"You hound!" shouted the lad, as with great presence of mind he held his right arm aloft with the last bomb tightly clutched in his fingers.
There was a moment of agonised suspense which seemed extraordinarily protracted, and then he alighted, unhurt, on a pile of blankets, the unexploded bomb still in his hand!
"Thank Heaven!" were his first words as he lay, his heart beating furiously and his overwrought frame quivering from the shock.
The atmosphere of the vault—for it was nothing less—was close and stuffy, and there was a greasy smell in the still air, emanating from some lubricant used to protect the stocks of spare rifles which he was presently to discover.
"By Jupiter! if this bomb had gone off down here there wouldn't be much of me left," he muttered, gathering himself up and remembering that he had placed a spare torch in one of his breast pockets.
He was thankful then that he had not had time to change his tattered tunic, and, drawing it out, he pressed the button and played the bright beam up and down the vault.
It was one of those marvellous underground constructions for which the Germans seem to have a positive genius. The chalk had been excavated for trench building, the walls were boarded, and square balks of timber supported the roof in a double row of pillars.
He could not count the cases of ammunition—there were so many—nor the stacks of rifles that were stored in the place, but he saw enough to convince him that he had made a very important haul, if only things were going well above ground.
The distance he had fallen surprised him when he mounted the steps, but the steel door resisted all his efforts to open it, and though he thundered with his fists, there was no response from the other side.
"I've got to get out of this somehow," he thought, and, descending to the floor again, he made a minute inspection of the vast dug-out without finding any means of egress, until he came to an open case of rifle ammunition, from which several packets of cartridges had been removed.
As he read the description printed on the others he felt cold air blowing on him from somewhere not far away. At first he thought there must be some hidden ventilation shaft, but the draught was low down and fluttered the tatters of his abbreviated tunic.
"It's a jolly odd thing," he murmured, turning his light in the direction of the current. "Surely there is not another dug-out below this one?"
He passed round the angle of some piled-up boxes stamped with strange hieroglyphics, and then he stood still, for there was another door, the entrance to a gallery, as he saw in a moment.
But this time it led upward in a rather steep slope, and the floor was marked with the print of heavy boots, showing that the passage had been well used.
"I suppose it would take a month of Sundays to come across some revolver ammunition, and then the chances are it wouldn't fit these French chambers," he thought, examining the commandant's second revolver, which had only one charge left. "Anyway, I must find where this leads to." And, veiling the light with his fingers, he entered the gallery.
The sides had been roughly smoothed and faced by the pioneers' shovels, and he shivered involuntarily, for it was cold.
Making no noise, he crept for some distance in a straight line, until he came to a right-angle bend in the gallery, which he followed for sixty or seventy yards, and then switched off his torch as a loud explosion, not far ahead, seemed to drive the air against his cheeks, followed by the acrid odour of a German cartridge.
For an instant he believed himself to have penetrated an enemy sap, but now he knew that somewhere close in front lurked a German sniper!
Dennis Dashwood dropped on to one knee and peered along the passage. A faint light filtered through the darkness and a voice boomed dully.
"That is my first miss to-day," came the words in German. "This wind has given me a bloodshot eye, and I am shivering. Will you go back and bring me a couple of bottles of wine, Joachim?"
"With pleasure, Kamerad," said another voice, and the light was blotted out as a figure rose from the groundwhere he had been sitting on his heels. Dennis made out the outline of the sniper stretched at full length on a blanket, his rifle in front of him on a wooden stand, but it was too far to get back unseen, for the man was slouching heavily towards him, and in another moment discovery would be inevitable.
Dennis raised his right arm and fired his last cartridge, and the messenger fell forward, dead as a herring.
With a startled shout of surprise the sniper faced about, but Dennis was upon him, and, locked in a terrible embrace, the pair fell with a crash on to the chalky floor.
All fatigue seemed to vanish from the boy's limbs as he and his opponent rolled over and over, and he strained every nerve in a struggle which he knew could have only one end.
For a whole minute the narrow passage was filled with the sound as of a terrific dog fight, for Dennis had managed to get his head well fixed under the sniper's jaw, effectually preventing any words leaving his lips. Instead there came a stream of weird snarls and hisses and spluttering coughs, accompanied by the savage kicking of heavy boots against the walls of the gallery.
Their arms were round each other, and they struck out with their knees, but the thin muscular frame proved more than a match for the stouter man, and at last, pinning him down in a corner, where he panted quite out of breath, Dennis withdrew his head, and they looked into each other's faces by the light that filtered in again through a crevice at the end of the tunnel.
"You'd better surrender without any more fuss," saidDennis. "Perhaps you don't know that we've taken your first line trench. Otherwise I shouldn't be here."
"You are a liar," was the polite reply. "All Englishmen are liars."
"Have it your own way," said Dennis with a superior smile, as he began to get his own breathing under control. "Judging from your official statements, and your Bethmann-Hollweg, Germany hasn't much reputation for truth-telling! So you are the beast we've been trying to locate, are you?"
The man had a red moustache, the ends of which lifted as he smiled.
"Yes, I am the beast; the 'great blonde beast' your papers are so fond of talking about," he said ironically. "I've been here for a month, and I have shot on an average twenty of your fools every day."
"Well, you'll shoot no more," said Dennis grimly.
"That we shall see," retorted the man, suddenly stiffening his spine and almost succeeding in reaching a sitting position.
Up went the lad's arm and down came his clenched fist full on the bridge of the German's nose, dropping him back again. He had slid the French officer's empty revolver into its case, and as the man blinked at him with the water in his eyes from the force of the blow, Dennis drew it and clapped the cold muzzle to his ear.
"Now will you surrender?" he said, and he saw a wave of terror pass over the German's face.
"Yes, yes—don't shoot. I will surrender!" he cried, but as he spoke the beam of daylight was eclipsed, and Dennis looked up.
It was an artfully contrived place, for the tunnel ended against a little scarp of chalk, through which a crescent-shaped hole had been cut, commanding a wide view of the English trench and looking from the outside like an innocent, natural crevice. Immediately behind it was a steel grating, firmly embedded in the sides of the tunnel, and on one of the bars the muzzle of the sniper's rifle was laid, its stock resting on an ingenious wooden fork, which could be raised or lowered by a rack and pinion.
Through the crescent-shaped opening a human face looked in, and a voice, which Dennis instantly recognised, gave warning of more trouble.
"What-oh, Fritz!" said Harry Hawke. "You shouldn't speak so loud. As you can't come art and I can't come in, 'ere's a little present for yer." And he stepped back with a loud chuckle.
"Hold on, Hawke, you ass!" shouted Dennis at the top of his voice, but he was too late. Harry Hawke had already drawn the pin and lobbed a hand grenade neatly through the crevice.
Dennis knew that there were less than five seconds between him and eternity, but bracing his foot against the side of the tunnel, he suddenly wrenched the German sniper on top of him and lay there.
"Ach, I have you now!" laughed the man triumphantly, but his words were drowned by the explosion, and as the end of the passage was blown into the open air, the steel grating with it, Dennis felt the man he clutched grow strangely limp in his hands, and his own face bathed as with a hot rain.
"That's the way to do 'em in, Tiddler. What-oh, it's put the tin hat on one of 'em, and not 'arf, it 'asn't!"
"Yes, you confounded jackass; and it's nearly put the tin hat on me!" exclaimed Dennis, rolling the thing which had once been a man to one side with a shudder.
Harry Hawke's face was a picture. Consternation at what might have happened, and a huge joy that it had not happened, struggled for mastery, and between the two the game little Cockney broke down and sobbed like a child.
"Why didn't yer sing out, sir?" he wailed.
"I did sing out, my boy, but you sang in! However, never mind. How is it going?" said Dennis, squeezing the disconsolate one's shoulder.
"We've got the trench, sir," said Tiddler, whose face was as white as Hawke's under the dirt that grimed it. "Our chaps are consolidating the position now."
"Then one of you go and bring my brother here," said Dennis. "You go, Tiddler; and Hawke, come with me."
A great rent had been torn in the mouth of the sniper's gallery, and the sniper himself was not good to look upon, every rag of clothing having been stripped from his back and lower limbs by the bomb, while a couple of yards farther on lay the man whom Dennis had shot.
Picking his way past them, Dennis flashed his torch on again, and, followed by Hawke, made his way back into that underground storehouse, which had so nearly been his grave.
As he entered it he gave a prodigious yawn, and felt an indescribable lassitude creep over him.
"I'm frightfully tired, Hawke. I've been through a lot since we crawled over to their wire last night, andI'm hanged if I can keep up much longer. You see those steps? A spy fellow pitched me down them neck and crop. I fell just here, with a bomb in my hand too!"
"Lumme!" ejaculated his listener, as Dennis sat down heavily on the pile of blankets, just as the shell-proof door above them was opened from the other side.
Lights flashed into the lower vaults, and several officers chorused their surprise, among them Captain Bob. Tiddler had not yet reached him, and Bob was searching anxiously for some trace of his brother.
"My hat!" he cried. "We've touched lucky to-day, but Dennis can't possibly be down there. I'll go back and question No. 2 Platoon; he may have gone to the right."
"Arf a mo', sir!" sang out Harry Hawke. "'E is 'ere right enough, and bust me if he ain't snorin' already!"
Hawke, looking up the steps, saw the group part and General Dashwood himself come quickly down the ladder, and the store of shot and shell and the piles of rifles were as nothing to the brigadier as he saw the boy he thought he had lost for ever lying on the blanket pile, sleeping the sleep of physical exhaustion.
"That blood's nothing, sir," explained the delighted private, coming to attention. "It ain't 'is own. I can show you the man wot that come art of. 'E was that sniper we never could spot, and I reckon it was 'arf me and 'arf Mr. Dashwood wot killed him." And he gave his listeners a brief outline of what had happened, as Dennis had told him on their way there from the tunnel.
"And I sent him out of harm's way, as I thought!" was the brigadier's inaudible whisper under hismoustache, and then aloud he said: "Get four men and carry him back to his own dug-out. It will do him good to sleep the clock round, and he will do it better there."
So, oblivious of the jolting, Dennis Dashwood was borne across what had lately been No Man's Land, and was now ours, and tucked up tenderly in his bunk, where, if he did not exactly sleep the clock round, he certainly did not open an eyelid until sunrise next morning.
When Dennis awoke he saw Captain Bob looking at him, and he became conscious of a very pleasant odour of coffee permeating the dug-out.
"Oh, I say, why didn't you turn me out before, old chap?" Dennis cried. "I shall be late for the blooming inspection."
"Never mind about that," laughed his brother. "And it's no use looking about for your duds; we've moved into new quarters over yonder, and all our clobber's gone across, but I've had some breakfast brought in here for you, so peg in, and tell me the whole story. There are some funny yarns knocking about, and I left the governor doing a sort of war dance. He only left out the whoop from deference to the B.M.'s feelings. But all joking apart, old chap, the pater's in the very seventh heaven of delight, for a letter has come from some wounded French officer who has recommended you for the Military Medal."
Dennis sprang out of his bunk, fresh as paint, and flung himself on the coffee and bacon ravenously, and while he ate he talked in his simple boyish way, making light of his own share in the story, and Captain Bob, filling in the gaps for himself, beamed like the rising sun which flung a rosy glow into that dismal mud-hole.
"By Jove! old chap, I congratulate you heartily," he said, grasping his brother by both shoulders. "If you go on like this you'll either go far, or you'll be very suddenly nipped in the bud. You mustn't take too many chances, Dennis, for the sake of the little mater at home. But this is good news!"
"Some have greatness thrust upon them, and I've had the luck to be one of those," said Dennis, looking rather ashamed of himself. "I did nothing at all, old man, that you wouldn't have done, or any of our crush. It just happened to come my way, and it just happened to come out all right, but I don't know which was the worst—that ride with poor old Thompson and that shell that blew us to smithereens, or Hawke's bomb. They were tight places, both of them! And, I say, Bob, I'll swear on oath it was Van Drissel or Von Dussel, or whatever he calls himself, who pitched me down that ladder. I recognised his voice distinctly."
"I should like to recognise his ugly mug," said the captain. "But he must have gone under, for he certainly wasn't among the prisoners. I saw them all."
"Well, Bob, I'd rather have a wash now than the Victoria Cross itself, and I must get into another tunic. Where's our new Little Grey Home on the western front?"
"Come on," said his brother. "I'll show you."
The Germans had sunk a well deep down through the chalk, and there was a stand-pipe close to the Dashwoods' new quarters.
Dennis stripped himself to the buff, and sallying out to the pipe, enjoyed the unexpected luxury of a gloriousshower-bath, which he wanted badly. Then he dressed himself, appropriating the belts and equipment of a poor youngster named Binks, who had been killed during the raid, and, emerging from the door, almost ran into the arms of his father and the Divisional General.
"You are the very man I have been looking for," said the general. "Let me give you my heartiest congratulations, Mr. Dashwood. I have been in communication this morning with the G.O.C., and I think there's another slice of good luck coming your way. I wish I'd paid as much attention to languages when I was your age."
For a moment Dennis failed to grasp the drift of his words, but the Divisional Commander soon made himself quite clear.
"I had no sooner telegraphed a report of your doings from the commandant of the 400th Regiment of the Line than a wire came back from Sir Douglas Haig, who wants an intelligent officer with a fluent knowledge of French, and he asked me if I thought you would fill the bill. I at once answered in the affirmative, and you will go back with me in my car on your way to Sir Douglas, and it may be a very good thing for you."
Dennis glanced at his father, and saw approval in his face, and after a brief consultation between the generals about the consolidation of the ground we had gained, Dennis found himself whirling along the familiar road that he had traversed on the motorcycle two evenings before.
"I hope I shall be back in time for the bigpush, sir," he said, as the car pulled up in front of D.H.Q., and the general smiled.
"You must leave that to circumstances," he replied. "I'm afraid the 'big push,' as you call it, is becoming too much public property." And he turned to an officer who was just mounting a motorcycle.
"One moment, Spencer," he called. "You going to Sir Douglas? Ah, yes, I remember. Will you give Mr. Dashwood a lift and take him with you?"
There was a blanket strapped on the carrier, and away they whizzed, the continued thunder of the guns making conversation difficult, and the Allied aircraft circling high above their heads.
League after league they passed through a vast camp of armed men; brown battalions marching up to the front singing as they marched, brigades under canvas to right and left of them, miles of supply columns, some cavalry eating their hearts out, kite balloon sections 'phoning results to hidden batteries, all the seething mass of military activities to be found behind the firing line.
And then his companion slowed down as they approached the quiet château, where worked the keen, well-balanced brain that guided and controlled all those activities, and Dennis found himself in the presence of Sir Douglas Haig, who, after an interview of half an hour's duration, summed up the result of it in a few brief soldierly words.
"You are the very man I was wanting, Mr. Dashwood," he said pleasantly. "Your one object inlife now is to find General Joffre, lay these papers before him, and explain any point upon which the French Generalissimo may be doubtful. Exactly where he is you will have to discover, but if you are fortunate you should be back here again before the end of the week."
"I hope to return well before that, sir!" said Dennis, and Sir Douglas smiled.
"I know what is in your mind, Mr. Dashwood, but that will rest entirely with yourself," said the Commander-in-Chief. "So far, from what I am told, you seem to have surprisingly good luck. Good-bye, the car is ready for you now."
The frank, handsome face of the distinguished cavalry soldier was still before Dennis's eyes as the little six-cylinder motor, with the small Union Jack fluttering from one of the lamp brackets, whirled him away on a long journey and an important errand.
His driver was a young Frenchman, who enjoyed that mad dash every whit as much as the English lad.
At Soissons they were told that the Generalissimo had left for Châlons that morning, and at Châlons opinions were divided as to whether he would be found at Reims, or Bar-le-Duc, which were in opposite directions.
"Which shall we try?" said the driver. "Reims means going back."
"Then get ahead," decided Dennis. "We can always return." And opening out the magnificentlittle car, they tore along the white ribbon of road at terrific speed.
"Peste!" cried an officer to whom they made known the object of their search when they reached Bar. "Only one hour ago Father Joffre passed through here. How unfortunate! But I can tell you where you will find him. He has gone to Saint Dié to present medals to a battalion of the 'Little Blue Devils' at that place. Lose no time, and you may assist at the very interesting ceremony."
"Allons!" said the chauffeur, using the stump of his nineteenth cigarette to light the twentieth. "If we finish up on two wheels we will reach him." And reach him they did in a small village half a dozen leagues farther on, where they pulled up, white with dust from head to foot, after a fine run.
The well-known figure of the famous general paced backwards and forwards under the shade of a row of lime trees, in earnest conversation with another officer with three silver stars on his cuffs, and Dennis paused a moment as he got out of the car.
"I am going to put on two fresh front tyres," said his driver. "But I shall be ready in half an hour, and if you are going back we have still two hours of daylight left."
Dennis nodded, and stepped forward, saluting as the two generals turned towards him, and a genial smile widened Father Joffre's good-humoured visage.
"At your service, monsieur," he said, unable to distinguish the officer's rank for the white chalk dust that hid his solitary star.
"I have come straight from Sir Douglas Haig, mon Général," said Dennis, presenting his dispatches, which General Joffre instantly opened and perused intently.
"There are matters here," he said to his companion, "which will require some consideration. You are the Lieutenant Dashwood whom Sir Douglas mentions?" And he turned to Dennis: "I am going forward now, but I shall be back in this place at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. Our officers here will amuse you, mon lieutenant, in the meantime, and find you a bed. I am greatly indebted to you for the rapidity with which you have carried this most important document." And he walked quickly to the powerful car which was waiting by the side of the road. He was gone in a moment in a whirl of dust, the dispatch still in his hand, and the young Frenchman followed the general's automobile with an envious look in his eyes.
"That is a beauty," he said. "One could get seventy or eighty miles an hour out of her. But here comes an interesting personality, monsieur. This man who is approaching is Claude Laval, one of our most famous aviators, who has brought down sixteen German machines already, and killed fifteen enemy pilots. Something has vexed him too. He looks like a bear with a sore ear."
A tall man approached, clad in leather flying costume, with a close-fitting helmet on his head, and his thin, good-looking face bore an expression of extreme annoyance.
"Ah, Martique, my friend, is that you?" he said, nodding curtly to the chauffeur. "It is easy to see you have come from the other end of everywhere. I suppose it is not possible that you have any news of my brother?"
"If monsieur's brother is the Capitaine Felix Laval,officier de liaison, with the —th Division, I can give you some news of him," said Dennis, who had been struck by the strong resemblance between the aviator and the man who had saved his own life.
"It is the same," said the aviator, all trace of ill-humour vanishing as they shook hands. "Well, well," he continued after Dennis had told him of his adventure and how he came to be acquainted with his brother. "Yon will dine with me, and,ma foi, I want a good comrade to put me in a better temper."
"Might I inquire what it is that troubles you?" said Dennis, as they walked towards the door of a little restaurant with green-painted chairs and tables outside it.
"Oh, it is too bad!" exclaimed his new acquaintance with a despairing shrug of his shoulders. "I brought down a German Aviatik this afternoon, and by the greatest good luck in the world it is absolutely unhurt. To-night I had planned a little expedition across into the enemy's country, a friendly visit to a Zeppelin shed, whose existence none of our fellows are aware of. I have overhauled the engines myself; I have got ten beautiful bombs all ready, and nowmy observer has broken his arm, and I cannot find anyone to assist me."
Dennis looked at him with a pair of twinkling eyes.
"Could you be certain of returning to this village by eight o'clock in the morning?" he said eagerly, "for I am to meet General Joffre here at that hour. I hold an English pilot's certificate from the Hendon school."
"Embrassons nous!(let us embrace), my dear friend!" exclaimed Claude Laval. "I am now the happiest man in all France. Listen! The machine is at the edge of the wood not a kilometre from this spot, and the Zeppelin hangar is in the centre of the Black Forest. Come, let us eat something and drink a bottle of the good red wine. We will give the Boche a fine surprise, and I swear to bring you back in plenty of time for Father Joffre in the morning. Martique, remember, not a word to a living soul, and come you to the café with us; you can attend to that sewing-machine of yours after monsieur and I have gone on our little trip."
They dined in the open air, and the meal was a joyous one, Lieutenant Claude Laval keeping a keen eye on the sinking sun at the same time.
As the red rim dipped into the jagged line of dark poplars on a low ridge to westward Laval called for the bill, lit his pipe, and rose with an air of supreme indifference for the benefit of the groups of other officers at the adjoining tables, but his eyesspoke to Dennis as they walked away into the shadow of the trees.
"Now, lieutenant," he said, with a fierce thrill of exultation in his voice, "you know, of course, that old scoundrel, Count Zeppelin, stole the idea of his invention during the war of '70. We will see if we can't get a little of our own back to-night!"
Dennis flung his bombs into the space"Dennis flung his bombs into the space, and tremendous explosions ensued"ToList
"Dennis flung his bombs into the space, and tremendous explosions ensued"ToList
As they left the village the two companions, who seemed quite old friends already, quickened their pace to a run.
"My observer is in there," said the Frenchpilote aviateur, pointing to an isolated cottage as they passed it. "It would be cruel to tell him that I have already found a fresh comrade. The good news shall keep until we return. And now,cher ami, we have no time to lose, as we have only something like four hours of darkness before us, and we must be well on the way back when daylight breaks."
"How far is it to the Zeppelin den?" inquired Dennis, as they turned aside through a cornfield.
"About two hundred kilometres," replied the pilot. "A trifle more than a hundred of your English miles.Voilà, there she lies—a brand-new Aviatik, and that is my machine over there."
"How did you succeed in bringing the German down without injury?" asked Dennis, as they reached the biplane, which loomed large and weird in the twilight.
"More by good fortune than anything else," said Lieutenant Laval modestly. "You see, first of all Ikilled his observer with a lucky shot from my mitrailleuse and wounded the pilot himself. It was death or capture for him—it proved to be both. My machine—a Voisin—was one of the best, and, finding it impossible to escape, the Hun certainly made a very fine descent. He must have died at the moment the 'plane came to ground. And that reminds me—our success will depend on our masquerading as Germans, and we must use their clothing; they are both here."
There was a tinge of gravity in his voice as he led the way to some bushes a few yards off, where, stretched out side by side, lay two dead men with a mackintosh spread over them.
"They were brave, although they were Boches," said Laval. "And you will see that one of them is wearing an Iron Cross; I have not disturbed it."
In a few minutes they had removed the leather jackets lined with sheepskin from the two aviators.
"Henceforward we had better speak entirely in German, you and I; it will be good practice in case we require to use it," said Laval. And when they had equipped themselves they climbed up, and the Frenchman explained the compressed-air starting-gear and the various methods of control to Dennis.
"You must know these things," he said, with a smile, "so that you can take charge if anything happens to me; but these are first-rate machines, and with their dual ignition and the two separate carburettors they tell me there is very little engine trouble with them. However, my friend, we are about to see what we are about to see."
He glanced at his watch in the rapidly fading light.
"For some reason observer and pilot sit back to back," said Laval. "But you can slue your seat round and work your gun from the right if you like. You will find everything ready for use, signalling lamp and a fine map." And with a blue pencil he marked off the course they were about to take and the various landmarks, for which a sharp look out must be kept.
Then the whir of machinery cut off all possibility of further conversation; Dennis gazed round at the darkening landscape as Laval released her, and after a short run forward over the grassland the Aviatik began to rise.
So far, Dennis had not counted the cost of his adventurous expedition, or the by no means remote possibilities of his being captured and sent to terrible Ruhleben. He had only seen the dash and daring of it all, and now he could only see the velvety blackness that lay thousands of feet beneath, where the earth was.
Once from very far below them the boom of guns made itself heard, even above the flogging of the engines and the whir of the tractor in front of him, and his pilot handed back a scrap of paper on which he had scrawled some words.
Switching on his torch Dennis read: "We are crossing our own lines now. That light away to my left is Metz. We are over Lorraine, and I am going to turn south-east."
Through his glasses Dennis could see a dull glow inthe distance, which was soon left behind as Laval altered the course, and for some time their flight was through cloud-banks which hid everything.
After a while the pilot passed him another message. "Look down; we cannot be far from the Rhine now, and it is important to know when we cross it. Keep a sharp look out."
The depression of the point of thenacelletold Dennis that the Aviatik was planing down to a lower altitude, and when, some distance ahead, he saw the milky gleam of a river winding away to right and left, he hung over the side with the powerful German glasses glued to his eyes.
The moment it passed beneath them he touched Laval on the shoulder, and, swinging round again to the right, they flew almost due south, still coming down lower and lower.
It was a clear night, and the visible difference in the blackness of the ground here and there told Dennis that they were traversing above mountainous country, while the little bright specks shining like glow-worms marked the existence of enemy towns and villages, whose inhabitants fancied themselves secure from the daring French airmen.
With the exception of the historic raid upon Karlsruhe they had seldom journeyed so far afield.
For a moment the engines ceased working, and Laval shouted to his companion: "We must be close to the place now. There should be a hill covered with pine trees in front of us, and the hangar lies within a league beyond it on a flat plain."
"Then yonder it is!" cried Dennis. "There is no end of a strong light showing ahead. That ragged edge that looms against it must be your tree tops."
"Good!" replied the pilot. "Get your bombs ready. When I shut off again we shall be as nearly above the spot as one can judge."
He restarted the engines. In the distance a curious yellow glow outlined the hill, and as they sailed clear of the pines the glow resolved itself into a considerable illumination, for which the pilot steered.
Rows of electric lamps formed a huge parallelogram, in the centre of which was a long black object, undoubtedly the airship hangar.
"By Jupiter!" yelled Dennis; "we're in luck to-night! The Zeppelin's coming out!"
He forgot that his words were completely drowned, and he received a sudden shock when the brilliant beam of a searchlight flashed up from the ground, and, after a circling swoop, found them and held them in its fierce eye. Every stay and rivet was as clearly visible to him as though it had been noonday, and it was a trying moment.
As another light challenged them, and asked "Who are you?" he remembered Laval's previous instructions, and showing his signal lamp, replied in the Morse code, "Blumberger, returning from reconnaissance beyond Mülhausen."
Blumberger was lying dead under the mackintosh in the cornfield near Bar-le-Duc, and Dennis was wearing his outer garments; but the message had been understood, and was followed by the command: "L30 coming outnow. Be careful until all is clear; then report, Blumberger!"
"Yes, we will be very careful!" muttered Claude Laval, who had read off the message at the same time; and flying slowly at scarcely more than five hundred feet above the ground he steered towards the hangar.
Out of the giant shed the great grey nose of the Zeppelin came gliding into view, shining like some silver thing in the light of the electric lamps, the army of men who guided its movements looking like so many busy ants as the searchlights switched off the Aviatik and focused on the airship, evidently for their own guidance.
Suddenly the Aviatik dipped, and Laval made a gesture with his helmeted head. There was no Rolland releasing apparatus fitted to the machine, and the Frenchman's ten bombs were ranged on either side of the observer.
He knew the moment had come, and with a rapid movement Dennis flung them over into space! As the sixth left his hand he felt the machine begin to mount steeply as Laval opened the throttle and put the engines to their fullest power, and the remaining four death-dealing missiles were dropped out at random.
Peering down over the edge, three tremendous explosions reached their ears, followed by another and another; and then everything was drowned in the mightiest explosion of them all, as Zeppelin and hangar burst into a sheet of flame.
Wider and wider it spread, and higher it rose, a great red and yellow roar of lapping tongues, sometimes hidden by dense black smoke, only to flare out brighter than before.
And still the raider climbed at a perilous angle, and at such a speed that Dennis gave up all attempts to use his glasses.
As he clung with one hand to a gun bracket, looking giddily down, something screamed past the aeroplane, missing the wings by only a few feet, and a shrapnel shell burst overhead.
"I thought 'Archibald' would have something to say to us," muttered Dennis, as Laval banked away to the right, still rising. "Hallo! Now they've got us!" And three brilliant beams shot into the night sky, one of them focusing the Aviatik and the two others instantly joining it, to show the anti-aircraft gunners their target.
Laval dived—a breathless, daring swoop down—as two shells burst above their heads; but, quick as he was, a shower of bullets rained through one of the wings. Dennis could see the holes when the searchlights got them again, and the side of the fuselage was pitted with dents.
Right and left, above and below, in front and behind them, the whole sky was suddenly alive with shell bursts; and into the observer's brain came the recollection that he had an interview with General Joffre at eight o'clock that morning! He found himself actually smiling at the thought, and wishing that he could speak to the man in front of him—the helmeted man with rounded shoulders bent over his wheel, who pressed levers and bent the control pillar this way and that, as he sent the biplane zigzagging through the heavens with a suddenness that bumped Dennis about, and threatened more than once to fling him out into eternity.
He did not feel the cold, although it was intense; andhe had the presence of mind to pass a strap round his waist and fasten himself in. And then he crouched there, marvelling at their luck and the iron nerve of his companion, who, so far, was responsible for their escape.
He knew that they were already a long way from the blazing airship which they had destroyed, and a feeling of exultation took possession of the lad. They were going to win through—they would do it yet; it was written that they were to get free, and he closed his eyes, giddy with the whirl of mingled emotions that filled him.
They had eluded the searchlights for a moment, but another screaming shell overtook them, and as it burst he opened his eyes, and saw Claude Laval sink forward and huddle up on top of his wheel.
"By Jingo, they've got him!" gasped Dennis, sickening with fear for the first time; but recovering himself on the instant, he flung off the strap and reached forward in an attempt to get to the wounded Frenchman without any very distinct idea of what he could do if he succeeded.
But Laval, as though he had read his thoughts, straightened himself and gave a jerk with his head, at the same time sending the machine earthward in a nose dive at an appalling angle.
Dennis clung to the front of the circular cockpit which was the observer's post, and again his eyes closed as the downward rush took his breath away.
"Poor little mater!" And there was a world of agony in the boy's thought, interrupted by finding himselfprecipitated backwards in a heap, as thenacellelifted and the dive was checked.
Only for a moment, however, for down they shot again, the downward course being a harrowing succession of switchback curves, which ended in a curious silent glide on even keel, a terrific jolting and a dead stop.
"Are you there?" said an odd, far-away voice, as Dennis slowly gathered himself up with a sigh of heartfelt relief.
"Yes, I'm here. You don't mean to say we're actually on the ground and safe!" he cried hoarsely.
"Hush! Do not speak too loud!" groaned Laval. "We are as safe as we can be on German soil, but I am afraid my right shoulder is broken; and worse still, the engines stopped of their own accord before we made that last dive."
Dennis, as soon as he had recovered from the species of partial paralysis which had taken possession of his limbs, climbed forward to his companion, who rested his head against his shoulder for a moment, and groaned faintly through his clenched teeth.
"That was magnificent, Laval!" whispered Dennis. "Where is the flask of cognac? Here, drink this!"
"Thanks, my dear friend," murmured the wounded Frenchman. "Do not worry about me. It is a question of what is wrong with the Aviatik. There is just one hope for us. Look at the petrol tank. Oh, you can use a light, for, remember we are Germans now if anyone comes along."
Torch in hand, Dennis examined the petrol tank carefully, and his voice shook with renewed hope.
"The tank is untouched," he reported. "But there is only an inch of spirit left at the bottom of it. That's the trouble. There is something like a house yonder among the trees. What do you say?"
"There is only one thing to be said, my dear Blumberger," replied Laval, with a faint smile. "We must commandeer petrol without delay. I find my arm is not broken after all, but I am bleeding like a pig. It is running into my boot. Help me out, and we will see what the good people over there can do for us."
"Have you any idea where we are?" queried Dennis, as he assisted his wounded companion to the ground with some difficulty.
"Somewhere in the Black Forest," replied Laval. "And unfortunately not much more than ten miles, scarcely that, from the Zeppelin shed. They will search for us, never fear; they are searching now! Moreover, it will be daylight directly, and it is necessary that we hurry ourselves if you want to keep your appointment."