by E. J. Craine
CHAPTER III
ON TO PARIS
Those were the days--and they had been preceded by many such--whentravel across the Atlantic was attended with great risk and uncertainty.No one knew when a lurking German submarine might loose a torpedo at aship carrying men, women and children. Many brave and innocent peoplehad found watery graves, and perhaps suffered first a ruthless fire fromthe German machine guns, which were even turned on lifeboats! So it wasno wonder that Tom Raymond was worried about his father.
"It's queer we can't get any word from the authorities in Paris,"remarked Jack, as he and his chum were speculating one day on what mighthave happened.
"Yes, and that helps to bother me," Tom admitted. "It isn't as if theyweren't trying, for the officers here have done all they can. They'vegotten off my messages, but they say there is no reply to them."
"Then it must mean that your father, if he is in Paris, hasn't receivedthem."
"Either that, Jack; or else he doesn't dare reply."
"Why wouldn't he dare to, Tom?"
"Well, I don't know that I can give a good reason. It might be that heis on such a secret mission that he doesn't want even to hint about it.And yet I can't understand why he doesn't send me at least a messagethat he has arrived safely."
As Tom said this he looked at his chum. The same thought was in the mindof each one:
Had Mr. Raymond arrived safely?
That was what stirred Tom's heart. He knew the danger he and Jack hadrun, coming across to do their part in flying for France, and he wellrealized that the Germans might have been more successful in attackingthe vessel on which his father had sailed, than they had the one whichhad carried Tom and Jack.
"Well, what are we going to do?" asked Jack of his chum. "You know wearranged, when we should get our leave, to go back to that pretty littleFrench village, which seemed so peaceful after all the noise of battleand the roar of the aeroplane engines."
"Yes, I know we planned that," said Tom, reflectively. "But, somehow, Ifeel that I ought to stay here."
"And not take our relief?"
"Oh, no. We'll take that," decided Tom. "We must, in justice toourselves, and those we work with. You know they tell us an airman mustalways be at his best, with muscles and nerves all working together. Anda certain amount of rest and change are necessary, after a week or so ofsteady flying. So we'll take our rest in order to be in all the bettershape to trim the Fritzies. But I was thinking of staying right here."
"And not go back into the country?" asked Jack.
Tom shook his head.
"I'd like to stay right here until I get word from my father," he said."He may send a message at any time, and he knows I am stationed here. Ofcourse I could send him word that we're having a little vacation, andgive him our new address.
"But the mails are so mixed up, and the telegraph and telephone systemsare so rushed, that he might not get it. So I think the best thing willbe to stay right here where I'll be on hand to get it the moment wordcomes. But don't let me keep you, Jack. You can go, if you want to."
"Say, what do you think I am?" cried his chum. "Where you stick, Istick! We'll both wait here for word from your father. I have a sort offeeling that he is all right."
"Well, to tell you the truth, I suppose he is. But, at the same time,I'm worried. I can't explain it, but I have a sort of sense that he isin danger."
"Not if he is in Paris, Tom. The German's haven't gotten within strikingdistance of that city yet, in spite of their boasts--the boasts of theKaiser and of the Crown Prince."
"No, if dad were in Paris I'd feel that he was comparatively safe. Butfirst I want to know that he is. And yet, even if he has put up at thathouse in the Rue Lafayette, where he said in his letter he'd stay, theremay be some danger."
"Danger in Paris? What do you mean, Tom?"
"Well, Paris has been bombed from the air, you know."
"True, Tom. But, say! we've almost come to disregard such mild things asthat from the Huns, haven't we?"
"Well, we'll just stay right on here," decided Tom. "I don't mean to saythat we'll stay around our hangar all the while, but we'll keep intouch, throughout the day, with the communication headquarters. Dad maysend a message at any time, and I want to get it as soon as it arrives."
Jack could understand his chum's feelings, and so the Air Service boys,who, some time previous, had sought and received permission to go backseveral kilometers into the country for a rest, announced that theywould stay on at the aerodrome.
Nor did they lack excitement. The place where they were stationed was abusy one. For every twenty pilots and observers there are detailed aboutone hundred men as helpers. There are cooks, photographers, mechanics ofvarious sorts, telephone, telegraph and wireless operators, orderliesand servants.
Of these Tom and Jack had their share, for it is the business of anairman to fly and fight, and he does nothing except in that line. He iscatered to and helped in every possible way when not in the air. He hassome one to wait on him, to look after his machine, and to attend to hishurts, if he is unlucky enough to get any. Of course each flier goesover, personally, his own craft, but he has oilers and mechanics to doall the detail work.
"Well, there they go!" exclaimed Tom to Jack one morning, the second oftheir "vacation," as they observed a number of "aces" about to go upand search above the clouds for some Hun to attack.
"Yes, and I wish I was with them!" said Jack.
"Waiting isn't much fun," agreed his chum. "I'm sure I can't understandwhy dad doesn't send some word. If this keeps up much longer--Say, Jack,look at Parla!" he suddenly cried. "What's the matter with him?"
Jack looked. The men, in their machines, had started off to get momentumfor a rise into the air. But there had been a rain and the ground wassoft, which kept down the speed. All the pilots seemed to get off infairly good shape except one, Parla by name, who had only recentlysecured the coveted designation of "ace."
And then occurred one of those tragedies of flying. Whether he wasnervous at taking a flight in such distinguished company, or whethersomething went wrong with Parla's machine never would be known.
He was the last in the line, and as it was rather misty he might havebeen anxious not to lose sight of his companions. He did not take a longenough run, and when he reached the end of the field he was not highenough to clear the line of hangars that were in front of him.
Some one shouted at him, not stopping to realize that the noise of themotor drowned everything else in the ears of the pilot.
The luckless man tried to make a sharp turn, to get out of danger. Oneof his wing tips caught on the canvas tent, or hangar, and in anotherinstant there was a crash and a mass of wreckage. From this, a littlelater, poor Parla was carried.
But the others did not stay, for though the shadow of death hovered overthe Escadrille, the business of war went on.
After three days Tom and Jack could not stand it any longer. They beggedfor permission to go up into the air. It was granted, though officiallythey were still on leave. Ascending together in a Caudron, on aphotographing assignment, they were attacked by two swift GermanFokkers.
Tom worked the gun, and to such good effect that he smashed one machine,sending it down with a crash, and drove the second off. So other laurelswere added to those the boys already had.
"If this keeps on we'll be soon wearing the chevrons of sergeants," saidJack, as they landed.
"Well, I'd almost give up hope of them to hear from dad," announcedTom. "I'm going to see if some word hasn't come."
But there was no message. Still the strange silence continued, and Tomand his chum did not know whether Mr. Raymond had reached Paris or not.Through his own captain, Tom appealed to the highest authority at theEscadrille, asking that a last imploring message be sent to the addressin the Rue Lafayette.
This was done, and then followed another day of waiting. At last Tomsaid:
"Jack, I can't stand it any longer! This suspense is fierce!"
"But
what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to Paris! That's what! We'll go there and find my father ifhe has arrived. If he hasn't--well, there is still some hope."
"Go to Paris!" murmured Jack.
"Yes. It's the only place where I can make uncertainty a certainty. Comeon, we'll go to Paris!"
