The Dispatch Riders Part 8

"Here is the money and the letter you entrusted us with, sir," said Kenneth. "We couldn't get within five miles of Vise."

"The place is burned to the ground, I hear," announced Major Resimont.

"Those Prussians are like devils, they spare neither man, woman, nor child. Liege is filled with terrible stories brought by the peasants who escaped. I could, alas! gather no definite tidings of my daughter or of her friend your sister, Monsieur Everest. One thing is certain.

They left before the German sh.e.l.ls began to fall in Vise, but whither, I know not. Let us hope they went to Maastricht."

It was now early morning. The bombardment, which had ceased during the futile a.s.sault, was now being renewed, although the fire lacked the fierceness that characterized the beginning of the siege of Liege.

The Belgian reply, too, had almost ceased, for so rapidly had the big guns been served that they had become overheated. Moreover--a further proof of German methods--the ordnance supplied by Krupp's to the Belgian Government before the war was obviously inferior in workmanship and material, and in consequence had rapidly deteriorated.

The two British dispatch-riders had run across Major Resimont in one of the vaulted galleries. He looked tired and worried: tired owing to the fact that he had been for seventeen hours on duty in the trenches or in the fort; worried by reason of anxiety for his daughter. Yet he was willing and anxious to face the Germans at any time they should take it into their heads to attempt another a.s.sault.

"If I were you I would take the chance to get a few hours' sleep," he advised as he bade the lads au revoir. "Remember what I said the next time there is an attack: a dispatch-rider's duty is not in the firing-line. His work lies in another sphere, equally hazardous and equally important."

"Jolly good advice about getting some sleep, at all events," remarked Kenneth, after the Major had gone. "I vote we turn in. I had no idea I was so horribly sleepy until just now."

"Guns or no guns, I think I can do my share of sleep," agreed Rollo.

"Let us put the scheme into practice."

Just then the heavy armoured door of the gallery was thrown open, and an authoritative voice shouted:

"Dispatch-riders! Are there any dispatch-riders here?"

"Here, sir," replied the lads promptly.

"Ah! The English motor-cyclists," exclaimed the Belgian--a staff officer. "Do you know the headquarters offices in the Palace of Justice in Liege?"

"Yes, sir," was again the reply.

"Good! Take this paper--you!" (pointing to Kenneth)--"and deliver it into the hands of Commandant Fleurus at all costs, and await his commands. Your comrade will accompany you, so that should you meet with any mishap he is to take the paper from you and proceed. You understand? Good! Now, away!"

"A good spin will be almost as refreshing as a few hours' sleep, Rollo," said Kenneth, as the two chums made their way to the place where their motor-cycles were stored, protected by three feet of concrete and six feet of earth from hostile sh.e.l.ls.

"With plenty of excitement thrown in," added Rollo. "We'll have a difficulty to dodge those sh.e.l.ls as we get clear of the fort, I'm thinking."

"Rush it and trust to luck. We'll do it all right," declared Kenneth optimistically, as he hurriedly overhauled his cycle and proceeded to warm up the engine.

It was a tricky business getting out of the fort, for the sunken lane that wound through the extensive glacis was littered with debris of exploded sh.e.l.ls. There were deep holes in several places, while at various points the effect of the German projectiles was evident by the fact that the approach to the fort was choked by landslides. Thrice the lads had to dismount and push their cycles over obstacles, to the accompaniment of the dull crash of the sh.e.l.ls, some of which burst unpleasantly near.

All the while, although not a defender was visible, the armoured cupolas were appearing and disappearing with the regularity of clockwork, sending out their iron hail upon the pontoons which the German engineers were constructing to replace the broken bridges at Vise and Argenteau.

"All out!" exclaimed Rollo as they reached the open road.

With throttle well open and spark advanced, both motor-cycles bounded forward. The pace was terrific. At times the riders were almost jerked from the saddles as their steeds leapt across the irregularities on the surface of the _pave_. The lads could no longer hear the thunder of the guns: it was drowned by the roar of their exhausts. The wind shrieked past their ears, grit flew in showers, a cloud of dust followed in their wake. Suddenly they saw a large silvery-grey object swoop down about a quarter of a mile ahead, close to the outskirts of the village of Jupille, which had been abandoned by the terrified inhabitants. The riders recognized it as one of the German Taubes that had been aggressively active during the operations by locating the position of the Belgian trenches.

The monoplane was in difficulties. It took all the skill of the pilot to prevent it from making a nose-end dive to earth. With superb presence of mind he managed to restore the disturbed equilibrium and to bring the Taube to rest without much damage.

Bringing his motor-cycle to a halt, Kenneth dismounted and placed his mount on its stand. Rollo did likewise.

"What's the game?" he asked as his companion unfastened the flap of his holster.

"We'll collar those fellows," declared Kenneth resolutely "They must not get away."

"But the dispatch?"

"This is more important, I guess. See, those fellows are already setting things to rights. Before any of the Belgian vedettes can come up they will be off again."

Kenneth was right in his surmise. There were no troops within a mile of the place. The two men who formed the crew of the monoplane were feverishly tackling the work of making good the damage. One of the wires actuating the elevating gear had been cut through by a chance Belgian bullet--one amongst a thousand more that had been fired at the troublesome Taube.

"Surrender!" shouted Kenneth, advancing to within fifty feet of the aviators and levelling his revolver. Rollo, cooler than his companion, steadied the barrel of his heavy pistol in the crook of his arm.

The pilot had been so engrossed in his work that he had not noticed the arrival of the lads. At the sound of Kenneth's voice he had just completed the joining up of the severed wire. He made a rush to the propeller and began to swing it in order to start the engine.

This was more than Kenneth had bargained for. It seemed too much like shooting down a man in cold blood. He need not have been so chivalrous, for the next instant a bullet tore through his hair and sent his cap a couple of yards away. The observer of the Taube had, at the first alarm, flung himself upon the ground and had fired at the lad with a rifle.

Before the man could thrust home a fresh cartridge Kenneth was snug behind a rise in the ground. Rollo, twenty paces to the right, had likewise taken cover.

The powerful motor was now working. The propeller blades glittered like a circle of light as they revolved with a terrific buzz. The draught of the propeller threw up a cloud of dust as high as a three-storied house. Through the haze thus caused the lads could distinguish the forms of the aviators as they scrambled into their seats.

Both dispatch-riders emptied the contents of their revolvers, perhaps a little wildly, but the result was none the less disastrous to the Taube. There was a blinding flash, a report, and a rush of air that drove the dust-cloud in all directions. One of the bullets had pierced the petrol-tank, and a spark had done the rest.

In an instant the Taube was enveloped in flame. The pilot, his hands held to his face, was stumbling blindly away from the inferno, his clothes burning furiously. The observer ran for nearly twenty yards, spun round thrice, and collapsed.

Rollo was the one in this instance to take the initiative. He ran to the pilot, tripped him up, and began to heap handfuls of dust upon his burning clothing. By Kenneth's aid the flames were extinguished, but by this time the unfortunate German was unconscious.

As for the observer, he was found severely wounded, one of the heavy revolver bullets having pa.s.sed completely through his shoulder.

"Now, what's to be done?" asked Rollo, as the lads ejected the expended ammunition and reloaded their revolvers.

"Carry on with the dispatch, of course," replied Kenneth. "We can do no more here. h.e.l.lo! Here are the Belgian cavalry."

Up rode a patrol of lancers. Dismounting, and leaving their horses in charge of one-third of their number, the men advanced. The officer in charge took in the situation at a glance, for the twelve empty revolver cartridges on the ground told their own tale.

"You had better proceed; enough time has already been wasted," he said, when he learnt the mission of the dispatch-riders. "We will attend to these."

"That's a nasty knock," observed Rollo ruefully, as they hurried back to their motor-cycles.

"H'm, yes," admitted his companion reluctantly. "Perhaps the chap was a bit nettled because his men didn't bag the Taube."

But as they rode past the scene of their exploit the Captain called his men to attention--a tribute to the resource and daring of the British lads. Already the Belgian cavalrymen had shown signs of their humanity, for by means of their lances two stretchers had been improvised, and the wounded aviators were on the way to one of the hospitals in the beleaguered city.

CHAPTER VIII

In British Uniforms

Sh.e.l.ls were intermittently dropping upon the houses and in the streets as Kenneth and Rollo entered the apparently deserted city of Liege.