Not until a day or so later, when Jack was able to sit up in bed and greet Tom with rather a pale face, did the latter learn all that had happened. And it was a very close call that Jack had had.
As Tom had guessed, it was some of the bullets from the Hun machine gun that had stricken down his chum. One had struck him a glancing blow on the head, rendering Jack unconscious and sending him down, a crumpled-up heap in the cockpit of his machine. Another bullet, coming through the machine later, had found lodgment in Jack's leg, cutting part way through the wall of one of the larger arteries.
It was certain that this bullet, the one in the leg, came after Jack was hit on the head, for that first wound was the only one he remembered receiving.
“It was just as though I saw not only stars' but moons, suns, comets, rainbows and northern lights all at once,” he explained to his chum.
The bullet in the leg had cut only part way through the wall of an artery. At first the tissues held the blood back from spurting out in a stream that would soon have carried life with it. But either some unconscious motion on Jack's part, or a jarring of the plane, broke the half-severed wall, and, just before Tom landed, his chum began to bleed dangerously. Then it was the surgeon had made his remark, and acted in time to save Jack's life.
“Well, I guess we made good all right,” remarked Jack, as his chum visited him in the hospital.
“I reckon so,” was the answer, “though the Huns haven't sent us any love letters to say so. But we surely did drop the packages in the prison camp, though whether Harry got them or not is another story. But we did our part.”
“That's right,” agreed Jack. “Now the next thing is to get busy and bring Harry out of there if we can.”
“The next thing for you to do is to keep quiet until that wound in your leg heals,” said the doctor, with a smile. “If you don't, you won't do any more flying, to say nothing of making any rescues. Be content with what you did. The whole camp is talking of your exploit. It was noble!”
“Shucks!” exclaimed Tom, in English, for they had been speaking French for the benefit of the surgeon, who was of that nationality.
“Ah, and what may that mean?” he asked.
“I mean it wasn't anything,” translated Tom. “Anybody could have done what we did.”
But of this the surgeon had his doubts.
In spite of the dangerous character of his wound, Jack made a quick recovery. He was in excellent condition, and the wound was a clean one, so, as soon as the walls of the artery had healed, he was able to be about, though he was weak from loss of blood. However, that was soon made good, and he and Tom, bidding farewell to their late comrades, returned to the American lines. They had been obliged to get an extension of leave—at least Jack had—though Tom could report back on time, and he spent the interim between that and Jack's return to duty, serving as instructor to the “huns” of his own camp. They were eager to learn, and anxious to do things for themselves.
Before long Jack returned, though he was not assigned to duty, and he and Tom visited Paris and told Nellie, Bessie and Mrs. Gleason the result of their mission.
“You didn't see Harry, of course?” asked Nellie, negatively, though really hoping that the answer would be in the affirmative.
“Oh, no, we couldn't make out any individual prisoner,” said Tom. “There was a bunch of 'em—I mean a whole lot—there.”
“Poor fellows!” said Mrs. Gleason kindly, “Let us hope that they will soon be released.”
“Tom and I have been trying to hit on some plan to rescue Harry,” put in Jack. “And we'd help any others to get away that we could. But is isn't going to be easy.”
“Oh, I don't see how you can do it!” exclaimed Nellie. “Of course I would give anything in the world to have Harry back with me, but I must not ask you to run into needless danger on his account. That would be too much. Your lives are needed here to beat back the Huns. Harry may live to see the day of victory, and then all will be well.”
“I don't believe in waiting, if anything can be done before that.” Tom spoke grimly. “But, as Jack says, it isn't going to be easy,” he went on. “However, we haven't given up. The only thing is to hit on some plan that's feasible.”
They talked of this, but could arrive at nothing. They were not even sure—which made it all the harder to bear—that Harry had received the packages dropped in the prison camp at such risk. The only thing that could be done was to wait and see if he wrote to his sister or his former chums. Letters occasionally did come from German prisoners, but they were rare, and could be depended on neither as to time of delivery nor as to authenticity of contents.
So it was a case of waiting and hoping.
Jack was not yet permitted to fly, so Tom had to go alone. But he served as an instructor, leaving the more dangerous work of patrol, fighting, and reconnaissance to others until he was fit to stand the strain of flying and of fighting once more.
“Sergeant Raymond, you will take up Martin to-day,” said the flight lieutenant to Tom one morning. “Let him manage the plane himself unless you see that he is going to get into trouble. And give him a good flight.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Tom, as he turned away, after saluting.
He found his pupil, a young American from the Middle West, who was not as old as he and Jack, awaiting him impatiently.
“I'm to get my second wing soon, and I want to show that I can manage a plane all by myself, even if you're in it,” said the lad, whose name was Dick Martin. “They say I can make a solo flight to-morrow if I do well to-day.”
“Well, go to it!” exclaimed Tom with a laugh. “I'm willing.”
Soon they were in a double-seater of fairly safe construction—that is, it was not freakish nor speedy, and was what was usually used in this instructive work.
“I'm going to fly over the town,” declared Martin, naming the French city nearest the camp. “Well, mind you keep the required distance up,” cautioned Tom, for there was, a regulation making it necessary for the aviators to fly at a certain minimum height above a town in flying across it, so that if they developed engine trouble, they could coast safely down and land outside the town itself.
“I'll do that,” promised Martin.
But either he forgot this, or he was unable to keep at the required height, for he began scaling down when about over the center of the place. Tom saw what was happening, and reached over to take the controls. But something happened. There was a jam of one of the levers, and to his consternation Tom saw the machine going down and heading straight for a large greenhouse on the outskirts of the town.
“There's going to be one beautiful crash!” Tom thought, as he worked in vain to send the craft up. But it was beyond control.
Dick Martin became frantic when he saw what was about to happen. He fairly tore at the various levers and controls, and even increased the speed of the motor, but this last only had the effect of sending the machine at a faster rate toward the big expanse of glass, which was the greenhouse roof.
“Shut it off! Shut off the motor!” cried Tom, but his words could not be heard, so he punched Martin in the back, and when that frightened lad looked around his teacher made him understand by signs, what was wanted.
With the motor off there was a chance to speak, and Torn cried:
“Head her up! Try to make her rise and we may clear. I can't do a thing with the levers back here!”
Martin tried, but his efforts had little effect. For one instant the machine rose as though to clear the fragile glass. Then it dived down again, straight for the greenhouse roof.
“Guess it's all up with this machine!” thought Tom quickly. He was not afraid of being killed. The distance to fall was not enough for that, and though he and his fellow aviator might be cut by broken glass, still the body of the aeroplane would protect them pretty well from even this contingency. But there was sure to be considerable damage to the property of a French civilian, and the machine, which was one of the best, was pretty certain to be badly broken.
And then there came a terrific crash. The aeroplane settled down by the stern, and rose by the bow, so to speak. Then the process was reversed, and Tom felt himself being catapulted out of his seat. Only his safety strap held him in place. The same thing happened to Dick Martin.
Then there was an ominous calm, and the aeroplane slowly settled down to an even keel, held up on the glass-stripped frames of the greenhouse, one of the very few in that vicinity, which was considerably in the rear of the battle line.
Slowly Tom unbuckled his safety strap and climbed out, making his way to the ground by means of stepping on an elevated bed of flowers inside the now almost roofless house.
Martin followed him, and as they stood looking at the wreckage they had made, or, rather, that had been made through no direct fault of their own, the proprietor of the place came out, wearing a long dirt-smudged apron.
He raised his hands in horror at the sight that met his gaze, and then broke into such a torrent of French that Tom, with all the experience he had had of excitable Frenchmen, was unable to comprehend half of it.
The gist was, however, to the effect that a most monstrous and unlooked-for calamity had befallen, and the inhabitants of all the earth, outside of Germany and her allies, were called on to witness that never hid there been such a smash of good glass. In which Torn was rather inclined to agree.
“Well, you did something this time all right, Buddie,” Tom remarked to Dick Martin.
“Did I—did I do that?” he asked, as though he had been walking in his sleep, and was just now awake.
“Well, you and the old bus together,” said Tom. “And we got off lucky at that. Didn't I tell you to keep high, if you were going to fly over one of the towns?”
“Yes, you did, but I forgot. Anyhow I'd have cleared the place if thecontrols hadn't gone back on us.”“I suppose so, but that excuse won't go with the C.O. It's a badsmash.”
By this time quite a crowd had gathered, and Tom was trying to pacify the excitable greenhouse owner by promising full reparation in the shape of money damages.
How to get the machine down off the roof, where it rested in a mass of broken glass and frames, was a problem. Tom tried to organize a wrecking party, but the French populace which gathered, much as it admired the Americans, was afraid of being cut with the broken glass, or else they imagined that the machine might suddenly soar aloft, taking some of them with it.
In the end Tom had to leave the plane where it was and hire a motor to take him and Martin back to the aerodrome. They were only slightly cut by flying glass, nothing to speak of considering the danger in which they had been.
The result of the disobedience of orders was that the army officials had rather a large bill for damages to settle with the French greenhouse proprietor, and Tom and Dick Martin were deprived of their leave privileges for a week for disobeying the order to keep at a certain height in flying over a town or city.
Had they done that, when the controls jammed, they would have been able to glide down into a vacant field, it was demonstrated. The machine was badly damaged, though it was not beyond repair.
“And that's the last time I'm ever going to be soft with a Hun, you can make up your mind to that,” declared Tom to Jack. “If I'd sat on him hard when I saw he was getting too low over the village, it wouldn't have happened. But I didn't want him to think I knew it all, and I thought I'd take a chance and let him pull his own chestnuts out of the fire. But never again!”
“'Tisn't safe,” agreed Jack. He was rapidly improving, so much so that he was able to fly the next week, and he and Tom went up together, and did some valuable scouting work for the American army.
At times they found opportunity to take short trips to Paris, where they saw Nellie and Bessie, and were entertained by Mrs. Gleason. Nellie was eager for some word from her brother, but none came. Whether the packages dropped by Tom and Jack reached the prisoner was known only to the Germans, and they did not tell.
But the daring plan undertaken by the two air service boys was soon known a long way up and down the Allied battle line, and more than one aviator tried to duplicate it, so that friends or comrades who were held by the Huns might receive some comforts, and know they were not forgotten. Some of the Allied birdmen paid the penalty of death for their daring, but others reported that they had dropped packages within the prison camps, though whether those for whom they were intended received them or not, was not certain.
“But we aren't going to let it stop there, are we?” asked Tom of Jack one day, when they were discussing the feat which had been so successful.
“Let it stop where? What do you mean?”
“I mean are we going to do something to get Harry away from the Boche nest?”
“I'm with you in anything like that!” exclaimed Jack. “But what can we do? How are we going to rescue him?”
“That's what we've got to think out,” declared Tom. “Something has to be done.”
But there was no immediate chance to proceed to that desired end because of something vital that happened just about then. This was nothing more nor less than secret news that filtered into the Allied lines, to the effect that a big Zeppelin raid over Paris was planned.
It was not the first of these raids, nor, in all likelihood, would it be the last. But this one was novel in that it was said the great German airships would sail toward the capital over the American lines, or, rather, the lines where the Americans were brigaded with the French and English. Doubtless it was to “teach the Americans a lesson,” as the German High Command might have put it.
At any rate all leaves of absence for the airmen were canceled, and they were ordered to hold themselves in readiness to repel the “Zeps,” as they were called, preventing them from getting across the lines to Paris.
“And we'll bring down one or two for samples, if we can!” boasted Jack.
“What makes it so sure that they are coming?” asked Tom.
It developed there was nothing sure about it. But the information had come from the Allied air secret service, and doubtless had its inception when some French or British airman saw scenes of activity near one of the Zeppelin headquarters in the German-occupied territory. There were certain fairly positive signs.
And, surely enough, a few nights later, the agreed-upon alarm was sounded.
“The Zeps are coming!”
Tom and Jack, with others who were detailed to repel the raid, rushed from their cats, hastily donned their fur garments, and ran to their aeroplanes, which were a “tuned up” and waiting.
“There they are!” cried Torn, as he got into his single-seated plane, an example followed on his part by Jack. “Look!”
Jack gazed aloft. There was a riot of fire from the anti-aircraft guns of the French and British, but they were firing in vain, for the Zeppelins flew high, knowing the danger from the ground batteries.
Sharp, stabbing shafts of light from the powerful electric lanterns shot aloft, and now and then one of them would rest for an instant on a great silvery cigar-shape—the gas bag of the big German airships that were beating their way toward Paris, there to deal death and destruction.
“Come on!” cried Tom, as his mechanician started the motor. “I'm going to get a Zep!”
“I'm with you!” yelled Jack, and they soared aloft side by side.
Aloft with Tom and Jack were several other fighters, for it was not only considered a great honor to bring down a Zeppelin, but it would save many lives if one or more of the big gas machines could be prevented from dropping bombs on Paris or its environs.
The machines which were used were all of the single type, though of different makes and speeds. Each one was equipped with electric launching tubes. These were a somewhat new device for use against captive Hun balloons and Zeppelins and were installed in many of the fighting scout craft of the Americans and Allies.
Between the knees of Toni and Jack, as well as each of the other pilots, was a small metal tube. This went completely through the floor of the cockpit, so that, had it been large enough to give good vision, one could view through it the ground beneath.
In a little rack at the right of each scout were several small bombs of various kinds. Some were intended to set on fire whatever they came in contact with, being of phosphorus. Others were explosive bombs, pure and simple, while some were flares, intended to light up the scene at night and make getting a target easier.
Included in the rack of death and destruction was a simple stick; not unlike a walking cane, and this seemed so comparatively harmless that an uninitiated observer would almost invariably ask its use.
At the lower end of the launching tube, through which the bombs were dropped, was a “trip,” or sort of catch, that caught on a trigger fastened to each bomb. The trip pulled the trigger, so to speak, and set in operation the firing device.
In the early days, though doubtless the defect was afterwards corrected, the bombs sometimes stuck in the launching tube, and as they were likely to go off in this position at any moment, it was the custom of the pilots to push them on their way with the cane if the missiles jammed. Hence it was an essential part of each flying machine's armament.
Higher and higher mounted the fighting scouts, with Tom and Jack among their number. It was necessary to mount very high in order to get above the Zeppelins, as in this position alone was it possible for the aeroplanes to fight them to any advantage. The Zeppelins carried many machine guns of long range, and for the pigmy planes to attack them on the same level, meant destruction to the smaller craft.
There were several German machines in the raid toward Paris, but Tom and Jack caught sight of only two. The others were either at too great a height to be observed, or else were farther off, lost in the haze.
But the two silver shapes, resembling nothing so much as huge, expensive cigars, wrapped in tinfoil, were flying on their way, now and then dropping bombs, which exploded with dull, muffled reports—an earnest of what they would do when they got over Paris. They were traveling fast, under the impulse of their own powerful motors and propellers, and also aided by a stiff breeze.
Of course conversation was out of the question among Tom, Jack and the other aviators, but they knew the general plan of the fight. They were to get above the Zeppelins—as many of them as could—and drop bombs on the gas envelope. They were also to attack with machine guns if possible, aiming at the rudder controls and machinery. It was the great desire of the Allied commanders to have a Zeppelin brought down as nearly intact as possible.
Up and up climbed the speedy scout machines, and it was seen that some of them would never get in a position to do any damage. The German craft were traveling too speedily. But Tom and Jack managed to get to a height of about twenty thousand feet, which was above the Zeppelins, though by this time the Germans were in advance of them, for they had climbed at rather a steep angle. However, they knew their speed was many times that of the German machine on a straight course.
On and on they went. Then came a mist which hid the enemy from sight. The aviators railed at their luck, and Tom and Jack dropped down a bit, hoping to get through the mist. It lay below them like a great, gray blanket.
Suddenly they fairly plumped through it, and saw, not far away, the two big silver shapes, shining in the searchlights which were now giving good illumination. It was a moonlight night, which seemed a favorite for a German bombing expedition.
Far below them, and beneath the Zepplins, Tom and Jack could see the lights of other aeroplanes, which were flying low to observe lanterns on the ground, set in the shape of arrows, to indicate in which direction the German craft were traveling. Later, if necessary, these observing machines could climb aloft and signal to those higher up.
Nearer and nearer Jack and Tom came to one of the Zeppelins. And now, in the semi-darkness, they became aware that they were being fired at by a long-range gun on the German craft. The bullets sung about them, but though their machines were hit several times, as they learned later, they escaped injury.
Now the battle of the air was on in grim and deadly earnest. Several scout planes flew at the big Zeppelin like hornets attacking a bear. They fired their machine guns, and the Germans replied in kind, but with more terrible effect, for two of the Allied planes were shot down. It was a sad loss, but it was the fortune of war, or, rather, misfortune, for the Zeppelin was not engaged in a fair fight, but seeking to bomb an unfortified city.
Now Tom and Jack, though somewhat separated, were close above the Zeppelin, and in a position where they could not be fired at. They began to drop incendiary bombs through the tubes between their knees.
These bombs were fitted with sharp hooks, so that if they touched the gas bag they would cling fast, and burn until they had ignited the envelope and the vapor inside. And as they circled about, dropping bomb after bomb, the two air service boys saw this happen. Some at least of their bombs reached their target.
The great craft, now on fire in several places, was twisting and turning like some wounded snake, endeavoring to escape. Tom glanced toward the other Zeppelin and saw that this was fairly well surrounded by aeroplanes, but was not, as yet, on fire.
The bees had fatally stung one great German bear, and, a little later, it crashed to the ground where it was nearly all consumed, and of its crew of thirty men, not one was left alive.
The other plane, though greatly damaged by machine gun fire, was not set ablaze, but was forced to turn and sail for the German lines again. So that two were prevented from bombing Paris.
Well satisfied with what they had accomplished, Torn, Jack and the others who had set the Zeppelin on fire, descended. Later they learned, by word from Paris, that on of the German machines was shot down over that city and some of its crew captured. So that though the Huns did considerable damage with their bombs, they paid dearly for that unlawful expedition.
This was the beginning of a series of fierce aerial battles between the German forces and the Allied airmen, though for a long dine no more Zeppelins were seen. Sometimes fortune favored the side on which Tom and Jack fought, and again they were forced to retire, leaving some of their friends in the hands of the enemy.
Once Tom and Tack, keeping close together doing scout work, were cut off from their companions. They had ventured too far over the Hun lines, and were in danger of being shot down. But a squadron of airmen from Pershing's forces made a sortie and drove the Germans to cover, rescuing the two air service boys from an evil fate.
Then followed some weeks of rainy and misty weather, during which there was very little air work on either side. But the fight on land went on, with attacks and repulses, the Allies continually advancing their lines, though ever so little. Slowly but surely they were forcing the Germans back.
Now and then there were night raids, and once Tom and Jack, who had not flown for a week because of rain, were just back of the lines when a captured German patrol was brought in, covered with mud and blood. There had been lively fighting.
“I wish we were in on that!” exclaimed Tom. “I'm getting tired of sitting around.”'
“So am I!” agreed Jack. “Let's ask if we can't go out on patrol some night. It will be better than waiting for it to stop raining.”
To their delight their request was granted, as it had been in a number of other cases of airmen. Temporarily they were allowed to go with the infantry until the weather cleared.
The two air service boys were in the dugout one night, having served their turns at listening post work and general scouting, when an officer came in with a slip of paper. He began reading off some names, and when he had finished, having mentioned Tom and Jack, he said:
“Prepare for patrol duty at once.”
“Good!” whispered Tom to his chum: “Now there'll be something doing.”
He little guessed what it was to be.
Silently, in the darkness of their trenches, the party of which Tom and Jack were to be members, prepared to go over the top and penetrate the German front line of defense, in the hope of taking prisoners that information might be had of them. It was a risky undertaking, but one frequently accomplished by the Allies, and it often led to big results.
There were about a score in the patrol, and, to their delight, though they rather regretted it later, Tom and Jack were given positions well in front, two files removed, in fact, from the lieutenant commanding.
“Now I suppose you all understand what you're to do,” said the lieutenant as he gathered his little party about him in one of the larger dugouts, where a flickering candle gave light. “You'll all provide yourselves with wire cutters, hand grenades and pistols. Rifles will be in the way. Take your gas masks, of course. No telling when Fritz may send over some of those shells. Blacken your faces, as usual. A star shell makes a beautiful light on a white countenance, so don't be afraid of smudging yourselves. And when we start just try to imagine you are Indians, and make no noise. One object is to come in contact with some German post, try to hear what's going on from their talk, and make some captures if we can. Do you all understand German?”
It developed that they did—at least no one would confess he did not for fear of being turned back. But, as it developed, they all had some, if slight, acquaintance with the language.
A little period of anxious waiting followed—a sort of zero hour effect—until finally the word was received from some source, unknown to Tom and Jack, to proceed. The night was black, and there was a mist over everything which did not augur for clear weather on the morrow.
“Forward!” whispered the lieutenant, for they were so near the German lines that incautious talking was prohibited. Out of their trenches they went, Tom and Jack well in front, and close to the leader.
As carefully as might be, though, at that, making noise which the members of the patrol thought surely must be heard clear to Berlin, they made their way over the shell-torn and uncertain ground in the darkness. They went down between their own lines of barbed wire to where an opening had been made opposite what was considered a quiet spot in the Hun defenses, and then they started across “No Man's Land.”
It was not without mingled feelings that Tom and Jack advanced, and, doubtless, their feelings were common to all. There was great uncertainty as to the outcome. Death or glory might await them. They might all be killed by a single German shell, or they might run into a German working party, out to repair the wire cut during the day's firing. In the latter case there would be a fight—an even chance, perhaps. They might capture or be captured.
On and on they went, treading close together and in single file, making little noise. Straight across the desolate stretch of land that lay between the two lines of trenches they went, and, when half way, there came from the German side a sudden burst of star shells. These are a sort of war fireworks that make a brilliant illumination, and the enemy was in the habit of sending them up every night at intervals, to reveal to his gunners any party of the enemy approaching.
“Down! Down!” hissed the lieutenant. But he need not have utteredthe command. All had been told what to do, and fell on their facesliterally—their smoke-blackened faces. In this position they resembled,as nearly as might be, some of the dead bodies scattered about, and thatwas their intention.Still each one had a nervous fear. The star shells were verybrilliant and made No Man's Land almost as bright as when bathed insunshine, a condition that had not prevailed of late. There was noguarantee that the Germans would not, in their suspicious hate, turntheir rifles or machine guns on what they supposed were dead bodies. Inthat case-well, Tom, Jack and the others did not like to think about it.
But the brilliance of the star shells died away, and once more there was darkness. The lieutenant cautiously raised his head and in a whisper commanded:
“Forward! Is every one all right?”
“My mouth's full of mud and water—otherwise I'm all right,” said some one.
“Silence!” commanded the officer.
Once more he led them forward. They reached the first German wire, and instantly the cutters were at work. Though the men tried to make no noise, it was an impossibility. The wire would send forth metallic janglings and tangs as it was cut. But an opening was made, and the patrol party filed through. And then, almost immediately, something happened.
There was another burst of star shells, but before the Americans had an opportunity to throw themselves on their faces, they saw that they were confronted by a large body of Germans who had come forward as silently as themselves, and, doubtless, on the same sort of errand.
“At 'em, boys! At 'em!” cried the lieutenant. “The Stars and Stripes! At 'em!”
Instantly pandemonium broke loose. In the glaring light of the star shells the two forces rushed forward. There was a burst of pistol fire, and then the fight went on in the darkness.
“Where are you, Tom?”' yelled Jack, as he flung a grenade full at a big, burly German who was rushing at him with uplifted gun.
“Here!” was the answer, and in the darkness Jack felt his chum collide with him so forcefully that both almost went down in a heap. “I jumped to get away from a Hun bayonet,” pantingly explained Tom.
Jack's grenade exploded, blowing dirt and small stones in the faces of the chums. There were shouts and cries, in English, French and German. The American lieutenant tried to rally his men around him, but, as was afterward learned, they were attacked by a much larger party of Huns than their patrol.
“We must stick together!” cried Jack to Tom. “If we separate we're lost! Where are the others?”
“Sam Zalbert was with me a second ago,” answered Tom, naming a lad with whom he and Jack had become quite friendly. “But I saw him fall. I don't know whether he slipped or was hurt. Look out!” he suddenly shouted.
He saw two Germans rushing at him and Jack, with leveled revolvers. There was no time to get another grenade from their pockets, and Tom did the next best thing. He made a tackle, football fashion, at the legs of the Germans, which he could see very plainly in the light of many star shells that were now being sent up.
Almost at the same instant Jack, seeing his chum's intention, followed his example, and the two Huns went down in a heap, falling over the heads of their antagonists with many a German imprecation. Their weapons flew from their hands.
“Come on! This is getting too hot for us!” cried Jack, as he scrambled to his feet, followed by Tom. “There'll be a barrage here in a minute.”
This seemed about to happen, for machine guns were spitting fire and death all along that section of the German front, and the American and French forces were replying. A general engagement might be precipitated at any moment.
The American lieutenant tried to rally his men, but it was a hopeless task. The Germans had overpowered them. Tom and Jack started to run back toward their own lines, having made sure, however, of putting beyond the power to fight any more the two Germans who had attacked them.
“Come on!” cried Tom. “We've got to have reinforcements to tackle this bunch!”
“I guess so!” agreed Jack.
They turned, not to retreat, but to better their positions, when they both ran full into a body of men that seemed to spring up from the very ground in the sudden darkness that followed an unusually bright burst of star shells.
“What is it? Who are they? What's the matter?” cried Tom.
“Give it up!” answered Jack. “Who are you?” he asked.
Instantly a guttural German voice cried:
“Ah! The American swine! We have them!”
In another moment Tom and Jack felt themselves surrounded by an overpowering number.
Hands plucked at them toughly from all sides, and their pistols and few remaining grenades were taken from them.
“Turn back with the prisoners!” cried a voice in German.
The two air service boys found themselves being fairly-lifted from their feet by the rush of their captors. Where they were going they could not see, but they knew what had happened.
They had been captured by the Germans!
For one wild instant Tom and Jack, as they admitted to one another afterward, felt an insane desire to attempt to break away from their captors, to rush at them, to attack if need be with their bare hands, and so invite death in its quickest form. They even hoped that they might escape this way rather than live to be taken behind the German lines.
It was not only the disgrace of being captured—which really was no disgrace considering the overwhelming numbers that attacked them—t it was the fear of what they might have to suffer as prisoners.
Tom and Jack, as well as the others, might well regard with horror the fate that lay before them. But to escape by even a desperate struggle was out of the question. They were surrounded by a ring of Germans, several files deep, and each was heavily armed. Then, too, their captors were fairly rushing them along over the uneven ground as though fearful of pursuit. The air service boys had no chance, nor did any of their comrades of the patrol who might be left alive. How many these were, Tom and Jack had no means of knowing. They did not see any of their comrades near them. There were only the Huns who were bubbling over with coarse joy in the delight of having captured two “American pigs,” as they brutally boasted.
Stumbling and half falling, Tom and Jack were dragged along. Now and then they could see, by means of the star shells, groups of men, some near and some farther off. There was firing all along the Hun and Allied lines, and as the boys were dragged along the big guns began to thunder. What had started as an ordinary night raid might end in a general engagement before it was finished.
There seemed to be fierce lighting going on between the several detached groups, and the air service boys did not doubt that some word of the dispersing and virtual defeat of the party they were with had reached their lines, resulting in the sending out of relief parties.
“This sure is tough luck!” murmured Jack to Tom, as they stumbled along in the midst of their captors.
“You said it! If our boys would only rush this bunch and get us away.”
“Silence, pigs!” cried a German officer, and with his sword he struck at Tom, slightly injuring the lad and causing a hot wave of fierce resentment.
“You wouldn't dare do that if I had my hands free, you dirty dog!” rasped out Tom in fairly good German, and he tugged to free his arms from the hold of a Hun soldier on either side.
The officer who had struck Tom seemed about to reply, for he surged through the ranks of his men over toward the captive, but a command from some one, evidently higher in authority halted him, and he marched on, muttering.
There was sharp fighting between the Hun sentries and small parties, and similar bodies from the American and Allied sides going on along the lines now, and both armies were sending up rockets and other illuminating devices.
The two Virginia lads felt themselves being hurried forward—or back, whichever way you choose to look at it—and whither they were being taken they did not know. The taunts of their captors had ceased, though the men were talking together in low voices, and suddenly, at something one of them said, Tom nudged Jack, beside whom he was walking.
“Did you hear that?” he asked in so low a voice that it was not heard by the Hun next him. Or if it was heard, no attention was paid to it, for Torn spoke in English. The tramp of the heavy boots of the Huns and the rattle of their arms and accoutrements made noise enough, perhaps, to cover the sound of his voice.
“Did I hear what?” asked Jack.
“What that chap said. It was something about one of the German prison camps having been burned by the prisoners, a lot of whom got away. The rest were transferred to a place not far from here. Listen!”
And the Americans listened to the extent of their ability.
Then it was they blessed their lucky stars that they understood enough of German to know what was being said, for it was then and there that they got a clew to the whereabouts of Harry Leroy, from whom they had heard not a word since the dropping of his glove by the German aviator. They did not even know whether or not their packages had reached their chum.
The talk of the Germans who had captured Tom and Jack was, indeed, concerning the burning of one of the prison camps. As the boys learned later, the prisoners, unable to stand the terrible treatment, had risen and set fire to the place. Many of them perished in the blaze and by the fire of German rifles. The others were transferred to a camp nearer the battle line as a punishment, it being argued, perhaps, that they might be killed by the fire of the guns of their own side.
“And there are some airmen, too, in the new prison camp,” said one of the Germans. “Our infantrymen claimed them as their meat, though our airmen brought them down. But there was no room for them in the prison camp with the other captured aviators, so The Butcher has them in his charge.”
Tom and Jack learned later that “The Butcher” was the title bestowed, even by his own men, on a certain brutal German colonel who had charge of this prison camp.
Then there came to Tom and Jack in the darkness a curious piece of information, dropped by casual talk of the Huns. One of them said to another:
“One of the transferred airmen tried to bribe me to-day.”
“To bribe you? How and for what?”
“He is an accursed American pig, and when he heard we were opposite some of them, he wanted me to throw a note from him over into the American lines. He said I would be well paid, and he offered me a piece of gold he had hidden in the sole of his shoe.”
“Did you take it?”
“The gold? Of course I did! But I tore up the note he gave me to toss into the American lines. First I looked at it, though. It was signed with a French name, though the prisoner claimed to be from the United States. It was the name Leroy which means, I have been told, the king. Ha! I have his gold, and the note is scattered over No Man's Land! But I will tell him I sent it into the trenches of his friends. He may have more notes and gold!” and the brute chuckled.
Tom and Jack, looked at one another in the darkness. Could it be possible that it was their friend Harry Leroy who was so near to them, since he had been transferred from a camp far behind the lines?
It seemed so. There were not many American airmen captured, and there could hardly be two of this same rather odd name.
“It must be Harry,” murmured Tom.
“I think so,” agreed Jack.
“Silence, American pigs!” commanded man officer.
He raised his sword to strike the lad. But just then occurred an interruption so tremendous that all thought of punishing prisoners who dared to speak was forgotten.
A big shell rose screaming and moaning from the Allied lines and landed not far from the party of Germans which was leading along Tom and Jack. It burst with a tremendous noise well inside the Hug defenses, and this was followed by a terrific explosion. As the boys learned later the shell had landed in the midst of a concealed battery—a stroke of luck, and not due to any good aiming on the part of the American gunner—and the supply of ammunition had gone up.
There was great commotion behind the German lines, and two or three of Tom's and Jack's captors were thrown down by the concussion. The air service boys themselves were stunned.
And then there suddenly sounded a ringing American cheer, while a voice, coming from a group of soldiers that confronted the German patrol, cried:
“Halt! Who's there? Are there any of Uncle Sam's boys?”
“Yes! Yes!” eagerly cried Tom and Jack. “Come on! We're captured by the Germans!”
There was another cheer, followed by a roar of rage, and then came a rush of feet. Gleaming bayonets glistened in the light of star shells and many guns, and the members of the German patrol, finding themselves surrounded, threw down their arms and cried:
“Kamerad!”
The fortunes of war had unexpectedly turned, and Tom and Jack had been rescued and saved by a party of Pershing's gallant boys.