Air Service Boys Over The Rhine; Or, Fighting Above The Clouds Read online

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  AIR SERVICE BOYS OVER THE RHINE

  OR, FIGHTING ABOVE THE CLOUDS

  BY CHARLES AMORY BEACH

  AUTHOR OF "AIR SERVICE BOYS FLYING FOR FRANCE," "AIR SERVICE BOYS OVER THE ENEMY'S LINES," ETC.

  ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT GASTON HERBERT

  THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. AKRON, OHIO NEW YORK

  MADE IN U.S.A.

  COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY

  BLOWING UP THE GERMAN MUNITION FACTORY.]

  CONTENTS

  I DOUBLE NEWS

  II ANXIOUS DAYS

  III ON TO PARIS

  IV SUSPICIONS

  V THE BOMBARDMENT OF PARIS

  VI THE RUE LAFAYETTE RUINS

  VII TOM'S FATHER

  VIII WHERE IS MR. RAYMOND?

  IX VARIOUS THEORIES

  X THE "DUD"

  XI A MONSTER CANNON

  XII FOR PERILOUS SERVICE

  XIII THE SPY

  XIV WITH COMRADES AGAIN

  XV THE PICKED SQUADRON

  XVI MISSING

  XVII SEEKING THE GUN

  XVIII A CLOUD BATTLE

  XIX QUEER LIGHTS

  XX THE BIG GUN

  XXI DEVASTATING FIRE

  XXII OVER THE RHINE

  XXIII OFF FOR GERMANY

  XXIV PRISONERS

  XXV THE ESCAPE

  AIR SERVICE BOYS OVER THE RHINE

  CHAPTER I

  DOUBLE NEWS

  "Here they come back, Tom!"

  "Yes, I see them coming. Can you count them yet? Don't tell me any ofour boys are missing!" and the speaker, one of two young men, wearingthe uniform of the Lafayette Escadrille, who were standing near thehangars of the aviation field "somewhere in France," gazed earnestly uptoward the blue sky that was dotted with fleecy, white clouds.

  There were other dots also, dots which meant much to the trained eyes ofTom Raymond and Jack Parmly, for the dots increased in size, likeoncoming birds. But they were not birds. Or rather, they were humanbirds.

  The specks in the sky were Caudrons. A small aerial fleet was returningfrom a night raid over the German ammunition dumps and troop centers,and the anxiety of the watching young men was as to whether or not allthe airmen, among whom were numbered some of Uncle Sam's boys, hadreturned in safety. Too many times they did not--that is not all--forthe Hun anti-aircraft guns found their marks with deadly precision attimes.

  The Caudrons appeared larger as they neared the landing field, and Tomand Jack, raising their binoculars, scanned the ranks--for all the worldlike a flock of wild geese--to see if they could determine who of theirfriends, if any, were missing.

  "How do you make it, Tom?" asked Jack, after an anxious pause.

  "I'm not sure, but I can count only eight."

  "That's what I make it. And ten of 'em went out last night, didn'tthey?"

  "So I heard. And if only eight come back it means that at least four ofour airmen have either been killed or captured."

  "One fate is almost as bad as the other, where you have to be capturedby the Boches," murmured Jack. "They're just what their nameindicates--beasts!"

  "You said something!" came heartily from Tom. "And yet, to the credit ofairmen in general, let it be said that the German aviators treat theirfellow, prisoners better than the Hun infantrymen do."

  "So I've heard. Well, here's hoping neither of us, nor any more of ourfriends, falls over the German lines. But look, Tom!" and Jack pointedexcitedly. "Are my eyes seeing things, or is that another Caudronlooming up there, the last in the line? Take a look and tell me. I don'twant to hope too much, yet maybe we have lost only one, and not two."

  Tom changed the focus of his powerful glasses slightly and peered in thedirection indicated by his chum. Then he remarked, with the binocularsstill at his eyes:

  "Yes, that's another of our machines! But she's coming in slowly. Musthave been hit a couple of times."

  "She's lucky, then, to get back at all. But let's go over and hear whatthe news is. I hope they blew up a lot of the Huns last night."

  "Same here!"

  The aircraft were near enough now for the throbbing of their big motorsto be heard, and Tom and Jack, each an officer now because of gallantwork, hurried across the landing field.

  It was early morning, and they had come, after a night's rest, to reportfor duty with others of the brave Americans who, during the neutralityof this country in the great conflict, went to France as individuals,some to serve as ambulance drivers, others to become aviators.

  The Caudron is the name given to one type of heavy French aeroplanecarrying two or more persons and tons of explosive bombs.

  An air raid on the German lines by a fleet of these machines had beenplanned. It had been timed for an early hour of the night, but a mistcoming up just as the squadron of heavy machines, each with two men anda ton or more of explosives, was ready to set out, the hour had beenchanged. So it was not until after midnight that the start had beenmade.

  And now the boys were coming back--that is all who were able to return.One machine was missing. At least, that was the assumption of Tom andJack, for they could count but nine where there should have been ten.And of the nine one was coming back so slowly as to indicate trouble.

  One by one the machines, which ordinarily came back before daybreak,landed, and the pilot and the observer of each climbed clumsily downfrom their cramped seats. They were stiff with cold, in spite of thefur-lined garments they wore--garments that turned them, for the moment,into animated Teddy bears, or the likeness of Eskimos.

  Their faces were worn and haggard, for the strain of an airship bombingraid is terrific. But they were quiet and self-possessed as they walkedstiffly across the field to make a report.

  "Any luck?" asked Tom, of one he knew; a Frenchman noted for his skilland daring.

  "The best, _mon ami_," he replied with a smile--a weary smile. "We gaveFritz a dose of bitter medicine last night."

  "And he gave us a little in return," sadly added his companion. "Quarreand Blas--" he shrugged his shoulders, and Tom and Jack knew what itmeant.

  They were the men in the missing machine, the Caudron that had not comeback.

  "Did you see what happened?" asked Jack.

  Picard, to whom Tom had first spoken, answered briefly.

  "They caught them full in the glare of a searchlight and let them haveit. We saw them fall. There didn't seem to be any hope."

  "But the battery that did the firing--it is no more," added De Porry,the companion of Picard. "The bombs that Quarre and Blas carried wentdown like lead, right on top of the Hun guns. They are no more, thoseguns and those who served."

  "It was a retributive vengeance," murmured Picard.

  Then they passed on, and others, landing, also went to make theirreports.

  Some of them had reached their objectives, and had dropped the bombs onthe German positions in spite of the withering fire poured upward atthem. Others had failed. There is always a certain percentage offailures in a night bombing raid. And some were unable to say withcertainty what damage they had caused.

  The last slowly flying machine came to a landing finally, and there wasa rush on the part of the other aviators to see what had happened. WhenTom and Jack saw a limp form being lifted out, and heard murmurs ofadmiration for the pilot who had brought his machine back with acrippled engine, they realized what had happen
ed.

  The two brave men had fulfilled their mission; they had released theirbombs over an important German factory, and had the terriblesatisfaction of seeing it go up in flames. But on their return they hadbeen caught in a cross fire, and the observer, who was making his firsttrip of this kind, had been instantly killed.

  The engine had been damaged, and the pilot slightly wounded, but he hadstuck to his controls and had brought the machine back.

  There was a little cheer for him, and a silent prayer for his bravecompanion, and then the night men, having made their reports, and havingdivested themselves of their fur garments, went to rest.

  "Well, what's on the programme for to-day, Tom?" asked Jack, as theyturned back toward the hangars where they had their headquarters withothers of their companions in the Lafayette Escadrille and with some ofthe French birdmen.

  "I don't know what they have on for us. We'll have to wait until theorders come in. I was wondering if we would have time to go and see ifthere's any mail for us."

  "I think so. Let's go ask the captain."

  They had, of course, reported officially when they came on duty, and nowthey went again to their commanding officer, to ask if they might go ashort distance to the rear, where an improvised post-office had been setup for the flying men.

  "Certainly, messieurs," replied the French captain, when Tom profferedthe request for himself and his chum. "Go, by all means." He spoke inFrench, a good mastery of which had been acquired by our heroes sincetheir advent into the great war. "Your orders have not yet arrived, buthold yourselves in readiness. Fritz is doubtless smarting under the dosewe gave him last night, and he may retaliate. There is a rumor that wemay go after some of his sausages, and I may need you for that."

  "Does he mean our rations have gone short, and that we'll have to gocollecting bolognas?" innocently asked a young American, who had latelyjoined.

  "No," laughed Tom. "We call the German observation balloons 'sausages.'And sometimes, when they send up too many of them, to get observationsand spoil our plans for an offensive, we raid them. It's difficult work,for we have to take them unawares or they'll haul them down. Wegenerally go in a double squadron for this work. The heavy Caudronsscreen the movements of the little Nieuports, and these latter, eachwith a single man in it, fire phosphorus bullets at the gas bags of theGerman sausages.

  "These phosphorus bullets get red hot from the friction of the air, andset the gas envelope aglow. That starts the hydrogen gas to goingand--good-night to Mr. Fritz unless he can drop in his parachute. A raidon the sausages is full of excitement, but it means a lot ofpreparation, for if there has any rain or dew fallen in the night thegas bags will be so damp that they can't be set on fire, and the raid isoff."

  "Say, you know a lot about this business, don't you?" asked the youngfellow who had put the question.

  "Nobody knows a _lot_ about it," replied Jack. "Just as soon as he doeshe gets killed, or something happens to him. We're just learning--that'sall."

  "Well, I wish I knew as much," observed the other enviously.

  Tom and Jack walked on toward the post-office, being in rather a hurryto see if there was any mail for them, and to get back to their stationsin case their services were needed.

  As they went along they were greeted by friends, of whom they had many,for they had made names for themselves, young as they were. And, as amatter of fact, nearly all the aviators are young. It takes young nervesfor the work.

  "Here's one letter, anyhow!" observed Tom, as he tore open a missivethat was handed to him. "It's from dad, too! I hope he's all right. Hemust have been when he wrote this, for it's in his own hand."

  "I've got one from my mother," said Jack. "They're all well," he wenton, quickly scanning the epistle. "But they haven't received our lastletters."

  "That isn't surprising," said Tom. "The mail service is fierce. But Isuppose it can't be helped. We're lucky to get these. And say!" heexclaimed excitedly, as he read on in his letter. "Here's news allright--great news!"

  Jack looked at his chum. Tom's face was flushed. The news seemed to bepleasurable.

  Jack was about to ask what it was, when he saw a messenger running fromthe telephone office. This was the main office, or, at least, one of themain offices, in that section, and official, as well as general, newswas sometimes sent over the wire.

  The man was waving a slip of paper over his head, and he was calling outsomething in French.

  "What's he saying?" asked Jack.

  "Something about good news," answered Tom. "I didn't get it all. Let'sgo over and find out. It's good news all right," he went on. "See!they're cheering."

  "More news," murmured Jack. "And you have some, too?"

  "I should say so! Things surely are happening this morning! Come on!"and Tom set off on a run.