The battle took on a new fury. From every conceivable shelter machine guns popped away at the advancing Americans, who were without protection against the terrible fire. There was no chance to dig in. Their furthest thought was to turn back. Orders were to take the town. Speedy advancement, even at great cost, was the only course open to them.
Seemingly every standing bit of battered wall and terrace protected one or more of the German rapid-fire guns. Where was their artillery? Why didn’t the American heavies pave the way? The answer was obvious. The infantry had far outdistanced the artillery, and the tanks had become stranded for the time being on the opposite side of the thick wood. Clearly there was nothing to it but an infantry onslaught that with many deaths as the price would carry the town by storm.
But just at that moment when many a man and officer, stifling criticism or complaint, nevertheless was thinking that too terrible a task had been placed upon them, a broad dark shadow passed between them and the sun, and more speedily than any cloud ever travelled on a clear day, flitted across that blood-soaked intervening stretch of land and toward the town.
Instinctively Tom and scores of others looked upward. As if in one voice there rose a tremendous cheer. Above them was the greatest armada of the air the world had ever seen. It was heading directly for a point above Thiaucourt, and another piece of shrewd strategy was being revealed.
As enemy anti-aircraft guns began to send their projectiles toward the fleet, it suddenly swerved upward and into a zig-zag course, but its general direction remained unaltered.
Every conceivable sort of aeroplane was in the formation. In the centre, convoyed and surrounded by swifter, lighter, more easily manipulated planes, were the great bombers, manned by crews of five, six, eight, ten and even a dozen men. These were to inflict the damage, while the others fought off all interference, acted as scouts and couriers, or in other ways guided the attack and kept the headquarters informed of the progress made.
And then occurred one of the most thrilling feats—or happy accidents—ever witnessed in the air.
Half a dozen of the one-man scout planes were scurrying along in the formation of an upright V. A dozen enemy anti-aircraft guns were trained upon them. One sent a shot squarely into one of the two highest of the planes. It staggered for an instant, and a quick gasp went up from the American soldiers on the ground as it suddenly crumpled and began to fall.
But they had not recovered their breath when the pilot, somehow extricating himself from his seat in the falling plane, gave a wild leap. His jump was inward in the V-shaped formation. Men held their breath as he dropped straight downward. Then someone gave a shout. It was all in the fraction of a minute, but it seemed an eternity of time. So far as could be seen from the ground his leap was but a few yards to the next plane, and he was almost directly above it.
The shout that had been one merely of startled anticipation broke into tremendous applause as, for only a second, the falling man was obscured from sight by the wings of the plane under him, and then that plane quivered for a moment as with a tremendous shock, then righted itself, and the pilot, evidently divining rather than having seen what had happened, and having received the frantic signals of half a dozen pilots nearest him, began a slow and cautious descent downward.