CHAPTER VI
A BATTLE IN THE AIR
“Phew, but this is hot!”
“I guess we’re going to pay up for that wet weather we had.”
“I wonder how many more miles we’ve got to hike over this road?”
“No less than three, so the top sergeant told me,” answered Dave, to whom the question was put.
It was about a week after the events narrated in the last chapter, and the fighting engineers, as they were familiarly called, were once more forging toward the battle front. The storms of the past three weeks had cleared away, and the hot summer sun beat down upon them with all its intensity.
During the time spent in camp Roger had recovered from the injury to his ankle and was now around as before. He had had another conversation with Phil regarding the letter received from Laura, and both had again decided not to say anything to Dave concerning Max Gebauer. But they had spoken to Dave in a casual way about his not receiving a letter from Jessie and had said that possibly she was not getting the letters he had forwarded.
“Well, I can’t do anything more than write and mail the letters,” had been the young sergeant’s reply to this. Nevertheless, his chums had noticed with satisfaction that he wrote another letter to Jessie that very evening and was particular to see that it was properly addressed and taken care of.
In the meantime Roger had forwarded his reply to Dave’s sister, and in that communication he told Laura he hoped she would keep her eyes on Jessie and see that Gebauer did not have a chance to become intimate with the girl. He also asked Dave’s sister to send him word if anything out of the ordinary occurred.
The engineers were moving along with their full equipment on their backs. Behind them came a string of motor-lorries, carrying great quantities of tools, and also some explosives.
By nightfall they had reached a spot not far from the fighting front. They had turned off from the main road and were now passing through a small French hamlet, beyond which was a small hill hedged in on all sides by a thick forest.
“Orders are to clear a road around one side of this hill, and do it as quickly as possible,” announced Captain Obray. “We’ll have to blast out some of the rocks and cut down a number of trees, I am afraid.”
The work was started early in the morning, after a night which was not altogether a comfortable one. There was a rumor throughout the camp that the Germans might make a raid over No Man’s Land, probably with the idea of obtaining some prisoners from whom they could obtain much-desired information. Consequently the engineers were all more or less on their guard.
“I’m sure I don’t want to become a German prisoner,” remarked Ben. “From what I’ve heard, they don’t treat their prisoners very well.”
“Well!” cried Phil. “They treat ’em the meanest ever!”
“Say, that puts me in mind of a story I heard the other day,” said Shadow. “Oh, this is true!” he added hastily, when he saw several of the others shake their heads. “A tall, lanky Western doughboy was at the front on duty at night when he heard somebody approaching. He immediately called to the fellow to halt. Then he discovered that the fellow was walking with both hands high in the air and muttering something to himself. The fellow kept coming on until he was right at the end of the doughboy’s bayonet. Then the doughboy gave him a little jab, and the fellow set up a scream and suddenly opened his eyes. He was a German soldier and a sleep-walker. Of course, the doughboy made him a prisoner without delay.”
“Wow! what do you think of that?” cried Ben.
“Say, Shadow, you be careful that you don’t do any sleep-walking yourself, like you did at Oak Hall,” broke in Phil. “You don’t want to go over No Man’s Land and get on the ridge-pole of some schoolhouse, like you did when we were at the Hall,” he continued, referring to an incident the particulars of which were given in “Dave Porter and His Classmates.”
“I’ve given up walking in my sleep. It doesn’t pay,” returned the story-teller quickly.
“Talking about the sleep-walker giving himself up,” put in Dave, “I heard a pretty good story the other day about a German who met one of our men at the edge of the wood. He showed a white handkerchief—or at least a handkerchief that had once been white—and then came over to talk to the sentry. He said he had once been in Chicago and liked our country first rate, and he was willing to surrender, provided the sentry would let him go back and get his brother and his cousin, so that they could all keep together and not feel lonely.”
“And did the sentry do it?” queried Roger.
“Yes, after he had taken away the fellow’s gun and helmet. The young German was gone about a quarter of an hour, and then came back followed by four others. They were his cousin and his brother, and two friends who had likewise concluded to give themselves up. You can imagine how proud that doughboy was to march that gang of five prisoners into camp.”
For three days the engineering unit to which our friends belonged, aided by another unit from the East and two from the Middle West, toiled at the task which had been assigned to them. Here and there the rocks barred their passage, and these were blasted out as the easiest means of getting rid of them. Not a few tall trees were chopped down, and over two hundred of the engineers were set to work clearing away the brushwood. In the meantime another unit of engineers worked on a path leading to the top of the hill, and a little later a masked battery was stationed there, ready to open fire on the German lines northeast of that vicinity.
It must not be surmised that the work the engineers had to do was without peril. Even though the spot was deep in the woods and somewhat isolated, not a few German shells of large caliber were sent in that direction.
“Confound it! those shells are coming too close for comfort,” remarked Phil, one afternoon, when a projectile had gone whining over their heads to fall less than a hundred yards behind them.
So far they had not seen any airplanes in that vicinity, but on the following morning early they espied two German scout-planes high in the air circling slowly about.
“I suppose they suspected something was going on around here and they have sent out those machines to make sure,” remarked Frank Andrews to our hero. “I wish our own airmen would get after them.”
His wish was soon gratified. Looking in the direction where they knew the American aviation camp was stationed, the engineers presently saw four of the planes taking the flight upward. They came on straight for the spot where the engineers were working, and those below made up their minds that a battle in the air was imminent.
“Gee, I hope our men get those fellows!” cried Roger. “It will serve ’em right for coming here to spy on us.”
As the four American aviators advanced they spread out, two keeping somewhat to the rear while the third headed northward and the fourth southward. Thus they soon formed a sort of semicircle around the German planes.
By this time the enemy airmen had probably made all the observations they wished or that they felt capable of making, and they turned back, evidently with the intention of passing over their own lines.
“If only we had an anti-aircraft gun here and could take a few shots at them!” sighed Dave.
The American fliers were still somewhat to the rear, but when they saw the two enemy scout-planes trying to escape they opened fire on them. Even at that distance the flashes from the guns could be seen, although if there were any sounds they were lost in the explosions of the motors and the distant firing of artillery.
The contest in the air now grew so exciting that nearly all the engineers stopped work to witness it. One of the American airmen could evidently get no speed out of his machine, and soon he fell behind. But the other three kept on, and one of them presently came close to one of the enemy planes. Then came a sudden flash of fire, and the German plane was seen to crumple up and come down, a mile or more beyond the edge of the forest.
“Hurrah! they’ve got one of them anyhow,” exclaimed Ben.
“And now for the other!” added Shadow.
The flight of the other plane continued, but soon it was evident the German felt he could not escape by straight flying. He suddenly made a dive to the northward, and then began to mount higher and higher, circling and twisting first in one direction and then in another. The three Americans went after him as quickly as they could, firing their machine-guns whenever it seemed advantageous to do so. The American airmen had, of course, to be careful so that they might not fire into each other.
“That’s a battle royal, all right enough,” was Dave’s comment, as the contest kept up as vigorously as ever. “If that German escapes he’ll certainly have won his liberty.”
The fourth American plane had now dropped back still further, and soon it began to head for the aviation camp, suffering probably from engine or other trouble. Then one of the other planes began to move away. A minute later its motor began to miss fire, and then stopped completely.
“See, he’s out of it!” cried Roger. “He’s going to volplane to the ground.”
“He’ll be lucky if he reaches the ground without breaking his neck,” announced Phil. And he was right; the second American had all he could do to bring his machine down in safety beyond the big trees of the forest.
With but two of the Americans left in the fight, the German airman seemed to pluck up courage. He did not attempt to do any firing, but made a new turn or two, and then started away, as if to try once more for the German lines.
But now he reckoned without the cleverness of one of the American airmen. This fellow put on a sudden burst of speed and, like a bird on the wing, he came directly behind the German. His machine-gun began to spit spitefully, and a moment later those on the ground far below saw a portion of the German plane drop away from the machine proper.
“Hello, there goes his rudder!” cried Captain Obray, who was looking through his field glasses. “The whole steering apparatus has been shot away! Now I reckon he’s about done for.”
That was indeed the plight of the German airman, for with the rudder gone, he was practically helpless to guide his machine. His motor stopped—whether he turned it off or it stopped of itself they could not tell—and then the scout machine began to turn and twist in a fantastic course down from the sky.
“That’s the end of that flying man,” was Ben’s comment.
“I wonder if he’s doing anything at all to save himself?” said Dave.
“I don’t see what he can do,” returned Roger.
This way and that way rushed the helpless war-plane. As it came down it made several turns, and then headed suddenly toward the forest where the engineers were working.
“It’s coming down pretty close to this spot!” exclaimed Dave.
“Take care of yourselves, men!” cried Captain Obray. “Don’t give that plane a chance to hit you!” He had not forgotten the accident which had happened to Roger, Phil and Dave when a plane had come down in flames, as related in our last volume.
All of the engineers were on the alert. But this caution was unnecessary. Another dart or two through the sky, and then the enemy airplane finally came down at a point in the forest some distance away. As it did this it burst into flames, and soon those on the ground saw a heavy smoke coming up from the spot where it was burning up.
“I wonder if the fellow who was running it escaped?” cried Phil.
“Let us go and see,” returned Dave; and, having received the necessary permission, the young sergeant hurried off through the forest toward the burning airplane, taking a detail of eight young engineers with him.