFECT SHOT
The plane in which Tom and Jack had gone aloft to make observations which, it was hoped, would result in the discovery of the hidden battery, was a special machine. While very powerful and swift and equipped for air-fighting, it was also one that had been used by one of the French photographers and his pilot. The photographer, was a daring man, and had, not long before, gone to his death in fighting three Hun planes. But he had peculiar ideas regarding his car, and under his orders it had been fitted with a glass floor in the two cockpits, or what corresponded to them.
Thus he and his pilot could look down and observe the nature of the enemy country over which they were traveling without having to lean over, not always a safe act where anti-aircraft guns below are shooting up shrapnel.
So as Torn and Jack flew on and on, over the enemy's first and succeeding line trenches, they looked down through the glass windows in the plane to make their observations. There was a camera attached to the plane, and though they could each make use of it, but they were not skilled in this work.
It was impossible for them to talk to one another now, as Jack had the motor going almost full speed, and the noise it made was deafening, or it would have been except for the warm, fur hoods that covered the ears of the fliers. They were warmly dressed for they did not know how high they might ascend, and it is always cold up above, no matter how hot it is on the earth.
Up and up they climbed, and then they flew on and over the enemy lines, keeping close lookout for anything unusual below that would indicate the presence of the battery. Behind them, and off to one side, a fierce aerial battle was going on.
Tom and Jack were eager to get into this and do their share. But they had orders to make their observations, and they dared not 'refuse. They could tell by looking back every now and then that the affair was going well for the Allies, including some of the American airmen, even if the Huns outnumbered them.
Back and forth over the German lines swept the glass-bottomed Spad, and at a certain point Tom, who was looking down, uttered an exclamation. Of course Jack could not hear, but he could feel the punch in the back his chum administered a moment later.
Jack turned his head, and saw his chum eagerly pointing downward. A moment later he motioned over his left shoulder, pointing backward, as though they had just passed over something which would warrant a second inspection.
Jack swung the machine about in a big circle, banking sharply, and then, as he passed over the ground covered a little while before, he, too, looked down, and with sharper glance than he had used at first.
What he saw was the ruins of a small French chateau. It had been under heavy fire from the Allied guns, for it had sheltered a German machine gun nest, and some accurate shooting on the part of the American gunners had demolished it a day or so before.
But what attracted the attention of Tom and Jack was that whereas the chateau before the bombardment had stood on a little hill without a tree near it, now there was a miniature forest surrounding it. It was as though trees and bushes had sprung up in the night. As soon as he had seen this, Jack turned to Tom, nodded comprehendingly, and at once started back over the American lines. They had no easy time reaching them, for by this time the fleet of Hun planes had been defeated by the Allies, and had turned tail to run for safety—that is what were left of them, several having been shot down, and at no small cost to the French, English and American forces.
But the defeat of their airmen seemed to anger the Germans, and they opened up with their antiaircraft batteries on the machine in which Tom and Jack were flying homeward. “Woolly bears” and “flaming onions,” as well as shrapnel, was used against them, and they were in considerable danger. Jack had to “zoom” several times to get out of reach of the shells.
They finally reached their aerodrome, however, and as soon as they had landed and their plane was taken in charge by the mechanics the two lads hurried to the commanding officer.
“Well?” he asked sharply, as they saluted. “Did you discover anything?”
“I think so, sir,” returned Tom, for Jack had told his chum to do the talking, since the discovery was his. “You remember, sir, the old chateau we put out of business the other day?”
“Yes, I recall it. What about it?”
“This: It seems suddenly to have grown a wooded park around it, and the trees and bushes don't seem to be as fresh as natural ones ought to look.”
“You mean they camouflaged the ruins, and have put another battery in the old, chateau?”
“I think so, sir. It wouldn't do any harm to drop a few shells there. If it's still a ruin the worst will be that we've wasted a little ammunition and may start the German guns up. And if it is what we think it is, we may blow up the battery.”
The commander thought for a moment.
“I'll try it!” he suddenly said. “It's worth all it will cost.”
He called an orderly and issued his instructions. Tom and Jack had not yet been dismissed, and now the commanding officer turned to them and said:
“Since you boys were sharp enough to discover this, I'll let you have a front seat at the show which will start soon. Go up and do contact work. Let the gunners know when they make a hit.”
The air service boys could not have wished for anything better.
“Once more for our bus!” exclaimed Jack delightedly, when they were outside.
Their Spad had been refilled with gasoline, or “petrol,” as it is called on the other side, and oil had been put in, while the machine guns had been looked to.
“You seem to have spotted it all right, Tom,” went on Jack, just as they were about to start, for word came that the American batteries were ready.
“Yes, I was looking down through the glass, and when I saw the old chateau it struck me that it had suddenly grown a beard. I remembered it before, as being on a bare hill. I thought it was funny, and that I might be mistaken. But when you agreed with me I knew I was right.”
“Oh, the Huns have brought up trees and bushes to disguise the place all right,” declared, Jack. “The only question is whether or not the battery is hidden there.”
But there was not long a question about that. Their machine was equipped with wireless to signal back the result of the shots, and Jack and Tom were soon in position. From the maps used when they had previously shelled the place to drive out the German gunners, the American artillery forces knew just about where to plant the shells.
There was a burst of fire from the designated battery. Up aloft Jack and Tom watched the shell fall. It was a trifle over, and a correction was signaled back.
A moment later the second shell—a big one sailed over the German first lines, and fell directly on the chateau partly hidden in the woods.
There was a burst of smoke, and with it mingled clouds of dust and flying particles. Faintly to Tom and Jack, above the noise of their motor, came the sound of a terrific explosion.
There had been a direct hit on the old ruins, as was proved by the fact that not only was the German battery put out of commission, but a great quantity of ammunition hidden in the trees and bushes was blown up, and with it a considerable number of Germans.
And that it was a place well garrisoned was evident to the air service boys as they saw a few Huns, who were not killed by the shell and resultant explosion of the ammunition dump, running away from the place of destruction.
“That was it all right,” said Jack, as he and Tom landed back of their own lines.
“Yes, and it couldn't have been hit better. I hope that was the battery they wanted put out of business.”
And it was, for no more shells came from that vicinity of the Hun positions for a long time. The aeroplane observations had given the very information needed, and Tom and Jack were congratulated, not only by their comrades, but by the commanding officer himself, which counted for a great deal.
CHAPTER XIII. A DARING SCHEME
Tom sat up on his bunk and looked across at Jack, who was just showing signs of returning consciousness—that is, he was getting awake. It was the morning after the successful discovery of the hidden German battery, and since this exploit the two lads had not been required to go on duty.
“What's the matter?” asked Jack, opening his eyes and looking at his chum. “Has the mail come in? Any letters?”
“No. I was just thinking,” remarked Tom, and though his eyes were fixed on Jack it was clear that his thoughts were somewhere else.
“Thinking, Tom? That's bad business. Have you seen the doctor?”
“Oh, shut off your gas!” ordered Tom. “You're side slipping. First you know you'll come down in a tail spin and I'll have to be looking for a new partner.”
“It's as serious as all that, is it?” asked Jack, as he began to dress. “Well, in that case I withdraw my observation. Go ahead. How's the visibility?”
“Low. We won't have to go up to-day, unless it clears.”
“Um. And I was counting on getting a few Huns right after breakfast. Well, what's your think about, if you really were indulging in that expensive pastime?”
“I was,” said Tom, and he got up and also proceeded to put on his clothes. “I was thinking about Harry.”
“Oh!” and Jack's voice was decidedly different. It had lost all its flippant tone. “Say, he certainly is in tough luck. I wish we could do something for him—and his sister. Doubtless you were thinking of her, too,” and a little smile curled his lips.
“Yes, I was thinking of Nellie,” conceded Tom, and he was so bold and frank about it that Jack choked back the joke that he was about to make. “I was thinking that we haven't done very much to redeem our promise.”
“But how can we?” asked Jack. “We haven't had a chance to do anything to rescue Harry. Of course I want to do that as much as you do, but how is it to be done? Can you answer me that?”
“We can't do it by just talking,” said Tom. “That's what I've been thinking about. A scheme came to me in the night, and I've been waiting to tell you about it.”
“Shoot then, my pickled blunderbuss,” returned Jack. “I'm with you to the last drop of petrol.”
“Well, I don't know that it's so much,” said Tom. “It's only that we ought to get word to Harry, somehow, that we're thinking of him and trying to plan some way of rescuing him. We ought to tell him his sister is here, too, and, at the same time we might drop him something to smoke and a cake or two of chocolate.”
Jack looked at his chum in amazement. Then he burst out with:
“Say, while you're at it why don't you send him a piano, and an automobile, too, so he can ride home when he wants to? What do you mean—getting word to him? Don't you know that the beastly Huns will hold up the mail as they please, and anything else we might send. They don't even let the Red Cross packages go through until they get good and ready. Talk about your barbarians!”
“Oh, I wasn't thinking of the mail,” replied Tom.
“No? What then?”
“Why, we know where he is held a prisoner—at least we have the name of the prison camp, and he may be there unless he's been transferred. Of course that's possible, but it's worth taking a chance on.”
“A chance on what?” asked Jack, “You haven't explained yet. What do you plan to do?”
“Fly over the place where Harry is held a prisoner and drop down a package and some letters to him,” said Tom. “Now wait until you hear it all before you say it can't be done!” he went on quickly, for Jack seemed about to interrupt.
“If Harry is held where he was first made a prisoner, it's a big place, and there are thousands of our captives there, as well as French and British. Well, where there are so many they have to have a big stockade to pen 'em in, worse luck. And dropping a bomb on a big place is easier than dropping one on a small object.”
“Say! Suffering snuffle-boxes!” cried Jack. “You don't mean to drop a bomb in Harry's prison, camp, do you? Do you think he might possibly escape in the confusion?”
“Nothing like that,” said Tom. “I mean drop a package containing some smokes, some chocolate and a letter telling him we haven't forgotten him and that we're going to try to rescue him, and for him to be on the lookout. That could be done.”
“How?”
“By us flying over the place in our speedy Spad. We needn't make a very big package, though the more of something to eat we can give him the better, for those Boches starve our men. Let's get a week off—the commanding officer will let us go. We can go to our old escadrille and make arrangements to start from there. The boys will help us all they can.”
“Oh, there's no doubt about that,” assented Jack. “They all liked Harry as much as we did. But I can't see that your scheme will succeed. It's a risky one.”
“All the more reason why it ought to succeed,” declared Tom. “It's the fellows who take chances who get by. Now let's see if we can get a few hours off to go to Paris.”
“Go to Paris? What for?”
“To see Nellie Leroy and have her write her brother a letter. It will be better to have one come direct from her than for us merely to give him news of her in one of our notes.”
“Yes,” agreed Jack, “I guess it would. And I begin to see which way the wind blows. You wish to see Nellie.”
“Oh, you make me tired!” exclaimed Tom. “All you can think of is girls! I tell you I'm doing this for Harry!”
“And I believe you, old top, and what's more, I'm with you from the word go. It's a crazy scheme and a desperate one, but for that very reason it may succeed. The only thing is that we may not get permission to carry it out.”
“Oh, I don't intend that anyone shall know what our game is,” returned Tom. “Of course the authorities would squash it in a minute. No, we'll have to keep dark about that. All we need is permission to do a little flying 'on our own,' for a while.”
“Suppose they won't let us do that?”
“Oh, I think they will, after what we did yesterday,” said Tom. “Come on, let's get ready to go to Paris.”
CHAPTER XIV. WILL THEY SUCCEED?
The scheme evolved, or, perhaps, dreamed of by Tom Raymond in his anxiety to get some word to the captive Harry Leroy worked well at the start. When he and Jack asked permission to have half a day off to make the trip to Paris it was readily granted. Perhaps it was because of their exploit of the day before, when their sharp eyes had discovered the camouflaged German battery and brought about its destruction, or maybe it was because the day was a misty one,+ when no flying could be done.
At any rate, soon after breakfast saw the two boys on their way to the wonderful city—wonderful in spite of war and the German “super cannon,” which had itself been destroyed.
Tom and Jack knew that unless their plans were changed, the two girls and Mrs. Gleason would be at home in Paris, for they had a holiday once in every seven, and it was their custom to come to their lodging for a rest from the merciful, though none the less exceedingly trying, Red Cross work.
Nor had the boys guessed in vain, for when they presented themselves at the Gleason lodging, where Nellie Leroy was also staying, they were greeted with exclamations of delight.
“We were just thinking of you,” said Bessie, as she shook hands with Jack.
“And so we were of you,” Jack replied, gallantly.
“I thought of it first,” said Tom. “He'll have to give me credit for that.”
“Yes,” agreed Jack, “I will. He's got a great scheme,” he added, as Mrs. Gleason came in to greet the boys. “Tell 'em, Tom.”
“Is it anything about—oh, have you any news for me about Harry?” asked Nellie eagerly.
“Not exactly news from him, but we're going to send some news to him!” exclaimed Tom. “I want you to write him a letter-a real, nice, sisterly letter.”
“What good will that do?” asked Nellie. “I've sent him a lot, but I can't be sure that he gets them. I don't even know that he is alive.”
“Oh, I think he is,” said Tom, hopefully. “If the German airmen were decent enough to let us know he was a prisoner of theirs, they would tell us if—if—well, if anything had happened to him.”
“I think,” he went on, “that you, can count on his being alive, though he isn't having the best time in the world—none of the Hun prisoners do. That's why I thought it would cheer him up to let him know we are thinking of him, and if we can send him some smokes, and some chocolate.”
“Oh, he is so fond of chocolate!” exclaimed Nellie. “He used to love the fudge I made. I wonder if I could send him any of that?”
Tom shook his head.
“It would be better,” he said, “to send only hard chocolate—the kind that can stand hard knocks. Fudge is too soft. It would get all mussed up with what Jack and I have planned to do to it.”
“What is that?” asked Bessie Gleason. “You haven't told us yet. How are you going to get anything to Harry through those horrid German lines?”
“We're not going through the German lines we're going above 'em; in an aeroplane. And when we get over the prison camp where Harry is held, we're going to drop down a package to him, with the letters, the chocolate and other things inside.”
“Oh, that's perfectly wonderful!” exclaimed Bessie. “But will the Germans let you do it?”
“Well,” remarked Jack, “they'll probably try to stop us, but we don't mind a little thing like that. We're used to it. Of course, as I tell Torn, it's a long chance, but it's worth taking. Of course it isn't easy to drop any object from a moving aeroplane and have it land at a certain spot. We may miss the mark.”
“For that reason I'm going to take several packages,” put in Tom. “If one doesn't land another may.”
“But if you do succeed in dropping a package for Harry in the midst of the German stockade, won't the guards see it and confiscate it?” asked Mrs. Gleason. “You know they'll be as brutal as they dare to the prisoners—though of course,”' she added quickly, as she saw a look of pain on Nellie's face, “Harry may be in a half-way decent camp. But, even then, won't the Germans keep the package themselves?”
“I've thought of that,” replied Tom. “We've got to take that chance also. But I figure that, in the confusion, Harry, or some of his fellow prisoners, may pick up the package, or packages, unobserved. Of course there's only a slim chance that Harry himself will pick up the bundle. But it will be addressed to him, and if any of the French, British, or American prisoners get it, they'll see that it goes to Harry all right.”
“Oh, of course,” murmured Mrs. Gleason. “But what was that you said about the 'confusion?'”
“That's something different,” said Tom. “I'm counting on dropping a few bombs on the German works outside the camp, to—er—well, to sort of take their attention off the packages we'll try to drop inside the stockade. Of course while we're doing this we may be and probably shall be, under fire ourselves. But we've got to take that chance. It's a mad scheme, Jack says, and I realize that it is. But we've got to do something.”
“Yes,” said Nellie in a low voice, “we must do something. This suspense is terrible. Oh, if I only could get word to Harry!”
“You write the letter and I'll take it!” declared Tom.
“And I'll help!” exclaimed Jack.
And then the letters—several of them, for each one wrote a few lines and made triplicates of it, since three packages were to be dropped. The letters, to begin again, were written and the bundles were made up. They contained cigarettes, cakes of hard chocolate, soap and a few other little comforts and luxuries that it was certain Harry would be glad to get.
The rest of the plan would have to be left to Tom and Jack to work out, and, having talked it over with their friends, they found it was time for them to start to their station, since their leave was up at eleven o'clock that night.
Getting permission for a week's absence was not as easy as securing permission to go to Paris. But Tom and Jack waited until after a sharp engagement, during which they distinguished themselves by bravery in. the air, assisting in bringing down some Hun planes, and then their petition was favorably acted on.
Behold them next, as a Frenchman might say, on their way to their former squadron, where they were welcomed with open arms. They had to take the commanding officer into their confidence, but he offered no objection to their scheme. They must go alone, however, and without his official knowledge or sanction, since it was not strictly a military matter.
And so Tom and Jack were furnished with the best and speediest machine in their former camp, and one bright day, following a hard air battle in which the Huns were worsted, they set out to drop the letters and packages over the prison camp where Harry Leroy was held.
“Well, how do you feel about it?” asked Jack, as he and his chum stepped into their trim machine.
“Not at all afraid, if that's what you mean.”
“No. And you know I didn't. I mean do you think we'll pull it off?”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that we shall.”
“And so have I. It's a desperate chance, but it may succeed. Only if it does, and we get Harry's hopes raised for a rescue, how are we going to pull that off?”
“That's another story,” remarked Tom. “Another story.”
They mounted into the clear, bright air, and proceeded toward the German lines. Would they reach their objective, or would they be shot down, to be either killed or made prisoners themselves? Those were questions they could not answer. But they hoped for the best.
CHAPTER XV. BADLY HIT
Before undertaking their kindly though dangerous mission, Tom and Jack had carefully studied it from all angles. At first Jack had been frankly skeptical, and he said as much to his chum.
“You'll never get over the place where Harry is held a prisoner,” declared Jack. “And, if you do, and start to dropping packages, they'll never land within a mile of the place you intend, and Harry'll have the joy of seeing some fat German eat his chocolate cake.”
“Well, maybe,” Tom had agreed, “But I'm going to try.”
To this end they had secured the best map possible of the ground in and around the prison camp. Its location they knew from the dropped glove of the aviator, which contained a note telling about Leroy.
It was not uncommon for Germany to disclose to her enemies the names of prisons where certain of the Allies were confined, and this was also done by England and France. The prison camps were located far enough behind the defense lines to make it impossible for them to be reached in the course of ordinary fighting.
Then, too, the airmen of Germany seemed a step above her other fighters in that they were more chivalrous. So Tom and Jack felt reasonably certain as to Leroy's whereabouts. Of course it was possible that he had been moved since the note was written, but on this point they would have to take a chance.
To this end they had provided themselves not only with the best maps obtainable showing the character of the ground and the nature of the defenses around the prison, where Harry and other Allied men were held, but inquiries had also been made by those in authority, at the request of Tom and Jack, of German prisoners, and from them had come information of value about the place.
Of course the two air service boys had no hope of inflicting much damage on batteries or works outside the prison. By the dropping of some bombs they carried they hoped to distract attention from themselves long enough to drop the packages to Leroy. The bombs were a sort of feint.
And now they were on their way, winging a path over their own lines, and soon they would be above those of the Hun.
Some of the former comrades of Tom and Jack, having been apprised of what the lads were to attempt, had, without waiting for official orders, decided to do what they could to help. This took the form of a daring challenge to the German airmen to come out and give battle.
After their thorough drubbing of the day before, however, the Boche aviators did not seem much inclined to venture forth for another cloud fight. But the French and some English fliers who were acting with them, laid a sort of trap, which, in a way, aided the two Americans.
A half dozen swift Spads took the air soon after Tom and Jack ascended, but instead of flying over the German lines they went in the opposite direction, making their way to the west. They got out of sight, and then mounted to a great height.
Shortly after this some heavy, double-seated planes set out for the German territory as though to make observations or take photographs. It was the belief of the French airmen that the Huns would swarm out to attack these planes, or else to give battle to the machine in which Tom and Jack rode. And, in such an event, the swift Spads would swoop down out of a great height and engage in the conflict.
And that is exactly what occurred. Torn and Jack had flown only a little way over the trenches of the enemy when they saw some Hun planes coming up to meet them. It was in the minds of both lads that they were in for a fight, but before they had a chance to sight their guns, some French planes of the slow type appeared in their rear.
To these the Huns at once turned their attention, and then the Spads swooped down, and there was a sharp engagement in the air, which ultimately resulted in victory for the Allied forces, though two of the French fliers were wounded.
But the feint had its effect, and attention was drawn away from Tom and Jack, who flew on toward the prison camp.
Had their mission been solely to carry words of cheer with some material comforts to Harry Leroy, it is doubtful if Tom and Jack would have received permission to make the trip. But it was known they were both daring aviators and good observers, and it was this latter ability on their part which counted in their favor. For it was thought they might bring back information concerning matters well back of the German front lines, information which would be of service to the Allies.
And in furtherance of this scheme Jack and Tom made maps of the country over which they were flying. They had been provided with materials for this before leaving.
On and on they flew, changing their height occasionally, and, when they were fired at, which was the case not infrequently, they “zoomed” to escape the flying shrapnel.
But on the whole, they fared very well, and in a comparatively short time they found themselves over the country where, on the maps, was marked the location of Harry Leroy's prison camp.
“There it is!” suddenly exclaimed Tom, but of course Jack could not hear him. However, a punch in Jack's back served the same purpose, and he took his eyes from his instruments long enough to look down. Then a confirmatory glance at the map made him agree with Tom. The air service boys were directly over the prison camp.
This, like so many other dreary places set up by the Germans, consisted of a number of shacks, in barrack fashion, with a central parade, or exercise ground. About it all was a barbed wire stockade and, though the character of these wires did not show, there were also some carrying a deadly electric current.
This was to discourage escapes on the part of prisoners, and it succeeded only too well.
But the camp was in plain sight, and in the central space could be seen a number of ant-like figures which the boys knew were prisoners.
Whether one of them was Leroy or not, they were unable to say.
But they had reached their objective, and now it was time to act. High time, indeed, for below them batteries began sending up shells which burst uncomfortably close to them. They were of all varieties, from plain shrapnel to “flaming onions” and “woolly bears,” the latter a most unpleasant object to meet in mid-air.
For the Germans were taking no chances. They knew the vulnerable points of their prison camp lay above, and they had provided a ring of anti-aircraft guns to take care of any Allied, machines that might fly over the place. Whether any such daring scheme had been tried before or not, Tom and Jack could not say.
Of course it was out of the question that any great damage could be done in the vicinity of the camp without endangering the inmates, so it was not thought, in all likelihood, that any very heavy air raids would have to be repelled. But in any case, the Huns were ready for whatever might happen.
“Better drop the bombs, hadn't we?” cried Jack to Tom, as he slowed down the motor a moment to enable his voice to be heard.
“I guess so—yes. Drop 'em and then shoot over the camp again and let the packages fall. It's getting pretty hot here.”
And indeed it was. Guns were shooting at the two daring air service boys from all sides of the camp.
In the camp itself great excitement prevailed, for the prisoners knew, now, that it was some of their friends flying above them.
There was another danger, too. Not many miles away from the prison camp was a German aerodrome, and scenes of activity could now be noticed there. The Huns were getting ready to send up a machine—perhaps more than one—to attack Tom and Jack.
It was, then, high time they acted, and as Jack again started the engine, he guided the machine over a spot where the anti-aircraft guns were most active.
“There's a battery there I may put out of business,” he argued.
Flying fast, Jack was soon over the spot, or, rather, not so much over it, as in range of it. For when an aeroplane drops a bomb on a given objective, it does not do so when directly above, but just before it reaches it. The momentum of the plane, going at great speed, carries any object dropped from it forward. It is as when a mail pouch is thrown from a swiftly moving express train or a bundle of newspapers is tossed off. In both instances the man in the train tosses the pouch or his bundle before his car gets to the station platform, and the momentum does the rest.
It was that way with the bomb Jack released by a touch of his foot on the lever in the cockpit of the machine. Down it darted, and, wheeling sharply after he had let it go, the lad saw a great puff of smoke hovering directly over the spot where, but a moment before, Hun gums had been belching at him.
“Good! A sure hit!” cried Tom, but he alone heard his own words. Jack's ears were filled with the throb of the motor. He had two more bombs, and these were quickly dropped at different points on German territory outside the camp.
At the time, aside from the evidences they saw, Jack and Tom were not aware of the damage they inflicted, but later they learned it was considerable and effective. However, they guessed that they had created enough of a diversion to try now to deliver the packages containing the letters and other comforts.
Jack swung the machine at a sharp angle over the prison camp, and as he cleared the barbed wire fence Tom, who had been given charge of the packets, let one go. It fell just outside the barrier, caused by some freak of the wind perhaps, and the lad could not keep back a sigh of dismay. One of the three precious packages had fallen short of the mark, and would doubtless be picked up by some German guard.
But Tom had the satisfaction of seeing the two other bundles fall fairly within the prison fence, and there was a rush on the part of the unfortunate men to pick them up.
“I only hope Harry's there,” mused Tom. “That's tough luck to wish a man, I know,” he reflected, “but I mean I hope he gets the letters and things.”
However, he and Jack had done all that lay in their power to make this possible, and it was now time to get back to their own lines if they could. The place was getting too dangerous for them.
Swinging about in a big circle, and noting that groups of prisoners were now gathered about the place where the packets had fallen, Jack sent the machine toward that part of France where they had spent so many strenuous days.
“They're going to make it lively for us!” cried Jack, as he noted two swift German planes mounting into the air. “It's going to be a fight.”
But he and Tom were ready for this. Their Lewis and Vickers guns were in position, and they only awaited the approach of the nearest Hun plane to unlimber them. They mounted steadily upward to get beyond the range of the anti-aircraft batteries and were soon in comparative safety, since the Huns, at this particular sector at least, were notoriously bad marksmen.
With the German planes, that would be a different story, and Tom and Jack soon found this out to their cost.
For one of the Boche machines came on speedily, and much more quickly than the boys had believed possible was within range. The German machine guns—for it was a double plane—began spitting fire and bullets at them. They replied, but did not seem to inflict much damage.
Suddenly Tom saw Jack give a jump, as though in an agony of pain, and then the young pilot crumpled up in his seat.
“Badly hit!” exclaimed Tom with a pang at his own heart. “Poor Jack is out of it!”
The machine, out of control for a moment, started to go into a nose dive, but Tom let go the lever of his machine gun, and took charge of the craft, since it was one capable of dual manipulation. Tom now had to become the pilot and gunner, too, and he had yet a long way to go to reach his own lines, while Jack was huddled, before him, either dead or badly wounded.
CHAPTER XVI. JUST IN TIME
It was with mingled feelings of alarm and sorrow that Tom Raymond sent the speedy Spad aeroplane on its homeward way toward the French lines. He was worried, not chiefly about his own safety, but on account of Jack; and his sorrow was in the thought that perhaps he had taken his last flight with his beloved chum and comrade in arms. He could not see where Jack had been hit, but this was because the other lad lay in such a huddled position in the cockpit. Jack had slumped from his seat, the safety straps alone holding him in position, though he would not have fallen out when the machine was upright as it was at present.
“One of those machine gun bullets must have got him,” mused Tom, as he started the craft on an upward climb, for it had darted downward when Jack's nerveless hands and feet ceased their control. For part of the steering in an aeroplane is done by the feet of the pilot, leaving his hands free, at times, to fire the machine gun or draw maps.
Tom had a double object in starting to rise. One was to get into a better position to make the homeward flight, and another was to have a better chance not only to ward off the attack of the Hun planes, of which there were now three in the air, but also to return their fire. It is the machine that is higher up that stands the best chance in an aerial duel, for not only can one maneuver to better advantage, but the machine can be aimed more easily with reference to the fixed gun.
In Tom's case he did not have access to this weapon, which was fixed on the rim of the cockpit where Jack could, and where he had been controlling, it. With Jack out of the fight, through one or more German bullets, it was up to Tom to return the fire of the Huns from his swivel mounted Lewis gun. He was going to have difficulty in doing this and also guiding the craft, but he had had harder problems than this to meet since becoming an aviator in the great war, and now he quickly conquered his worrying over Jack, and began to look to himself.
He gave one more fleeting glance at the crumpled-up figure of his chum, seeking for a sign of life, but he saw none. Then he swung about, turning in toward the nearest Hun airman, and not away from him, and opened up with the machine gun, using both hands on that for a moment, while he steered with his knees.
It was not easy work, and Tom hardly expected to make a direct hit, but he must have come uncomfortably close to the Boche, for the latter swerved off, and for an instant his plane seemed beyond control. Whether this was due to a wound received by the aviator, or to a trick on his part was not disclosed to Tom. But the machine darted downward and seemed to be content to veer off for a while.
The third plane Tom soon saw was not going to trouble him, as it had not speed equal to his own, so that he really had left only one antagonist with whom to deal. And this plane, containing two men, with whom he had not yet come to close quarters, was racing toward him at great speed.
“I guess there's only one thing to do,” mused Tom, “and that's to run for it. I won't stand any show at all with two of them shooting at me, while I have to manage the machine and the gun too. If I can beat 'em to our lines I'd better do it and run the chance of some of our boys coming out to take care of 'em. I'd better get Jack to a doctor as soon as I can.”
And abandoning the gun to give all his attention to the motor, Tom opened it full and sped on his way. The other machine's occupants saw his plan and tried to stop it with a burst of bullets, but the range was a little too far for effective work.
“Now for a race!” thought Tom, and that is what it turned out to be. Seeing that he was going to try to get away, the Hun plane, which was almost as speedy as the one Tom and Jack had started out in, took after them. The other German craft was left far in the rear, and the one Tom had shot at appeared to be in such difficulties that it was practically out of the fight.
Thus the odds, once so greatly against our heroes, were now greatly reduced, though not yet equal, since Jack was completely out of the game—for how long Tom could only guess, and he seemed to feel cold fingers clutching at his heart when he thought of this.
But Tom soon discovered, by a backward glance over his shoulder now and then, that his machine, barring accidents, would distance the other, and this was what his aim now was. So on and on he sped, watching the German occupied French territory unrolling itself below him, coming nearer and nearer each minute to his own lines and safety.
Behind them, he and Jack—for the latter had done his share before being wounded—had left consternation in the German ranks. The bombs had done considerable damage—as was learned later—and the dropping of packages within the prison camp was fraught with potential danger to an extent at which the Boches could only guess.
On and on sped Tom, sparing time, now and then, to look back at his pursuers, who were, it could not be doubted, doing their best to get within effective range. And, every now and again, Tom would glance at the motionless form of his churn.
But poor Jack never stirred, and Tom was fearing more and more that his chum had made his last flight. As for the Hun aviators, after using up a drum or so of bullets uselessly, they ceased firing and urged their machine on to the uttermost.
But Tom had the start of them, and he was also on a higher level, so that the Germans must climb at an oblique angle to reach him.
And, thanks to this, Tom saw that, if nothing else happened, he would soon be in comparative safety with the unconscious form of Jack. The anti-aircraft batteries were firing in vain, as he was beyond their range, and, far away, he could see the lines of the French armies, behind which he soon hoped to be.
And then the unexpected happened, or, rather, it had taken place some time since, but it was only then brought to Tom's attention. His engine began missing, and when he sought for a cause he speedily found it. Nearly all the gasoline had leaked out of the main tank. As he knew that there had been plenty for the return flight, there was but one explanation of this. A Hun bullet had pierced the petrol reservoir, letting the precious fluid leak away.
“Now if the auxiliary tank has any in it, I'm fairly all right,” thought Tom. “If it hasn't, I'm all in.”
His worst fears were confirmed, for the auxiliary tank had suffered a like fate with the main one. Both were pierced. There were only a few drops left, besides those even then being vaporized in the carburetor.
With despair in his heart, Tom looked back. If the Hun plane chose to rush him now all would be over with him and Jack. He had only enough fuel for another thousand meters or so, and then he must volplane.
He saw a burst of flame and smoke from the enemy plane, and realized that he was being shot at again. But the distance was still too far for effective aim.
And then, to his joy, Tom saw the pursuer turn and start back toward the German territory. The firing had been a last, desperate attempt to end his career, and it had failed. Either the Huns were almost out of petrol themselves, or they did not relish getting too close to the French lines.
“And now, if I can volplane down the rest of the way, I'll be in a fair position to save myself,” mused Tom, as he made a calculation of the distance he had yet to go. It was far, but he was at a good height and believed he could do it.
Suddenly his engine stopped, as though with a sigh of regret that it could no longer serve him, and Tom knew that volplaning alone would save him now. He was still over the enemy country, and had his plight been guessed at by the Germans, undoubtedly they would have sent a machine up to attack him. But they were in ignorance.
There was nothing to do but drift along. Gravity alone urged the craft on. As he swept over the German trenches Tom was greeted with a burst of shrapnel, and he was now low enough to be vulnerable to this. But luck was with him, and though the plane was hit several times he thought he was unharmed. But in this he was wrong. He received a glancing wound in one leg, but in the excitement he did not notice it, and it was not until he had landed that he saw the blood, and knew what had happened.
On and on, and down and down he volplaned until he was so near his own lines, and so low down, that he could hear the burst of cheers from his former comrades.
Then he aimed his craft for a level, grassy place to make a landing, and as he came to a gradual stop, and was surrounded by a score of eager aviators, he cried out, as soon as he could speak, “I'm all right! But look after Jack! He's hurt!”
A surgeon bent hastily over the huddled form, and with the aid of some men lifted it from the cockpit. Jack's legs were covered with blood, and when the medical man saw whence it came, then and there he set hastily to work to stop the bleeding from a large artery.
“You got back only just in time, my friend,” he said to Tom, as Jack was carried to a hospital. “Two minutes more and he would have been bled to death.”