Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-08-07


Thirty miles in the opposite
direction was Contains, and
he could see Contains. too.
lie was nearly four miles high.
lie Was riding a few sticks and
Strips of linen. He few single
scatter Spad scout plano two and one.
ltalt miles minute-alth0ugh, except
for the terrific drive of the propeller.
the rip and tear Of wind and the
Pulse of 220 horsepower in front at
a-s .neCs. he see!aed Ia he motionless.
suspended by some thread attached
~ the ridge pole of the universe. Be
hind him and above. each in its posi-
ton. and the green. brown, buff
ram0unaging Of each marked with the
hiue stripe and the running skeleton
with -Scythe insignia that identified the
squadron. hung six more Spads.
lie was worried about those SIN
SuaGs some Of them anyway. Some
of those fellows were inexperienced.
ttllinc the places of the Is pilots the
Thirteenth had already lost. They
didn't know how fast Il flock Of FOX
kers could fall out OF the sun and
put bullet through the back of your
neck before you knew YOU were fight
ing Well 1t was up TO him as flight
Connan der to see that il didn't hap
pen II was his job TO bring his Spad
down on the Fokkers.
lie led them along the sector,
weaving and searching, five or six
miles beyond the enemy's front lines.
The - miles from the Areonne
Forest to the winding Neuse seemed
TO more than Il few yards wide.
Sometimes on high patrol he felt
that lie wasn't really above the sector,
OF above France, or anywhere. lie
felt that he had become altogether
detached from the entire planet and.
gazing down at its bullying blue and
purple bulk, he fancied he could see
it spin. SO he was a god, and it WAS
rather absurd to imagine that a FOX
ker could shoot down god. \ burst
Of black puffballse reminded him that
enemy anti-aircraft gunners did not
believe in gods. and he changed alti'
tude slightly and shifted a few points
In direction.
The change brought a strange
black silhoutte into the arc of his
vision. and he recognized it as Ger
man observation plane. Rumpler.
heading home with information. It
would have been an easy mark--if
he had not noticed a dozen tiny black
specks. and he knew how quickly
black specks turned into Fokkers.
He wanted that Rumpler. II CaGey
Red Stiler. or StiverS, or some Of the
old ones had been with him, he would
have risked knocking it and getting
out from under before the Fokkers
arrived. Maybe he ought to risk il
anyway. That's what they were here
TOR. after all. these fellows. He couldn't
go on breaking his heart every time
&l fno cnd
him, as it was, about trying to pro
tect the rest of them. What If he
got killed himself? How would it feel
to be sent hurtling down-but if you
spend your time thinking about that
sort of thing, YOU so off your nut.
Time enough to find out how that
felt.
The gentle pressure of fingers and
foot on controlstick and rudder-bar
rocked his plane to signal the attack
and he turned upon the fleeing
Rumpler. He glanced at the dash
clock to make sure they had enough
of their two hours worth Of gasoline
left. He glanced over his shoulder
to see the flight, alert, keen for it.
close upon his tail. He saw a white.
eager face above the cockpit of No.
10. Then he smiled grimly. slipped
his fingers through the trigger-guards
on the controlstick, and began a zig
gag dive through the fire that the
Rumpler gunner had already started.
THAT was the 25th of September
l. Soon after dark the moon came
up out of a nest of clouds and made
shadows along the roadway as he
walked from the improvised barracks
TO the 18th officers mess-shack. At
his left was a dark wood and on
the other side was the sweeping,
Here and there he could make out
huge shapes, like tabernacles, the
I'd Pursuit Group hangers. Here
was the 49th Squadron. Down at the
end were the 139th and the 22d. The
18th flew from a line across the field. |
He couldn't make out those hangers |
at all.
The mess hall was no more than |
q shack. with barely enough room
for the long table. but it was full
of warmth, Pickering light and the
nnending wit Of 20 young pilots. They
bantered across the table.
His entry started more teasing.
'1iere comes the guardian angel. Hey, |
Tom. Let me be in your flight, Tom. |
] want TO have my life saved cause |
] got a girl in Kentucky. Say, Blan- |
Chard says those holes in his wings
come from your guns when you were
saving him, and that he had the
Fokker outmaneuvered anyway. |
That's gratitude"
Capt. Baldwin rose to introduce
guest, the British commander Of ii
ma jor. we have some justly famous
fellows in this outfit whom you ought
30 know. Now, there's Lieut.. Blocker.
Hes the only pilot in any army with
en- official flatboat to his credit"
Lieut.. Blocker grinned and bowed.
Capt. Baldwin went on: And there's
st. George. major. Lieut.. Philip Blan
chard is the American st. George.
lie Graves to lay down his life, and
j. annoyed because our guardian
tneel won't let HIM"
Everybody laughed. everybody but
Phil Blanchard. A smile touched his
pale, even features and passed away.
And you have guardian angel"
stand up, Lieut.. Boone. That's
my Hight commander, Lieut.. Tom
Boone, guardian angel Of the squad
ron. We know we're safe when he's
along. don't we, Tom? His specially
Is shooting Fokkers off other fellows
tails and. since they have a habit of
getting III that position, he's shot
more of them than any of us. / don't
think he could hit a t'okker unless it
was on one Of our tails. Stand up.
Tom"
Tom Boone stood up, trying to hide
his embarrassment. \ rather worn
1unic stretched across his shoulders.
and his wind.tanned face and short
candy hair made him seem somewhat
older than the others. Or else the
wear more Of war he had experienced
had decreased his interest in the cut
nf his uniform, the bright embroid.
cry Of his pilots wings. the smooth
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