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CHAPTER XIV
A TERRIBLE FIGHT IN THE CLOUDS
The return to the base with only the single mishap alluded to was cause for congratulations, and the lieutenant came in for a large share of the commendation.
In turn he prepared a special report setting forth the work done by the boys on the eventful journey. He pointed out that Ralph piloted the machine the entire distance, giving him, as the commanding officer of one division, time to direct the operation of the machines and attend to the bombs, while he had the pleasure of presenting to the authorities a set of unique photographs taken by Alfred at the very time the bombs were thrown and exploded.
When the roll was called, two days thereafter, the men of the squadrons were lined up, an officer from headquarters passed down the line, and, among other places, halted before the boys, who stepped forward. On the breast of each was pinned a medal, and as the officer did so he kissed them on the cheeks, a custom which is faithfully observed, in accordance with the regulations, whenever a merit order is bestowed.
There was a cheer as the two blushing boys stepped back to the line, and there were no prouder hearts than theirs as they heard the encomiums expressed on all sides for their bravery and devotion to duty. It was a pleasure to many other young Americans, who, like them, were volunteers serving in the aviation corps, and many of whom were afterwards also honored in like manner.
There was hardly a day that there was not some experience added to their store of knowledge pertaining to airships, and the work connected with flying, all of which was performed with efficiency and credit.
But the work which they performed was not all a series of jolly excursions without the corresponding sorrows. The devotion of Lieutenant Guyon to them dated from the time when that brave officer was stricken while on a trial flight from the camp at Bar-le-Duc. He never forgot how they took charge of the machine, and brought it safely to earth and cared for him so tenderly. Thereafter, it was rarely the case that he went aloft without one or both of the boys in his company.
Shortly after the foregoing events, while the three were performing scout duty north of St. Mihiel, they were attacked by two German machines, an Albatross and a Taube, a combination which, especially when operating against a single machine, is capable of doing deadly work.
When the two enemy ships were sighted, Alfred was in the pilot's seat, and under the direction of the lieutenant, the airplane shot forward directly in the path of the first machine, while the lieutenant poured out a constant storm of shot. The Albatross dived, and Alfred at once moved the control to ascend, thus bringing their machine above the Taube.
The object now was to so manoeuver their ship as to keep between the two enemies, and in doing so make it difficult for either of them to use the quick firers without danger of hitting the other. The Seraph was a rapid climber, due to the high power of her engines.
"Send her up as rapidly as possible," shouted the lieutenant. "Keep on going, and turn slowly to the left, so as to make a big circle; that will give me a chance to put in some shots."
Alfred knew the manoeuver, the purpose being to bring the two machines into line with each other, and thus enable the lieutenant to get his gun in the range of both machines.
"A little down now, and more to the right; there, steady," was the next command.
"Br-r-r-r-r" sounded the gun, as the officer turned the crank.
"The Taube is going down," cried Ralph excitedly, "and here comes another of the same kind," continued Ralph.
"Go straight for the second one," shouted the lieutenant, and Alfred knew that the same trick had to be repeated.
But the new arrival did not accept the invitation to fight on the lines that the first machine adopted. Instead, it began to circle about at a safe distance, endeavoring to secure the overhead position.
"Follow that bird," said the lieutenant, "and keep going. They will learn something about high flying before they get through with us."
The Albatross was not making much headway in the climbing game. On the other hand, the new Taube was an extraordinary flyer.
"There is only one man aboard of her," said the lieutenant. "Take the glasses, and see if you can make out her number."
Ralph studied the machine for some time. "I am not sure," he said, "but I think it is D 28. No one but the pilot is aboard."
"That's good. He can't hit us head on. Trail him or get ahead of him and keep on ascending," said the lieutenant, now preparing his rapid firer with a new charge.
The Taube suddenly swerved to the right, and let loose a full charge from his gun. It seemed as though one side of the Seraph had the covering of the planes ripped off, for the hail of bullets tore right through the frame. Alfred shook his head as he cleared away several bits of wreckage.
"How high are we?" asked Ralph.
"Two thousand six hundred meters," was the reply.
The lieutenant had his revenge, however, for their own machine was now creeping up and gradually getting a rear position. This was what he had been aiming for. The stream of shots from the Seraph's gun now began to tell. In one despairing attempt the Taube turned fully half way around and answered, but it was evident that something was wrong with the ship.
Suddenly the Seraph darted down. Ralph and the lieutenant looked back in surprise. Alfred's head had dropped to one side, and one arm hung over the side of the chassis.
The lieutenant leaned over and caught the elevating rudder, not a moment too soon, and corrected the machine. Ralph leaned over the side of the body, and drew Alfred toward him, as the lieutenant climbed into the aviator's seat. All this took but a moment's time, but meanwhile it was necessary for them to observe the enemy and avoid him.
"The Taube is falling," cried out Ralph, "but the Albatross is swinging around."
Before it was possible to correct the machine, and avoid the danger, the gunner of the oncoming aeroplane began to pump, and the shot began to tell on the Seraph's framework. The lieutenant now saw that it would be a terrific task to get above the Albatross, so turning the control rudder sharply, the Seraph made a quick slide below its adversary.
Alfred did not move, and Ralph tried to control himself, for in the great excitement attending the above circumstances, he was almost distracted. He was leaning partly over the body of the machine when the lieutenant saw him crouch forward. He put his hand on the boy and tried to shake him, but there was no response.
Down, down went the machine, still under absolute control of the lieutenant, who turned the machine in a circle in order to be sure to bring it down within the French lines. When within five hundred feet of the earth something seemed to go wrong with the steering mechanism. The lieutenant tugged and pulled the lever back and forth. The machine refused to move forward in a straight line, and landing while the machine is describing a circular movement is a most dangerous manoeuver.
Both boys were quiet, and the lieutenant feared for the worst. A hundred feet more and all would be over. In desperation he banked the machine to stop its terrific speed. This helped the situation, but did not prevent the spinning motion, and finally the crash came.
They landed in a newly ploughed field, the worst possible sort of place for a disabled machine. The lieutenant and Ralph were thrown out of their seats, but Alfred was held fast in the machine.
Many willing helpers were on hand, and they found all three of the flyers were unconscious when put into the van, but, fortunately, they were within a half mile of the emergency hospital south of St. Mihiel. On the way to the hospital a hurried survey was made to ascertain the extent of the injuries, but the physicians were silent.
Alfred regained consciousness before the hospital was reached. The doctors said that there was a severe bruise on the back of his head, as though he had been struck by some heavy object. The lieutenant opened his eyes, as he was placed on the operating cot. He glanced around wildly for a moment, and then asked: "Where are my boys!"
"We have them here; they are all right," said a nurse.
He forced a weak smile, turned his head to one side, and was quiet.
Ralph had been shot through the body, too high up, it was believed, to touch the lungs. A second bullet had passed through the fleshy part of the left arm, and he was very weak from loss of blood. The three were placed on adjoining cots after the first examination was over, and after all had regained their normal senses a pair of stretcher bearers entered the door, and bore a wounded man to one of the adjoining cots.
The lieutenant was the first to observe the chevrons on the sleeve of the patient, and that he was a German. Ralph tried to raise up as he noticed them carefully lift the wounded man, and deposit him on the cot.
"That's the fellow who piloted the last Taube; I'm sure of that. He's the fellow I saw through the glasses," said Ralph.
Inquiry quickly established the truth of Ralph's observation. His machine had fallen within French lines, and not far from the place where the Seraph struck. It was an odd coincidence.
The lieutenant was the most severely injured, how badly no one knew at the time, for a certain time must elapse before the full extent of the injury in such cases develops. The next morning the boys were informed that the lieutenant was much worse, and then for two days they had no news.
Meanwhile, Ralph's wounds were healing, and no excessive fever developed. Alfred's spine seemed to be affected by the terrific blow, but that would be all right again in course of time.
The sad intelligence came to them a few days thereafter that the lieutenant had died. It was, indeed, a grief to them. They had grown to love him as a friend, and they understood each other so well. It was learned that his heart was too weak to bear up against the internal injuries, which he received when the machine struck the earth.
It was two weeks before the boys were able to leave the hospital, and they were then not able to return to duty. The shock of their friend's death was so acute that, as Ralph expressed it, they never again wanted to see an airplane.
They were soon sent to Paris to recuperate, and while there they formed plans which took them into another part of the great war game, and we may be able hereafter to follow them in their new exploits.
