Our Pilots in the Air | Page 3

ees mon comrade Blaine! Ver welcome -- mooch so! Wish
mooch you speak ze language, ze French."
Monsieur Cheval, really a noted aviator, had chummed much with the
American contingent and had been in the States once, though only for a
short time. But he had learned "ze language" -- after a fashion. When

Blaine briefly explained what he wanted and what the squadron
commander had said, Cheval lay back with a deep sigh, saying:
"Merci, comrade!" Here he chuckled. "I like to go: I want to go! But I
no use to you now. Not at all! I no use to myself. Voila! I got well
queek; better so here; not over yon in No-Man's-Land. But you be sure
bring my enfant back safe, my Bleriot -- Ah! A great baby is my
Bleriot!"
Blaine promised to do his best. His pal and comrade, Orris Erwin, was
also good, safe -- in short, reliable.
"Never fear, Monsieur Cheval! Unless they get us up yonder," pointing
vaguely upward into the sky, "we will fetch her back all right. Good
luck! Try to be out as soon as you can. We miss you on these little trips
after Fritzy."
An hour later Blaine, accompanied by Erwin, stood before Sergeant
Anson in the latter's cubbyhole of an office, while a stream of
khaki-clad young men filed in one by one. Anson waved them aside
until the others had left, then turned to Blaine.
"I saw Cheval myself," said the Sergeant grimly. "He wanted to go but
it will be a week before he can use that arm, aside from other injuries. I
spoke to Captain Byers about you. He was reluctant, but owing to the
newness of so many of you Yankee airmen, he was unable to make
suggestions. Only this- you two must be careful, cautious --"
"Not too cautious, I hope, sir!" came promptly from Blaine, while Orris
smiled behind his sleeve. "A pilot has to risk things, you know."
"Don't interrupt!" Anson ordered sharply, though his eyes twinkled.
"You know what I mean. Can you bring the plane back, Erwin, if
anything happens to Blaine?"
"Yes, sir, I think so. I've often flown before, alone --"
"Under fire?" This sharp reply from the Sergeant.

"I was in the last raid after Vimy Ridge, Sir. Brenzer, the pilot, was
killed. I managed to get back to our lines."
"You been over some time?"
"Yes, Sir. Only part of the time I was stationed at Aldershot, as
assistant trainer for a bunch of raw rookies from our side."
One long look at both Anson gave, then turned away with:
"You'll do. Both of you be on hand for chow at regular time. Then
await instructions." He waved them off.

CHAPTER II
THE WHIR OF WINGS
Shortly after a bugle call the following order was posted in the general
mess hall for all concerned to read.
"Members of Bombing Squadron No. - will carry out the following
order. 10 a.m., 12 midnight, 2 a.m. are the respective times to start. At
each time three machines, each carrying eight 25 pound bombs, will
bomb respectively R-----, C------, L------. Secrecy is imperative. Each
member of the three squads thus assigned will be ready at Hangars No.
-, No. -, No. - at times mentioned above."
Meantime each aviator, with his observer, had been privately notified
by the Sergeant in person. This was an every-day operation order and
was taken as a matter of course. These night raids are mostly for the
purpose of keeping the Boche busy and nervous after hard days and
nights in the front trenches, thus supposedly lowering his morale.
Usually the points thus selected are the shell-torn villages back of the
front, where Fritz has been sent for a brief period of rest before being
sent to the front again. About the time he lies down in the half-ruined
house that is his billet, and dreams of home and conquering peace, a
bomb falls inside. The walls are further shattered, some of his comrades

killed or maimed, he perhaps among them. Other bombs fall, heavy
explosions result, and Fritz finds that his night's rest is lost in general
turmoil. This continues night after night and the damage to German
morale is enormous.
From the point of view of the air-service, things are different. These
night raids are a matter of course with the pilots. It is part of the regular
work.
When Blaine and Erwin climbed into the Bleriot, bombs already
stowed, and it was wheeled out in front of the hangar, everything was
very quiet. A minute later they were climbing up into the inky darkness
at the appointed signal, the only noises being the whirrings of their own
and two other two machines appointed for the two A. M. hour.