The Khaki Boys at Camp Sterling; Or, Training for the Big Fight in France

Bixton’s malicious intimations against him had done far less to ostracize him than had his own hurt pride. Keenly sensitive of his German parentage, the first whisper against his loyalty to the Flag had caused him to retreat into his shell.

It is said that out of evil some good must eventually come. The disturbance between Ignace and Bixton resulted at least in awakening in the minds of Iggy’s bunkies a genuine interest in Schnitzel, which was one day to prove his salvation. Though he responded rather shyly to their kindly overtures, he made a favorable impression on all three, and, in his reserved fashion, soon grew to be on fairly friendly terms with them. With Ignace he appeared to be even a trifle more at ease. He had not forgotten the little incident of the mess hall. Ignace had come to him at a moment when he most needed companionship. That he was grateful he had summarily proved.

Meanwhile both participants in the fight were feeling the effects of their breach of good conduct. Added to their daily routine of drill was hard work and plenty of it, not to mention the loss of all privileges, confinement to the company street, and the too-searching eyes of the top sergeant keeping tab on their movements.

Ignace did not so much mind the hard work. He had never been used to anything else. Loss of privileges and confinement to the company street were his chief crosses. Though November was fast slipping away, the weather had remained mild. There had been plenty of sunshine and little rain. In consequence, his Brothers spent much of their leisure time out-of-doors, and it grieved Ignace not a little not to be in a position to accompany them on their frequent jaunts about the camp, or on brief expeditions to Glenwood.

Bixton, on the contrary, resented far more than loss of privileges and confinement to company street, the amount of hard work he was made to perform. He disdainfully regarded the various camp labors imposed upon him as servant’s tasks. Brought up in idleness by a too-adoring widowed mother, his enlistment had come about as the result of a disagreement with her over money.

From the moment in which he had begun to realize that the Army had “got” him, he had become at heart a slacker. He had been careful not to let it be suspected, however, among the men in his barrack.

Spiteful by nature, he was ready to make any man whom he did not like an escape-valve for his pent-up malice against the military. He had picked Schnitzel as his first victim, but without any special success. The German-American had refused to quarrel with him or notice his petty attempts to torment him. He had accordingly started upon Ignace, thereby drawing down upon himself Jimmy’s hearty dislike, which he had returned with equal intensity. As Roger had surmised, Bixton’s stealthy trip across the squad room had to do with certain dark designs on Jimmy’s equipment, best known to the author of them. The drubbing Ignace had given him, followed by the summons before the K. O., died into insignificance beside the unexpected move Schnitzel had made against him. He now had but one object in life: to “get even” with “that German snake.”

If Franz Schnitzel suspected Bixton of harboring plans for revenge, he kept it to himself. When in company with the four Brothers, Bixton’s name seldom crossed his lips. Warned by the impetuous Jimmy to “look out for that hound,” he merely replied, “I’m not afraid of him.” No one save himself knew of the alert watch he kept on himself and his belongings. If Bixton tried to “put anything over on him,” he proposed to be ready to hold his own.

With the middle of November came the first signs of approaching winter. Light falls of snow blanketed the camp and the nights grew cold. Thanks to the beneficent efforts of that indefatigable band of Army welfare workers, the Red Cross, Uncle Sam’s boys at Camp Sterling were the grateful recipients of extra quilts, sweaters, knitted wristlets and warm under-clothing. Among the more fortunately-situated soldiers, such as Jimmy Blaise, who were already well supplied with every comfort, these unexpected gifts were passed on by them to more needy comrades. Due to delay in the turning on of steam heat in the barracks, these extra quilts were particularly welcome. After the hard day’s routine of outdoor drill, the tired soldier boys had on more than one night found their allotted bed covers insufficient against the snapping cold. It was the first real discomfort they had encountered since their enlistment, and the majority of the camp contingent accepted it in the spirit of true veterans.

Veterans they were fast becoming. All traces of the rookie had long since vanished. They had acquired the erect carriage and long, purposeful stride that indelibly marks a man the world over as belonging or having once belonged to the military. Each day saw them engaged in learning or perfecting some necessary part of the soldier’s trade. Strenuous practice hikes about camp, bayonet drills, trench instruction, target practice, together with the thousand and one details of military training, now entered into their scheme of life.

Among them all, there was no finer example than Jimmy Blaise of what military training will do for a young man. He was not only a joy to look at, so far as soldierly bearing went. He was also verifying the early promise he had shown of inevitably rising from the lowly private to the rank of a non-commissioned officer. Off duty and among his bunkies he was the same easy-going Jimmy. On duty he was a man who regarded the Service as a religion and lived up to it devotedly. Whatever he was ordered to do he did, with an intelligence and finish which marked him as one who keenly felt his responsibility.

No one except himself was greatly surprised when, just a week before Thanksgiving, he received a warrant from Washington, which signified that his appointment to a corporalship had been approved by Major Sterns, his commanding officer. So far as friendliness can be demonstrated in the Army between a commissioned officer and an enlisted man, Jimmy stood well in the estimation of the major.

Strangely enough it was his knowledge of automobiles which had brought him first notice from the commanding officer. The removal of a man, who had acted as the major’s chauffeur, to another training camp had caused the K. O. to look about him for a substitute. It having reached the ears of Sergeant Dexter that “Blaise owned a car and knew a lot about buzz wagons,” he had promptly acquainted the major with the fact. The result was that Jimmy was detailed one Sunday afternoon to drive the K. O. into Tremont. This trip was the first of other similar expeditions in the major’s service. His delight in them was scarcely greater than that of his bunkies. Though Bob and Roger teasingly accused him of “being raised a pet” and warned him against “getting the big head,” they were unenviously glad of his good luck.

So it was that when, on the momentous afternoon of his rise from the ranks, he proudly confided to them the great news, they received it with a jubilation second only to his own.

“You’re hiking right along on the Glory Road, old man,” was Bob’s hearty congratulation as he wrung Jimmy’s hand.

“Mebbe soon top sergeant,” averred Ignace hopefully, his solemn face wreathed with smiles.

“Then you’ll lose your bunkie, Iggy,” teased Bob. “Top sergeants are rare, exclusive birds, you know. They roost on the roof of the barracks with their heads in the air. They have their uses, though. They stop fights, quell frays and disorders and – ”

“Oh, chop it,” cut in Jimmy in sheepish protest. “The war’ll be over long before I ever get that far. You fellows will probably be corporals, before long. I hope so. I’m not so much.” It was Jimmy’s favorite summing-up of himself. “Course I’m glad it happened. I guess it was just luck, though. Anyway, I’m going to be a bully good corp. if I can. No half-way business about it. I don’t expect to go any higher in a hurry. I wouldn’t care to, unless I could take you fellows along with me. I’d rather be one of the four Brothers than a rare bird that roosts on top of the barracks. I’d rather stay with the gang and see what happens.”

CHAPTER XIV

ADVENTURE

“What’s the program for to-morrow afternoon?” demanded Jimmy Blaise of his bunkies. It was Friday evening and the four Khaki Boys had finished their supper and were returning to barracks from the mess hall.

“Most any old thing except hanging around camp all Saturday afternoon,” was Bob’s fervent response. “Nothing that takes much dough, though. I’m saving my coin for Thanksgiving and the big town.”

“Here, too,” nodded Roger. “Still I wouldn’t mind spending a dollar or so down in Glenwood to-morrow afternoon. A fellow told me about a bazaar that’s to be held there for the benefit of the Red Cross. We might take that in. The Red Cross has been mighty good to us. I guess it wouldn’t hurt us to help the bazaar along a little.”

“I’ll do my bit,” agreed Jimmy cheerfully. “What’s a few plunks to Blazes? He’s going home next Wednesday.”

“I can no go,” stated Ignace automatically. He had said it so many times during the past month that it now fell from his lips like an oft-recited lesson.

“So we’ve heard you remark before,” commented Bob lightly. “Never mind, Iggy, you’ll soon be over your troubles. Then we’ll give you a bang-up blow-out in Tremont to make up for the unhappy past.” Pausing in the middle of the company street Bob raised his meat can on high and exclaimed dramatically, “One week from to-day, Ignace So Pulinski, and you shall walk forth under the open sky and from the narrow confines of the company street, shouting ‘Free at last! The past is gone and cannot be recalled but the glorious future – ’”

“I do, som’ one see, so say I am the crazy,” giggled Ignace.

“Come along before someone runs you in for a nut,” warned Jimmy, seizing Bob by the arm. “Here comes a shave-tail. Try that lingo on him and see what he says.” By “shave-tail” Jimmy referred in Army slang to a “second lieutenant.”

Four hands went up into prompt action as the lieutenant came within saluting range and passed on.

“He just missed my oration,” deplored Bob.

“Run after him and tell him about it,” laughed Roger.

“Some other time. I’ve got to attend a sewing-bee at barracks and I can’t play along the way. I’ve a date with a needle and thread and a few buttons.”

“With fingers weary and worn,And eye-lids heavy and red,A Sammy sat on his little cotAnd counted the knots in his thread!”

caroled Bob. “That’s me; Bobby, the Beautiful Seamstress, or Sewing on Buttons Against Heavy Odds. You certainly learn a lot of useful trades in the Army.”

Returned to barracks, all four soon busied themselves in the going over of their effects. Saturday morning meant the weekly inspection of their cots and equipment by an officer from the regimental hospital, whose practiced eyes missed nothing in the way of defects. Thus far no one of them had failed to be in readiness for him. Nor did they intend that he should find anything to criticize.

Saturday dawned clear and sunny, with only a suspicion of frost in the bracing air. Having obtained leave of absence for the afternoon, the three bunkies started for Glenwood directly after the noon mess, Ignace accompanying them as far as the end of the company street.

Arrived at the main street of the drowsy little town, their first move was to find the building which held the Red Cross bazaar.

On entering, the three Khaki Boys found the place already well filled with Glenwood civilians and soldiers from Camp Sterling. For an hour or so they amused themselves strolling about the big room, lined on three sides with gaily decorated booths, each with its own attraction in the way of salable commodities. After conscientiously doing their bit in the way of purchasing a number of articles that caught their fancy, they left the bazaar and wandered on down the street to a bowling alley.

It was four o’clock when they emerged, each well pleased with the score he had run up. After a brief stop at a drug store soda fountain for hot chocolate, Bob was of the opinion that camp was almost as exciting as Glenwood and that they had better be beating it up the road.

Frequent side-stepping to allow the passing of jitneys to and from camp finally moved Bob to propose impatiently, “Let’s get off this turnpike and hit it up across the fields. It may be a little bit roundabout but we’ve lots of time to get back to camp.”

Roger and Jimmy agreeing, the trio left the highway, leaping a stump fence and striking off across a meadow, the withered grass of which still showed patches of green. Crossing it they went on to another field, which continued level for a little way, then sloped gradually downward. Coming to the point where the descent began, three voices were suddenly raised in a concerted shout. Their eyes had simultaneously spied at the foot of the slope that which had evoked the outcry.

“Come on!” yelled Jimmy, breaking into a run. “It’s an aeroplane. Looks as though it had flopped. Maybe someone’s hurt or killed!”

With a shout, a figure emerged from behind the fuselage of the quiescent plane and stood still, gazing straight at the rapidly advancing trio.

“One man alive!” yelled Bob. “Hope he’s the whole show! Hey there! Anybody hurt?”

“Nope,” came the cheerful hail. “Old Auntie’s just wanted to take a rest. She takes ’em once in a while. She’s all right now. We were getting ready to go up when we heard you yell.”

With this reassuring information the speaker stepped forward, halting a few paces from the newcomers. Close survey of him showed a grinning, boyish face, looking out from a close-fitting hood. It was lighted by two dancing blue eyes, bluer by reason of their heavily marked brows and thick black lashes.

“Gee!” exploded Jimmy. “We thought it was a sure-enough smash-up! Some plane you’ve got there. Mind if we take a look – ”

He broke off abruptly, his gray eyes widening. From the elevator of the motionless plane a stooping figure suddenly straightened up. For an instant Jimmy was under the impression that he was seeing double. “Why – what – ” he gasped, as he stared stupidly at this second youth, so identically like the first, even to his wide grin.

“Twins!” Bob’s quick brain had instantly grasped the situation. “Well, I’ll be jiggered!”

“How did you guess it?” laughed the youth they had first addressed. “You don’t think we look alike, do you?”

“Not enough so that I’d ever be able to tell you apart,” retorted Bob, his black eyes twinkling.

“Oh, that’s easy enough when you know us,” was the jesting assurance of the other twin. “We never have any trouble about it ourselves. I wouldn’t have to be a detective to spot where you fellows live. How’s Camp Sterling, anyway?”

“It’s there yet. At least, it was still there at one o’clock.” Bob’s voice quivered with amusement. His face betrayed a lively curiosity, which was plainly reflected on the features of his companions. To suddenly come upon an aeroplane taking a rest in a hollow and presided over by a couple of youngsters, so identical in every respect, even to a wide, good-natured grin, was adventure, to say the least.

CHAPTER XV

THE TWINKLE TWINS

Unable to restrain his own wonder, Jimmy burst forth impulsively, “Say, where did you two come from? You don’t belong around here, do you? That’s the first plane I’ve seen since we struck Camp Sterling and said ‘I do.’”

“We live about thirty-five miles from here, out in the country. We’re the Twinkleton Twins,” came the smiling answer. “That’s no joke. The name, I mean.” He had noted Jimmy’s involuntary half-frown. “We’re Twinkletons all right. John and Gerald. I’m John and he’s Gerald. Only we get Jack and Jerry, or the Twinkle Twins, mostly. Oh, it’s great to have a double!” he added drolly, his Cheshire grin reappearing.

“It sure is,” echoed his brother, duplicating the wide smile.

“Well, Twinkle Twins, we’re glad to know you.” Bob held out his hand. “I’m Bob Dalton, and these two Sammys are Roger Barlow and Jimmy Blaise – Blazes, I mean.”

“Jimmy Blazes! That’s a hot name,” commented the twin who had first spoken, as he shook hands with Roger and Jimmy. “Pretty near as good as Twinkle Twins.”

“Pretty near,” agreed Jimmy with a heartiness that bespoke lively approbation of the merry-faced strangers. His glance roving over the aeroplane, he added: “It must be great sport to sail around in that. Beats a buzz-buggy all hollow!”

“That’s us. We have a racer, but we haven’t used it much since we got Auntie, here.”

“Auntie!” repeated Roger in an amused tone. Thus far he had let Bob and Jimmy do the talking. “Talk about names! That’s a funny one for an aeroplane.”

“She’s an Antoinette, but we call her Auntie ’cause it’s quicker. She’s a near and dear relative. See?” explained Jack Twinkleton. “She has a history, too. You’d never guess who used to own her, so I’ll tell you. You’ve heard of Emile Voissard, haven’t you?”

“Well, rather!” exclaimed Bob. “He’s the wonderman they call the ‘Flying Terror of France.’ I’ve seen a lot of pictures of him. He’s done great work in the air for the Allies. Never expected to meet anyone who knew him, though.” Bob’s features registered profound admiration.

“He’s a cousin of ours,” proudly informed Jerry. “Our mother was a Voissard. We’re half French and the rest English. This plane is a back number. Emile was over here with it before the war began, giving exhibition flights. We lived in California then. He used it a lot out there. About the time he got ready to throw it on the scrap heap we made him give it to us. The engine was on the blink, etc., and he said it was a safe proposition for us, because we’d never be able to do more than run it over the ground. We tinkered at the engine a long while, but we finally made her go, and Auntie’s been using her wings more or less ever since.”

“We only came east last July. We were in Stanford University,” chimed in Jack. “We’re a pair of ‘orfin’ twins. Used to spend our summers with an aunt in California, but she couldn’t stand us after we got the flying habit. We got on her nerves. So she shipped us and Auntie out here to an uncle of ours. It suited us, though. He has a fine country place. He’s a chemist and spends most of his time hanging out in his laboratory. Doesn’t care much what we do as long as we let him alone. He’s a sort of hermit and sticks off by himself. Now, come on. Jerry and I’ll show you around. Guess you’ve heard enough about us.”

With this the Twinkle Twins conducted a most willing trio about and up into the aeroplane, keeping up a running fire of explanation as they pointed out its parts and their uses. From the well-patched taut canvas wings to the once almost useless engine, which they had successfully repaired, they had demonstrated a skill and ingenuity that aroused the Khaki Boys to enthusiastic admiration. They were in the midst of a most interesting experience, consequently they asked questions to the stage of being ashamed to quiz further these affable new acquaintances.

“It’s risky when your engine stops all of a sudden. Is that what happened to you this afternoon?” Jimmy ventured a last query.

“Yep,” nodded Jack. “When Auntie gets balky then we have to do some volplaning. Take a quick slide down, you know. She’s all right; got a fine stability. Oh, fine! Except in banking or running across the wind. Sometimes wish she was a Bleriot. Then again, I don’t.”

“We love our Auntie, but oh, you dihedral angle!” put in Jerry fervently.

His tone made his listeners smile, though none of them had the slightest idea of what he was talking about. Jack immediately following his brother’s remarks with a further account of their flight and descent that afternoon, the Khaki Boys forebore inquiring into the nature of that mystifying term “dihedral angle.”

The tour of inspection concluded the twins launched a volley of eager questions concerning the Army and life at Camp Sterling, such as “How long have you been in camp?” “Do you like it?” “How long do you suppose it will be before you go over?”

“Maybe we wouldn’t like to give old Auntie a whack at the Boches,” declared valiant Jerry. “I’ll bet we could do up a few Prussians before we got ours.”

“It’s this way with us,” confided Jack. “We’ve had practice and made some fair flights. Next week we’re off to enlist in the Aviation Corps, if they’ll take us. We’re just past nineteen, but Uncle Edward has given his consent. We know a little bit about the flying game besides handling the plane. Ever since the war began we’ve been studying up on engines, machine guns, military law and all that. We can make maps and read ’em too. We’ll have to go to an Aero school, if we’re accepted, but when we get there we’re going to pretty soon show ’em from the start that we’re regular flyers. A good many fellows that go into the aviation corps never see their chance to get off of the ground. But not the Twinkle Twins. We’re crazy to go over quick.”

“Maybe bob up in front of good old Emile and spring a surprise on him,” averred Jerry, who seemed fond of supplementing his brother’s remarks with one or two of his own.

“Hope we’ll see you again before you go,” Jimmy said warmly. “Why can’t you come up to camp to-morrow? We’d be glad to show you around. We’re all going home on Wednesday for Thanksgiving. By the time we get back you may be gone.”

“Much obliged for the invitation. We’ll take you up on it and drive over to-morrow afternoon in the racer. We went up there once when we first came east. Since then we’ve been pretty busy with Auntie. Never happened to fly so near Sterling until to-day. We’ve always started off in other directions. You’ll have to wise us where to find you and all about it. We don’t want to miss seeing you.”

“Tell us what time you’ll be there and we’ll meet you in front of the Y. M. C. A.,” proposed Roger. “How about two P. M. to-morrow?”

“O. K.,” replied Jack.

“That’ll suit us,” from Jerry.

A cordial but hasty handshaking all around, and the Khaki Boys departed, casting frequent backward glances at the aeroplane. Its owners had already begun to busy themselves with “Auntie” preparatory to taking flight.

“It must be great to fly,” glowed Bob. “Those twins are wonders. I mean the way they’ve rigged up that plane and all that. I had to smile to myself, though, at what that one said about flying Auntie against the Boches. You can figure how long that little light-weight, with its patchy wings and misfiring engine, would last against a Fokker. Bing, bang! Away goes Auntie; all shot to pieces. They’ve got the proper spirit, just the same.”

“Wish we would meet ’em again in France,” emphasized Jimmy.

“I was struck dumb when they claimed Voissard as a relative,” declared Bob. “If it hadn’t been for that Red Cross Bazaar we’d never have met the Twinkle Twins. Talk about looking alike! They certainly are the original duplicates. But for goodness’ sake, what’s a dihedral angle?”

“Don’t ask me. You know more about planes now than either Blazes or I,” shrugged Roger.

“I ought to know,” deplored Bob. “Never was sent out to do an aeroplane story when I was on the Chronicle. I’ve read quite a lot about planes since the war began. Mostly about the newer types, though. That Antoinette of theirs isn’t one of them. It’s a fairly old-timer. I’m going to hunt up that dihedral angle puzzle in my dictionary.”

Back in camp barely in time for mess, Bob was forced to postpone his search for information concerning the mystifying angle. Returned to barracks from the mess hall he consulted a medium-sized, fat, black dictionary.

“Here you are,” he presently informed his still unenlightened bunkies. “Here’s a picture of Auntie, and here’s a Bleriot. See the difference? See the way the wings of this Antoinette are set in a slight V? There’s your old dihedral angle. Look at this Bleriot. Its one plane is set in a rigid horizontal line. Now I’m going to read up on this. Oh, wait till to-morrow. I’ll make the Twinkle Twins think I’m the man that taught Cousin Emile how to fly.”

“Those two must have done a lot of studying by themselves,” observed Roger. “I suppose being at Standford University has helped them some. I’ve heard that it’s a fine college. Many of its students have gone into the aviation corps.”

“Oh, those Twinkles have just absorbed knowledge of aeroplanes like a sponge takes up water,” was Bob’s sage opinion. “They’ve made it their chief interest in life. Sort of following in their cousin’s footsteps, you know. They’re lucky to have had the chance.”