Battling the clouds

by Frank Cobb

Bill felt his nerve die within him. Then a voice clear and sweet seemed to speak. It was so clear that he glanced toward Ernest to see if he too heard. Twice he heard his name called, then the dearest voice in the world said clearly:

"All's well, sonny. We are waiting. You will be in time."

With a start Bill knew that his mother was speaking. Where she was he did not know, but he heard her. All his fear, his indecision and his nervousness faded away. He glanced at the dial of the clock. It was just nine. The long, hard night was ahead of him, but he could make it. He set the wheel and risked a look at Ernest. He had not spoken, and he had not heard. With his well arm he was nursing the broken one, and as Bill looked at him he once more motioned upward. So they went soaring up, up and still up, into silver-shod space, above ink-black masses of cloud that held the silver rays of the moon on their upper surfaces as though they were cups.

As they sped on a wind began to blow behind them. It raced with them, caught them, hurled them forward with incredible speed. Bill held his course steadily, remembering "tail up!" as he tore onward. They were now so high that the earth was not even a shadow below them.

Suddenly as though flung through a doorway, they fell into one of those strange freaks of the upper air called a "pocket." It is a vacuum, and most dangerous.

The plane shook and wavered, but Bill set himself for a downward course and glided across the perilous area. As they emerged and struck the wind again, the plane slipped dangerously, but Bill warped the planes and set the ailerons with all the speed he could, and presently the indicator before him registered an even keel and the danger past.

Silently Ernest reached over and patted Bill's shoulder. Bill scarcely noticed. He was no longer afraid, no longer nervous. He had come into his own—and his mother was waiting for him! He would not fail her. She expected him. He would be there. How or why she knew that he was coming he could not guess, but he had heard her voice. Bill settled back in his seat and felt that he was master of his machine. And, better still, he was master of himself. Never again would he lose control of his nerves. He wondered how he had ever done so. In the darkness he smiled.

Hour after hour sped by. Bill was experiencing one of the peculiar things about air voyages. Time seemed to be obliterated and he did not feel the slightest fatigue. All the usual sensations of the human body seemed to disappear just as the earth had disappeared. On and on flew the plane. Once more he glanced at Ernest. It seemed as though he had slipped down in his seat. Bill wondered if he was tired. Darkness crept over the intense moonlight like a veil, and Bill realized that the moon was gone. He kept his course, however, with the aid of his indicator and the air compass and at last a new light commenced to show, the cold, cheerless, dun light of early dawn. As yet there was no sign of the sun.

Bill wondered if, in the night, he had flown past Fort Sill. It was certainly time they were approaching it. He slowed the engine down as much as he dared, and waited for more light. As day came, he saw that he was indeed over the bleak, cheerless wastes of Oklahoma, but as yet there was no sign of the great Post.

At last, far, far ahead he saw it; a great city, part of it forsaken and dismantled now that the war was ended and the need of trained troops not so important. He dropped a little as he recognized his location. He scanned Old Post lying on its low eminence, with the white hospitals spreading over their area, New Post with its wide parade ground and its trim rows of officers' quarters staring primly at the departmental buildings built in the old Mexican fashion on the other side of the parade.