Our Pilots in the Air Part 17

CHAPTER XII

THE ADVENTURES OF ERWIN

In the meantime, what had become of the two adventurous planes with their occupants that had so blithely started out in search of the still missing pilot and friend? Whither had their search carried them? How was it that of the three who went forth only one had come back, perhaps lifeless or barely alive, and in a German machine!

Verily in this new warfare of the air strange are the daily happenings on that fated West Front; nor can anybody foretell what stranger things may happen than have happened before, even to the best pilots of them all.

During the air fighting when the Boches were sent back in retreat, with some of their best planes missing, Erwin, after sending one already half crippled Fokker crashing to earth, took after another German.

This last was a huge biplane manned by two men, one of whom lay collapsed in his seat. The remaining pilot seemed bewildered. Already the plane had received various punctures, though not sufficient to prevent further flying.

"No use to let that chap get away," reflected Orris. "He's lost his observer, and his wings are in bad shape. Our fellows can attend to the rest of these Boches. We've got 'em whipped anyway."

Up, up went the German, with Erwin following, trying to circle round into position to use his machine gun. But this was not easy. The biplane, though crippled, was of such power and speed that it easily kept well ahead of its pursuer who was yet far below. In fact, when an alt.i.tude of several thousand feet was attained, the greater buoyancy of the air at this stage was an aid to the half defeated foe. His vast spread of double wings made it difficult for Orris, with his greater motor power and reduced spread of planes, to much more than neutralize their relative positions.

Straight into the northeast fled the German. After him came Erwin, still below and striving to get onto his adversary's tail. But despite all he could do, it failed to bring him within the proper distance for direct attack.

"That is be up to now?" wondered the youth, for the Boche was half rising in his seat, as if trying to lift something behind. "Hullo!

Blame me if he ain't trying to oust his dead mate!"

This was exactly what the Boche pilot was trying to do. But for some reason, not at first apparent, the man had difficulties. At last, by letting go with both hands of wheel and controls, half turning in his seat, Erwin saw him lift up the body of the observer and attempt to fling it overboard. But even that was hindered for a moment, and in a way that filled the watchful American with horror and disgust.

Already the seemingly inanimate body was sliding over the sloping side of the car, when Orris saw a hand stretch forth, seize the pilot's extended arm and hang thus, half dangling over the side, the legs kicking feebly.

"Why, his mate's alive!" almost shouted the American, more shaken by this exhibition than anything that had hitherto happened to him in his short but risky campaign along the West Front.

"Hey, there! You beast -- you villain!" Almost insanely Erwin was shouting, for he was convulsed by a fury that made him for the time being oblivious to the fact that he was too far away to be heard by any one but himself.

For another instant the half alive man hung on, then was shaken loose.

Down he came, pa.s.sing rather close to the scouting pursuer, his arms and legs still working convulsively, and so on down to his inevitable fate. By this time, and while Erwin was recovering, the big biplane had recovered and was shooting eastward as before though with accelerated speed, being now relieved of much of its former dead weight.

Still grinding his teeth, Orris shot after the foe, determined more than ever to overtake and have it out with the inhuman beast, now alone in his flight to safety but a mile ahead.

All thought of immediate return to his own lines was lost, at least until he could wreak vengeance on the man who had just shown such inhumanity towards his own comrade and countryman.

"Curse him!" still objurgated the youth. "It would be bad enough if it was a foe -- one of us that was aboard that cursed craft!" Orris expelled a deep breath, while he put on all the power his speedy plane would stand. "I'll get him even if the Boches got me!"

From the course followed by the biplane Erwin knew that he was already well to the northward of the point of his own return, provided he was able to make the trip back in safety. Also it was clear that they were now well over the rear German trenches and not very far from where Belgian territory bordered on that part of northern France -- now so long held by the foe.

So swift and fast did Erwin go that the transient aid afforded by casting over the still living observer was soon more than neutralized.

The boy was almost within easy range.

"Just a little further and I'll get him." So ran Erwin's thought.

"But I mustn't waste ammunition. There's no knowing when or where I'll need all I've got. Curse that beast! He shall die or I'll know the reason why, even if I get into a narrow squeeze myself."

At last he felt that he might begin. He was on the tail of the biplane, though underneath. To his gratification he also saw that in nimble activity he was now the superior. And in close fighting it is the nimble, ducking, dodging, twisting machine that usually has certain advantage.

Pointing upward, he began to rain bullets and shrapnel into the fleeing German, his Lewis gun working automatically, and with such precision that the German shot off at right angles, dived, and strove to come up underneath his a.s.sailant. But he was too slow. After the dive, as the biplane came up in reverse position Erwin, prepared for this, half wheeled, and shot obliquely downward, pointed straight at his adversary. While he darted at a two-mile-a-minute pace, the deadly Lewis again began vomiting its flaming death straight at the man seated amidships, who was frantically trying to train his own gun on the advancing foe.

On came the scouting plane from five hundred yards to less than two hundred, almost while one drew an average breath. Evidently the German misunderstood. He thought that the now reckless foe, casting discretion to the wind, was bent upon something desperate. But -- what? Again and again he tried to train his own gun on the American, but the latter kept edging just out of range, while at the same time he drew near, nearer.

At last, when within fifty yards, Erwin let him have it. While his Lewis was spitting forth a continuous fire, by some method not at once comprehended by the other, Erwin ranged alongside, still at a distance where he was free from air suction, and literally riddled that big plane with holes. After a spattering fire that did no harm, the German abandoned the gun and strove to nosedive, always a rather risky proceeding in such a big plane when haste is apt to neutralize efficiency.

Instead of presenting a slanting pair of wings, the big machine was tipped in such a way as to present for a minute, its whole under side to Erwin's view.

It was the critical moment. With feet on controls, and one hand on the wheel, the lad managed to pour a continuous volley of those leaden hailstones squarely into the entrails of the foe. Then up he climbed, at almost lightning speed, and as he came to dancing level off the German's tail, out from the sagging biplane pitched another human body, this time not the murdered, but the murderer.

"Good riddance!" almost gasped Erwin. "He's gone to h.e.l.l, where he and his like belong! But -- what's this? Glory! His tank is busted; his plane goes down with him and on fire!"

Erwin was correct. The biplane's tank -- always in danger in fights like this -- had been badly punctured by the same hail of Lewis bullets that had also hit the German, just as his plane got out of control.

Instantly the flames burst forth as the big airship plunged downward, only a little behind the falling body of its pilot.

With great effort -- for the excitement had weakened the lad -- did Erwin bring his scouting plane to an easier level and gait. Then he looked down.

Already both burning biplane and falling pilot had vanished. Far below, the earth was only faintly visible through the mantling haze that now permeated the lower atmosphere. All directions looked alike.

The air was comparatively still, and only the far distant rumble of artillery, seldom absent along that front, was audible. It sounded not unlike intermittent thunder. What to do next? Which way should he go?

For the first time since starting he felt for his compa.s.s. It was gone.

"What'll I do now?" he asked himself.

"Where is the sun? I suppose all the boys that started when I did must have gone back long ago. The time must be at least mid-afternoon."

The mists below evidently were rising and thickening. The boy hated to acknowledge to himself that he must be lost, but it looked that way.

Cautiously he descended to lower levels but the landscape thus opaquely revealed showed but little that was definite. Lower still he flew. As the earth grew more and more distinct its strangeness did not diminish.

Though it was risky, he went lower still, until the tops of trees, the signs of half ruined houses began to appear. But nothing familiar was in sight. About this time, with day waning and his anxiety growing, Erwin was at last rewarded by glimpse of the sinking sun, seen hazily through a canopy of clouds. There was no mistaking that it was the sun and Orris found that he must have flown wrongly ever since he had put the Boche biplane out of commission. Already he was heading westward when from below there came a series of sharp reports from artillery evidently close by.

"Surely they cannot be sh.e.l.ling our trenches from way back here. I must be far behind the enemy lines -- much too far to suit me. Ah, I what's that?"

That was an unmistakable whistle of bullets too close to be comfortable. At least one or two perforated his wings. Then Erwin pointed higher at the same time trying to keep his sense of direction, imparted by a momentary sight of the western sun. More gun shots: still more whistling of b.a.l.l.s, and all too close to be comforting.

Up, up he went, veering more to the west. All at once came other gunshots, this time in an extended roar from an area covering perhaps a mile in extent.

"The Archies are getting too familiar," he grumbled. "I must put on more speed. Won't do for me to fail to return."

About that time a breeze sprang up from the east and the skies cleared through a narrow Vista, showing a war-scarred belt of country below with a small town ahead; that is, toward the west. But before he had time to consider this, he saw two airplanes rising from the main street of the little town, while the detonations of the Archies grew into a continuous roar.

"Guess they think they've cornered me," he thought, "but I'll give them a race at least. If I have to, I'll fight."

While reflecting, his machine was still rising rapidly, with the two Boche planes in pursuit.

"They won't catch me unless I'm crippled by those pesky Archies."

Even while he thought, a stray fragment of sh.e.l.l penetrated the fuselage of the triplane and, striking one of the propeller shafts, so bent it that the lightning-like blades began to revolve more slowly, despite all his efforts to increase his motor power.

For the first time Erwin became seriously alarmed. Try as he might, he was in no position to stop to make repairs, nor could he descend with safety. Apparently the only thing for him to do was to speed up as best he could, try to avoid this pursuit and, if it came to close quarters, put up the best fight possible under the circ.u.mstances.

This, of course, he did. But the sight of their own planes pursuing, and at the same time signaling to their friends below, caused Erwin at once to become the target for a continuous line of Archies, extending from the front line German trenches way back to the unknown distances in their rear.

When the pursuing planes drew nearer, the sh.e.l.ling from below grew less, while the condition of his own plane was such as to cause alarm.

He knew that he was cornered. Cornered, too, in a way seldom happening to the birdmen who became temporarily lost in a raid. He eyed the two nearing scout planes with no little aversion. Not only was his machine going at less speed, despite his efforts, but the difficulty in steering was greater. Apparently if would only obey the rudder slowly, no matter how hard he tried to "get a move on her." As for wheeling, volplaning, spiraling or doing anything that occasioned quick action on his part with rudder or planes, he was nearly helpless.