CHAPTER IX—THE ACE
Many of the students confidently believed that by the time another day had rolled around Albert would have so far recovered from the effects of his thrilling experience as to reconsider his determination. This, however, was not the case.
A few privately expressed the opinion that Drugstore was a quitter, but, somehow or other, the boy’s frank avowal had raised him in the opinion of the majority, who sincerely regretted that so promising a pupil should be lost to the school.
During the late afternoon another American arrived. Of course this was not a very important event. Students were always going and coming, some leaving for the École de Perfectionment[[5]] others being sent back to their regiments when it was found that they were not fitted by nature to become successful airmen.
But a little incident in connection with the appearance of the newcomer profoundly interested those of an observant or inquisitive nature. It was a rather dramatic meeting between him and the former college student, Victor Gilbert.
The latter, who was now in the third class and gave promise of being one of the best of the élève pilots, upon entering the room and coming face to face with the other halted as though almost petrified with astonishment, and exclaimed:
“Hello! You here, Jason Hamlin!” Whereupon the other answered, in a tone which showed no trace of friendliness:
“Yes, I am here, Gilbert. And one of the reasons I am here is because you are here. Does that disturb you?”
“Not enough for me to notice it,” returned Victor Gilbert, coolly.
“Flying is a dangerous game, eh?”
“There are other games just as dangerous.”
“There are other games just as dangerous”
At this remark Jason Hamlin’s face flushed perceptibly; his fingers twitched; a steely glare which plainly told of a spirit moved to anger came into his eyes.
But the interesting colloquy ended there.
“I say, wasn’t that mighty curious about Gilbert and Hamlin?” exclaimed Bobby Dunlap, otherwise Peur Jamais, to Don Hale, after the evening meal was over. “I wonder what Gilbert meant by saying: ‘There are other games just as dangerous.’”
“It’s too much of a riddle for me.”
“I tried to pump this Jason person a little,” declared Peur Jamais, “but he was as dry as an old well gone out of business. Strikes me there’s a little mystery which I’ll have to unravel.”
“I’ll let you have all the fun of the unraveling,” chortled Don. “Go to it, Mr. Sherlock Holmes the second.”
“All right!” chirped Bobby. “I hope I shan’t get a punch in the eye while I’m sherlocking. Our friend Jason looks as though he wouldn’t have much trouble in finding his temper.”
“Or losing it,” said Don, with a laugh. “But say, Bobby, I got a letter to-day from George Glenn. And what do you think he’s seen?”
“Break it to me gently.”
Thereupon Don Hale drew from his pocket the missive, and began to read:
“‘To-day I had a mighty exciting experience. It was during my two hours’ patrol over the enemy’s line, and the “Archies” were following my plane thick and fast.’”
“The ‘Archies’! What does he mean by ‘Archies’?” interrupted Bobby.
“It’s a name the flying fighters have given to the anti-aircraft guns,” replied Don. “Though I reckon no one knows exactly the reason why.”
He resumed:
“‘Don, I must confess that this afternoon I got a pretty big scare. I was just about to return to the encampment of the squadron when I saw something that made my pulse throb as it hasn’t throbbed even when I was engaged in a duel in the air. It was the sight of two crimson planes swooping down upon me from above—a part of Captain Baron Von Richtofen’s Red Squadron!’”
“Great Caesar’s bald-headed nanny-goat!” ejaculated Bobby. “Where’s my suit-case? I think I’ll go home with Drugstore.”
“I shouldn’t blame you,” laughed Don.
“‘By the time I made this startling discovery the foremost had opened fire with his machine gun. And the first thing I knew bullets were ripping through my plane.’”
“I don’t think I’ll wait for my suitcase, after all!” exclaimed Peur Jamais. “Whew! What did George do to them for that?”
“The next chapter is as follows,” said Don:
“‘I threw my plane into the vrille, and the next shots sped over my head. That might not have saved me, either, had it not been that some of the boys, seeing my predicament, literally sailed into the Germans.’”
“Poor child!” cried Bobby. “By this time I really ought to be half-way to the station.”
Don continued:
“‘From now on I expect things to be more dangerous than usual, which is saying a good bit. I will write again soon if—though I will say au revoir.’”
“I can’t say the prospect looks so very enchanting,” confessed Bobby. “But, as the French say, ‘C’est la guerre!’ And that means it isn’t any pink tea affair, eh?”
“I guess not; though I never drank any pink tea,” laughed Don.
Some time later T. Singleton Albert approached the two.
“I thought I’d say good-bye, fellows,” he announced. “I’m leaving during the forenoon to-morrow, and you chaps might not happen to be around.”
“It’s too bad!” said Don. “I suppose it’s no use of our saying a word, eh?”
“Not a bit,” declared the other, very emphatically. “That tumble in the air certainly did the business for me. Why, do you know, even the very sight of an airplane going aloft gives me the queerest kind of feelings. Take my advice—be a bit slow in making haste. Then you won’t have to pack your suit-cases and get out, as I’m doing.”
Albert spoke in the tone of one who felt that his ambitions had been rudely shattered—that the future held no hope.
The daring young airman who had astonished the students by his rapid progress had become once more the drugstore clerk, the very antithesis of what an airman might be expected to appear.
Drugstore solemnly wished them the best luck in the world, hoped they might win fame and glory in the sky, and then, after shaking hands very heartily, wandered away to say his adieus to the others.
“I think, after all, the soda-water counter is his proper sphere in life,” remarked Dunlap, presently. “He’s more fitted to be reading about the exploits of other chaps than trying to do them himself.”
“I hope the weather is all right to-morrow,” broke in Don. “It was looking a bit threatening when we came in—all clouded over. Let’s take a look outside, ‘Fear Never.’”
“All right,” chirped Bobby. “Goodness, how I hate rainy days! I think I know, now, how a chicken in a coop must feel.”
The two walked outside the crowded barracks, and both at once gave voice to expressions indicative of disappointment.
The entire heavens was covered with a thick canopy of clouds.
“I don’t think Druggy need have said good-bye to-night,” remarked Peur Jamais, disconsolately. “If I issued a Weather Communique it would sound something like this: High and steady winds; heavy rains, with no intermissions between; lightning and thunder in equal proportions; life-boats and rafts in demand.’”
“Never mind,” sighed Don. “There are other days ahead of us.”
“If I didn’t think there were I’d never be standing here as calmly as this,” returned Bobby, laughingly. “Let’s go back to the smell of kerosene and dismal light.”
It was rather late when the crowd turned in; and the last one hadn’t been asleep very long before pattering drops of rain were heard falling upon the roof, while the wind, in soft and musical cadences, kept steadily blowing.
About two a. m. there came a veritable downpour and big, booming reverberations of thunder. Vivid flashes of bluish lightning filled each window with a dazzling glare and cast a weird and uncanny light throughout the room.
“It’s a wild night, all right,” exclaimed Dublin Dan, half sitting up.
“It means no flying to-morrow,” grumbled Mittengale.
“Such little trials have their usefulness.” It was Victor Gilbert who spoke. “It teaches, or rather, should teach one to be philosophical and accept the inevitable with resignation.”
“I don’t want to be philosophical,” complained Peur Jamais. “And I won’t be philosophical, either. Whew! Some big waste of electric light, that!”
No one made any reply, or if they did it was unheard; for the most appalling detonation shook and rattled the barracks. It seemed as if the structure must be shaken from its very foundations.
And thus the storm continued until the boys were routed from their beds by the musical notes of the bugle.
It was pitch dark and gloomy. The wind tore past with no soft and musical cadences mingled in with its angry whistling, and now and again a flurry of raindrops splattered noisily down.
The usual roll call was held, and then the boys were free to do as they pleased. Don Hale concluded to take a nap in his former place between the sheets.
When he once more opened his eyes the morning was well advanced.
Jumping out of his berth, with an exclamation of surprise, the boy hastily slipped on his clothes and walked outside.
Scarcely a hint of color could be seen in the landscape. Here and there pools had formed, reflecting the dull, leaden gray of the wind-driven clouds, the air was filled with moisture, and the dull and heavy-looking earth seemed to have absorbed all it could possibly hold.
Gazing at the landscape was not a particularly enjoyable pastime; so the boy reentered the barracks.
An hour passed, during which the crowd amused itself in various ways. Then a shout outside was heard. Although the words themselves were not understood, it was a call so clearly intended to bring the boys that a general stampede for the door was made.
And when they reached it, they perceived a biplane which, in utter defiance of the treacherous wind buffeting it about, was approaching the aviation grounds at tremendous speed, its graceful, rocking form outlined in lightish tones against the sinister-looking storm-clouds.
“I believe he’s going to land!” cried Don.
“Of course. Did you think he was condemned to fly forever!” chirped Dublin Dan.
Now the loud, droning hum of the motors and propellers, which had been filling the air, suddenly ceased, and the object darting swiftly through the sky began to volplane in graceful spirals toward the earth.
Realizing that the biplane, which all now recognized as a Nieuport machine, an avion de chasse, as the French call them, would alight some distance away, the crowd started running over the muddy field toward it.
And while they were on the way the pilot made the most perfect atterrissage[[6]] any of them had ever seen.
T. Singleton Albert, who had not yet left, was enthusiastic in his praise.
“Oh, boy, wasn’t that jolly fine!” he cried. “And——”
He got no further; for just then some one bawled out with much gusto and boisterousness:
“It’s a machine belonging to the Lafayette Squadron!”
“The Lafayette Squadron!” echoed a number of others, the rather shrill and falsetto voice of Drugstore being plainly heard.
Sure enough, the insignia of the famous flying squadron—the face of an Indian warrior, now faded and worn by the rains and snows which had beaten upon it, could be clearly distinguished on the body of the rakish-looking plane.
Don Hale forgot all about the dreary prospect ahead of him for the day in his absorbed contemplation of the visiting biplane. Then his glances fell upon the aviator just on the point of stepping from the nacelle, or cockpit.
“Hello!”
He uttered the word aloud and excitedly.
The appearance of the aviator was thoroughly familiar. He had seen pictures of him many a time. A curious thrill shot through the boy; for suddenly he realized that he was looking upon William Thaw, the famous American Ace, one of the most commanding figures of the Franco-American Flying Corps.
Others, too, among the crowd had recognized the renowned aviator, and a burst of enthusiastic cheering ending in a “Rah, rah, for Thaw!” rang out.
The famous ace smilingly bowed his acknowledgments, remarking:
“Many thanks, fellows! I thought I would just take a flyer over here to pay a brief visit to my old friend, the commandant.”
“But—but—you didn’t actually come all the way from the front, Lieutenant Thaw, did you?” almost stuttered T. Singleton Albert, whose eyes were fixed with strange intensity on the trim, though mud-bespattered little Nieuport.
“Oh, yes! Had quite a scrap, too, just before leaving. Did I get the Boche?” Lieutenant Thaw smiled genially. “No. I think that particular Teuton must have had faith in the old adage that ‘He who fights and runs away may live to fight another day.’ Now, boys, I suppose it’s quite safe for me to leave the machine here until I return?”
Being assured that it was, the aviator, with a wave of his hand, started trudging through the soggy field toward the commandant’s office.
By this time Don Hale and Albert were making a close examination of the Nieuport. Both took a look at the cockpit, beautifully finished in hard wood, and at the upholstered pilot’s seat, and studied the brightly-shining nickel-plated instruments which tell the pilot practically everything he needs to know while in the air.
There was something else, too,—an ominous-looking something else—which attracted and held their interest—a Vickers machine gun, the firing of which is so perfectly timed that the bullets fly between the whirling propeller blades.
To Don Hale, and, doubtless, to many others, that weapon, catching and reflecting numerous gleams of light, was almost awe-inspiring. And, to add to these feelings, they presently discovered several bullet holes in both the upper and lower planes, silent and eloquent testimonials of the perils which always face the intrepid and courageous fighters of the air.
At first Albert had been quite talkative—that is for him; then, as he walked around the machine, studying every detail with the same interest that a connoisseur might have displayed in the contemplation of a rare and priceless piece of statuary, he suddenly became silent. Finally his mild, unassuming air deserted him, and, straightening up, he exclaimed, loudly:
“Fellows, I’ve changed my mind. Nobody is ever going to call me a quitter. I’m not going to leave the school after all. No, sir! I’ll keep at the flying game; and, by George, I’ll get to the front, too.”
Following his sudden and almost vehement outburst, there came a silence.
But it was quickly broken. And as loud as had been the cheering for the visiting aviator it distinctly held second place to that which greeted T. Singleton Albert’s unexpected declaration.
The boys shook his hand and slapped him delightedly on the shoulder.
“Julius Cæsar! The Germans are going to pay dearly on account of this unexpected visit of Lieutenant William Thaw,” cried Roy Mittengale.
“Poor Baron Von Richtofen and his Red Squadron of Death!” laughed Bobby Dunlap. “Just think of all those gallons of red paint gone to waste! Drugstore, your nerve is simply grand!”
A little later, when the American lieutenant returned, the students told him about the incident, whereupon he, too, heartily congratulated Albert.
“We need young chaps like you at the front,” he declared. “The air service is of the greatest importance. It has been called the ‘Eyes of the Army.’ The game, too, is wonderfully thrilling—wonderfully interesting. Let me wish you much glory, success—and safety.”
As he spoke, he climbed into the cockpit.
Don Hale gave the propeller a whirl and, presently, amid a chorus of good-byes, the Nieuport started off. Faster and faster it moved over the field, sending streams of mud and water flying in every direction, and, at last, gaining sufficient momentum, it glided into the air.
The crowd watched the biplane until it had disappeared in the murky, moisture-laden air.
“Boys, I’ll never forget this day,” declared Drugstore. “It’s strange how little things may alter the whole course of a person’s life!”
And every one, quite as solemnly, agreed with him that it was.
| [5] | School for advanced students. |
| [6] | Atterrissage—landing. |