Army Boys in France Part 19

He wore an aviator's uniform and was a fine type of young American. He was one of those who, on seeing war impending, had not waited for the formal declaration, but, at their own expense, had sailed to the old country to help France and, so doing, the United States.

Bronzed, upstanding, clear-eyed, he had succeeded in making the army boys like him immensely and had imparted to them many useful and interesting stories of modern warfare.

"You're a good one to talk," said Billy. "When it comes to fire eating, you aren't so slow yourself. I heard from one of the fellows yesterday what you did at the battle of the Somme."

d.i.c.k blushed like a girl.

"That was nothing," he protested. "Just part of the day's work."

"What's the dope?" asked Tom with interest. "I haven't heard the story, and from the beginning, it ought to be good."

"Will Scott was telling me about it," said Billy. "He says that d.i.c.k here went over the German lines and started a little war all by himself. He flew low near the ground, letting loose his machine gun at a whole regiment of German soldiers just forming up for action. Went along a little further and lambasted a bunch of German officers in an automobile, killed two of them and made the others jump out and hide under the machine. Then came back and, just for good measure, let fly his machine gun at the same regiment he'd soaked going out. After that I guess he knocked off and called it a day's work.

"That's why he wears that decoration," he added, pointing to the cross on d.i.c.k's jacket.

"See him blush," chaffed Tom. "It's funny how these fellows that can face any number of bullets, turn coward when it comes to praise. You'd almost think we were accusing him of a crime."

"Any other of the boys would have done the same if he had had my chance," said d.i.c.k. "Sometimes I go days at a time without having a chance for a sc.r.a.p. That just happened to be my lucky day."

"The Huns didn't call it that," laughed Frank.

d.i.c.k who, as a matter of custom, had been scanning the sky, uttered a sharp exclamation.

"Here's another bit of luck, fellows, perhaps," he cried, and without further farewell, was off like a shot toward his machine, which had been waiting, with his mechanic to guard it, a hundred yards away.

High up in the sky appeared a squadron of airs.h.i.+ps that by their markings and designs the boys recognized as enemy planes. They were evidently bent on adventure and had come much further beyond the lines than usual.

The French were quick to accept the challenge and the anti-aircraft guns got into action at once. Puffs of shrapnel burst like white clouds in and about the marauding planes.

Even as the boys watched, one missile found its mark, and the plane, out of control, whirled round and round and then fell swiftly to the ground within the French lines.

But not with guns alone did the Allies respond. Like a flock of falcons, a squadron of French aeroplanes shot swiftly up into the air, climbing, climbing in the effort for alt.i.tude, so that they might swoop down upon their prey from above.

"There goes d.i.c.k's plane in the van!" cried Frank, his voice tense with excitement.

"That's the place for America!" exclaimed Tom. "Always in the van!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE BAPTISM OF FIRE

All faces were turned toward the sky. It was the army boys' first glimpse of a battle in the air and the grim game held them spellbound.

Like great birds the battle planes wheeled and swooped, now diving, now climbing, each jockeying so as to get the weather gauge of its opponent and bring its machine guns into action.

The forces were nearly equal and for some time victory hovered in the balance. But either the staying quality or the alertness of the Allies finally turned the scale. Two of the enemy planes were shot down, and a third, evidently crippled, but not wholly out of control, sought the ground within its own lines.

The German force, now depleted, turned east and made off at full speed, with the Allies in hot pursuit.

Then the sky clouded over and the finish of the fight was lost to the eager watchers below. But they had seen enough to know that the raiders had been beaten back and that victory rested with the Allies and they were jubilant at the result.

"The Huns went back quicker than they came," gloated Tom.

"Right-o!" cried Bart, gleefully. "They came to shear and they went back shorn."

"The Kaiser, he has lost his sheep And doesn't know where to find them, Leave them alone and they'll come home With our planes close behind them."

So parodied Billy.

"I hope d.i.c.k comes out of it all right," said Frank, a little soberly.

"Trust that boy," said Tom, confidently. "I don't imagine anyone needs to worry about him. If he can't take care of himself, n.o.body can."

But the Germans, though beaten in that skirmish, were far from being discouraged, and the boys were to learn that very night with what a persistent foe they had to deal.

It had been a hard and exciting day and now, after a steaming hot supper, they were scattered about the old mill in comfort and utter relaxation.

Some were smoking, others chatting, some mending their clothes, which in these days of strenuous work were often in need of repair, while one or two by the light of candles were writing letters to the folks at home.

Billy, seated on a stool, was strumming a banjo which had been his solace many a time while he was stationed on the Mexican border and which now was doing duty in France.

"Hit 'er up, Billy," said Bart, lazily. "We don't mind being miserable if it gives you any comfort."

"Quit your knocking," grinned Billy. "You know you're just dying to hear it. What do you fellows want--the Moonlight Sonata or something else simple like that?"

"That's too high cla.s.s for this bunch," said Tom. "Though there's plenty of moonlight outside," he added, as he looked out the window.

"I've had all the outside I want for one day," said Frank. "I'd just as soon stay where I am." He was penning a letter to his mother, telling her of many things that had happened, and stating that, so far, he had not had a chance to learn anything about his grandfather's estate.

"Well, I'm waiting," said Billy. "What does the gang want? Jazz band music? That's about your style."

"No, give us something that sounds like home," said Tom. "Some of those southern melodies."

"Yes," urged Bart. "You're a dabster at that, Billy."

"All right," said Billy, cheerfully. "Anything to oblige."

He picked the strings for a moment and then began to sing softly--

"Swing low, sweet chariot Gwine for to ca'y me home Swing low, sweet chario--ot Gwine for to ca'y me home."

_Bang!_ There was a tremendous explosion close to the mill. The air was filled with a deafening din.