Meanwhile what had become of Buck Bangs, whom we left following the Boche flier that had first assaulted him, but who soon seemed to have enough of the game?
The truth was that Buck, who was plucky to the core, did not want to give up and return to the home base any more than did Blaine. Both were fighters and loath to abandon what looked like success as long as there seemed a chance to win out.
As he had told the Walsen girl once, when she remonstrated with him upon his temerity in the face of what more than once looked like certain death:
"Reckon I don't know that, miss? You bet I do! But, somehow, death don't come just then and — and I keep on riskin' some more. I - I guess I'm jest built that way."
The German, who was rather clumsy, kept on along his eastward flight, with Buck in hot pursuit. Getting closer, Bangs again opened up with his Lewis. What was his surprise to see the clumsy German crumple up in his seat and fall forward, his hands and part of his arms out of sight, as well as the other could see in the starlit night.
"I believe I got him at last," thought Buck, maneuvering to a closer position. "I'll fill him and his tank full of holes, then see what has happened."
But just before Buck came into position, the German's plane suddenly veered athwart the nose of the other and deftly dove almost directly downward. The turn was a surprise. But Buck instantly knew that no machine, unless some one was handling the controls, would do a thing like that. Instantly he knew that the clumsiness of that Boche must have been assumed for the purpose of inducing Bangs to follow, thus leading the two planes away from the Allied squadron.
"Fritzy is sharper than I gave him credit for being," thought Buck. "But he'll not get under me in that way without doing more stunts yet." Instantly the nimble scout machine darted upward, at the same time turning on its tail in such a way as to bring both opponents side by side with Buck now still higher up. By the time the German had gotten into a firing position Buck had his Nieuport slanted nose downward and pointing straight at the enemy. But scarcely had this been done, before the German was veering off to the left and sliding down, down with scarcely conceivable rapidity.
Instantly Buck was after him, and for several minutes the two spiraled, twisted, dove, looped and performed other aerial feats accomplished only by expert fliers. By this time both were undeceived as to the skill of their opponents. Each knew that his adversary was worthy of all the dexterity and strategy the other might employ.
And all this in the dark, as it were. That is, in the dark as darkness is in the upper air, a sort of transparent twilight, when the mists are either absent or the light haze is as a gauze curtain stretched between our eyes and an upper light beyond.
At length the German, no longer clumsy, but most expert, seemed to be waving something that looked white. Then came a low megaphone call that made Bangs wonder if his ears were all right. It came in good United States English.
"Hullo, you!" it began. "Let's rest a bit and have a pow-wow!"
Buck could still hardly believe that he really heard, and he hesitated.Finally he returned:
"Don't know you! You talk like us, but you act like a Hun. Can't trust you Huns further than you'd -"
"Aw-come on down! I'm tired of fightin' a will-o'-the-wisp like you.Been in Akron lately?"
"Don't know the burg. Montana's my stampin' ground — when I'm home."
"I used to live in Akron — worked in the rubber factories. Come on down. I know a good place. We can yarn there — mebbe have a zwie-bier."
The two machines were now hardly fifty yards apart, with the German rather lower down than Buck.
"Not much, old man! I don't know you, I say. Now — you watch out!I'm —"
But Buck never finished that sentence. The German, having consumed as much time as he thought proper with his hyperbolical peace propaganda, suddenly dove sideways, executing what is now known as the Emmelin turn, that would bring him, nose up, somewhat below and on the other side of Bangs.
But Buck was not to be caught napping by any Hun making seemingly friendly proposals. Before the German had more than half executed the maneuver, Bangs was already shooting upwards in a zigzag course and by the time the other had gotten into position, Buck was swinging round far above, from whence, to outdo the other, he pointed his Nieuport downward pointblank at the fuselage of the German's Taube.
Swiftly he came, apparently reckless of consequences. It so turned out that the Boche did exactly what Bangs thought he would do: tried to avoid the descending avalanche. His machine swung to the right, yet not enough to clear the other. Full tilt the Nieuport struck the nearly motionless Taube near the center of the fuselage. Nieuports are strong and sharp in their prow, and the metal edge clove through the side of the German machine not unlike one destroyer ramming another.
At the same instant Bangs, pointing his Lewis gun obliquely downward, sent a spatter of bullets full into his opponent just before the collision occurred.
Smash went in the side of the Taube. An instant before, the shower of bullets had penetrated not only the petrol tank but also the body of the too plausible German. Anticipating what might happen, Buck clapped down upon his rudder, reversing his engine, and drew back from the shattered enemy just in time to escape the burst of flame that almost at once enveloped both man and machine.
"I settled him, " panted Buck, almost breathless despite himself. "He may have lived in the U. S., but he lacked much of American love for fair play. I wouldn't have run into him if he had acted at all white."
So ran Buck's thought as he sat breathing heavily, watching the plummet flight of the dead German and his flame-shriveling plane to the earth.
Rising again to a higher altitude, he surveyed the surroundings as well as the night's dim light would permit. Nothing to be seen anywhere. All at once Bangs thought of Blaine. Faintly he had heard the sound of explosions down near the earth; but whether the same were bombs, or guns, or if any other cause were responsible the lad did not know.
"Ought I to look him up or not?" he more than once asked himself. "No better chap anywhere than Blaine, or for that matter Stanley either."
Circling round a wide aerial expanse while cogitating along these lines, he thought he heard the sound of far-off explosions somewhere below. His timepiece showed that the hour was near three A.M. Daylight would soon be showing. In the far west and southwest the thunderous roll of artillery was incessant, mingled with sharper minor concussion of small arms, machine guns and musketry.
"That drive must now be in full swing," he thought. "Ought I to circle round there and see if I can do any good? Might take a squint at the Boche front and let our artillery know."
He was about to follow out this when another rattle from below came up. Somehow he felt that it might be connected with Blaine and Stanley, nor would the notion rest until he began to descend.
The course followed took him somewhat to the north of where the great battle was raging in the southwest, and presently he saw quite an expanse of war-torn forest underneath, or so it seemed from the height at which be flew.
Then a third explosion shattered the air, seeming to rise from directly below. Bangs hesitated no longer. Ascertaining that his petrol was still plentiful, he began gliding downward, over a hamlet or two, mostly in ruins, then over a few small fields, and at last over the scraggy trees. Suddenly he saw to the right a broad oval with what looked like a battered wall around it. It might have been three to four hundred yards in length, by half that in width.
The dim view perplexed him greatly as he flew, not more than from one to two hundred yards above this singular ruin, completely surrounded, as it seemed by forest, or the remains of forest.
All at once, gliding from out some deep shadows, something came rushing along inside this oval, and stopped. A moment later it appeared to rush again over the same course but in the opposite direction. All this dimly came to Buck, swinging easily along overhead. Then it was all clear to him at once.
"I'm certainly gettin' nutty," he owned to himself. "That's a plane. Looks like a biplane and it's trying to rise. Why in Hades don't it rise? Probably because it can't."
He knew that the Boche in his Taube had gone down considerably to the northeastward. And the Taube was on fire. No doubt about that. This was not a hostile machine, was it? Bangs did not feel that it was. He had heard along that front tales of a big concrete oval, once erected in the small Duchy of Luxemburg, close to the town of Arion, which town was near a large area of forest. It had been constructed about the era when a revival of old-time Olympic games had roused more or less interest in a modern worldwide participation in the same, as a sort of antique revival of ancient times. Several celebrations had come off, notably at Athens, at Paris, and elsewhere. Then the interest died out but this concrete oval had remained.
After certain minor uses it had fallen into neglect. When war came that region became more or less ravaged, though somewhat off the track of the main struggles. And here was Buck hovering over this modern relic of an old-time futility, while below him was a mysterious plane trying to rise but apparently not succeeding.
With this train of thought, Bangs got out his remaining signal flares and flashed one of the code signals most in use among the Allied aviators along this front. His pulses leaped when it was answered. Before Buck could do anything more, there came the sounds of a much nearer explosion somewhat off to the south, fairly jarring the earth with its impact.
The plane below was now motionless. All at once a series of flashes came upward that Buck instantly understood as saying:
"You must be of our side. If not, I'll have to take a chance. We are out of petrol: tank 'prang a leak. Can you help us out?"
"You bet!" flashed back Bangs. "Got enough so that we can both get home again. Who are you?"
This last query was instantly replied to from below by the private sign denoting that the parties below were of such and such squad or escadrille quartered at Aerodrome No. -.
Buck drew a long breath, then he flashed forth his own number and began to descend. Nothing more happened until Buck brought his nimble Nieuport to a smooth standstill a few yards distant from a big biplane that Bangs at once recognized as Blaine's.
"Well, well!" he exclaimed, dismounting and hurrying across the intervening space. "Isn't this luck - why - why what's the matter, Lafe? Sick?"
But Blaine was only sick at heart. Already be had taken Stanley out of the observer's manhole, had laid the lad down, pillowing his head on a blanket, and was bending low, massaging Stanley's immobile limbs. Stanley's face looked deathlike under the flare of Blaine's flashlight.
In an instant Buck understood. Stanley had been wounded, perhaps mortally, during the course of the night raid. Blaine, being unable to keep on his course longer owing to the gradual draining of petrol from the tank as the engines consumed the heat, had managed to descend to this retired place.
With not more than a word or two of explanation, Buck also set to, and both lads did their best to revive Stanley, who had fallen again into unconsciousness. The deadly swoon had been strengthened by Stanley's effort to put the last rack of bombs fully in place during the train bombardment, as we have already seen.
They tried cold water, brandy, and also some medicine Buck produced from his own kitbag, but all to no apparent avail. Meantime the explosions to the southward were increasing and, worse still, were drawing nearer, though slowly.
"We got to get out of this," said Lafe at last. "While I put Stanley back in the biplane yon draw as much of your petrol from your tank as you can spare and put it in to mine."
"All righty oh! We got to get a move on, too. Look yonder!"
A bluish-green roll of flame was moving along the plain beyond the forest, showing dimly above it certain flying specks that were undoubtedly airplanes, but whether hostile or friendly was not apparent.
"Course it's Fritzy, Lafe," was Bangs' comment who, after aiding Blaine to stow the wounded man as comfortably as possible in his own manhole, was already at work replenishing the biplane's tank from his own. "To be square, I'll divide up, giving you a leetle the most. We gotter to get back — eh?"
"If possible, yes. I don't hanker after a German prison camp. It would sure kill Stanley, if he isn't dead already."
By the time they had their brief preparations completed, the fire, steadily approaching, struck the edge of an opening through the woods and suddenly burst into tremendous flame, with an accompanying report.
"Wait, Lafe," cautioned Buck, for both were in their seats. "Let, me rise first. I'll mosey towards that fire. As for you and Stan — you make your get-away. Sooner you get back to the home plate, the more you'll be apt to do for Stan. Stan's a bully chap — durn 'im."
Up into the air rose the Nieuport, while Buck was thus delivering himself. Over towards the line of fires and the shadowy circling of planes he went while Blaine himself made an attempt to rise. What was the latter's consternation to find that his plane would not rise sufficient to clear the concrete oval by which the open space was surrounded!
"What will I do now?" Blaine almost gasped. "Must be something wrong with the machinery that I failed to notice."
Another explosion, much nearer, that seemed to tear up trees within the forest. At the same time he distinctly saw Buck's machine circling round and round, high up in the air, and directly over where the last explosion had occurred. It looked puzzling. But Lafe had no time just then to observe Buck's doings except that, during the last flash, the concrete oval had given way.
Meantime the biplane was trying to lift itself a trifle higher, and happened to be beaded towards where the explosions were occurring.
"Damn if he ain't droppin' bombs, too," Blaine gasped, then quickly solved the riddle of Buck's maneuvers.
Without waiting further, but applying all his power, Blaine drove the biplane forward at full speed, at the same time using both forward and rear steering blades to assist further elevation of the prow.
"Will we make it?" he asked himself. "If we do, what will we do then?"
Too late to consider pros and cons now. The die was cast, either for good or ill. Then, all at once, he saw Buck's small triplane rise at a marvelous speed, while from the south came several other planes, almost skimming the ground in their onward rush. Also, still further on, was a confused mass that was struggling rearward, though what it could be was puzzling. It was still too dark to distinguish things clearly when unaided by the fires.
A whistling, whirring swish swept startlingly near his own plane, now at last rising high over the ruins of the oval, forty yards of which were scattered over the earth. From this sounded a well-known voice through a megaphone:
"Follow me — you — Lafe! Boches ahead. Follow me — dodge 'em."
That was all, but it was enough.
Blaine knew good advice when it came. His own more cumbersome machine having at last the right slope for rising, even in its crippled state, did rise, and rapidly, so that Lafe was much encouraged.
Bangs, still overhead, darted forward at a startling pace directly for the nearest enemy plane that intuitively dodged. He swooped to the left and engaged in the subtle, lightning-like maneuvers which so often accompany the opposing efforts of two skilled antagonists seeking to gain the advantage one over the other.
This, as it was intended, gave Blaine his first chance to rise uninterruptedly and gain such height and distance as he desired. Meantime the gray dawn was slowly growing, enabling him to see in the south certain masses of men, disordered, yet moving with a common impulse towards the east. Undoubtedly they were the retreating Germans, at last giving way before the offensive that had been launched upon them by the Allies early the evening before.
The series of explosions and flames that they had seen dimly, from the forest surrounded oval, was the destruction made by the enemy along the lines of their night's retreat. They were going back to what has become known as the famed Hindenburg line or base, which for some time marked the end of the now retirement of the Boche forces on the west front.
Having attained sufficient height, Blaine turned more westward; on account of Stanley, he was determined to make the shortest cut towards the home aerodrome. But here, too, another flock of enemy fliers was hanging over the advancing Allies so that Blaine, for sake of caution, rose up, up, still higher in the effort to avoid these new antagonists.
Looking back, Blaine now saw Bangs engaged, in fierce conflict with two of the rearward squad of Boche fliers. Again he admired the marvelous speed and dexterity of his chum as the circlings of the three were faintly apparent.
All at once came a burst of flame from one of the three and down went the burning plane like so many had gone before.
"Was that Buck?" gasped Blaine, greatly excited. "The other two seem strangely harmonious. I must see more."
Round he wheeled and sailed towards the two remaining planes that were zigzagging about each other a mile or more in the rear.
At a speed of two miles a minute, Blaine found himself almost immediately being circled by the first plane, which was so much like Buck's that he at first distinguished no difference. What first aroused him was a roar of sound and a spatter of bullets that stabbed his planes as the stranger flew by.
"By hokyl It's a Boche!" Blaine was already maneuvering to get some shots himself when from the second plane, came a code signal that instantly informed him of his first mistake.
"Go home!" the flashes commanded. "Leave, me to take care of Fritz."
Quick as a wink Blaine turned to the homeward flight again. But his plane moved heavily. Back again came the German, but Bangs suddenly intruded and the two scouts were soon banging, diving, dodging each other while Blaine, pursued his former course as best he might.
But his speed was strangely slow. He had trouble in maintaining an even flight, and there were more planes coming from the west. This was the rear squadron of Germans, that had been overhanging the Allied advance and signaling their own men further east.
"Buck and I — we'll be overwhelmed, " though Lafe. "I'm growing weaker. What the hell is the matter with me anyhow?" meaning his planes of course.
But before the approaching Boches could surround Blaine or Bangs, still fighting his foe, there rose suddenly out of a cloud to the southwest a new flock of airplanes that instantly attacked the retreating foe.
All this time a terrific artillery fire was roaring out of the east, as the result of the Boches signaling from their rear squadron, now being rapidly whipped into flight by the new onslaught of Allied planes.
Where was Bangs? Just then Blaine saw the solitary Boche flier that had first attacked him and afterwards got it hot from Buck, speeding at a crippled pace towards the east. It passed Blaine who, having a sheaf of ammunition ready, turned loose upon it forthwith as it passed.
This was all it needed, for the foe, one wing swinging loosely, sagged earthward at a great pace, its pilot working frantically to keep on an even keel.
Two passing Allied planes each gave it a shower of bullets that caused it to topple over in mid-air, and go crashing down towards that grim and gory field below. But where was Bangs?
Blaine's anxieties were deflected from Buck to his own plane which at last turned earthward, not, crippled more by enemy aid, but - but —
"Why — confound it! I'm out of gasoline again. Well, here goes!" And he proceeded to carefully spiral down as gently as he could, no easy job when all motive power is suddenly exhausted.
He landed in a broad shell-hole and at once began to apply restoratives to Stanley who, very weak yet undaunted, asked where they were.
"Why, we're somewhere behind the Allied drive in what was No-Man's-Land. But don't you bother! What I've got to do is to get you back to our base somehow."
"You've been mighty good, Lafe. I'll do my best to help by laying still and trying to get a mite stronger."
Here a groan was heard that caused Blaine to begin to investigate their immediate surroundings. Nearby was a wrecked plane in which we two Germans, one dead through the fall, and the other evidently dying. The dying man was conscious and had heard Blaine and Stanley talking together. Then came the groan. Instantly Blaine, rushing over, recognized him.
"Why, it is Herman Bauer!" he exclaimed, as much for Stanley's benefit as to show Bauer that he recognized him. "Anything I can do for you, Bauer?"
"N-nein — no," Bauer corrected himself. "I've got mine. Himmel! Eet vas to me coming I guess — vat?"
Here Bauer was seized by another convulsion that left him speechless, staring and all but dead.
Blaine surveyed him coldly.
"I didn't know you were much of a flier," he said. "Were you that chap's observer? Well, you must have photos, plans or something."
Then Blaine coolly proceeded to search both men, the dead pilot and the one about to die. Bauer's eyes gleamed with hate as he managed to say:
"Gott strafe Englander!" He choked, panting, then whispered with his last breath: "Gott strafe Amerikanner - schwein — sch—"
The whisper died away in a choking deep in the throat. Bauer was dead. He had paid the last great penalty. Blaine, still cool and unruffled, continued his search until he was in possession of all the two men had that was worth the trouble of taking. Among these were maps, air-craft photos of the Allied trenches and one valuable map the communicating transport and railway lines behind the new Tlindenburg front to which Germans generally were retiring.
With Bauer dead and Stanley more comfortable, Blaine began looking over his machine. It seemed all right but for lack of petrol and wings being more punctured and ragged than usual.
"Where can I get petrol?" he more than once asked himself. "I could either get on myself and join our men, or get back to the station. But I can't leave Stanley. Hang it all! What'll I do?"
Lafe was about to give it up for the present, when Stanley from his recumbent position said:
"Why don't you try that Boche plane? Seems like I heard Bauer say something about petrol. Then he swore because he could not get up. I didn't know then it was Bauer."
"Right you are, Stan! Why didn't I think of that before? I hope the fall didn't smash their tank."
It so happened the tank was nearly all right, only a little of the oil having leaked out through a twisted nut. Blaine got busy and in ten minutes he had transferred the German petrol to his own tank, and thereupon felt, as be phrased it, quite "like a new man."
Meantime stray shells were falling here and there, but none within a dangerous margin. Still, it would be better to get somewhere else.
"Come on, Stan," said Blaine. "I don't like these stray duds and coal-boxes. One of them might drop too near. Let me put you back in your manhole."
Before this could be accomplished, Blaine heard another nearing noise, at first high up in the air. Looking up he saw a tiny burst of flame from a dark, swirling object that was plainly descending fast, then faster still.
"Why, that must be a falling plane!" he exclaimed. "It's coming down mighty close, too. What'd I better do?"
Apparently there was not much to do for half a minute but to watch. And watch both he and Stanley did, wondering if it was enemy or friend, for the burning plane was careening, fluttering — not unlike a broken-winged bird. In the gray dawn they could see the pilot, still seated, dexterously manipulating every agency that might enable him to keep his balance without falling out.
Down, down he came, finally plumping to earth, just outside the broad shell-hole with a gentle crash. With this the flames burst up anew, enveloping the crushed wings, and rendering the very nearness a danger. But the goggled, leather-coated masked man had already sprung out, his personal belongings in hand, and stumbled up the outer slope of the crater. Suddenly he was halted by the stern command:
"Hands up — you!" There was no mistaking Blaine's voice by one who had often heard it before.
"Why, hullo, Lafe!" And Blaine and Stanley both recognized the wrecked intruder. "I thought you had made the home base."
Sure enough it was Buck Bangs himself, breathless from exertion, yet full of vim and energy still. He climbed nimbly up the slope and gripped Blaine's hand, then stooping, greeted the still weak, yet slowly recovering Stanley.
"I would have got there," said Blaine, replying to Buck's first remark, "but my petrol all at once gave out. I barely managed to save a fall by alighting here. How came you in this fix?"
"That's soon said. While I was fighting that plane that was after you and you were on the way home, as I thought, along came two other Boches. Well, we had it hot for a minute or so. I downed one somewhere along here."
"Yonder it lies," and Blaine pointed at the ruins of the other plane, near which lay Bauer and the other dead German. "Bet you'd never guess who one of them two Huns is." Lafe eyed Bangs quizzically.
"Nix! I ain't much on blind guessing. I saw my chap was crippled and I went back after the other, to keep him off you. I'd lost sight of you, but I reasoned you'd be on the way home. I knew you couldn't go very fast. Then all at once I saw I was afire. One of my wings had caught from something — probably an explosive shell. Well, I had to turn back. Meantime those planes arriving from our side had swept the Boches clean off. I saw I wasn't getting much of anywhere and I just managed to light down here."
"But what about that chap over there?"
"Bother! I don't know beans about him; only if I helped bring him downI guess it was a good job."
"Better job than you think! You remember Bauer, the chap that was caught in the spy act back in the old station?"
Bangs nodded.
"He's one of the two over there," pointing at the airplane wreck, "and he was alive when I heard him. I went to him, but he was practically gone. Will say this for him though, he was a Hun all right, and he died cussing us all, Johnny Bull, Uncle Sam, as 'Schwein, schwein!' Oh yes, be was true German to the backbone. Between you and me I'm right glad that it fell to us to do him up, and that we will all know he got the reward due his abominable treachery." And Blaine nodded his head emphatically.
Bangs walked across, eyed the dead Hun a moment, and came back, saying:
"Will your plane carry us — but pshaw! You're out of gasoline, man!"
"No - we're not. Got a tank half full!"
"Too thin, old man! Why, then did you stop here? You didn't know I was going to drop down, and you knew Stanley ought to be in the hospital instead of lying here listening to you and me gabbing this way."
"Why haven't you got some invention, Buck?" Blaine was grinning as he rose up to prepare for early departure. "I 'lowed that if Bauer had enough gasoline to get this far, if his tank wasn't busted, he might have more. I took what they had and was about to leave when down you came. Come on — let's go!"
With great care Stanley was placed as comfortably as possible inside the biplane, which the two aviators trundled to the edge of the shell-hole. A moment later, with Bangs giving the plane a downward push, then leaping lightly up behind Blaine, they easily rose to a requisite height and glided over the shell-torn plain.
Far away to the east and southeast rumbled the roar of battle, while with the gray dawn, now mantling into rose pink, then red, and finally melting into the brightest of gold, at last came the morning's sun, leaping from its nightly nest and flooding half the world with the day's celestial glory.
Luckily their plane was not hit or in danger from the occasional shells that still came screaming over the lines across the scraggy war-torn land over which they flew. Stanley, though very weak, was still alive. Loss of blood was the main cause of his weakness. Upon recovering from his first state of coma, after sustaining his injury, he had borne the long, wearisome ride, the spatter and peril of conflict without complaint.
At Appincourte Bluff, where was now a base hospital, he was taken from the plane and put under adequate medical care. For twenty-four hours he dozed and slowly strengthened; but when be finally waked again to life and its daily events, there was Miss Daskam's fair young face at his bedside. Needless to state that Stanley's recovery was rapid under these auspices.
Meantime Blaine and Bangs made their further, way in the plane over the few miles intervening between the hospital and the aerodrome.
Most of the boys were away, scattered along the now advancing front but by night some of them began to straggle back. Poor Finzer and Brodno would never come back. That both Lafe and his companion well knew. But they had died like true men, fighting for the cause they believed in.
Captain Byers was also at the front, now many miles to the east. But the veteran Sergeant Anson was on hand and in partial charge. He it was who brought to the boys some sealed envelopes, saying:
"You chaps have been gone a goodish while. And you've managed to lose one bully scouting plane. But I guess you've done your bit all right."
"Well, sergeant," remarked Blaine quizzically, "I don't know what you'd call doing our bit. Buck here has brought down, with my help at times, several Boche planes. I managed to knock spots out of a troop and ammunition train or rather two of them. Better than all, we helped bring down another plane with two Huns in it, one dead, another dying. Guess who the last one was?"
Anson grinned, frowned, then shook his head.
"Bother the guessin'! I ain't as bally good at that as you Yanks. Was it any one we knows?"
"You remember Bauer?"
"That rotter what was found guilty of spyin' for the enemy? Yes, I knew the blighter, the traitor?"
"Well, he's dead. When his plane fell on fire, I had to drop down in a shell-hole back yonder. Bauer and his pilot had fallen near there just before. He was cussing us all out, Boche fashion. But it was from their machine that I got enough petrol to fetch us three safely back. So you see Bauer was some good after all. Of course he was a traitor and should have been hung."
"Well, you two haven't done so bad. Before Senator Walsen and his daughters left they gave me these things for you two, if you had the luck to get back. And Captain Byers, before going on this raid, left this permit, together with all necessary papers for you two to go on leave for ten days."
"That reminds me, said Blaine, fishing in his own pockets. "Here are some photos, maps and so on that I got from those two dead Germans, Bauer and his pilot. They may be of service up at headquarters."
And he handed them over, Buck supplementing them with a few he too had taken on his various ventures within the last day or two.
Two days later a couple of rather spruce looking young men alighted from an eastern train in Paris and, strolling forth in the crowd of passengers, looked about them rather curiously.
Both had passed through the French capital before, but more as strangers and foreigners than as ally Americans, visiting a city famed as the center of all that is best in French history and tradition.
"Looks much like little old New York," remarked Buck, "only I don't see so many skyscrapers."
"I like that!" said Blaine. "I never did fall in love with fifty-story shacks that seem to resent the sunlight down here below. I wish Stan could be with us, don't you?"
"Yep! But I bet he's satisfied with the nursing he's getting off that pretty Chicago girl we left him with. What we better do? Wait for something to happen?"
"'Looks that way. Our wire said for us to wait at the depot." And Blaine, looking curiously around, happened to be turned the wrong way when a uniformed porter came up to Bangs, touched his cap and said:
"Pardon, messieurs, but will you come with me?" And be presented a card upon which was engraved the name of Senator Walsen. Under this was hastily penciled in a feminine hand: "We are waiting. Please follow the porter." That was all.
Buck, slightly confused, tugged at Blaine's sleeve, saying:
"Come on! They're waiting for us - somewhere."
With a start of surprise Blaine obeyed, and each bearing his hand-bag, they set out dumbly after the station official who had already picked up a couple of suit-cases.
For a minute or more they threaded the mixed throngs of civilians, officials, soldiers of all grades and many nationalities, together with trainmen, guards, gendarmes and what not, to a line of waiting cabs, taxies, motor-cars just beyond a series of high iron gates. At one of these a sentry, together with a railway official, examined their tickets, and more important still their passes or permits. After this, both sentry and guard, respectfully saluting, stood aside and the porter took them to a big gray limousine drawn up near by. A uniformed driver sat in front, while the porter placed the luggage in a rear rack and climbed up behind himself.
All this was comparatively unnoticed, for the door opened and two lovely faces peered out as the young men came up.
Just then Blaine felt unduly conscious of one or more court-plastered places upon his cranial anatomy, while Buck felt that a wound or two on arm and neck somehow detracted from his natural freedom of movement. And yet neither had given the matter a thought before. These were the chances of war. Chances with ladies, however, were just then much more important.
But the two young women, charmingly dressed, were all smiles and cordiality.
"You will excuse father, won't you?" lisped Andra, while both made way inside the tonneau for the two to enter. There they were eagerly greeted by no less a personage than Orris Erwin, also on leave, who shook bands heartily.
In the tonneau were two seats, each roomy enough for three. As the car started on, all chatting eagerly, Avella supplemented Andra's remark with:
"Papa had to attend some kind of a war meeting at Versailles. He deputized us to welcome you., Mr. Erwin insisted oncoming, too."
"Why, this is great, great!" enthused Blaine, his awkwardness all gone under the cordiality of this greeting. "I always wanted to get leave, you know. So did Buck. Orry seems to have got in ahead on the leave business."
He grinned at Erwin, but Andra put in with:
"Well, we're all on leave only, aren't we, Mr. Erwin?"
"You gir — you ladies, too?" essayed Bangs, while Erwin nodded.
"Why, yes. We're enlisted in the Red Cross, you know, and they're so strict about letting us off. But we, too, got our ten days. It will give us time to show you boys about the city a bit. And we're so glad you got back safe and are in time. Besides, tonight is going to be the big time for you boys."
"You are right, Vella." Andra smiled roguishly. "Mr. Erwin has been so curious. He's always wanting to know."
Clearly something was up, but recognizing that good manners were now a point to be duly considered, the young men managed to conquer their curiosity and confine their attention to other not less agreeable things.
They motored out to the Walsen residence, near the American Embassy, and were ensconced with Erwin in a suite of apartments much superior to what they had been used to of late.
The day passed. Senator Walsen returned. With him was the American Ambassador and a stout, elderly, yet martial looking man, already one of the most famous of the high Marshals of France, and now well known in the United States.
There was a dinner of state that evening, to which not only these three aviators were invited, but also various other French and Americans who had more or less distinguished themselves.
At the hour appointed no less a personage than the President of theFrench Republic, with several of his leading supporters also came.Altogether some twenty or more were assembled in the Walsendrawing-room just before the dinner hour.
Somewhat nervous, yet hopeful, our youngsters carefully prepared themselves for what Bangs confessed was "a blame sight more trying than any of the Boche scrimmages we have tackled of late."
"You are making mountains out of mole-bills; you know you are." Andra and Avella were smiling now, both doubly charming in their new Red Cross gowns.
As a matter of fact all three lads in their clean, trim aviation uniforms presented both a manly, martial and genteel appearance. At the last moment in came Captain Byers just in from the front; and with him was Stanley, pale and rather thin, yet surprisingly strong, considering his severe experiences. Miss Daskam was not there, but if one had looked closely at Stanley's pockets, the edge of a small photo of that young lady might have peeped out. Most likely this would have aroused Erwin's jealousy. Who knows?
When all were assembled and the usual round of introductions had been gone through with, Senator Walsen rose, introducing the Marshal, and concluding as follows:
"We not only love our French brothers-in-arms, but we know they love us. Our distinguished leader here," indicating the Marshal, "'wishes now to substantially prove this." And he gave way to the great Frenchman, who motioned to our lads to stand up, and then proceeded to pin on each young breast a cross of honor, bestowed for gallantry on the west front.
Directly Captain Byers also came forward and read an order from our War Department authorizing the General commanding our forces in France to declare the following promotions:
Lafayette Blaine to be First Lieutenant in the new American Aviation corps, Buck Bangs to be Second Lieutenant in same; and Orris Erwin and George Stanley to be First Sergeants. Effect to be immediate. Also furloughs granted to each for ten days at full pay.
Then the Marshal, whose command of English was limited, briefly yet succinctly complimented them all, especially Captain Byers, who had just come back from the line pressing the retiring enemy.
After that, of course, there was nothing to do but announce the dinner.
"How do you feel after all this?" curiously asked Andra Walsen of Blaine while waiting for a succeeding course in the rather stately march of the repast. "Do you feel good?"
"I always feel best when you are with me," he simply replied.
"Oh!" she replied, and there was unwonted color in her face as she looked down at a rose he had given her, now pinned right over her heart.
Both Buck and Avella looked quite as if they had been discussing the fact that, after all, were they not natural neighbors? Was not she from Idaho — he from Montana? What more would anybody have?
And so let us leave them. The war still goes on, grows in bitterness, fierceness, cruelty, all or mostly inaugurated by Fritz the Hun.
How neat, how appropriate the name!
Let us, good reader, hope that if these young folks do survive the war and return to their homes alive, that some of their dawning dreams may come true, despite the Hun and all his works.