Our Pilots in the Air

by William Perry Brown

"What do you think that chap asked us to do," said Blaine, regarding the dead man solemnly. "It sort of mellowed me towards him, after His father and mother live in Chicago, worked for some meat packers, and his dad is making some money there. When he found that the bullets that had hit him as well as his machine weren't goin' to let him live much longer, he asked if either of us got back to our lines, to write tell his mother. He gave me the name and I put it down in my pocket pad book. He talked in good English and altogether seemed quite like some of our home folks. He got into aviation over here and liked it. But he's out of all that now and to make him feel better both Stan and I promised to do as he wished.

"He said his machine was all right; and if anything was the matter with ours we might fix up his and make a get-away. Course there ain't nothin' much the matter with mine, though yours may be crippled — hullo! What's that?"

The loud report of an exploding bomb sounded as it fell not far away. Instantly they scattered for such shelter as was obtainable. Other bombs fell and for a few minutes the scene was indescribable. They saw from the shelter both their own machines shattered too badly for further immediate use, though the Fokker remained untouched, it being some distance off and partially under the protecting shadow of a half ruined arch of the chateau that overhung the main approach.

Also they heard the whirring swish of the passing squadron as it circled over the buildings. It afterwards appeared that the chateau owner was for some reason specially obnoxious to the Germans in Belgium. At last the bombing apparently ceased, but even this was deceptive. Both Blaine and Erwin, followed at a little distance by Stanley, ran out to look into the damage done to their machines. In the darkness this was slow work. A fire was lighted, and while still examining the wrecks another whirring overhead sounded.

Stanley discreetly dodged under another projecting abutment, when down dropped another bomb, probably thrown at a venture from some scattering member of the squad that had just passed. From his shelter Stanley was horrified to see both Blaine and Erwin, who were near the fire, thrown violently down as the bomb burst appallingly near where they were crouched. They; did not rise again.

Without waiting to see if other bombs might fall, the observer ran forward in great perturbation. Both aviators lay apparently senseless. From Blaine's head blood was flowing from a flesh wound somewhere up under his thick mop of short curly hair. His pulse, however, was beating lively.

As for Erwin, no visible wounds were apparent, yet he lay there deathly pale while some of his clothing had been torn by fragments of the exploding bomb.

Of Buck Bangs there was no sign.

Deeply depressed, for he was very young and impressionable, Stanley, regardless of his own safety, punched up the fire and from his own and his comrades' kits procured such remedies as aviators carry for just such emergencies. In the dark he hunted for water but found none. From a flask of good French brandy he managed to pour a spoonful or so down each throat, taking a swallow himself, for he felt he sorely needed it.

Poor old Blaine never stirred. Erwin at last shivered slightly.