Wings over England
Page 7
_Chapter_ VII Enemy Sighted
After they returned from the futile search the three of them, Dave,Brand and the Young Lord stood for a time beside the car. They hadtalked for a moment. Then Brand walked away to the barn for one morelook about before he retired for the night. It had been a strange,exciting and momentous day. Nothing quite like it had ever happened atRamsey Farm before. He felt restless and ill at ease.
After he had gone the Young Lord asked Dave a strange question:
“What are you doing in England?”
“Why—I—nothing really,” Dave hesitated. “You see my uncle is in the newsservice here. He was coming over in the Clipper. He invited me to comealong. So here I am. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as simple as all that, buthe fixed it up.”
“I see,” the Young Lord murmured.
Did he? Dave doubted that. He made a second start. “You see I’ve had twoyears in college. Didn’t like it any too well, the class-room part. Oh,math was well enough. In fact I really liked it. But the rest,” heheaved a sigh. “Well, I majored mostly in football, basketball, tennisand golf. So—oo,”
“So they didn’t care much whether you stayed on?”
“I suppose not. Anyway, all the colleges in America have been crammedwith fellows who haven’t anything else to do but go to college now,—”
“All that will change fast,” said the Young Lord. “The way things aregoing over there now those boys are going to have things to do. Ever doany flying?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes—a little—quite a bit in fact. Uncle was a flyer in the World War.Not an ace exactly, but he got to like flying. He’s always had a flyingcrate or two about, and naturally I had to have a turn at them.”
The Young Lord guessed, and quite shrewdly too, that Dave was being toomodest about his flying.
“I’m trying out a new plane tomorrow,” he said slowly. “It’s atwo-seater. Want to go up? Just a little sky patrol. Nothing’s likely tohappen.”
Dave seemed to see that Tomahawk of the afternoon plunging downwardapparently headed for destruction. He wanted to say “no”. For somereason his tongue wouldn’t form the word. So he said:
“Yes. Sure. I’d like to.”
“Righto.” The Young Lord reached for the door of his big old Englishcar. “I’ll be after you in this bus at 10:00 A. M.”
His motor roared. He was away.
“Now why did I say that?” Dave asked himself aloud.
“Say what?” He started. Brand was at his side.
“I promised to go up with Applegate tomorrow.”
“Sayee! That’s corking! Just what I’d like to do! In fact,” Brand’s tonewas sober, “I want to join up. Since this afternoon I want to more thanever. Mother objects. Says I’m needed to manage the farm. Says the armyneeds our butter and fat cattle. This farm! Of course, we love it. Allof us do. But when all of England is threatened—when the others aredoing their bit—to be tied to the sail! God!” Brand stamped his foot.
“It’s all the way you think, I guess.” Dave laughed lightly. “Well, I’llbe up having a look at your native land from the clouds in the morning.So, goodnight.” Half an hour later, in his bed beneath the rafters ofthat ancient house, Dave was asking himself: “Why did I come toEngland?”
The answer seemed simple enough. This war was too big to miss—thatis—miss seeing. But why had he persuaded Cherry to go with him to Londonwhere bombs were falling? Why had he promised to go up with the YoungLord in the morning? He did not know the answers. All he knew was thathe felt like a fly caught in a web. The web did not have a very stronghold on him yet. He could break away if he wished. But did he wish? Notknowing the answer, he fell asleep.
In another corner of that broad upstairs, her door leading into thechildren’s room ajar, Alice was hearing a shrill childish voice cry:
“You’re a spy, a little lady spy. I’m a frog, a great big black frog.I’m going to swallow you—swallow you right down. Here I come!”
This was followed by a low, half-suppressed exclamation, a giggle, thena loud “Shish.” After that all was silent.
Alice was nearly asleep when suddenly from far overhead there came theroar of powerful motors. London was in for one more beating. Would thoseterrible bombings never end?
It was with a strange thrill tickling his spine that Dave climbed intothe rear of the lord’s two-seater plane the next day. This, he knew, wasa fighting plane, his very first. This plane carried a sting in itsnose, eight guns capable of firing nearly ten thousand shots per minute.
“Of course,” he thought, “this is broad daylight. Not much chance ofpicking up an enemy. And yet, there’s yesterday.”
After fastening his safety belt with great care, he waited for thetakeoff. It came with a roar. They were in the air. Some ship!
He studied it with great care. It had a dual control. If somethinghappened, just happened to go wrong with the Young Lord, he could bringthe ship to earth. He might, in a pinch, do a great deal more. Thefiring of those guns seemed simple. He had had a great deal more flyingexperience than he was willing to admit,—at least 200 hours.
Seeming to read his thoughts, Applegate gave a slight squeeze at hisfiring button. In no uncertain tones the guns spoke. Dave was thrilledto his fingertips.
He began studying the electric switches, the emergency boost, the petrolswitch, the air-speed indicator, the directional gyro, the climbindicator, and all the other instruments. A born mechanic, he couldstudy these out one by one, eliminate the ones least needed, thenpicture himself guiding the ship.
Watching a mirror, studying his face, Applegate nodded in approval tothe sky. As they climbed to 10,000 feet Dave saw London in the distance.Smoke hung over it. There had been a bombing, fires started. Homes ofsimple, honest, hard-working people who had not asked for this war hadbeen destroyed. He hated all that.
White clouds, like distant snowbanks, were drifting through the blue asblue sky.
“Take her for a minute, will you?” The Young Lord spoke in amatter-of-fact voice.
Dave’s hands trembled as he gripped the controls. He kept the ship goingon an even keel while his companion, after unstrapping heavy binoculars,studied the sky.
Suddenly Applegate threw out a hand. Swinging it to the right, hedirected Dave into a fluffy white cloud.
“That’s it,” he approved. “Now just lurk around in here for a bit.”
With a tickling sensation at the back of his neck Dave “loitered round”.At the same time he was asking himself, “Why did I let myself in forthis?”
Twice they came out of the cloud, but on the wrong side. At last, afterone more wave of the lord’s hand, Dave headed straight out, on the sidefrom which they had entered.
He caught his breath sharply as, on breaking out into blue sky, hesighted an airplane beneath and beyond them. He trembled as he saw thehated swastika on its tail.
“Will there be a scrap?” he asked himself. Strangely enough he feltquite cool about it. The Young Lord took the controls. The motorsroared. This gave Dave time to study land and sky. As near as he couldtell the other plane which was slowly circling, was just about overRamsey Farm. “That’s why Applegate is putting on such speed,” hethought.
Just then, like a squirrel darting for shelter, the enemy plane leaptupward and into a cloud.
“You better!” Applegate growled, at the disappearing enemy.
Only when they were near the cloud did he slacken his speed. Then, likea dog waiting for a squirrel, he loitered about in the sky.
“If the enemy really wished to get away,” Dave thought, “every advantageis with him.” A whole string of clouds was drifting in from the distantsea. Was he glad or sorry? At that moment he could not have told.
After a time, like a dog watching clumps of bushes where a rabbit ishiding, the Young Lord began skirting that long procession of clouds.
They had followed almost to landsend and the shore when suddenly theYoung Lor
d pointed to a black speck against the distant sky. Dave heaveda sigh of relief. Turning about, they headed for the airdrome.
“He was bashful, that Hun,” Applegate laughed into his mouthpiece.“Perhaps he came over to find his pals who paid us a visit yesterday.Sorry to disappoint him. Even the wreck has been carted away.”
“One of his friends is still at large,” Dave suggested. “Might have setup a signal. Black cross cut from the sod would do the trick.”
“That’s right,” Applegate agreed. “Anyway,” he laughed as they begancircling for a landing, “we’re back just in time for lunch. It’s coldbeef and plum pudding. You’ll stay, I hope.”
“Oh! Sure!” Dave agreed.
His visit to the flying corps’ mess was one not soon to be forgotten. Hehad read magazine stories of these fighters. Loud, boisterous, wild anda bit coarse, that was how they had been pictured. To his surprise hefound them a simple, kindly lot, with manners that would have put many acollege group to shame.
“You’ve really got to be up to things to be a-flying in this squadron,”the Young Lord explained. “And in any other, for that matter. Drinking,loud laughs, roughness—well, it doesn’t seem to go with life-and-deathflying, that’s all.
“You have to be a man,” he added after a pause. “And a man’s nearlyalways a gentleman as well.”