Air Service Boys Over the Enemy's Lines; Or, The German Spy's Secret

by E. J. Craine

  CHAPTER IX

  WINNING HIS SPURS

  "At last!"

  Those were the expressive words that broke from Tom Raymond's lips whenhe saw the commander give him the long-anticipated signal. Tom hadalready discovered his intended antagonist. A fourth plane was coming upquickly. It had held back to await the chance that would be offered whenthe three defenders of the fire-control machine were hotly engaged withthe trio of skillful Boche pilots.

  The game was very apparent. It was likewise exceedingly old. The Frenchcommander was too experienced an aviator to be so easily caught. Thatwas why he had signaled to Tom to take care of the fourth and lastGerman airman, and guard the important observation plane.

  Tom started down with a rush, just as a hungry hawk might swoop upon apigeon it had marked for its intended prey.

  "I've got to make good!" the young aviator told himself. "I've got tomake good!"

  The German pilot saw him coming. He had more than half expected to beinterfered with in his designs; but it would please him first of all toriddle this ambitious young airman, and his Nieuport, and then toaccomplish his main purpose.

  Now the two were so close that Tom could plainly see the black Maltesecrosses on the wings of the Teuton plane as it tilted in climbing.Already had the other opened fire on him, for as his motor was silentduring his first long dive Tom could catch the tut-tut-tut of therapidly exploding mitrailleuse.

  Somehow this did not unnerve him in the least, as he had feared itmight. Even when he realized that the missiles were cutting holesthrough the wings a few feet away he did not grow uneasy. The spirit ofbattle had gripped Tom. He was now attaining what had seemed to be theheight of his ambition. He was trying out his mettle against one of theenemy pilots, a man with considerable more experience than himself, andtherefore well fitted to spur him on to do his level best.

  He could see the pilot crouched in his place, and working his gun withone hand while he managed some controls of his fleeting machine with theother, for there was only one man aboard, though German machines usuallyhold two. Long practice had made him an adept at this sort of thing, itseemed.

  But then Tom had been taught the same clever trick down at the Frenchschool of aviation at Pau, and over on the lake at Casso. He was nowabout to show whether he had learned his lesson to advantage. It wasFrench ways pitted against those of the German school.

  Tom tried to aim directly at the foeman as he rushed toward him. Then hepressed the release hard, and instantly the rapid-fire gun commenced itsstaccato barking, as it spit out the bullets.

  Crack! crack! crack! crack!

  Thus the two rivals, rushing at each other like opposing birds ofenormous size, passed and dived, as though ducking to avoid the hotfire. Tom looked back, hoping to discover the enemy winged and droppingout of the fight. Nothing of the kind occurred; but on the contrary hisantagonist was sailing on, apparently untouched, at least in any vitalpoint.

  That meant it must all be tried over again. The second round in the airduel was about to open. It was impossible to predict what the outcomemight be, but at any rate Tom felt renewed courage and confidence.

  If he had passed through one siege unscathed he believed he could showconsiderable improvement the next time. Already had he learned how hemight avoid several little errors of judgment, not much in themselvespossibly; but which tended to interfere with his doing the one thingnecessary--firing point blank into the muffled face of the German pilot.

  Once more were they rushing headlong toward each other. Tom was steadiernow, and more alert. He had his plan of campaign mapped out clearly inhis mind. He had moreover noticed a weak point about the other's methodof attack, of which he intended to take advantage.

  The other three Americans were just as hotly engaged not far away; butit was a case of every man for himself. Tom counted on receiving noassistance. Indeed, while that feeling of confidence pulsed through hisveins he would have scorned to call for help, or even to allow it, if hecould prevent such a thing.

  Again the guns opened fire as the two foes advanced with savage fury.Such a battle in the clouds is on a plane that almost beggarsdescription. Nothing resembling it has ever been known before in all theannals of history until the present world war broke out, and theairplane was perfected as it stands to-day.

  This attack was even more tumultuous than the first had been. The planestried dodging, and several tricks were brought to bear on either side;for it seems that every pilot has his pet theories as to how best tocatch an opponent napping. Everything is fair, once the battle royal hasstarted and German wit is matched against American, or French.

  Again did they pass each other for a sudden dip. Each feared to becaught in a condition that would not permit of defense. They looked forall the world like a couple of agile boxers engaged in a contest, inwhich foot-work counted almost as much as that of the fists.

  Around and around they flew, coming back to the attack a third, and evena fourth time. Tom was beginning to grow impatient. Try as he could, hedid not seem able to bring the other down, though he was almost sure hehad poked his rapid-fire gun straight for the German's face, and whenonly a comparatively short distance away.

  "I've got to get him!" he muttered. "Or else he'll get me!"

  He wondered whether there could be anything in what he had heard one oldaviator say, to the effect that he firmly believed some of those Germansmust be wearing armor or suits of mail, since he had poured streams ofmissiles straight at them, and without the least appreciable effect.

  The German was getting a bit reckless. No doubt he had anticipated aneasy victory over the other, whom he must have guessed was something ofa beginner at this sort of aerial combat. Tom's agility in avoidingpunishment annoyed him; likewise the way the bullets splashed around himhad a disconcerting effect on his mind.

  This was the fifth dash, and it seemed as though the time had come whenone or the other should win the contest. They were growing more and moredesperate now; the fire of the battle had gone to their heads, and eachmust have made up his mind to finish the fight then and there, judgingfrom the way they headed straight toward one another. At any rate Tomhad determined that he must win, and win without delay.

  Bang!

  Tom realized suddenly that he had been struck, for he felt a suddenacute twinge. He neither knew nor cared how serious the injury might be,so long as it did not incapacitate him from serving his machine. And,best of all, thus far no missile from that popping mitrailleuse of theGerman had done serious damage to the vitals of his plane.

  Let the bullets cut holes all they pleased through the linen of thewings; there would be no splitting, as happens in the case of cotton orother fabrics; and such tiny apertures do not count for much inretarding the upholding power of a plane.

  Another dash, and this time Tom felt absolutely certain he had made ahit. It seemed to him he must have fairly riddled the other pilot, soclose was he when he poured all that torrent of lead aboard his craft.

  They rushed past one another, but Tom took the earliest possibleopportunity to redress, and look back at his foe. A thrill ran throughhis entire being as he discovered that the other was in trouble. TheFokker was descending in erratic spirals, evidently out of control. Manor machine, perhaps both, had come within the deadly line of fire, andthe fight was over.

  Turning, Tom watched the enemy plane go down. He had a queer, chokingsensation in his throat. Every novice probably feels that when hewatches his first rival heading earthward, with a mile or more to fallbefore he strikes. Still, Tom grimly held his feelings in check. Asuccessful air pilot, especially when he manages a fighting craft, cannot let sentiment get the better of his combative spirit. It is a fairtest of skill and endurance, and as a rule the better man wins the game.And war must always be an exhibition of cruelty in that human lives arethe stake played for.

  Nevertheless Tom was secretly glad to discover that the plane was beingfairly well guided to earth, showing that the German pilot, though hehad lost his fight
, could not have been killed outright, or evenmortally wounded.

  Tom now found a chance to look around, and note what was going on. Itwas just then that one of the leading American aviators drove at hisantagonist in a series of zigzag spins that must have bewildered theGerman, he never having run up against such tactics before.

  The consequence was the enemy met defeat. Tom knew what was going tohappen as soon as he saw the chief star of the Lafayette Escadrillestart his favorite attack. And ten seconds afterwards a second Teutonplane was whirling around aimlessly and falling. It turned in its flightso that its white belly showed plainly just as a fish will in its deaththroes.

  But the pilot was game to the finish, and managed in some wonderfulfashion to swing his damaged craft around again, so that when it landedwith a crash it fell bottom-down, and the motor did not come on top ofhim.

  Later on Tom learned that the man was badly injured, and made aprisoner. Eventually he pulled through, though it was reported he wouldnever be fit for flying again, even if he gained his freedom.

  The other two Germans had retreated, deeming the Americans too strongfor them. And Tom hoped it would be some time before others could musterup sufficient courage to go aloft, to pit their machines with those ofthe members of the Lafayette Escadrille.