The Boy Aviators with the Air Raiders: A Story of the Great World War

Frank had practiced this same thing himself many a time, first from a moving railway train, and latterly from a swiftly driven aëroplane. Thus he was in a position to know something about it.

Billy continued to make the best use he could of his mock gun. He labored under the fond delusion that he was thus doing his part in keeping the fliers at a respectable distance, which amounted to something after all.

As for Pudge, he could only lie there on his face unable to look up – it was so terrible to see that man-made bird in the air above them, just for all the world like a hawk he had watched hovering over the water ere making a swift descent and plucking a fish out of the lake with its talons.

While he lay there on his stomach waiting in dread Pudge felt the car give several erratic movements. He could not at first decide whether it was stopping or making a sudden dash, but he did hear the crash announcing the next explosion.

Realizing that he was still in the land of the living, and as far as he could tell unharmed, Pudge raised his head and twisted his fat neck around.

He saw the Taube machine speeding on ahead; the van was apparently unharmed by the last shot, for it too continued along its way with a merry chug-chug-chug that sounded as sweet as any music he had ever heard in the ear of Pudge Perkins.

“What happened, Frank?” he asked eagerly.

“A number of things,” he was told; “first we dodged him, and coaxed a throw. Then in his haste he made a bad shot and wasted another of his precious bombs, for it only tore a wound in the pasture land back there a bit.”

“That makes four times he’s whacked away at us, don’t you know, Frank!” exclaimed Pudge, as though he considered each separate escape little short of a miracle.

“It’s the last time in the bargain,” announced Billy, “because there comes a troop of mounted soldiers around the bend over yonder, and you’ll hear the crack of guns if you listen a bit. There! what did I tell you? See how they start right away to try and get the Germans in the Taube. The Britishers know that make of aëroplane as far as they can see it. A Taube and a German are one and the same thing with them.”

“Whee! I warrant you the lead is singing around their ears like a swarm of angry wasps right now,” ventured Pudge, now condescending to actually sit up again, for it began to appear that their peril was a thing of the past.

“Well, I don’t really know that I want to see those daring fellows come down in a rush,” admitted Frank, whose sportsmanlike spirit could find much to admire in a foeman, as well as in a friend.

“They’re ascending in spirals now,” remarked Billy, “and edging away at the same time. Guess they’ve had all they wanted of the game, and for the time we’re safe from interference. Go it you terriers, or English bulldogs, rather; keep them up so high that they’ll see the folly of trying to hit so small an object as our van here.”

Acting on Frank’s suggestion the chauffeur had come to a dead halt with his machine. If they kept on and lost the support of the soldiers on the road the crafty birdmen might again chase after them, to renew the unequal contest by hovering above and bombarding them with those dangerous missiles until one finally struck.

Presently, having mounted to a height where they need not fear the bullets from the guns of the British soldiers the airmen once more circled around and a bomb was dropped.

It exploded not fifty feet away from where the loaded van stood. There was somewhat of a scattering on the part of the soldiers. No one looked anything but annoyed because of this happening; but this sprang wholly from the fact that they could do so little against the aërial enemy.

Just then, however, Billy cried out that “as sure as two and two make four” he had discovered help in the offing. Some floating objects in the air increased rapidly in size, and quickly took on the attributes of other aëroplanes.

“Oh! more Taubes coming!” shrieked Pudge as he glimpsed the several dots that were heading their way.

M’sieu therefore proceeded to enlighten them as to the last difference between the machines used almost universally by the Allies and those which the Germans believed answered their demands best of all.

“They are the Allies!” he told Frank, with ill concealed satisfaction; and after that even Pudge could sit contentedly and watch how quickly the Germans started full tilt toward their own lines.

The two fresh arrivals pursued the other craft in hot haste, and there could be heard faint reports from up aloft as though they were trying to wing the fugitive Taube. When last seen pursuers and pursued were still making fast time toward the north.

Of course Frank begged the chauffeur to put on all possible speed so as to get as near Dunkirk as he could before any further trouble might arise to endanger the safety of the precious seaplane.

Whether the audacious air-pilots in the Taube really escaped or were brought down by their swift pursuers the aëroplane boys never knew. They felt it quite satisfactory to know that apparently their route to the French town on the water was again free from waylaying trouble. Besides, Frank was of the opinion that they had left the bad part of their journey behind them. He was assured of this fact by M’sieu, the French pilot who had been in their company through the whole of this adventurous day.

CHAPTER XXVI.

HEADED TOWARD HOME

Once they struck better roads their progress was much faster. Indeed, it was not long after the close of that short February day when they managed to arrive at Dunkirk. The boys did not rest until every part of the seaplane had once more been stored in the hangar, which they found just as they had left it, a cordon of soldiers still guarding it.

Tired after that most exciting day, the boys prepared supper. Frank asked M’sieu to join them, but the French aviator explained that he had his report to make out, so that the Government might complete the bargain on the next day.

“I shall never forget you, my brave boys,” he assured them in parting. “I have seen many experienced pilots handle their craft, but on my honor I assure you never before have I found one so young display such rare ability. After once seeing that you were the master of your airship never once did I fear for my life, or feel that it would better things if I took the wheel. I wish you every luck in the world; and it is with deep regret that I say au revoir.”

“Just to think,” remarked Pudge, as later on they sat around and partook of the supper that had been prepared, “all that’s happened since we left here this A. M.”

“It’s been a red-letter day in our experience, for a fact,” admitted Frank.

“A glorious try-out,” said Billy, “and the Sea Eagle sure behaved herself in a way to make us proud of our Company. Only for that unfortunate puncture in the gas tank, we’d have come through without a single hitch.”

“And even that turned out to be not so serious a thing, after all,” said Frank, “though I admit it gave us a little concern at the time. But it had its compensations, after all, one of which was our meeting with that fine chap, Captain Marsden.”

“Yes,” said Pudge proudly, “and I’m glad to announce that my knees are not so badly scraped as I thought they were. I think I deserve a whole lot of praise for making that long creep so well. It wasn’t much to you fellows, but a different proposition to one of my shape.”

“We’ll give you all the credit going, Pudge,” said Billy magnanimously. “But, Frank, we ought to get the plane rigged up again the first thing in the morning, oughtn’t we?”

“Not thinking of another flight over the battlefields, are you?” asked the fat chum, looking concerned again.

“No, we’re through taking all those risks,” Frank told him. “But you’re right about that, Billy. They may want us to deliver the plane over to them tomorrow, and it ought to be in apple-pie condition. I hope to close the contract, and then we can go back home.”

“Leaving the one sample machine,” demanded Billy, “and allowing the French Government to manufacture a certain number of others, paying our company a royalty on every seaplane built along the lines of our patents?”

“That about covers the case,” Frank agreed. “Of course, once we receive our pay, and hand the seaplane over, we have no further interest in what happens to it, although I’d hate to learn it had met with an accident.”

“You think, then, do you, Frank, that the German spies will keep on trying to steal or destroy the Sea Eagle?” asked Billy.

“If they get the chance they certainly will,” the other replied. “They know now that all the wonderful things they heard about it are true, and that a fleet of aircraft built on those same lines would make back-numbers of their Zeppelins and Taubes. But, as I said before, let the French Government do the worrying after the deal is closed.”

“But if this machine were blown to smithereens, Frank, our Company would stand to lose those royalties?” Pudge suggested.

“All of which is true enough, Pudge,” Frank told him, “but that’s something we can’t remedy, so we’ll have to trust to sheer luck.”

They passed a quiet night, and morning found them busily engaged in getting the dismantled seaplane together again. The injuries which it had suffered in making that descent, thanks to Frank’s skillful piloting, had not proven serious, and so by the time noon came they were ready to have it looked over by the aviators who might be sent to the hangar by the officials of the Government.

The glowing report handed in by M. Le Grande must have hurried matters up considerably, for a little later on several gentlemen made their appearance. They looked over the big seaplane carefully, and then had Frank and his chums sign several papers, one of which was a contract on royalty covering fifty machines which the Government might wish to construct within a year’s time.

Then Frank was given a certified check from the Government, and the transaction was considered closed.

The boys took away the small bundles they had already packed, and both hangar and seaplane became from that hour the property of the French Government.

Going to a hotel, Frank and his chums made all arrangements looking to crossing over to London on the next day. From there they expected to go to Liverpool, and take passage on the first steamer sailing for New York, regardless of the danger from German submarines lurking in the Irish Sea.

At the time they left the hangar the British soldiers were marching away, their place being taken by French officers, who were perhaps secret service men, or detectives. It looked as though every possible precaution were being taken to safeguard the wonderful seaplane of which so much was expected.

As they had planned, the three boys got away on the following day, and reached London in safety. No sign was seen of any hostile undersea vessel during the short trip across to English shores.

In London they found that they would have several days on their hands before they could sail from Liverpool, so they concluded to spend the interval watching the sights in the great British metropolis in war times, so different from the old life known to all travelers.

It was on the second morning after arriving there that Billy, who had gone down to get a paper, while his chums were finishing dressing, came bursting into their room again with his face white, and a printed sheet held in his trembling hand.

“What ails you?” demanded Pudge, in a shivery way. “I hope now Germany hasn’t declared war on the poor old United States over night?”

“Frank, they got her after all!” gasped Billy.

“Do you mean the Sea Eagle?” cried the other in dismay.

“Yes,” continued the excited Billy, “here’s an account of how in the middle of the night a sudden shock was felt in Dunkirk. People thought it must be those Taubes back again bombarding the town, and lots of them hurried down into their cyclone cellars. But it was found that an aëroplane hangar just outside the place had been blown to pieces with a bomb that had either been placed underneath or dropped from some airship.”

“All gone?” asked Frank.

“Blown to pieces, and they tell that it is feared several French guards lost their lives in the bargain. They don’t say much about it, except that the hangar contained a new seaplane the Government had just purchased from an American firm owning the patents, and that as it was utterly destroyed, the loss would be complete.”

“Whew!” cried Pudge. “Say, I’m glad it was out of our hands when this happened.”

“For a good many reasons, too,” added Frank. “We might have gone up with the hangar and the Sea Eagle if we’d been there.”

“No, sir, I don’t believe it would have happened as long as Frank Chester was on deck,” said Billy stoutly. “But, Frank, they’ll have to fight this war through now without the help of fifty Sea Eagles, won’t they?”

“Just what must happen,” replied Frank, “because Dr. Perkins will never consent to pursuing the matter any further. He would not dream of supplying patterns to the Allies after this. I’m sorry, and yet at the same time I must say I feel a bit glad.”

“Well, let me tell you,” said Pudge, “it’s a good thing for the Germans.”

“Yes,” Frank went on to say reflectively, “and it will make us feel that after all we hadn’t any business to help one side more than the other. But it would have been mighty interesting reading for us later on to learn what great stunts M’sieu Le Grande and forty-nine of his valiant French comrades were accomplishing with the wonderful seaplanes that out-classed anything the Germans could match against them.”

“Well, anyhow,” said Pudge, “after this war is over I can see a rushing business for the Sea Eagle Company, Limited, in France, Germany and the United Kingdom.”

“Unless before that happens we’ve disposed of our patents to the United States Government,” remarked Frank. “This would be the most patriotic thing to do. But even if some of our plans failed to come to a fruitful end, we’ve certainly had the time of our lives over on this side of the sea, and the sights we’ve seen will never be forgotten.”

While Frank and his two chums linger in London, waiting for the announcement of the sailing day of the steamer that is to take them home, we will have to say good-by, and leave them there. Such venturesome lads are certain to undertake still further enterprises as time passes, and we can only hope that it may be our pleasant duty to chronicle these happenings for the benefit of the boy readers who have faithfully followed them through scenes of danger and stress in the past, as recorded in previous volumes in this Series.

THE END