Huddled together in the shelter, which was dimly lighted by a single oil lamp, feeling the earth trembling beneath their feet, the pilots listened with awe to the sound of the explosions. It was mighty unpleasant to be cooped up—mighty unpleasant to think of what might be happening to the hangars and the little fighting Nieuports, and when, after what seemed to be an interminably long time, the din of the anti-aircraft guns and bursting bombs began to slacken, Don Hale gave a big sigh of relief.
“I guess it’s all over, boys,” he shouted.
“I’m going to make the Germans sorry for this,” cried Bobby Dunlap.
As the crowd, headed by Don, made for the door the firing had ceased, and, in contrast to the terrific racket of a few moments before, the comparative silence seemed almost strange and unnatural. The giant search-lights were still sweeping the sky, but the enemy had evidently been driven away.
Intent upon finding out as quickly as possible what damage had been done, Don Hale and George Glenn hurried toward the point where the bombs seemed to have fallen most thickly. Men were hurrying this way and that, and officers could be heard shouting their orders. It quickly developed, however, that the camp, very fortunately, had sustained but little damage. Great pits had been dug in the ground by the force of the explosions, the end of a hangar demolished, and two machines and a little storehouse destroyed.
“Now I feel very much better,” declared Don. “Honestly, I never expected to see that Nieuport of mine again.”
“From the amount of noise they made, one might have thought the whole camp was going skyward,” declared George. “Before the Boches have a chance to pay us another visit, Don, let’s beat it for the villa.”
“Done as soon as said,” exclaimed Don.
Long accustomed to the terrors and scares of the war zone, the boys had now entirely recovered from the effects of the bombardment from the sky.
With a number of others, they climbed into a big camion and were driven to their headquarters. On the way they saw encampments of soldiers in the fields, their tents, with lights inside, showing as faintly luminous spots in the darkness. Now and again a long convoy lumbered along the road; batteries were moving up nearer the front; reserves, too, passed them, marching steadily and silently, the rhythmic sound of their steadily-tramping feet sounding weirdly in the night.