Don Hale with the Flying Squadron, Page 2

  CHAPTER I--THE GREENHORN

  A rickety-looking cab, containing two passengers and much luggage, anddriven by a gray-haired _cocher_, drew slowly up to a high iron gate andcame to a halt. And the wheels had scarcely stopped before two youngchaps, with exclamations of deep satisfaction and relief, literallytumbled out of the ancient vehicle and stared about them.

  "Well, Don, here we are at last!" cried the elder.

  "Yes, George. And this is certainly one of the greatest moments of mylife. Tomorrow I start my training to become a pilot," exclaimed theother, such a degree of enthusiasm expressed in his tone as to make thewrinkled cab driver turn, survey him with a curious grin, and comment inthe French tongue:

  "I guess that's the way most of them act until something happens."

  But the boys scarcely heard him.

  Surmounting the iron gate, inside of which an armed sentry was slowlypacing, this inscription in large, bold letters, stood out against thesky:

  "ECOLE D'AVIATION MILITAIRE DE BEAUMONT."

  "I certainly hope the Boches won't get you, young monsieur," continuedthe driver. "But, if you don't mind, I'd be glad if you'd will your lifeinsurance to me."

  "I'll think about it," laughed the boy. He deposited several pieces ofsilver in the palm of the hand held toward him, then began the task ofgetting his luggage off the vehicle. By the time this was done thesentry had opened the great iron gate.

  With a hasty good-bye, the boys turned toward the soldier and producingseveral important-looking papers handed them to him.

  And while the proceeding was underway this series of comments passedbetween five young men, attired in the horizon blue uniform of theFrench poilu, who were strolling inside the great enclosure not faraway:

  "Well, well! What have we here?"

  "No doubt a couple more pilots."

  "But, if I'm not mistaken, one of them is actually wearing the stars andwings insignia of the air service on his uniform. He's a corporal."

  "So he is! Such a young chap, too!--looks, for all the world, like ahigh-school boy on his way home from the place of demerit marks andciphers."

  "Let's give 'em the grand quiz."

  It took the sentry only an instant to scan the papers and nod his headin approval, and another instant for the newcomers to gather up theirpossessions and head for the group of five.

  "Step up and give your names, boys." The speaker was a tall, angularyouth with bushy red hair and twinkling blue eyes.

  "Don Hale," answered one of the newcomers.

  "George Glenn," replied the other.

  "Of the Lafayette Squadron?"

  "Exactly! And on a couple of days' furlough."

  And one of the natural but not very agreeable ways of the world wasexemplified then and there; for Don Hale, the prospective student of thegreat military flying school, immediately found his presence totallyignored, while his companion, member of the most famous escadrille ofthe aviation service, began to receive the homage and admiration due toone who had attained such an exalted position in life. To be a member ofthe Lafayette Flying Corps was indeed a signal honor--an honor covetedabove all things by the majority of the American aviation students.

  Don Hale, smiling a little to himself, thereupon seized the opportunityto examine the view outspread before him.

  And what the boy saw made him draw a deep, long breath, like one who hasjust experienced a feeling of vast satisfaction and pleasure. It was animmense level field, or rather a series of fields. Far in the distancelong rows of low canvas hangars and tents stood out in faint gray tonesagainst the background of earth and sky. Nearer at hand were lines ofrather dingy-looking wooden structures--the barracks--and isolatedbuildings used for various purposes, while dominating all rose a talland graceful wireless mast.

  Far more interesting to the American lad, however, was the sight ofseveral airplanes performing evolutions in the distant sky. The sun haddescended in the west and its cheerful rays no longer touched the earth,but every now and again one or another of the graceful flying machinescaught the glow, and, as if touched by a fairy's wand, becametransformed for the moment into a flashing object of silver and gold.

  Don Hale felt his pulse quicken. How wonderful it was to be up in theheavens, soaring with all the ease, the grace, the certainty of a hugebird of the air! It made him long for the time to come when he, too,would have his ambition fulfilled! Presently a deep gruff voice broke inupon his meditations.

  "Better come down to earth, son."

  The red-headed chap had spoken.

  "Sure thing!" laughed the new student. "What's that, sir--my last job,you ask? Oh, driving a Red Cross ambulance near the Verdun front."

  "I must say we seem to have met a couple of real heroes," chuckled theother. "And now, to show you that I haven't forgotten my Fifth Avenuemanners, I'll introduce these would-be flyers, most of whom as yethaven't risen above the grasshopper stage of the game."

  Thereupon, with many chuckles, he presented Gene Shannon, Cal Cummings,Ben Holt and Roy Mittengale, adding that his own name was Tom Dorsey.

  "Glad to know you all!" declared Don Hale, heartily.

  "So am I," exclaimed George.

  "Very gratifying indeed, I'm sure!" laughed Dorsey. "We all hope thatlater on some people about whom we are hearing a whole lot won't be soglad to meet us."

  "Oh, you coming aces!" grinned Ben Holt.

  "Hooray, hooray, for the future cannon-flying express!" chuckledMittengale. Then, turning toward Don, he said: "I suppose that the dayyou didn't run into at least a half dozen or so hair-breadth escapesmust have seemed like a pretty dull one?"

  "I had all the close calls I wanted," confessed the former ambulancedriver.

  "And yet you are now going in for something which at times ought to makethat Red Cross work look like little rides of joy. Ever take a spin in aplane?"

  "No, sir."

  "Oh, boy! There's some job ahead of you, then." Mittengale laughed."You'll have to get right down to business."

  "You can just better believe I will!" declared Don, enthusiastically."I'm mighty anxious for the time to arrive when I can go up tobusiness."

  "It may never come," suggested Ben Holt. "'Tisn't everybody who isfitted to be an airman. One or two bad spills--an airplane ready for thescrap pile, or a student now and then killed on the training field, andit's all off with some!"

  "If you don't look out, Holt, we'll elect you chairman and sole memberof our committee on pessimism," laughed Dorsey. "Say, son,"--headdressed Don--"I suppose you have all your papers?"

  "Yes, and owing to my father having been a member of a Franco-Americanaviation corps I didn't have much trouble in getting them," returnedDon. "He's now an instructor in an American aviation school."

  "What did they do to you? I'd like to know if your experiences were likemy own."

  "Well, here's the story," laughed the new _eleve_[1] pilot. "I hoofed itto the recruiting office, which is located in the Invalides at Paris,filled out a questionnaire, signed a document requiring me to obey themilitary laws of France and be governed and punished thereby; then,after that agony was over, the medical man took me in charge. I just hadto show him that I was able to balance myself on one foot with eyesclosed, jump straight up from a kneeling position, and also walk astraight line after having been whirled around and around on a revolvingstool until all the joy in life seemed to have gone."

  "Spies are Everywhere"]

  "Ugh!" grunted Dorsey. "The very recollection of that ordeal makes mewish to recollect something else."

  "The kind of air-sickness you get by the unearthly dips and twists of anairplane has sea-sickness beaten to a frazzle," commented Ben Holt,pleasantly.

  "Then I'm not anxious to make its acquaintance," grinned Don. "I had afew nerve tests, too, made in a pitch-dark room, which weren'taltogether pleasant. Among other things, a revolver was unexpectedlyfired several times close beside me."

  "It's tough, how they treat a perfectly respectab
le chap," chirped CalCummings.

  "My, what a relief it was to receive a service order requiring me toreport to the headquarters of the Flying Corps of Dijon!"

  "That's an old story with us," drawled Mittengale. "Once there, you hadto answer a lot more questions. Then you paid a visit to the 'Vestiare,'where the soldiers are outfitted. A uniform, shoes, socks, overcoat, hatand knapsack were passed out, and thereby, and also perforce, anotherchapter added to your brief but eventful history."

  "Besides all that, I received a railroad pass to come here, and alsothree sous, representing that many days' pay," chuckled the newcandidate. "The salary I've already squandered," he confessed, with agrin.

  "Awful! The French Government should be told about it," exclaimed GeneShannon, laughingly. "But now, son, perhaps you would like to begin anew chapter by paying the captain a very necessary call?"

  "To be sure!" said Don.

  He stooped over, preparatory to gathering up his belongings, whenShannon stopped him.

  "Leave the department store there, Don," he remarked. "We'll send someof the Annamites over to wrestle with 'em. Now come along."

  The "Annamites," both Don and George knew, were the littleyellow-skinned Indo-Chinese, who had journeyed from far-off Asia to givetheir services to the French Government.

  Led by Tom Dorsey, the crowd began to pilot the new student and his chumtoward headquarters. To Don Hale it was all wonderfully interesting. Theboy was filled with that eager curiosity and anticipation which is oneof the glorious possessions of youth. A new life--indeed a startlinglystrange life, would soon be opening out before him--one that held vastpossibilities, and also terrifying dangers. Whither would it lead him?

  "I say, young chap"--Ben Holt's voice broke in upon histhoughts--"you've got to mind your eye in this place. No talking back toofficers; no overstaying your leave, eh, Monsieur Nightingale?"

  "Oh, cut it out!" snapped Mittengale.

  "Yes, there's a chap who knows!" Holt chuckled. "One day Roy thoughthe'd enjoy a few extra hours in Paree--result: a nice little chamber twostories underground; a rattling good wooden bench, but uncommonly hard,as a bed; a bottle of water for company and eight days of delightfulidleness, to meditate upon the inconsiderate ways of military men."

  "It was well worth it," growled Mittengale. "Some tender-hearted chapssmuggled in paper and I wrote sixty-four pages of my book entitled 'Lifeand Adventures of an Airman in France!'"

  "An airman in France!" snickered Ben. "There's nerve for you! Why, hehasn't even been above the three hundred foot level yet."

  "Well, that's just about two hundred and seventy-five feet higher thanyour best record," retorted Mittengale, witheringly. "Don't talk, youpoor little grasshop."

  Don Hale paid no attention to these pleasantries, for, at that moment,one of the distant machines circling aloft, now dusky, gray objects,sometimes but faintly visible in the darkening sky, began to volplane.Down, down, came the biplane, in wide and graceful spirals, toward theearth. A few more turns and the wings were silhouetted faintly for thelast time against the sky; another instant and they cut across the turfin still swiftly moving lines of grayish white.

  "Good work, that!" cried Don, breathlessly.

  "Fine!" agreed George.

  "Won't I be jolly glad when I can manage a machine like that!" Donhappened to glance at his chum's face, and was surprised to see a swift,subtle change come across it, an almost sad expression taking the placeof his usual buoyant look. "What's the matter, old chap?"

  "I was thinking what a dangerous life you are about to begin, Don. Assome of the boys in the squadron say: 'Death is often carried as apassenger by the airman.'"

  "And you engaged in the very same work yourself!" laughed Don. "There'sconsistency for you! I understand, though, just how you feel about it,George. Honestly, at times, I've worried a whole lot about you. But"--adetermined light flashed into his eyes--"we must 'carry on' the big jobbefore us."

  "That's the way to look at it," acquiesced George, heartily. "You have acool head and steady nerves, Don; and you'll be called upon to use allyour wits, all your courage and resourcefulness, as never before in thewhole course of your life. Great adventures are ahead!"

  "Better wait until he gets out of the ground-class before talking thatway," grinned Ben Holt, dryly.

  "Don't discourage the infant class, Holt," put in Dorsey. "Now, boys"--he turned to face Don and George--"that good-sized building you spyjust across the field is the headquarters of the captain andmoniteurs--teachers we call 'em in the good old lingo of the UnitedStates. By the way, know much French?"

  "Oh, yes," replied Don.

  "Good! Frankly speaking, some of these chaps here do not." Dorseychuckled mirthfully. "Their efforts sound weird and wild. And sometimesit has the effect of making the moniteurs act wildly and weirdly."

  "The idea of Dorsey talking about French!" scoffed Ben Holt. "Why, hecan't even speak English. An Englishman's the authority for that."

  "One's shortcomings should never be mentioned in polite society,"grinned Tom. "And now, Don, while you're over there parleying theparlez-vous we'll get a bunch of the Oriental Wrecking Crew, theAnnamites, to lift your traps."

  "As a rule, I rather object to having my things lifted," laughed Don."But this time it's all right."

  "You'll find our crowd, with a few additions equally handsome, in thebig barracks--the third from the end. Now scoot."

  While Don and George didn't exactly "scoot," they neverthelessimmediately left the group and made good time toward the buildingindicated. Within a few minutes they entered and were conducted by anorderly to the captain's sanctum.

  If Don had expected any effusive greeting or words of commendation forhis willingness to give his services to aid the cause of France he wouldhave been greatly disappointed. The captain, very alert andauthoritative in manner, greeted the two boys in a casual, disinterestedsort of way, and examined Don's papers.

  Then came the usual number of formalities and an order to report to thesergeant on the aviation field on the following morning.

  Don Hale was now duly enrolled as an _eleve_, or student pilot, in oneof the most important of the great Bleriot flying schools in France.

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  Footnote 1:

  Eleve--pupil.