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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/76083-0.txt b/76083-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba5663e --- /dev/null +++ b/76083-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1089 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76083 *** + + + + + + PURSUIT + + By Andrew A. Caffrey + + A tale of the American “Balloon Strafers” + + +When headquarters separated Jack Langdon from his pursuit group and sent +him to fly two-seaters, headquarters came very close to breaking a stout +flying heart. For Langdon, there was nothing to do but pack and go; +anything in the way of protest would have netted him nothing, besides +being very bad taste. Nevertheless, between high dudgeon and low +spirits, the boy hovered and suffered for days. + +Flying _chasse_--pursuit--was the holding of all that war could give. +But piloting a two-seater--any two-seater was just plain hell. You would +not ask an Oldfield or a De Palma to drive a ten ton truck, and expect +him to like it, would you? Nor would you detail Sande to ride a +mechanical nag. Well, Langdon was to air what these others are, or were, +to track and turf; and that, thoughtless headquarters should have known. +But this same headquarters--Air Service, S.O.S. Tours--was no respecter +of individuals. If the observation outfits were short of men, there was +only one place to get them--from pursuit. + +Langdon, when the ax fell, was at Issoudun’s last instruction field--the +combat school--Field No. 8. Another day or two and he would have been +safe. + +“Now, look here, Langdon,” the officer in charge of flying at No. 8 had +said, when the boy was called upon the carpet and assigned to report at +Romorantin for De Havilland training. “We don’t want you to go out of +this field tonight feeling rocky against us. We’re not discriminating. +Tours called for five. There were only five of you ready to shove off. +It’s tough; it’s rough; it’s rotten. You’ve put everything on the ball. +You’re an A-1 _chasse_ flyer, and the best hand with a machine gun we’ve +ever turned out. The game was made for you, and nobody hates worse than +we do to see you leaving pursuit.” + +“That’s all right, Captain,” Langdon had said. “You’ve been white to me +here at No. 8; she’s a _bon_ school. But--and pin this in your hat--I’m +not quitting pursuit. They can send me to the two-place hacks, but they +can’t make me do two-place missions. + +“I’m a pursuit man, and no matter where they sink me, I’ll still be a +pursuit flyer. They can anchor me to an observation balloon’s cable, or +put me on the business end of a shovel, but as long as I have life in +me, I’ll fight this war _a la chasse_--right on the other guy’s tail.” + +Late that night Langdon and his four fellow travelers detrained at +Romorantin. Romo’, along with its many other things of air, was the +first European home of the American made De Havilland plane. Langdon had +only seen one of these big ships before--big to scout flyers. That was +when Lieutenant Rube Williamson had flown the first DH from Romo’ to +Field 8. + +“Oh, these big crates are all right, I guess,” Rube had told the gang. +“But a DH is a DH, and can never be a _chasse_ machine, you know. No +matter how you figure, bunch, a ten ton truck is a ten ton truck and, if +the truth must be known, that’s how these DH babies handle--like heavy +duty trucks on old rubber. They’ve got lotsa power, but little pep; and +less of that old maneuverability stuff than an Otis elevator. But let me +tell you, cadets, when the nose of this hack gets away from you, it’d +shame an elevator with the cables cut. Whew! They’re planting them every +day at Romo’.” + + * * * * * + +At Romo’, Langdon and his mates reported for DH instruction. + +“Are these DH’s bad?” + +The instructor was fast on retort. + +“Boy, I’ll say they’re bad! These here culls just ain’t got no +conscience a-tall, nohow. For my own part, I’m going to quit air for the +Tank Corps. As a rule, when these crocks hit the sod, nothing’s above +ground but the rudder, waving like a flag over a hole in the ice. I came +here with ten friends. Four of them are up there on the hill--boxed.” + +“Ten friends?” Langdon mused, as though this had something to do with +the business at hand. “Nobody in the world has ten friends.” + +“That’s how it looks to you,” the instructor answered. “Any guys that +are sent up here to fly DH’s sure have no friends! And that’s why you +won’t mind being bumped off ... Anyway, let’s see what you boys can do +with these arks. Who’s who here? Let’s get a look at your monikers. When +I call your name, step stiffly to the front, stand at rigid attention +and answer--‘Here, kind sir.’ Lieutenant John J. Langdon!” + +“On the job, kind sir,” the new arrival answered. “And I’m a guy as +ain’t got no friends.” + +“Langdon?” the instructor repeated. “I’ve heard of you, +Lieutenant--never mind the salute. Weren’t you the bird who flew Major +Greene from Mitchel Field clean to Hazelhurst, upside down, and told him +that you were trying to get a look at your landing gear--that you +thought you had blown a tire on the takeoff?” + +“The same dizzy guy,” Langdon said. “And wasn’t it strange? I couldn’t +get a look at those wheels; and that was why I flew the major all the +way back to Mitchel in the same way, upside down. Till I’d tried it, you +couldn’t tell me that a pilot wouldn’t see the bottom of his plane by +turning the bottom up. Is it not all strange, kind sir?” + +“It sure is,” the instructor agreed. “But lend an ear, Lieutenant. We +have a commanding officer here who likes to ride in DH’s. One of these +days I’ll manage to get you and him in the air in the same ship. Do you +begin to see light?” + +“That’s one of my worst troubles, kind sir. My eyes take in too much +light. The docs have a fancy name for it. But, anyway, it causes me to +see--or think I see--fun in things that strike others as being drab. For +instance, after that flight at Mitchel, Major Greene said that it was +his first trip in the air.” + +“And the records,” the instructor smiled, “prove that it was his last. +Now, ten years later, the record still stands.” + +After one turn of the field with Langdon on the controls, the instructor +gave him an O.K. He simply said, as he stepped from the plane: + +“You’re jake, Lieutenant, but if I were you, I wouldn’t land these DH’s +out of a loop like that. Hell, Langdon, life’s sweet, even at an +observation school. Come on now, go on living. Maybe you’ll get a +shipment back to _chasse_. Others have done it, and the war is young. +You know your air, and that’s no small item. But the good ones, Langdon, +are the ones we pack in large boxes. And the other kind, damn ’em, we +can’t get rid of. You know, there are observers here, Langdon, who just +won’t qualify. They’re afraid of the Front and won’t leave Romo’. And +just so long as their observation work is below grade, we can’t ship +them out. What’s the use? They wouldn’t be worth a damn to any +squadron.... + +“Now, just a minute. A mighty thought strikes me. Langdon, I’m going to +put some of these dumb johns behind you. Maybe you can show them their +objective. If you’ll fly ’em the way you just flew me, the Front will +look like an old ladies’ home to the most timid of these goldbricks. Oh, +just one more word before you take off. Don’t fly as close to other +planes as you flew to that one a little while ago. That was Colonel +Kingsley. He’s from Tours. Man, you were too near.” + +“That was all right,” Langdon assured the instructor. “I wasn’t trying +to pull anything fast. I just wanted to learn something. You see, I’m +accustomed to flying rotary motors with propellers turning at about 1400 +revs. Well, this Liberty was doing about 1700 revs per minute and I just +wanted to get a peek at that other bird’s instrument board. It was all +right; his was turning the same. But 1700 r.p.m. seemed mighty fast.” + +“Hell!” the instructor said. “I hope your clock never stops, or you +might try to get a peek at some other pilot’s wrist watch. But go ahead, +take off. See you later ... We’re going to like each other, Langdon.” + + * * * * * + +With a full tank, good for four hours’ flight, the new DH pilot went +back into the sky. Off toward Vierzon, at sunset, he spotted something +that made his heart glad. There, with about twenty thousand feet under +them, was a Nieuport “27” patrol, from Field 8. He knew that they were +from No. 8 because, coming in close, all five Nieuports revealed ship +numbers with which he was familiar. All of them were students; not an +instructor’s ship was among the lot. + +Langdon felt fine. He climbed on the front man’s tail, broke the +formation and tried to induce the bird to go “round and round”. The lead +man was not looking for combat with a DH. He went into a dive and waved +Langdon away. But the merry one followed. Then, with his power running +wild, the retreating Nieuport flyer burned out his rotary engine. +Langdon saw the propeller stop. Then he leveled off and started to climb +back to the rest of the flight. A man with a dead engine is no man at +all. + +One of the remaining four, when Langdon closed down on their rear again, +deliberately killed his motor and went into a spin. The other three, +somewhat bewildered, remained to mill a bit. But when Langdon’s +propeller came near to biting chips out of one of their rudders, that +Nieuport also called it a day. Enough is enough. Langdon saw the machine +start down for a landing. + +Jack Langdon had discovered something. What had started as fun, took on +the magnitude of worthwhile research. He had learned that a DH, rightly +flown, could combat--could go round and round--with a _chasse_ plane. + +The remaining two Field No. 8 ships had followed their disabled mates to +earth. Jack Langdon hung around to make sure that five safe landings had +been made; then he laughed, sang a bit and looked about for new worlds +to conquer. + +West of Bourges, he found a Farman “pusher” from the French school at +Châteauroux. It was drifting along at eight thousand feet. Langdon came +up from the rear and had his left wingtip nestled in close to the +Frenchman’s outriggers, before the Châteauroux flyer noticed that he was +not alone. Then a badly frightened face under a large crash helmet +stared, wild eyed, across that short space. Langdon’s heart skipped a +beat with the shock. The face under the helmet was a boy’s. + +“You damn’ bully,” Jack Langdon said to himself. “Get t’hell gone from +here before you scare this game little frog to death.” + +He throttled his power, dropped his right wing and slipped away from the +Farman. Then he turned back, headed into the last rays of the sun and +cut for Romo’. There was joy in his heart, and he was making himself all +kinds of fine promises. + +These DH’s, he decided, were not the poorest things in the air, and if a +young fellow were to apply his best talents-- Well, chances were, he +could manage to make himself felt. + +“Yes, sir,” he said, talking aloud. “I’ll talk with the riggers. See +what they think about washing some of the incidence out of these wings. +Bet with the outer wing bays washed flat, there’d be no drag and the old +crate would swing around on a dollar. And that will speed her up a lot, +too. No question at all. If we flatten these surfaces out, we’ll add +eight to ten miles per hour. What _can_ be done, is _going_ to be done, +or I’m a wet bird. In the meantime, unless they put the screws on me, +I’ll combat everything that flies in this neck of the tall timber.” + +Early the next day, though, they did climb Langdon’s frame. They climbed +him twice. Once on account of the complaint that Field No. 8 sent +through from Issoudun; again because of a wail that came up from +Châteauroux. + +“I don’t blame the French kid in the hayrack Farman,” Langdon told the +officer in charge of flying, upon whose carpet he was arraigned. “But +those dudes from No. 8 should hang their heads in shame. The idea of +refusing combat with a DH! Those five birds should be forced to stand a +court-martial, sir. Why not make this an issue, sir?” + +“By hell, Lieutenant, there’s food for thought there! But look here, +Langdon--be careful not to climb any of these two-place Sopwiths that +you see fluttering around here; any Sops, Avros or Caudrons. They’re +always full of fat majors and lean colonels, to say nothing of a few +supernumerary generals of sundry ranks. And if you ride any of them, the +war ends for you. We have one cadet in the guard house now. He dared to +come in with a dead stick when a major was trying to take off.” + +“Well, what the hell should he have done?” Langdon asked. “Stay up there +with a dead motor till the major decided to take off?” + +“That was the cadet’s problem,” the officer in charge of flying stated. +“And he didn’t get the right answer. The major gave his own ship the gun +and crashed into the cadet’s plane. Don’t you work up any problems here, +Langdon, unless you can see the solution beforehand. A pilot in the +guardhouse is no flyer at all.” + +“I’m immune, sir. You know how blacksmiths and guardhouse keepers laugh +at love, or something like that? Well, I’ve fallen in love with DH’s. +That’s strange, I know; but it’s a fact. Me and the DH’s are getting +together, and we’re going some place.” + +“I’ll give you a push toward the Front, Langdon, as soon as I see a +chance. Now get into the air and pile up as many hours as you can. +That’s what counts. These forty and fifty hour pilots are not lasting +long on the Front.” + +“I’ve had two hundred hours, sir, and I’m ripe for the bow. All my old +bunch are fighting the Battle of Paris right now, and here am I poling +DH’s for the everlasting glory of the S.O.S. The thing ain’t right, sir, +no matter how you figure.” + + * * * * * + +During the day he flew different missions with two of the instructor’s +worst goldbricking observers. Each time Langdon arrived over the +practice objective--Neung, Orleans, Chinon, Blois--he would yell back-- + +“Do you get it?” + +“Too high,” the student observer would invariably sing out. And, as a +rule, the approach altitude would be above fifteen thousand feet. “Too +high, Lieutenant.” + +“Hold everything! We’ll fix that all right,” Langdon would assure the +victim. Then he would put the rambling DH into a tight power spin and +cut down the altitude so fast that no rear seat observer would care to +be present a second time. Or, if he did not spin, he would execute a +vertical sideslip that, by rights, belonged to much smaller and trimmer +craft. At any rate, each man he took up finished his observation class +in one quick lesson. The unfortunate goldbrick would come back to Romo’, +pea green and dead eyed. + +“Can he fly?” these boys who had liked Romo’ so well would say. “Can he! +Oh, hell, give me air.” + +But no more air with Langdon. Within the week, he had every goldbrick +off the instructor’s hands. + +“But I don’t want you to get too good, Langdon,” the instructor would +warn. “They’ll keep you right here for the duration if you do. Then +you’ll have to pull something raw to get moved. For instance, stop +rolling your wheels across the shop roofs. You think they don’t see it, +but the headquarters gang have been watching you. You know how they like +to be entertained. Don’t show ’em anything. But here’s good news: + +“I’ve got you lined up for a mission to Paris. You’re going to lead a +ferrying group close to the big town and deliver ten DH’s for Front line +squadrons. No, you don’t get a smell of the Front. Your mission ends +when you deliver the ferry at Orly. But you’re going to get a chance to +_oo-la-la_, kid.” + +“Strange, but that leaves me cold,” Langdon replied. “I don’t want to +fight that Guerre de Paree till after I’ve won the right to spread my +line on the boulevards. Then I’ll strut. And don’t think that I don’t +want to. Boy, I’m saving up for the biggest pair of chest wings that’s +ever been worn on a Yank blouse. And that’s some big. And I’ve got me a +swagger stick, too. It has a spark plug in the end of it, and a machine +gun cartridge on the tip. You see, I’m a regulation Yank. All set and +a-rarin’ to go--when the right time comes. Yes, sir, Paris is going to +sit up and rub a pair of bleary eyes. Yankee Doodle’s going to ride +right into town and on the make, too. + +“But how about giving me a final _lâche_ and kicking one _bon pilote_ +toward the Promised Land?” + +“No can do right now, Langdon. But I’ll tell you what might be done. If +a call for DH men comes down the line while you’re up Orly way, I’ll get +a wire to you there and have your orders sent along. If you’re traveling +light, take your personal junk by air on the ferry trip.” + +“I’ll do that,” Langdon said. “The other pair of socks won’t be any kind +of a load for a DH’s observation pit. When do I head this ferry?” + +“Tomorrow. That is, if the new planes are all assembled by that time. +They’re all on the floor in final assembly now. In the meantime, be a +good guy, Langdon. Watch your step. And if you run across any Issoudun +Nieuports, Spads or Morane Saulniers--well, snub the whole gang. What’s +a bunch of _chasse_ pilots to a guy who can do his _chasse_ in a DH? +Stick to your class, kid.” + +“Damn’ tootin’!” Langdon said, and went out to fly--and snub everything +on wings. + +At 2 p.m, the next day, Langdon stood in the cockpit of the point DH of +a grounded V of ten such planes. The nine who were to follow him were, +to a man, of Langdon’s type, eager for anything, and anxious to get +under way on this cross country hop. Cross country flying, at that time, +rated high among the glories that went to make the romance of air. It +was all adventure. Impatiently, the waiting nine goosed their motors and +watched for the second when Langdon’s hand should fall. At 2:05, the +leader slid into his seat, cracked his throttle, lifted his tail and +took off. Two by two, in an ever mounting cloud of dust, the others took +up the slack, filled in on Langdon’s rear and roared into flight. A turn +of the field, and the shabby V formation went into the north. All ten +did not get to Orly that day. Langdon watched three of the boys make +safe landings with dead, or dying, motors, at Neuville, Etampes and +Juvisy. + +“Guess that’s all right by me,” he mused, after he and the others had +circled about the unfortunate each time. “Those boys either had motor +trouble or they know chickens in these towns. If it’s motor trouble, +it’s common and unavoidable; and if it’s chicken, it’s class and _pour +d’honneur d’Air Service d’Ame-rique_. And either way, or both, I’m for +’em. Just three little jobs for Field Service; and Field Service must +have something to do.” + +Through benefit of Field Service they were all at Orly next noon. + +“I’m going to hold you boys here for a few days,” the commanding officer +said when they reported for return railroad transportation. “We expect +to have a flock of ships going back to Romo’ for repair. And you’re the +men to ferry them. Enjoy yourselves. + +“How’re you boys fixed for francs?” And the commanding officer, who was +young himself once, smiled. + + * * * * * + +On the second day of their lay-over, orders for the Front came through +for Langdon and two of his ferry mates. A Roman holiday was held, and +the three borrowed scout planes to celebrate. Langdon flew his through +the _Arche de Triomphe_ at high noon, wearing a high hat. He got away +with it, and nothing much was said. + +“But,” the Orly flying officer reminded him, “you’d have rotted in +Prison Camp No. 2 had things been messed up in the _Place de l’Arche de +Triomphe.”_ + +“Ain’t it the truth, sir?” Langdon had agreed. “Nowadays failure doesn’t +pay. Yes, sir, a guy’s crazy to slip up.” + +“Tomorrow, Lieutenant Langdon, “the Orly official went on, “you three +transfers, with you in charge, will ferry three of these new DH’s up to +the Trente-Neuf squadron’s ’drome. You’ll get their location last thing +before taking off. It’s an American group in an American sector--a +sector all bought and paid for. Major John Mack’s in charge up there. +Boy, you’re in luck--drawing a C O. like Mack. He’s one of the gang and +actually flies. Pilots from the front seat too, and without a second +lieutenant hidden away on the rear controls. Give the major a hello for +me, Lieutenant. Get the numbers on those three ships and look ’em over. +If you want anything around here, ask for it--and see if you get it! Or +if you want anything, take it--and see if we care!” + +The next day was fine. It was life’s rosiest for three willing Yanks. +Birds were singing, poppies blowing and the skies were high and clear. + +“Follow me,” Langdon said. + +The ferry up was without event; and the Trente-Neuf’s ’drome was where a +blind man could find it. Later, Langdon and his mates were to learn that +German airmen also located the place without much trouble. + +“You boys,” Major Mack said, “can see the highway commissioner and take +out registration papers on those machines you ferried up. We’ve lost a +few men in the past week--flu, you know--and it won’t be many hours +before you’re out on your own. The Trente-Neuf welcomes you. It isn’t +much of a name, but the outfit’s top-notch. Also, remember it’s your +home; and a home’s what you make it--between drinks. And right now and +here--no drinking, boys, except at mess and between meals. + +“Look around now. Get to know the mechanics. Treat ’em right--the +mechanics--and they’ll treat you right. Don’t ever forget to remember +that air battles are won on the ground. You know, they say a celebrity +is only a dub to his valet. That’s the way up here. A cocky pilot +finishes fast and quick on these strange airways. I know because I’ve +lost several pilots in battle who were never game enough to get out of +the weeds. Why, to get them, an enemy pilot would have to use telepathy. + +“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, boys, and report for mess in clothes. +That’s all the orders we have here. If you salute me, I’ll credit you +with a gold star. If you don’t salute me, I’ll never hold it against +you. This old uniform of mine is a disgraceful affair and by all rights +does not rate a salaam. Go; come when you’re in trouble.” + +The three saluted us though it were a pleasure, and went out. + +“If the Trente-Neuf is like its C.O,” Langdon said to his flying mates, +“this dump’s going to be a home. Guess we can work here.” + +For anybody looking for work, the place could supply the limit. Having +heard that the air branch was the eyes of the Army, the Artillery, +Infantry--and even the Medical Corps, through force of bad habit--were +incessantly asking for observations. They did not care much what was +observed, but they liked to keep the Air Service in hot water. These old +line branches know how easy it is to loaf when it rains, or the fog gets +too heavy; so they figure that, being the highest branch of the Service, +aviation should do its stuff while others sleep. And the young branch, +extending itself to the limit, made those observations; flew when flying +was out of the question, and sacrificed men when men were scarce. + + * * * * * + +That evening, by low candles in the Trente-Neuf’s mess, Langdon and his +two mates met the outfit. Except for one, it was easy to know. That one, +Lieutenant Charles Mudd, F.F.V., A.S., U.S.R., was hard for Langdon to +meet because he had met him before. + +F.F.V. Mudd and Langdon had both been assigned to the 10th Aero Squadron +for shipment overseas. Together, at Mitchel Field, they had reported in +to the 10th’s old topkick, Sergeant Benton; and upon reporting, when the +10th’s C.O. was absent, the Old Man had had them sign the register. +Langdon had signed first, and in a self-conscious way. + +“Put down your rank, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Dad Benton had said. “There’s +no misters in this man’s Army. Put down your ‘Lieutenant, First’, and +your ‘A.S., U.S.R’.” + +Next, Lieutenant Mudd signed. But first he found a resting place for his +swagger stick, and deposited his gold tipped cigaret on the edge of +Dad’s blotter. And when that baby signed, he signed--and how! + +“First Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd, F.F.V., A.S., U.S.R.” + +“What the hell’s all this ‘F.F.V.’ stuff?” the old sergeant quizzed. + +“That, suh, is, First Families of Virginia,” Lieutenant Charles Surry +Mudd answered. + +Of course, his tone of voice was the tone that should be used when a +lieutenant speaks to an enlisted man. And it went just about as far as +the talk of a lieutenant usually goes with an enlisted man. The old +sergeant, with a stroke of the broad pen, struck out the F.F.V. + +“There are no F.F.V’s in this man’s Army, Lieutenant Mudd.” + +Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd stepped back. His pale face grew even +paler. The sensitive lips and chin quivered, and the flesh above his +knees prickled within their well tailored confines. His breath came +hard, his eyes flooded, then the proud youth fell to chewing his lower +lip. The Army, uncouth thing that it is, had taken him for another ride. + +Finally, deciding against mixing with a lowly sergeant, Lieutenant Mudd +retrieved his swagger stick and cigaret, and strode to the door. He +hesitated upon the threshold long enough to say-- + +“I’ll report this, Sawgent.” + +“Report and be damned,” the old topkick mused, and closed the register. + +More than a quarter of a century in the service of Uncle Sam had placed +Sergeant Dad Benton in a position where lieutenants, and even higher +rankers, were of no more importance than the most lowly 10th Aero buck. +With the ever expanding bubble that was the war of T7, wise heads of +Dad’s caliber were only too few. Newly made captains, suddenly advanced +majors and dizzy colonels came hurriedly into the old man’s council to +ascertain just what gentlemen of their rank should do under this, that +and the other condition. And they got their answers. + +“You’ll find the answer to that, sir,” the old man would say, after +twisting his long mustaches for maybe as much as ten seconds, “on page +so and so, paragraph this or that in your Blue Book.” + +And how any man, even in twenty-seven years, could memorize--page and +paragraph--as large a volume as Army Regulations, is beyond the +understanding of one who could never remember which of two was the right +foot. + +So you can see, First Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd’s report, if made, +caused no ripple on the already troubled waters of Mitchel Field. And +Mudd’s report, very likely, was turned in because, in the several weeks +of his stay with the 10th, the lieutenant was hard to get along with. He +wanted salutes from the enlisted men. Enlisted men, though, seldom +salute those who fail to command their spontaneous respect; and Mudd was +out of luck. + +Shortly after the 10th’s arrival upon an active field in France, a plane +crew sent Mudd into the air with an almost empty gasoline tank, two +flying-wire turnbuckles unsafetied and a landing gear wheel loosed and +ready to fall off. When the motor died at five thousand feet, Mudd came +down for a landing. When he hit the ground, the right wheel bounced +through his lower off-side wing and went places. The small pursuit +plane, a Nieuport 27, with one wheel missing, somersaulted three times, +by the count, and Mudd came up from the wreckage like an angry hen from +a messed up nest. Shades of Southern hospitality and gentility! What a +yell went up! + +However, the 10th Aero was a good outfit. It was also a mighty useful +outfit and had an important top sergeant in its orderly room. + +“The whole damn’ affair must have been just an accident,” Dad Benton +convinced the benzine board appointed to smell into Mudd’s rotten +charges. “Why, these 10th boys are worked to death. Sixty-odd pursuit +planes in the air for five periods a day. Of course now and then +something is going to go wrong.” + +The benzine board made its report. Headquarters made a move. Mudd was +the pawn. And because the 10th gang ran with every other gang at +Issoudun’s many fields, headquarters made the move big enough to put +Mudd out of danger for all time. He, First Lieutenant Charles Surry +Mudd, F.F.V., was sent to observation, away from Issoudun. + + * * * * * + +Now, with the Trente-Neuf, Langdon and Mudd were in the same outfit once +again. + +“How are they breaking, F.F.V?” Langdon asked. + +Mudd gazed through Langdon and went to his place at table. A quiver of +anticipation went through the room. And that told Langdon that +Lieutenant Mudd had not changed one whit. + +“You’ll remember, Lieutenant Langdon,” Mudd said, when he was seated, +“my Army salutation is Lieutenant Mudd.” + +“The hell you tell!” Langdon smiled. “Where at is your F.F.V., Charles?” + +Mudd gave his attention to the meal. The table tried hard to smother its +mirth, and Langdon explained-- + +“Lieutenant Mudd and I made our transport with the same outfit, attached +to the 10th Aero--” + +“The swine!” Mudd snarled. + +“The best damn’ air unit in France,” Langdon said. “That is, with the +exception of the Trente-Neuf.” + +“That’s the spirit, Lieutenant Langdon!” Major Mack cheered from his end +of the long table. “The old outfit is always good, but the new outfit, +to be an outfit, must always be _the_ outfit ... stand, devils-- To the +Trente-Neuf!” + +“This Trente-Neuf,” a man at Langdon’s right said, after the toast, “is +a jake outfit, Langdon. There’s only one thing wrong with it.” + +He stopped talking and stared at Mudd. + +“There was only one thing wrong with the 10th,” Langdon told the man, +“and it was the same thing. An outfit’s mistakes are its own, and the +unpardonable mistake is the mistake made when an outfit makes the +mistake of not rectifying its mistakes. Am I right?” + +“No mistake,” the other agreed. + +Next morning, Langdon went out on his first mission behind Mudd. That +is, because of seniority, F.F.V. was in the front plane of a three ship +flight. Now, this thing of following F.F.V. Mudd was not the worst +medicine on earth, and Langdon had no kick coming. Mudd was a flying +man, and that seems strange. None, no matter what his idea of manhood, +could ever deny Mudd his place in air, and for more than two months now, +he had been taking missions out and, what was more important, he was +bringing them back. Maybe that was why the Trente-Neuf had not taken +steps to clean up this one mistake. + +Mudd was one of those conscientious flight leaders who gave flying +orders like a pedagogue and then expected every man to do his duty. +There was no fun to be found behind him. The objective was the +objective, and not fun. His unit took no long chances. If enemy planes +were above, Mudd toured all France on their four hour DH tanks, then +came back. Came back, got the pictures or observations, and went hell +bent for home. A pilot might just as well have been touring France with +the “Y”. And on more than one occasion, he had been told so; but not by +Major Mack. No matter what the major might have thought personally, he +stood firmly behind Mudd because of results shown. The business of an +observation squadron is observation. Let the pursuit groups do the +combat stuff. + +This first Front line flight of Langdon’s was the quietest thing +imaginable. Not an enemy craft crossed their skies. He wondered where +these comebacks from the Front got all their stuff about dog fights, +painted circuses and German infested ceilings. And as he followed Mudd, +above territory that should have been bad, he recalled what Rube +Williamson had told them, back at Issoudun. + +“Hun planes! Never saw a single Hun plane in two weeks’ flying. Maybe +they’re there for some, but they were not there for me.” And now they +were not there for Langdon. + +At the end of the eastward mission, Mudd, with the observations on the +cuff, signaled for a turn and back home push. Then, for about ten +minutes, Langdon kept the other two planes close in where they belonged +and began to look about to see what he could see. They came above a road +that was jammed with the properties of Germany’s late summer try. +Without a great deal of thought, Langdon parted company, dropped down +from Mudd’s six thousand feet elevation and went to strafing the enemy +activities. + + * * * * * + +It was fun. It was war. It was more like it. He turned to his +observer--a Lieutenant Akeley--and winked. Akeley stood up on his stool, +bent over Langdon’s shoulder, and yelled: + +“Go back and give ’em hell! When you come in above that little burg +where they were eating--where all the smoke was--sideslip and let me get +a crack at ’em with my gun. Hop to it!” + +Langdon looked for his two companion planes. Mudd and the other had gone +ahead. For a moment he might have hesitated. This thing of pulling a +private strafe while detailed on a mission would not be considered +exactly good. But being a strong youth, Langdon weakened. He flew a turn +and went back along the German supply road. + +Where he found the field kitchens smoking, Langdon climbed to about five +hundred feet. From that altitude, with the nose of his plane high, he +slipped right and gave Akeley his chance with the rear gun. At the same +time, watching his slip, he also watched Akeley and cheered the gunner +above the roar of slipping struts and wires. At a hundred feet or less, +he kicked out of the slip, redressed his ship, whaled full motor to the +craft and flew across the concentration of troops--and through a hail of +rifle fire ... Akeley went back to the Trente-Neuf a corpse in Langdon’s +rear pit. + +At sunset, Jack Langdon sat upon his heels before a hangar, smoked, and +tried to figure out the whole thing. Within the hangar at his back, +under a tarpaulin, was the quiet Akeley. A short distance away, where +the sun’s light was yet available, Trente-Neuf mechanics worked at +patching thirty-seven holes in Langdon’s DH. The mechanics talked and +wondered why that new bird, Langdon, did not get bumped too. + +Within his quarters, till the evening’s dusk gave way to dark, +Lieutenant Mudd, martinet at heart, worked assiduously upon his report. +He missed supper in its completion; then with the several pages in hand, +the conscientious one straightened his blouse, put a rag to his boots, +strapped on his Sam Browne and went toward Major Mack’s room. On the +way, Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd detoured only once, and this detour +sent him past the enlisted men’s quarters where the loungers were forced +to snap into it and deliver the salute. + +“Too bad, Lieutenant Mudd,” Mack said as he received the report. “Hell, +I liked Akeley. We’ll miss him. The whole Trente-Neuf will miss his +mandolin of evenings.” + +“It was murder!” Mudd snarled. “This man Langdon-- It was murder, sir!” + +“But Sergeant Rictor--” the armorer of the Trente-Neuf--“reported that +Bob had fired several hundred rounds. His gun was still warm when +Lieutenant Langdon returned,” Major Mack protested. “And you know Bob +Akeley, Lieutenant. If he had a chance to go out like that, in action, +why, the boy was at a feast with a fork in each hand.” + +This glorification of personal thrill was not for Mudd. Wordless, white +and a-tremble, he weaved on the threshold and tried again and again for +words. In the end, he said: + +“You have my full report, sir. A flight leader must have unbending +discipline, sir.” + +Major Mack walked toward the window. Then, because there was nothing +else he could do, he walked back. + +“Lieutenant Mudd,” he said. “Send Lieutenant Langdon to me.” + +Major Mack was still pacing when Langdon knocked, came in and reported. +The Major eyed the pilot and paced once more to the east window, then he +paced back and eyed Langdon once more. + +“What have you got to say, Lieutenant?” the superior finally asked. + +“Not a word, sir.” Langdon fought hard to swallow his grief. “I know +I’ve pulled a star boner. Guess I’ve had my war--been hired, fed and +fired all in a day, sir.” + +“Whose idea was it, Langdon?” + +“Mine, sir. As yet, I can’t always remember that I have another man +behind me. Observers weren’t in my first schooling, sir.” + +“Even if the thing were excusable, Lieutenant, you should have asked +Akeley what he thought of the plan.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Maybe you did.” + +“No, sir. I just got the idea that I could do damage on that road, so I +shoved down the nose and went. Then we got together, Akeley and I. He +said--“‘Go back and give ’em hell!’ And we went.” + +“I thought that was it!” Major Mack smiled. “Langdon, ever since Bob +Akeley came to this squadron, at least twice a day he’s been in here +trying to talk me into turning the squadron to pursuit. Of course we +can’t sanction such doings, Langdon. And for my own part, I wouldn’t +pull such a strafe. No, I’m a little too old and slow on the controls. +You see, I like to have a little more space between my wheels and the +ground. But I’m not so old as to be unable to appreciate the finesse of +the thing and, Lieutenant, if we could roll back time, and circumstance +would place Langdon in Mack’s place, and Mack in Langdon’s-- Well, that +road would have been strafed today. Maybe not as good, but after a +fashion at least. + + * * * * * + +“Now, Lieutenant, I’m neither going to call out a firing squad nor mark +you on the ground. Between you and me, aviation, as the eyes of +artillery, doesn’t carry even the weight of a good joke. I’m an old +artillerist myself, Langdon, and I know. So if we can wage any kind of a +war of our own, I’m not going to stand in the way of progress. You +understand, Langdon, I am not authorizing, sanctioning or legalizing +future side trips; but in your own right, you are in command of one ship +while off the ground. Orders, the best orders ever made, were only made +to be broken. And so long as they are broken without going into the red, +when it’s all over, there’s no kick coming. In other and fewer words--be +sure you’re right, then go ahead and don’t slip up. The quick are always +right in war, Langdon. But it is far better that the quick be dead than +be wrong. + +“Now, there’s one observer in the Trente-Neuf with whom I want you to +become well acquainted. It is Lieutenant Samter. Samter, during such +times as Bob Akeley wasn’t pestering me, has spent much wind trying to +show me where and how this outfit might run up a big record in combat +victories. He’s of the opinion that an observer should only observe when +there’s no fighting to be done. And he can do things with that rear +machine gun, Langdon. Sergeant Rictor tells me that Samter has shown him +more trick stuff than he’s ever seen before. And Sergeant Rictor has +been an armorer for upward of fifteen years. If you and Samter find that +you have much in common, come to me and we’ll talk it over. No reason at +all why he shouldn’t hold down your rear stool on all flights . . . +English fags, they are. Take a couple with you, Lieutenant.” + +Late into that night, Langdon and Samter talked. And they discovered +that they had just about everything in common, including a rotten +opinion of one Charles Surry Mudd, F.F.V. Lieutenant Samter had been +riding behind Mudd a great deal of late, and the war had lost its +flavor. + +“I’d rather hold on to the rear saddle of a motorbike with an enlisted +stiff chewing hard on the handlebars,” he told Langdon. “All of the +white haired boy’s good flying is wasted. And I’ll say old F.F.V. can +pilot. But what’s the use of being behind him--just going the route, +delivering the milk and coming home? There’s more thrill working at +kitchen police where you have the ever present danger of cutting your +finger while paring spuds, eh?” + +“Sure,” Langdon agreed. “The C O. gave me these cigs. They’re English. +Ain’t they rotten, what?” + +“I wouldn’t walk a mile,” Samter answered, “unless it was to get away +from such smokes.” + +The next day it rained and the new team worked ship. Langdon and the +Trente-Neuf’s head rigger washed out the outer bays of all four wings. +Also they took out one of each pair of outside flying wires. + +“They don’t need all these wires,” the rigger agreed. “Each one of these +cables has a breaking strength of more than two thousand pounds. When +would you ever get such a load on a wing? Same way with the landing +gear. You know how to set these babies down, Lieutenant. I watched you +when you brought Akeley in yesterday. You wouldn’t have broken an egg, +so we’ll pull out all the extras and that will help to speed the crate +up too. + +“We’ll do some streamlining on her, too. I’m glad to get a chance to see +what can be done about pepping up a DH. I always argued that something +could be done. They ain’t such dead culls. They’ll maneuver if you’ll +help ’em.” + +Samter and Rictor put hour after hour on the two guns. That DH had +surely fallen into good hands. Toward the end of day they flushed the +water radiator, drained the old and refilled with new motor oil, cleaned +ignition heads, and the ship was set. Then they prayed for a morrow full +of flying weather. + +Next morning, September the twenty-third, Langdon and Samter mooched +their way into a real melee above the road from La Harazee, where the +77th Division was convoying guns through to the Bois des Hautes Batis. +That fight, by rights, belonged to the pursuit gang. It was no place for +a DH. But when Langdon and Samter pulled out, they had done damage +enough to justify a bid for confirmation on two enemy planes. Their ship +had been hit seven times, and Samter once. But his was just a minor rap, +only a little job for the squadron doctor. + + * * * * * + +On the day following, the two wild men accounted for three of eight +German observation balloons that had hung above the main road through +the Vesle. And Langdon and Samter were beginning their traditional climb +toward lasting air fame. + +On October the thirteenth, divisional headquarters called for a rock +bound verification on all observations covering that tough stretch of +road between Grand Pre and St. Juvin. It had been a hard line to +bend--that German stronghold along the northern bank of the Aire: but +now, one way or the other, it was not only going to be bent, but +broken--and completely. + +Mudd, with four following ships, and covered from above by twelve +pursuit planes, went out to do the job. They were nearly above Grand Pre +before hell broke loose; and they were past St. Juvin and making a +turnabout before the first Hun ship broke the high defense and took a DH +off the Trente-Neuf’s rear. + +With his remaining three, stiff lipped and obstinate, Mudd flew his turn +and went down the St. Juvin-Grand Pre line for a return whirl. Then a +second DH fell, and Langdon broke out with combat, quit formation, and +won another Boche ship from the milling group. + +Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd worked long and late upon another report. +Then Major Mack paced late and long into the night and tried hard to be +a good fellow and, at the same time, a good soldier. Which is a thing +well nigh impossible. In the end, he called all six who had returned. +All of Mudd’s five companions, including Mudd’s own observer, swore by +all that might have been holy that Langdon, in quitting formation and +taking on combat, had only done so to cover the successful retreat of +the camera planes. And Charles Surry, F.F.V., went into the night +talking to himself and kicking stones. That war was a war for him. + +Langdon and Samter, listening to the guns that were pouring it into +Grand Pre and the road to the east, waited impatiently for the morrow. + +“This damn’ swagger stick dude of a muddy Mudd!” Samter said from his +shakedown. “If the simple minded, simpering juvenile does anything more +to tear down our meat house, Jack, I’ll work him over with a prop wrench +on my own time. Reports for the major! He’ll make one more report to the +Old Man and I’ll land on him so hard that his brains, if any, will +detonate and blow some he-man color into his insipid map. + +“F.F.V.--Far From Vodka, Finest Fish Vender, Faint Falsetto Voice--I’ll +F.F.V. the white haired, white livered rat!” + +“Check--a madman,” Langdon laughed. “Roll over, Samter, and tear off +some sleep. Charles F.F.V. is the least of our many worries. And he’s a +good enough gun. One Wing. The only thing is, you and I are fighting a +different war. On the level, Mudd’s scrap is gamer than ours. His is an +impersonal _guerre;_ and he doesn’t even keep a diary.” + +“A good drunk is what Mudd needs,” Samter decided. “A trip to town, a +big town, a good drunk and--” + +“That’s a two or three motored ship, and she’s mighty close,” Langdon +said, as they caught the throb and pump of a night flyer. “Wish we were +doing night missions, too.” + +“Ambitious guy,” Samter said to his inflated pillow. “When would Mudd +find time to write lengthy reports?” + +“It really doesn’t make much difference,” Langdon said to his blanket, +“because nobody ever reads them anyway.” + +During the following days, as the line pushed up through Champigneulle, +St. Georges, Alliepont and on to Verpel, the two wild men, for the +greater part, went it alone. Major Mack heard Mudd’s bleat often, but +the major was too busy to bother himself with such minor distractions. +This war was what men like Mack had lived a life for. Mudd could not be +expected to sec this; and Mack made no effort toward proselyting F.F.V’s +conversion to the cause of Langdon, Samter--and, if the truth must be +known, Mack. + + * * * * * + +The Major was on the wing a great deal during those busy days. With his +own eyes, he saw Langdon knock an enemy craft out of the skies behind +Buzancy, and follow a second out of sight toward Stonne and the Meuse. + +“Yes, sir,” Major Mack told Mudd upon his return to the ’drome. “That +heller of a Langdon went down on a Fokker. And when the Hun fell into a +spin, after Langdon’s first burst, the kid sideslipped right with him +and Samter poured his load from the rear gun. They had the poor devil +burning through the last two thousand feet. The second plane they picked +on was doing observations near Harricourt.” + +“But it’s not consistent, sir!” Lieutenant Mudd insisted. + +“But hell, Lieutenant,” Mack said, “it is strictly American, you know. +And when we take this out of the Yank youth, we’re eternally lost.” + +So Major Mack continued to make allowances for one of his planes which +had no more right in an observation outfit, than has a free balloon in a +pursuit squadron. + +On the third of November Langdon got a German ship which was busily +strafing roads near Authe; and on the fourth he accounted for a like +worker near Oches. + +“The damn’ gorillas--strafing our troops!” he said to Samter, as they +regassed their ship at ten o’clock that morning. + +Then, reserviced, the two went directly into the air and strafed roads +as far back as La Neuville and Raucourt. + +In his own way, Mudd was making history through the long hours of those +crowded days. Time and again, even with his overhead defense shot to +pieces, he made requested observations along the Meuse. He located +ambushes near La Bessage and Le Vivier and dropped warning notes to the +infantry. On a hill above a graveyard in Raucourt, there was a machine +gun and anti-aircraft nest. Mudd wiped it out. Twice in four days he +brought dead observers home in his rear pit. And on one of those trips +he had landed his burning plane on the long hillside slope before +Champigneulle. + +“But why the hell doesn’t he stay and fight?” Samter argued. “Every slug +hole in his linen is frayed to the front. Dead observers are of no use +to anybody. They’re not worth a dollar a thousand ... Langdon, if I ever +see a slug coming into the rear of your crate, I’ll spray you with my +own gun just to teach you a lesson.” + +“And I’ll pile you up surer’n hell if you do!” Langdon promised. + +There was no freebooting on the seventh. Artillery and infantry wanted +to learn all there was to be known of the bridges on, and the terrain +adjacent, the Meuse. Headquarters told the Trente-Neuf to “go get it”. +And, behind Mudd, Langdon and four other pilots--three of them +green--took off. + +At Villers Devant Mouzon, a detachment of engineers were doing their +best to throw a path across the Meuse. The German machine gun nests and +snipers were making of the job a nasty detail, till Mudd’s flight put an +end to those ambushes. + +At Remilly, a like detachment was having a still harder time. And the +covering aerial defense was no enviable task. Before the first four hour +patrol had ended, two of Mudd’s new men had limped back to the ’drome +with motor trouble, and one had been driven down a few kilometers east +of the river by an enemy pursuit plane. Mudd and Langdon, close at hand, +had seen that Trente-Neuf pilot burn his ship before he was taken +prisoner by ground troops. Then, still behind the lines, the two had +turned back toward the river. + +There was a heavy sky that day, November 7, and anything in the way of +altitude had been out of the question. But now, here and there, the blue +was breaking through and showing a higher ceiling. Suddenly, out of this +clearer sky, a bi-motored enemy craft crossed their line of flight. +Langdon jumped it. After a few seconds of thought, outclassed by the +faster Yank, the enemy ship turned east. And the eager Langdon hung on. +Mudd, after a moment, followed. Samter, as Langdon came down on the big +ship’s tail again, thumped Langdon on the back and pointed to Mudd. + +“Old F.F.V. himself,” Samter yelled. “He’s going to pile on with us. Now +there _will_ be a war!” + +But war and a personal battle were not Mudd’s concerns. Coming east from +the Meuse, he had spotted two Hun pursuit planes that had seen Langdon +and the bomber. + +Mudd was pretty well off to the south, and the pair of single-seater +Germans came down on Langdon before he could work into position. With +the first burst of lead, Samter crumpled, shot through both legs. He +fought to stay, clinging tenaciously to his machine gun mount. He pulled +a belt from his flying suit, passed it through and around the gun scarf +and worked his way to a standing position. Langdon had dived and +slipped; now he zoomed and flew a wing-over. They came back under the +pursuing planes--and Samter got one as they went by. + +In a moment Langdon was crowding down on the bomber and single pursuit +ship again. And just when he came into position, his gun jammed. The +German seemed to realize his predicament; they passed the laugh from +ship to ship. That was a mistake on their part; it made Langdon angry. + + * * * * * + +The speed of the chase was the speed of the big ship out front. The +combat plane easily maintained a position between the pursuing DH and +the huge German, thus further increasing Langdon’s rage. + +For a few minutes, as they flew in line, the American thought hard. Then +he gained a little altitude, and with it under him, he threw full power +to his motor, went into a long dive and closed the distance between him +and the pursuit plane. Before the German knew what was up, Langdon had +hooked his left lower wingtip into the right side of the lighter craft. +The latter’s single interwing N-strut came out, and half his lower wing +went with it. That pilot was finished with the war. + +But Langdon’s ship could not go through such a high speed collision +without damage. He had counted on losing a few feet of wingtip. If only +that much were wiped off, a pilot could carry the difference of lateral +stability by using full rudder on the opposite side from the wing so +damaged. Also the use of aileron would help offset the loss of wing +lift. But he had lost more than was good for the wing balance of any +plane. He was in a bad situation. + +They had crashed at five thousand feet. Fighting to hold up the clipped +lower left wing, he flew a flat turn to the right, covered a great deal +of space and started back for the Meuse. But, even with full right +rudder and his control stick clear to the side, he was losing altitude. +He had to lose altitude in order to remain at all level. Two or three +times, in the following five minutes, he came very close to falling into +a spin. Each time, he dived, gained high speed and fought the craft out +of its wing drag. + +Here and there along the Chiers River, the anti-aircraft outfits were +sending up feelers for Langdon. Even the machinegun crews were putting +steel through his ship as he crossed the highest spots. + +Finally he had Mairy just ahead and off to the right. It looked as +though he would come to earth and pile up some place between the town +and the Meuse; and as yet, the east bank of the river was in enemy +hands. The war was just about over for two willing young men and.... + +Langdon had been watching Mairy, to his right. All of a sudden the +weight came off his weak left side. He stared, full of bewilderment, for +Mudd’s right wings were tucked under his damaged panels and carrying the +load. That, for Langdon and Samter, was the grandest moment of life. + +Both motors now roared full on. They lost no more altitude and the river +became more than just a possibility. + +Samter, still hanging on his belt, shook his head and fainted. Langdon +made sure that it was Lieutenant Charles F.F.V., shook his head and +tended strictly to his flying. The Meuse came closer, and Archie came up +oftener. The war was as good as over for the enemy, but they still had a +goodly amount of ammunition on hand and they were throwing most of it +toward Langdon and Mudd. But that did not worry Langdon now. The river +was only a matter of short kilometers. Soon F.F.V. would be working on +his report. + +“And he’s got me with my suspenders cut,” Langdon found time to reflect. +“Hell, who ever heard of such a dumb thing as an intentional collision +on the wing! Collisions are strictly for high rankers and to be made +only upon takeoff and landing. + +“They’ll ground me for this sure. I might even draw a bobtail. And old +kid Charlie Mudd....” + +As suddenly as he had arrived, Mudd left. A rifle shot from the east +bank of the Meuse had found him. His plane, with dead hands and feet on +the controls, spun into the river. + + * * * * * + +From the dressing station where Langdon sat, richly swathed in iodine +soaked wrappings, he could watch the engineers fishing for a pilot and +observer where the rudder of a plane waved above the surface of the +Meuse. On a cot, where a few medical men had been busy for an hour, +Samter was showing the first signs of returning consciousness. Now and +then the observer had said, in delirium: + +“F.F.V. Old F.F.V., himself.” + +“We used to have one of them in this corps,” a medical private said. “He +was from Norfolk, I think. That F.F.V. stuff stands for First Families +of Virginia.” + +“Right you are,” Langdon mused, from where he sat. + +“Wrong as hell,” Samter mused. “It stands for Fell Flying Valiantly.” + + +[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April 15, 1929 issue +of _Adventure_ magazine.] + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76083 *** diff --git a/76083-h/76083-h.htm b/76083-h/76083-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2c1377 --- /dev/null +++ b/76083-h/76083-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1092 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0, user-scalable=yes"> + <title>Pursuit | Project Gutenberg</title> + <style> + body { font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2; margin: 0; padding: 40px 8%; font-family: Georgia, serif; color: #333; } + p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; text-align:justify; } + h1 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal; page-break-before: always; + font-size:1.4em; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; } + .ce { text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; } + .tn { font-size:0.9em; border:1px solid silver; margin-top:1.8em; margin-left:8%; width:80%; padding:0.4em 2%; background-color: #DDDDEE; } + .tn p { text-indent:0; } + h1 { margin-bottom:0.5em } + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76083 ***</div> +<h1>PURSUIT</h1> + +<div class='ce'> +<div>By Andrew A. Caffrey</div> +<div style='margin-bottom:1.6em;font-style:italic;'>A tale of the American “Balloon Strafers” </div> +</div> +<img src="images/illus-fpc.jpg" alt="Description of image" style="float: left; width: 20%; +margin-right: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px;"> +<p>When headquarters separated Jack Langdon from his pursuit group and sent +him to fly two-seaters, headquarters came very close to breaking a stout +flying heart. For Langdon, there was nothing to do but pack and go; +anything in the way of protest would have netted him nothing, besides +being very bad taste. Nevertheless, between high dudgeon and low +spirits, the boy hovered and suffered for days.</p> + +<p>Flying <i>chasse</i>—pursuit—was the holding of all that war could give. +But piloting a two-seater—any two-seater was just plain hell. You would +not ask an Oldfield or a De Palma to drive a ten ton truck, and expect +him to like it, would you? Nor would you detail Sande to ride a +mechanical nag. Well, Langdon was to air what these others are, or were, +to track and turf; and that, thoughtless headquarters should have known. +But this same headquarters—Air Service, S.O.S. Tours—was no respecter +of individuals. If the observation outfits were short of men, there was +only one place to get them—from pursuit.</p> + +<p>Langdon, when the ax fell, was at Issoudun’s last instruction field—the +combat school—Field No. 8. Another day or two and he would have been +safe.</p> + +<p>“Now, look here, Langdon,” the officer in charge of flying at No. 8 had +said, when the boy was called upon the carpet and assigned to report at +Romorantin for De Havilland training. “We don’t want you to go out of +this field tonight feeling rocky against us. We’re not discriminating. +Tours called for five. There were only five of you ready to shove off. +It’s tough; it’s rough; it’s rotten. You’ve put everything on the ball. +You’re an A-1 <i>chasse</i> flyer, and the best hand with a machine gun we’ve +ever turned out. The game was made for you, and nobody hates worse than +we do to see you leaving pursuit.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, Captain,” Langdon had said. “You’ve been white to me +here at No. 8; she’s a <i>bon</i> school. But—and pin this in your hat—I’m +not quitting pursuit. They can send me to the two-place hacks, but they +can’t make me do two-place missions.</p> + +<p>“I’m a pursuit man, and no matter where they sink me, I’ll still be a +pursuit flyer. They can anchor me to an observation balloon’s cable, or +put me on the business end of a shovel, but as long as I have life in +me, I’ll fight this war <i>a la chasse</i>—right on the other guy’s tail.”</p> + +<p>Late that night Langdon and his four fellow travelers detrained at +Romorantin. Romo’, along with its many other things of air, was the +first European home of the American made De Havilland plane. Langdon had +only seen one of these big ships before—big to scout flyers. That was +when Lieutenant Rube Williamson had flown the first DH from Romo’ to +Field 8.</p> + +<p>“Oh, these big crates are all right, I guess,” Rube had told the gang. +“But a DH is a DH, and can never be a <i>chasse</i> machine, you know. No +matter how you figure, bunch, a ten ton truck is a ten ton truck and, if +the truth must be known, that’s how these DH babies handle—like heavy +duty trucks on old rubber. They’ve got lotsa power, but little pep; and +less of that old maneuverability stuff than an Otis elevator. But let me +tell you, cadets, when the nose of this hack gets away from you, it’d +shame an elevator with the cables cut. Whew! They’re planting them every +day at Romo’.”</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>At Romo’, Langdon and his mates reported for DH instruction.</p> + +<p>“Are these DH’s bad?”</p> + +<p>The instructor was fast on retort.</p> + +<p>“Boy, I’ll say they’re bad! These here culls just ain’t got no +conscience a-tall, nohow. For my own part, I’m going to quit air for the +Tank Corps. As a rule, when these crocks hit the sod, nothing’s above +ground but the rudder, waving like a flag over a hole in the ice. I came +here with ten friends. Four of them are up there on the hill—boxed.”</p> + +<p>“Ten friends?” Langdon mused, as though this had something to do with +the business at hand. “Nobody in the world has ten friends.”</p> + +<p>“That’s how it looks to you,” the instructor answered. “Any guys that +are sent up here to fly DH’s sure have no friends! And that’s why you +won’t mind being bumped off ... Anyway, let’s see what you boys can do +with these arks. Who’s who here? Let’s get a look at your monikers. When +I call your name, step stiffly to the front, stand at rigid attention +and answer—‘Here, kind sir.’ Lieutenant John J. Langdon!”</p> + +<p>“On the job, kind sir,” the new arrival answered. “And I’m a guy as +ain’t got no friends.”</p> + +<p>“Langdon?” the instructor repeated. “I’ve heard of you, +Lieutenant—never mind the salute. Weren’t you the bird who flew Major +Greene from Mitchel Field clean to Hazelhurst, upside down, and told him +that you were trying to get a look at your landing gear—that you +thought you had blown a tire on the takeoff?”</p> + +<p>“The same dizzy guy,” Langdon said. “And wasn’t it strange? I couldn’t +get a look at those wheels; and that was why I flew the major all the +way back to Mitchel in the same way, upside down. Till I’d tried it, you +couldn’t tell me that a pilot wouldn’t see the bottom of his plane by +turning the bottom up. Is it not all strange, kind sir?”</p> + +<p>“It sure is,” the instructor agreed. “But lend an ear, Lieutenant. We +have a commanding officer here who likes to ride in DH’s. One of these +days I’ll manage to get you and him in the air in the same ship. Do you +begin to see light?”</p> + +<p>“That’s one of my worst troubles, kind sir. My eyes take in too much +light. The docs have a fancy name for it. But, anyway, it causes me to +see—or think I see—fun in things that strike others as being drab. For +instance, after that flight at Mitchel, Major Greene said that it was +his first trip in the air.”</p> + +<p>“And the records,” the instructor smiled, “prove that it was his last. +Now, ten years later, the record still stands.”</p> + +<p>After one turn of the field with Langdon on the controls, the instructor +gave him an O.K. He simply said, as he stepped from the plane:</p> + +<p>“You’re jake, Lieutenant, but if I were you, I wouldn’t land these DH’s +out of a loop like that. Hell, Langdon, life’s sweet, even at an +observation school. Come on now, go on living. Maybe you’ll get a +shipment back to <i>chasse</i>. Others have done it, and the war is young. +You know your air, and that’s no small item. But the good ones, Langdon, +are the ones we pack in large boxes. And the other kind, damn ’em, we +can’t get rid of. You know, there are observers here, Langdon, who just +won’t qualify. They’re afraid of the Front and won’t leave Romo’. And +just so long as their observation work is below grade, we can’t ship +them out. What’s the use? They wouldn’t be worth a damn to any +squadron....</p> + +<p>“Now, just a minute. A mighty thought strikes me. Langdon, I’m going to +put some of these dumb johns behind you. Maybe you can show them their +objective. If you’ll fly ’em the way you just flew me, the Front will +look like an old ladies’ home to the most timid of these goldbricks. Oh, +just one more word before you take off. Don’t fly as close to other +planes as you flew to that one a little while ago. That was Colonel +Kingsley. He’s from Tours. Man, you were too near.”</p> + +<p>“That was all right,” Langdon assured the instructor. “I wasn’t trying +to pull anything fast. I just wanted to learn something. You see, I’m +accustomed to flying rotary motors with propellers turning at about 1400 +revs. Well, this Liberty was doing about 1700 revs per minute and I just +wanted to get a peek at that other bird’s instrument board. It was all +right; his was turning the same. But 1700 r.p.m. seemed mighty fast.”</p> + +<p>“Hell!” the instructor said. “I hope your clock never stops, or you +might try to get a peek at some other pilot’s wrist watch. But go ahead, +take off. See you later ... We’re going to like each other, Langdon.”</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>With a full tank, good for four hours’ flight, the new DH pilot went +back into the sky. Off toward Vierzon, at sunset, he spotted something +that made his heart glad. There, with about twenty thousand feet under +them, was a Nieuport “27” patrol, from Field 8. He knew that they were +from No. 8 because, coming in close, all five Nieuports revealed ship +numbers with which he was familiar. All of them were students; not an +instructor’s ship was among the lot.</p> + +<p>Langdon felt fine. He climbed on the front man’s tail, broke the +formation and tried to induce the bird to go “round and round”. The lead +man was not looking for combat with a DH. He went into a dive and waved +Langdon away. But the merry one followed. Then, with his power running +wild, the retreating Nieuport flyer burned out his rotary engine. +Langdon saw the propeller stop. Then he leveled off and started to climb +back to the rest of the flight. A man with a dead engine is no man at +all.</p> + +<p>One of the remaining four, when Langdon closed down on their rear again, +deliberately killed his motor and went into a spin. The other three, +somewhat bewildered, remained to mill a bit. But when Langdon’s +propeller came near to biting chips out of one of their rudders, that +Nieuport also called it a day. Enough is enough. Langdon saw the machine +start down for a landing.</p> + +<p>Jack Langdon had discovered something. What had started as fun, took on +the magnitude of worthwhile research. He had learned that a DH, rightly +flown, could combat—could go round and round—with a <i>chasse</i> plane.</p> + +<p>The remaining two Field No. 8 ships had followed their disabled mates to +earth. Jack Langdon hung around to make sure that five safe landings had +been made; then he laughed, sang a bit and looked about for new worlds +to conquer.</p> + +<p>West of Bourges, he found a Farman “pusher” from the French school at +Châteauroux. It was drifting along at eight thousand feet. Langdon came +up from the rear and had his left wingtip nestled in close to the +Frenchman’s outriggers, before the Châteauroux flyer noticed that he was +not alone. Then a badly frightened face under a large crash helmet +stared, wild eyed, across that short space. Langdon’s heart skipped a +beat with the shock. The face under the helmet was a boy’s.</p> + +<p>“You damn’ bully,” Jack Langdon said to himself. “Get t’hell gone from +here before you scare this game little frog to death.”</p> + +<p>He throttled his power, dropped his right wing and slipped away from the +Farman. Then he turned back, headed into the last rays of the sun and +cut for Romo’. There was joy in his heart, and he was making himself all +kinds of fine promises.</p> + +<p>These DH’s, he decided, were not the poorest things in the air, and if a +young fellow were to apply his best talents— Well, chances were, he +could manage to make himself felt.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” he said, talking aloud. “I’ll talk with the riggers. See +what they think about washing some of the incidence out of these wings. +Bet with the outer wing bays washed flat, there’d be no drag and the old +crate would swing around on a dollar. And that will speed her up a lot, +too. No question at all. If we flatten these surfaces out, we’ll add +eight to ten miles per hour. What <i>can</i> be done, is <i>going</i> to be done, +or I’m a wet bird. In the meantime, unless they put the screws on me, +I’ll combat everything that flies in this neck of the tall timber.”</p> + +<p>Early the next day, though, they did climb Langdon’s frame. They climbed +him twice. Once on account of the complaint that Field No. 8 sent +through from Issoudun; again because of a wail that came up from +Châteauroux.</p> + +<p>“I don’t blame the French kid in the hayrack Farman,” Langdon told the +officer in charge of flying, upon whose carpet he was arraigned. “But +those dudes from No. 8 should hang their heads in shame. The idea of +refusing combat with a DH! Those five birds should be forced to stand a +court-martial, sir. Why not make this an issue, sir?”</p> + +<p>“By hell, Lieutenant, there’s food for thought there! But look here, +Langdon—be careful not to climb any of these two-place Sopwiths that +you see fluttering around here; any Sops, Avros or Caudrons. They’re +always full of fat majors and lean colonels, to say nothing of a few +supernumerary generals of sundry ranks. And if you ride any of them, the +war ends for you. We have one cadet in the guard house now. He dared to +come in with a dead stick when a major was trying to take off.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what the hell should he have done?” Langdon asked. “Stay up there +with a dead motor till the major decided to take off?”</p> + +<p>“That was the cadet’s problem,” the officer in charge of flying stated. +“And he didn’t get the right answer. The major gave his own ship the gun +and crashed into the cadet’s plane. Don’t you work up any problems here, +Langdon, unless you can see the solution beforehand. A pilot in the +guardhouse is no flyer at all.”</p> + +<p>“I’m immune, sir. You know how blacksmiths and guardhouse keepers laugh +at love, or something like that? Well, I’ve fallen in love with DH’s. +That’s strange, I know; but it’s a fact. Me and the DH’s are getting +together, and we’re going some place.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you a push toward the Front, Langdon, as soon as I see a +chance. Now get into the air and pile up as many hours as you can. +That’s what counts. These forty and fifty hour pilots are not lasting +long on the Front.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve had two hundred hours, sir, and I’m ripe for the bow. All my old +bunch are fighting the Battle of Paris right now, and here am I poling +DH’s for the everlasting glory of the S.O.S. The thing ain’t right, sir, +no matter how you figure.”</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>During the day he flew different missions with two of the instructor’s +worst goldbricking observers. Each time Langdon arrived over the +practice objective—Neung, Orleans, Chinon, Blois—he would yell back—</p> + +<p>“Do you get it?”</p> + +<p>“Too high,” the student observer would invariably sing out. And, as a +rule, the approach altitude would be above fifteen thousand feet. “Too +high, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>“Hold everything! We’ll fix that all right,” Langdon would assure the +victim. Then he would put the rambling DH into a tight power spin and +cut down the altitude so fast that no rear seat observer would care to +be present a second time. Or, if he did not spin, he would execute a +vertical sideslip that, by rights, belonged to much smaller and trimmer +craft. At any rate, each man he took up finished his observation class +in one quick lesson. The unfortunate goldbrick would come back to Romo’, +pea green and dead eyed.</p> + +<p>“Can he fly?” these boys who had liked Romo’ so well would say. “Can he! +Oh, hell, give me air.”</p> + +<p>But no more air with Langdon. Within the week, he had every goldbrick +off the instructor’s hands.</p> + +<p>“But I don’t want you to get too good, Langdon,” the instructor would +warn. “They’ll keep you right here for the duration if you do. Then +you’ll have to pull something raw to get moved. For instance, stop +rolling your wheels across the shop roofs. You think they don’t see it, +but the headquarters gang have been watching you. You know how they like +to be entertained. Don’t show ’em anything. But here’s good news:</p> + +<p>“I’ve got you lined up for a mission to Paris. You’re going to lead a +ferrying group close to the big town and deliver ten DH’s for Front line +squadrons. No, you don’t get a smell of the Front. Your mission ends +when you deliver the ferry at Orly. But you’re going to get a chance to +<i>oo-la-la</i>, kid.”</p> + +<p>“Strange, but that leaves me cold,” Langdon replied. “I don’t want to +fight that Guerre de Paree till after I’ve won the right to spread my +line on the boulevards. Then I’ll strut. And don’t think that I don’t +want to. Boy, I’m saving up for the biggest pair of chest wings that’s +ever been worn on a Yank blouse. And that’s some big. And I’ve got me a +swagger stick, too. It has a spark plug in the end of it, and a machine +gun cartridge on the tip. You see, I’m a regulation Yank. All set and +a-rarin’ to go—when the right time comes. Yes, sir, Paris is going to +sit up and rub a pair of bleary eyes. Yankee Doodle’s going to ride +right into town and on the make, too.</p> + +<p>“But how about giving me a final <i>lâche</i> and kicking one <i>bon pilote</i> +toward the Promised Land?”</p> + +<p>“No can do right now, Langdon. But I’ll tell you what might be done. If +a call for DH men comes down the line while you’re up Orly way, I’ll get +a wire to you there and have your orders sent along. If you’re traveling +light, take your personal junk by air on the ferry trip.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do that,” Langdon said. “The other pair of socks won’t be any kind +of a load for a DH’s observation pit. When do I head this ferry?”</p> + +<p>“Tomorrow. That is, if the new planes are all assembled by that time. +They’re all on the floor in final assembly now. In the meantime, be a +good guy, Langdon. Watch your step. And if you run across any Issoudun +Nieuports, Spads or Morane Saulniers—well, snub the whole gang. What’s +a bunch of <i>chasse</i> pilots to a guy who can do his <i>chasse</i> in a DH? +Stick to your class, kid.”</p> + +<p>“Damn’ tootin’!” Langdon said, and went out to fly—and snub everything +on wings.</p> + +<p>At 2 p.m, the next day, Langdon stood in the cockpit of the point DH of +a grounded V of ten such planes. The nine who were to follow him were, +to a man, of Langdon’s type, eager for anything, and anxious to get +under way on this cross country hop. Cross country flying, at that time, +rated high among the glories that went to make the romance of air. It +was all adventure. Impatiently, the waiting nine goosed their motors and +watched for the second when Langdon’s hand should fall. At 2:05, the +leader slid into his seat, cracked his throttle, lifted his tail and +took off. Two by two, in an ever mounting cloud of dust, the others took +up the slack, filled in on Langdon’s rear and roared into flight. A turn +of the field, and the shabby V formation went into the north. All ten +did not get to Orly that day. Langdon watched three of the boys make +safe landings with dead, or dying, motors, at Neuville, Etampes and +Juvisy.</p> + +<p>“Guess that’s all right by me,” he mused, after he and the others had +circled about the unfortunate each time. “Those boys either had motor +trouble or they know chickens in these towns. If it’s motor trouble, +it’s common and unavoidable; and if it’s chicken, it’s class and <i>pour +d’honneur d’Air Service d’Ame-rique</i>. And either way, or both, I’m for +’em. Just three little jobs for Field Service; and Field Service must +have something to do.”</p> + +<p>Through benefit of Field Service they were all at Orly next noon.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to hold you boys here for a few days,” the commanding officer +said when they reported for return railroad transportation. “We expect +to have a flock of ships going back to Romo’ for repair. And you’re the +men to ferry them. Enjoy yourselves.</p> + +<p>“How’re you boys fixed for francs?” And the commanding officer, who was +young himself once, smiled.</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>On the second day of their lay-over, orders for the Front came through +for Langdon and two of his ferry mates. A Roman holiday was held, and +the three borrowed scout planes to celebrate. Langdon flew his through +the <i>Arche de Triomphe</i> at high noon, wearing a high hat. He got away +with it, and nothing much was said.</p> + +<p>“But,” the Orly flying officer reminded him, “you’d have rotted in +Prison Camp No. 2 had things been messed up in the <i>Place de l’Arche de +Triomphe.”</i></p> + +<p>“Ain’t it the truth, sir?” Langdon had agreed. “Nowadays failure doesn’t +pay. Yes, sir, a guy’s crazy to slip up.”</p> + +<p>“Tomorrow, Lieutenant Langdon, “the Orly official went on, “you three +transfers, with you in charge, will ferry three of these new DH’s up to +the Trente-Neuf squadron’s ’drome. You’ll get their location last thing +before taking off. It’s an American group in an American sector—a +sector all bought and paid for. Major John Mack’s in charge up there. +Boy, you’re in luck—drawing a C O. like Mack. He’s one of the gang and +actually flies. Pilots from the front seat too, and without a second +lieutenant hidden away on the rear controls. Give the major a hello for +me, Lieutenant. Get the numbers on those three ships and look ’em over. +If you want anything around here, ask for it—and see if you get it! Or +if you want anything, take it—and see if we care!”</p> + +<p>The next day was fine. It was life’s rosiest for three willing Yanks. +Birds were singing, poppies blowing and the skies were high and clear.</p> + +<p>“Follow me,” Langdon said.</p> + +<p>The ferry up was without event; and the Trente-Neuf’s ’drome was where a +blind man could find it. Later, Langdon and his mates were to learn that +German airmen also located the place without much trouble.</p> + +<p>“You boys,” Major Mack said, “can see the highway commissioner and take +out registration papers on those machines you ferried up. We’ve lost a +few men in the past week—flu, you know—and it won’t be many hours +before you’re out on your own. The Trente-Neuf welcomes you. It isn’t +much of a name, but the outfit’s top-notch. Also, remember it’s your +home; and a home’s what you make it—between drinks. And right now and +here—no drinking, boys, except at mess and between meals.</p> + +<p>“Look around now. Get to know the mechanics. Treat ’em right—the +mechanics—and they’ll treat you right. Don’t ever forget to remember +that air battles are won on the ground. You know, they say a celebrity +is only a dub to his valet. That’s the way up here. A cocky pilot +finishes fast and quick on these strange airways. I know because I’ve +lost several pilots in battle who were never game enough to get out of +the weeds. Why, to get them, an enemy pilot would have to use telepathy.</p> + +<p>“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, boys, and report for mess in clothes. +That’s all the orders we have here. If you salute me, I’ll credit you +with a gold star. If you don’t salute me, I’ll never hold it against +you. This old uniform of mine is a disgraceful affair and by all rights +does not rate a salaam. Go; come when you’re in trouble.”</p> + +<p>The three saluted us though it were a pleasure, and went out.</p> + +<p>“If the Trente-Neuf is like its C.O,” Langdon said to his flying mates, +“this dump’s going to be a home. Guess we can work here.”</p> + +<p>For anybody looking for work, the place could supply the limit. Having +heard that the air branch was the eyes of the Army, the Artillery, +Infantry—and even the Medical Corps, through force of bad habit—were +incessantly asking for observations. They did not care much what was +observed, but they liked to keep the Air Service in hot water. These old +line branches know how easy it is to loaf when it rains, or the fog gets +too heavy; so they figure that, being the highest branch of the Service, +aviation should do its stuff while others sleep. And the young branch, +extending itself to the limit, made those observations; flew when flying +was out of the question, and sacrificed men when men were scarce.</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>That evening, by low candles in the Trente-Neuf’s mess, Langdon and his +two mates met the outfit. Except for one, it was easy to know. That one, +Lieutenant Charles Mudd, F.F.V., A.S., U.S.R., was hard for Langdon to +meet because he had met him before.</p> + +<p>F.F.V. Mudd and Langdon had both been assigned to the 10th Aero Squadron +for shipment overseas. Together, at Mitchel Field, they had reported in +to the 10th’s old topkick, Sergeant Benton; and upon reporting, when the +10th’s C.O. was absent, the Old Man had had them sign the register. +Langdon had signed first, and in a self-conscious way.</p> + +<p>“Put down your rank, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Dad Benton had said. “There’s +no misters in this man’s Army. Put down your ‘Lieutenant, First’, and +your ‘A.S., U.S.R’.”</p> + +<p>Next, Lieutenant Mudd signed. But first he found a resting place for his +swagger stick, and deposited his gold tipped cigaret on the edge of +Dad’s blotter. And when that baby signed, he signed—and how!</p> + +<p>“First Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd, F.F.V., A.S., U.S.R.”</p> + +<p>“What the hell’s all this ‘F.F.V.’ stuff?” the old sergeant quizzed.</p> + +<p>“That, suh, is, First Families of Virginia,” Lieutenant Charles Surry +Mudd answered.</p> + +<p>Of course, his tone of voice was the tone that should be used when a +lieutenant speaks to an enlisted man. And it went just about as far as +the talk of a lieutenant usually goes with an enlisted man. The old +sergeant, with a stroke of the broad pen, struck out the F.F.V.</p> + +<p>“There are no F.F.V’s in this man’s Army, Lieutenant Mudd.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd stepped back. His pale face grew even +paler. The sensitive lips and chin quivered, and the flesh above his +knees prickled within their well tailored confines. His breath came +hard, his eyes flooded, then the proud youth fell to chewing his lower +lip. The Army, uncouth thing that it is, had taken him for another ride.</p> + +<p>Finally, deciding against mixing with a lowly sergeant, Lieutenant Mudd +retrieved his swagger stick and cigaret, and strode to the door. He +hesitated upon the threshold long enough to say—</p> + +<p>“I’ll report this, Sawgent.”</p> + +<p>“Report and be damned,” the old topkick mused, and closed the register.</p> + +<p>More than a quarter of a century in the service of Uncle Sam had placed +Sergeant Dad Benton in a position where lieutenants, and even higher +rankers, were of no more importance than the most lowly 10th Aero buck. +With the ever expanding bubble that was the war of T7, wise heads of +Dad’s caliber were only too few. Newly made captains, suddenly advanced +majors and dizzy colonels came hurriedly into the old man’s council to +ascertain just what gentlemen of their rank should do under this, that +and the other condition. And they got their answers.</p> + +<p>“You’ll find the answer to that, sir,” the old man would say, after +twisting his long mustaches for maybe as much as ten seconds, “on page +so and so, paragraph this or that in your Blue Book.”</p> + +<p>And how any man, even in twenty-seven years, could memorize—page and +paragraph—as large a volume as Army Regulations, is beyond the +understanding of one who could never remember which of two was the right +foot.</p> + +<p>So you can see, First Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd’s report, if made, +caused no ripple on the already troubled waters of Mitchel Field. And +Mudd’s report, very likely, was turned in because, in the several weeks +of his stay with the 10th, the lieutenant was hard to get along with. He +wanted salutes from the enlisted men. Enlisted men, though, seldom +salute those who fail to command their spontaneous respect; and Mudd was +out of luck.</p> + +<p>Shortly after the 10th’s arrival upon an active field in France, a plane +crew sent Mudd into the air with an almost empty gasoline tank, two +flying-wire turnbuckles unsafetied and a landing gear wheel loosed and +ready to fall off. When the motor died at five thousand feet, Mudd came +down for a landing. When he hit the ground, the right wheel bounced +through his lower off-side wing and went places. The small pursuit +plane, a Nieuport 27, with one wheel missing, somersaulted three times, +by the count, and Mudd came up from the wreckage like an angry hen from +a messed up nest. Shades of Southern hospitality and gentility! What a +yell went up!</p> + +<p>However, the 10th Aero was a good outfit. It was also a mighty useful +outfit and had an important top sergeant in its orderly room.</p> + +<p>“The whole damn’ affair must have been just an accident,” Dad Benton +convinced the benzine board appointed to smell into Mudd’s rotten +charges. “Why, these 10th boys are worked to death. Sixty-odd pursuit +planes in the air for five periods a day. Of course now and then +something is going to go wrong.”</p> + +<p>The benzine board made its report. Headquarters made a move. Mudd was +the pawn. And because the 10th gang ran with every other gang at +Issoudun’s many fields, headquarters made the move big enough to put +Mudd out of danger for all time. He, First Lieutenant Charles Surry +Mudd, F.F.V., was sent to observation, away from Issoudun.</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>Now, with the Trente-Neuf, Langdon and Mudd were in the same outfit once +again.</p> + +<p>“How are they breaking, F.F.V?” Langdon asked.</p> + +<p>Mudd gazed through Langdon and went to his place at table. A quiver of +anticipation went through the room. And that told Langdon that +Lieutenant Mudd had not changed one whit.</p> + +<p>“You’ll remember, Lieutenant Langdon,” Mudd said, when he was seated, +“my Army salutation is Lieutenant Mudd.”</p> + +<p>“The hell you tell!” Langdon smiled. “Where at is your F.F.V., Charles?”</p> + +<p>Mudd gave his attention to the meal. The table tried hard to smother its +mirth, and Langdon explained—</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant Mudd and I made our transport with the same outfit, attached +to the 10th Aero—”</p> + +<p>“The swine!” Mudd snarled.</p> + +<p>“The best damn’ air unit in France,” Langdon said. “That is, with the +exception of the Trente-Neuf.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the spirit, Lieutenant Langdon!” Major Mack cheered from his end +of the long table. “The old outfit is always good, but the new outfit, +to be an outfit, must always be <i>the</i> outfit ... stand, devils— To the +Trente-Neuf!”</p> + +<p>“This Trente-Neuf,” a man at Langdon’s right said, after the toast, “is +a jake outfit, Langdon. There’s only one thing wrong with it.”</p> + +<p>He stopped talking and stared at Mudd.</p> + +<p>“There was only one thing wrong with the 10th,” Langdon told the man, +“and it was the same thing. An outfit’s mistakes are its own, and the +unpardonable mistake is the mistake made when an outfit makes the +mistake of not rectifying its mistakes. Am I right?”</p> + +<p>“No mistake,” the other agreed.</p> + +<p>Next morning, Langdon went out on his first mission behind Mudd. That +is, because of seniority, F.F.V. was in the front plane of a three ship +flight. Now, this thing of following F.F.V. Mudd was not the worst +medicine on earth, and Langdon had no kick coming. Mudd was a flying +man, and that seems strange. None, no matter what his idea of manhood, +could ever deny Mudd his place in air, and for more than two months now, +he had been taking missions out and, what was more important, he was +bringing them back. Maybe that was why the Trente-Neuf had not taken +steps to clean up this one mistake.</p> + +<p>Mudd was one of those conscientious flight leaders who gave flying +orders like a pedagogue and then expected every man to do his duty. +There was no fun to be found behind him. The objective was the +objective, and not fun. His unit took no long chances. If enemy planes +were above, Mudd toured all France on their four hour DH tanks, then +came back. Came back, got the pictures or observations, and went hell +bent for home. A pilot might just as well have been touring France with +the “Y”. And on more than one occasion, he had been told so; but not by +Major Mack. No matter what the major might have thought personally, he +stood firmly behind Mudd because of results shown. The business of an +observation squadron is observation. Let the pursuit groups do the +combat stuff.</p> + +<p>This first Front line flight of Langdon’s was the quietest thing +imaginable. Not an enemy craft crossed their skies. He wondered where +these comebacks from the Front got all their stuff about dog fights, +painted circuses and German infested ceilings. And as he followed Mudd, +above territory that should have been bad, he recalled what Rube +Williamson had told them, back at Issoudun.</p> + +<p>“Hun planes! Never saw a single Hun plane in two weeks’ flying. Maybe +they’re there for some, but they were not there for me.” And now they +were not there for Langdon.</p> + +<p>At the end of the eastward mission, Mudd, with the observations on the +cuff, signaled for a turn and back home push. Then, for about ten +minutes, Langdon kept the other two planes close in where they belonged +and began to look about to see what he could see. They came above a road +that was jammed with the properties of Germany’s late summer try. +Without a great deal of thought, Langdon parted company, dropped down +from Mudd’s six thousand feet elevation and went to strafing the enemy +activities.</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>It was fun. It was war. It was more like it. He turned to his +observer—a Lieutenant Akeley—and winked. Akeley stood up on his stool, +bent over Langdon’s shoulder, and yelled:</p> + +<p>“Go back and give ’em hell! When you come in above that little burg +where they were eating—where all the smoke was—sideslip and let me get +a crack at ’em with my gun. Hop to it!”</p> + +<p>Langdon looked for his two companion planes. Mudd and the other had gone +ahead. For a moment he might have hesitated. This thing of pulling a +private strafe while detailed on a mission would not be considered +exactly good. But being a strong youth, Langdon weakened. He flew a turn +and went back along the German supply road.</p> + +<p>Where he found the field kitchens smoking, Langdon climbed to about five +hundred feet. From that altitude, with the nose of his plane high, he +slipped right and gave Akeley his chance with the rear gun. At the same +time, watching his slip, he also watched Akeley and cheered the gunner +above the roar of slipping struts and wires. At a hundred feet or less, +he kicked out of the slip, redressed his ship, whaled full motor to the +craft and flew across the concentration of troops—and through a hail of +rifle fire ... Akeley went back to the Trente-Neuf a corpse in Langdon’s +rear pit.</p> + +<p>At sunset, Jack Langdon sat upon his heels before a hangar, smoked, and +tried to figure out the whole thing. Within the hangar at his back, +under a tarpaulin, was the quiet Akeley. A short distance away, where +the sun’s light was yet available, Trente-Neuf mechanics worked at +patching thirty-seven holes in Langdon’s DH. The mechanics talked and +wondered why that new bird, Langdon, did not get bumped too.</p> + +<p>Within his quarters, till the evening’s dusk gave way to dark, +Lieutenant Mudd, martinet at heart, worked assiduously upon his report. +He missed supper in its completion; then with the several pages in hand, +the conscientious one straightened his blouse, put a rag to his boots, +strapped on his Sam Browne and went toward Major Mack’s room. On the +way, Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd detoured only once, and this detour +sent him past the enlisted men’s quarters where the loungers were forced +to snap into it and deliver the salute.</p> + +<p>“Too bad, Lieutenant Mudd,” Mack said as he received the report. “Hell, +I liked Akeley. We’ll miss him. The whole Trente-Neuf will miss his +mandolin of evenings.”</p> + +<p>“It was murder!” Mudd snarled. “This man Langdon— It was murder, sir!”</p> + +<p>“But Sergeant Rictor—” the armorer of the Trente-Neuf—“reported that +Bob had fired several hundred rounds. His gun was still warm when +Lieutenant Langdon returned,” Major Mack protested. “And you know Bob +Akeley, Lieutenant. If he had a chance to go out like that, in action, +why, the boy was at a feast with a fork in each hand.”</p> + +<p>This glorification of personal thrill was not for Mudd. Wordless, white +and a-tremble, he weaved on the threshold and tried again and again for +words. In the end, he said:</p> + +<p>“You have my full report, sir. A flight leader must have unbending +discipline, sir.”</p> + +<p>Major Mack walked toward the window. Then, because there was nothing +else he could do, he walked back.</p> + +<p>“Lieutenant Mudd,” he said. “Send Lieutenant Langdon to me.”</p> + +<p>Major Mack was still pacing when Langdon knocked, came in and reported. +The Major eyed the pilot and paced once more to the east window, then he +paced back and eyed Langdon once more.</p> + +<p>“What have you got to say, Lieutenant?” the superior finally asked.</p> + +<p>“Not a word, sir.” Langdon fought hard to swallow his grief. “I know +I’ve pulled a star boner. Guess I’ve had my war—been hired, fed and +fired all in a day, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Whose idea was it, Langdon?”</p> + +<p>“Mine, sir. As yet, I can’t always remember that I have another man +behind me. Observers weren’t in my first schooling, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Even if the thing were excusable, Lieutenant, you should have asked +Akeley what he thought of the plan.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe you did.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I just got the idea that I could do damage on that road, so I +shoved down the nose and went. Then we got together, Akeley and I. He +said—“‘Go back and give ’em hell!’ And we went.”</p> + +<p>“I thought that was it!” Major Mack smiled. “Langdon, ever since Bob +Akeley came to this squadron, at least twice a day he’s been in here +trying to talk me into turning the squadron to pursuit. Of course we +can’t sanction such doings, Langdon. And for my own part, I wouldn’t +pull such a strafe. No, I’m a little too old and slow on the controls. +You see, I like to have a little more space between my wheels and the +ground. But I’m not so old as to be unable to appreciate the finesse of +the thing and, Lieutenant, if we could roll back time, and circumstance +would place Langdon in Mack’s place, and Mack in Langdon’s— Well, that +road would have been strafed today. Maybe not as good, but after a +fashion at least.</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>“Now, Lieutenant, I’m neither going to call out a firing squad nor mark +you on the ground. Between you and me, aviation, as the eyes of +artillery, doesn’t carry even the weight of a good joke. I’m an old +artillerist myself, Langdon, and I know. So if we can wage any kind of a +war of our own, I’m not going to stand in the way of progress. You +understand, Langdon, I am not authorizing, sanctioning or legalizing +future side trips; but in your own right, you are in command of one ship +while off the ground. Orders, the best orders ever made, were only made +to be broken. And so long as they are broken without going into the red, +when it’s all over, there’s no kick coming. In other and fewer words—be +sure you’re right, then go ahead and don’t slip up. The quick are always +right in war, Langdon. But it is far better that the quick be dead than +be wrong.</p> + +<p>“Now, there’s one observer in the Trente-Neuf with whom I want you to +become well acquainted. It is Lieutenant Samter. Samter, during such +times as Bob Akeley wasn’t pestering me, has spent much wind trying to +show me where and how this outfit might run up a big record in combat +victories. He’s of the opinion that an observer should only observe when +there’s no fighting to be done. And he can do things with that rear +machine gun, Langdon. Sergeant Rictor tells me that Samter has shown him +more trick stuff than he’s ever seen before. And Sergeant Rictor has +been an armorer for upward of fifteen years. If you and Samter find that +you have much in common, come to me and we’ll talk it over. No reason at +all why he shouldn’t hold down your rear stool on all flights . . . +English fags, they are. Take a couple with you, Lieutenant.”</p> + +<p>Late into that night, Langdon and Samter talked. And they discovered +that they had just about everything in common, including a rotten +opinion of one Charles Surry Mudd, F.F.V. Lieutenant Samter had been +riding behind Mudd a great deal of late, and the war had lost its +flavor.</p> + +<p>“I’d rather hold on to the rear saddle of a motorbike with an enlisted +stiff chewing hard on the handlebars,” he told Langdon. “All of the +white haired boy’s good flying is wasted. And I’ll say old F.F.V. can +pilot. But what’s the use of being behind him—just going the route, +delivering the milk and coming home? There’s more thrill working at +kitchen police where you have the ever present danger of cutting your +finger while paring spuds, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” Langdon agreed. “The C O. gave me these cigs. They’re English. +Ain’t they rotten, what?”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t walk a mile,” Samter answered, “unless it was to get away +from such smokes.”</p> + +<p>The next day it rained and the new team worked ship. Langdon and the +Trente-Neuf’s head rigger washed out the outer bays of all four wings. +Also they took out one of each pair of outside flying wires.</p> + +<p>“They don’t need all these wires,” the rigger agreed. “Each one of these +cables has a breaking strength of more than two thousand pounds. When +would you ever get such a load on a wing? Same way with the landing +gear. You know how to set these babies down, Lieutenant. I watched you +when you brought Akeley in yesterday. You wouldn’t have broken an egg, +so we’ll pull out all the extras and that will help to speed the crate +up too.</p> + +<p>“We’ll do some streamlining on her, too. I’m glad to get a chance to see +what can be done about pepping up a DH. I always argued that something +could be done. They ain’t such dead culls. They’ll maneuver if you’ll +help ’em.”</p> + +<p>Samter and Rictor put hour after hour on the two guns. That DH had +surely fallen into good hands. Toward the end of day they flushed the +water radiator, drained the old and refilled with new motor oil, cleaned +ignition heads, and the ship was set. Then they prayed for a morrow full +of flying weather.</p> + +<p>Next morning, September the twenty-third, Langdon and Samter mooched +their way into a real melee above the road from La Harazee, where the +77th Division was convoying guns through to the Bois des Hautes Batis. +That fight, by rights, belonged to the pursuit gang. It was no place for +a DH. But when Langdon and Samter pulled out, they had done damage +enough to justify a bid for confirmation on two enemy planes. Their ship +had been hit seven times, and Samter once. But his was just a minor rap, +only a little job for the squadron doctor.</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>On the day following, the two wild men accounted for three of eight +German observation balloons that had hung above the main road through +the Vesle. And Langdon and Samter were beginning their traditional climb +toward lasting air fame.</p> + +<p>On October the thirteenth, divisional headquarters called for a rock +bound verification on all observations covering that tough stretch of +road between Grand Pre and St. Juvin. It had been a hard line to +bend—that German stronghold along the northern bank of the Aire: but +now, one way or the other, it was not only going to be bent, but +broken—and completely.</p> + +<p>Mudd, with four following ships, and covered from above by twelve +pursuit planes, went out to do the job. They were nearly above Grand Pre +before hell broke loose; and they were past St. Juvin and making a +turnabout before the first Hun ship broke the high defense and took a DH +off the Trente-Neuf’s rear.</p> + +<p>With his remaining three, stiff lipped and obstinate, Mudd flew his turn +and went down the St. Juvin-Grand Pre line for a return whirl. Then a +second DH fell, and Langdon broke out with combat, quit formation, and +won another Boche ship from the milling group.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Charles Surry Mudd worked long and late upon another report. +Then Major Mack paced late and long into the night and tried hard to be +a good fellow and, at the same time, a good soldier. Which is a thing +well nigh impossible. In the end, he called all six who had returned. +All of Mudd’s five companions, including Mudd’s own observer, swore by +all that might have been holy that Langdon, in quitting formation and +taking on combat, had only done so to cover the successful retreat of +the camera planes. And Charles Surry, F.F.V., went into the night +talking to himself and kicking stones. That war was a war for him.</p> + +<p>Langdon and Samter, listening to the guns that were pouring it into +Grand Pre and the road to the east, waited impatiently for the morrow.</p> + +<p>“This damn’ swagger stick dude of a muddy Mudd!” Samter said from his +shakedown. “If the simple minded, simpering juvenile does anything more +to tear down our meat house, Jack, I’ll work him over with a prop wrench +on my own time. Reports for the major! He’ll make one more report to the +Old Man and I’ll land on him so hard that his brains, if any, will +detonate and blow some he-man color into his insipid map.</p> + +<p>“F.F.V.—Far From Vodka, Finest Fish Vender, Faint Falsetto Voice—I’ll +F.F.V. the white haired, white livered rat!”</p> + +<p>“Check—a madman,” Langdon laughed. “Roll over, Samter, and tear off +some sleep. Charles F.F.V. is the least of our many worries. And he’s a +good enough gun. One Wing. The only thing is, you and I are fighting a +different war. On the level, Mudd’s scrap is gamer than ours. His is an +impersonal <i>guerre;</i> and he doesn’t even keep a diary.”</p> + +<p>“A good drunk is what Mudd needs,” Samter decided. “A trip to town, a +big town, a good drunk and—”</p> + +<p>“That’s a two or three motored ship, and she’s mighty close,” Langdon +said, as they caught the throb and pump of a night flyer. “Wish we were +doing night missions, too.”</p> + +<p>“Ambitious guy,” Samter said to his inflated pillow. “When would Mudd +find time to write lengthy reports?”</p> + +<p>“It really doesn’t make much difference,” Langdon said to his blanket, +“because nobody ever reads them anyway.”</p> + +<p>During the following days, as the line pushed up through Champigneulle, +St. Georges, Alliepont and on to Verpel, the two wild men, for the +greater part, went it alone. Major Mack heard Mudd’s bleat often, but +the major was too busy to bother himself with such minor distractions. +This war was what men like Mack had lived a life for. Mudd could not be +expected to sec this; and Mack made no effort toward proselyting F.F.V’s +conversion to the cause of Langdon, Samter—and, if the truth must be +known, Mack.</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>The Major was on the wing a great deal during those busy days. With his +own eyes, he saw Langdon knock an enemy craft out of the skies behind +Buzancy, and follow a second out of sight toward Stonne and the Meuse.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” Major Mack told Mudd upon his return to the ’drome. “That +heller of a Langdon went down on a Fokker. And when the Hun fell into a +spin, after Langdon’s first burst, the kid sideslipped right with him +and Samter poured his load from the rear gun. They had the poor devil +burning through the last two thousand feet. The second plane they picked +on was doing observations near Harricourt.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s not consistent, sir!” Lieutenant Mudd insisted.</p> + +<p>“But hell, Lieutenant,” Mack said, “it is strictly American, you know. +And when we take this out of the Yank youth, we’re eternally lost.”</p> + +<p>So Major Mack continued to make allowances for one of his planes which +had no more right in an observation outfit, than has a free balloon in a +pursuit squadron.</p> + +<p>On the third of November Langdon got a German ship which was busily +strafing roads near Authe; and on the fourth he accounted for a like +worker near Oches.</p> + +<p>“The damn’ gorillas—strafing our troops!” he said to Samter, as they +regassed their ship at ten o’clock that morning.</p> + +<p>Then, reserviced, the two went directly into the air and strafed roads +as far back as La Neuville and Raucourt.</p> + +<p>In his own way, Mudd was making history through the long hours of those +crowded days. Time and again, even with his overhead defense shot to +pieces, he made requested observations along the Meuse. He located +ambushes near La Bessage and Le Vivier and dropped warning notes to the +infantry. On a hill above a graveyard in Raucourt, there was a machine +gun and anti-aircraft nest. Mudd wiped it out. Twice in four days he +brought dead observers home in his rear pit. And on one of those trips +he had landed his burning plane on the long hillside slope before +Champigneulle.</p> + +<p>“But why the hell doesn’t he stay and fight?” Samter argued. “Every slug +hole in his linen is frayed to the front. Dead observers are of no use +to anybody. They’re not worth a dollar a thousand ... Langdon, if I ever +see a slug coming into the rear of your crate, I’ll spray you with my +own gun just to teach you a lesson.”</p> + +<p>“And I’ll pile you up surer’n hell if you do!” Langdon promised.</p> + +<p>There was no freebooting on the seventh. Artillery and infantry wanted +to learn all there was to be known of the bridges on, and the terrain +adjacent, the Meuse. Headquarters told the Trente-Neuf to “go get it”. +And, behind Mudd, Langdon and four other pilots—three of them +green—took off.</p> + +<p>At Villers Devant Mouzon, a detachment of engineers were doing their +best to throw a path across the Meuse. The German machine gun nests and +snipers were making of the job a nasty detail, till Mudd’s flight put an +end to those ambushes.</p> + +<p>At Remilly, a like detachment was having a still harder time. And the +covering aerial defense was no enviable task. Before the first four hour +patrol had ended, two of Mudd’s new men had limped back to the ’drome +with motor trouble, and one had been driven down a few kilometers east +of the river by an enemy pursuit plane. Mudd and Langdon, close at hand, +had seen that Trente-Neuf pilot burn his ship before he was taken +prisoner by ground troops. Then, still behind the lines, the two had +turned back toward the river.</p> + +<p>There was a heavy sky that day, November 7, and anything in the way of +altitude had been out of the question. But now, here and there, the blue +was breaking through and showing a higher ceiling. Suddenly, out of this +clearer sky, a bi-motored enemy craft crossed their line of flight. +Langdon jumped it. After a few seconds of thought, outclassed by the +faster Yank, the enemy ship turned east. And the eager Langdon hung on. +Mudd, after a moment, followed. Samter, as Langdon came down on the big +ship’s tail again, thumped Langdon on the back and pointed to Mudd.</p> + +<p>“Old F.F.V. himself,” Samter yelled. “He’s going to pile on with us. Now +there <i>will</i> be a war!”</p> + +<p>But war and a personal battle were not Mudd’s concerns. Coming east from +the Meuse, he had spotted two Hun pursuit planes that had seen Langdon +and the bomber.</p> + +<p>Mudd was pretty well off to the south, and the pair of single-seater +Germans came down on Langdon before he could work into position. With +the first burst of lead, Samter crumpled, shot through both legs. He +fought to stay, clinging tenaciously to his machine gun mount. He pulled +a belt from his flying suit, passed it through and around the gun scarf +and worked his way to a standing position. Langdon had dived and +slipped; now he zoomed and flew a wing-over. They came back under the +pursuing planes—and Samter got one as they went by.</p> + +<p>In a moment Langdon was crowding down on the bomber and single pursuit +ship again. And just when he came into position, his gun jammed. The +German seemed to realize his predicament; they passed the laugh from +ship to ship. That was a mistake on their part; it made Langdon angry.</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>The speed of the chase was the speed of the big ship out front. The +combat plane easily maintained a position between the pursuing DH and +the huge German, thus further increasing Langdon’s rage.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes, as they flew in line, the American thought hard. Then +he gained a little altitude, and with it under him, he threw full power +to his motor, went into a long dive and closed the distance between him +and the pursuit plane. Before the German knew what was up, Langdon had +hooked his left lower wingtip into the right side of the lighter craft. +The latter’s single interwing N-strut came out, and half his lower wing +went with it. That pilot was finished with the war.</p> + +<p>But Langdon’s ship could not go through such a high speed collision +without damage. He had counted on losing a few feet of wingtip. If only +that much were wiped off, a pilot could carry the difference of lateral +stability by using full rudder on the opposite side from the wing so +damaged. Also the use of aileron would help offset the loss of wing +lift. But he had lost more than was good for the wing balance of any +plane. He was in a bad situation.</p> + +<p>They had crashed at five thousand feet. Fighting to hold up the clipped +lower left wing, he flew a flat turn to the right, covered a great deal +of space and started back for the Meuse. But, even with full right +rudder and his control stick clear to the side, he was losing altitude. +He had to lose altitude in order to remain at all level. Two or three +times, in the following five minutes, he came very close to falling into +a spin. Each time, he dived, gained high speed and fought the craft out +of its wing drag.</p> + +<p>Here and there along the Chiers River, the anti-aircraft outfits were +sending up feelers for Langdon. Even the machinegun crews were putting +steel through his ship as he crossed the highest spots.</p> + +<p>Finally he had Mairy just ahead and off to the right. It looked as +though he would come to earth and pile up some place between the town +and the Meuse; and as yet, the east bank of the river was in enemy +hands. The war was just about over for two willing young men and....</p> + +<p>Langdon had been watching Mairy, to his right. All of a sudden the +weight came off his weak left side. He stared, full of bewilderment, for +Mudd’s right wings were tucked under his damaged panels and carrying the +load. That, for Langdon and Samter, was the grandest moment of life.</p> + +<p>Both motors now roared full on. They lost no more altitude and the river +became more than just a possibility.</p> + +<p>Samter, still hanging on his belt, shook his head and fainted. Langdon +made sure that it was Lieutenant Charles F.F.V., shook his head and +tended strictly to his flying. The Meuse came closer, and Archie came up +oftener. The war was as good as over for the enemy, but they still had a +goodly amount of ammunition on hand and they were throwing most of it +toward Langdon and Mudd. But that did not worry Langdon now. The river +was only a matter of short kilometers. Soon F.F.V. would be working on +his report.</p> + +<p>“And he’s got me with my suspenders cut,” Langdon found time to reflect. +“Hell, who ever heard of such a dumb thing as an intentional collision +on the wing! Collisions are strictly for high rankers and to be made +only upon takeoff and landing.</p> + +<p>“They’ll ground me for this sure. I might even draw a bobtail. And old +kid Charlie Mudd....”</p> + +<p>As suddenly as he had arrived, Mudd left. A rifle shot from the east +bank of the Meuse had found him. His plane, with dead hands and feet on +the controls, spun into the river.</p> + +<div style='height:1em;'></div> +<p>From the dressing station where Langdon sat, richly swathed in iodine +soaked wrappings, he could watch the engineers fishing for a pilot and +observer where the rudder of a plane waved above the surface of the +Meuse. On a cot, where a few medical men had been busy for an hour, +Samter was showing the first signs of returning consciousness. Now and +then the observer had said, in delirium:</p> + +<p>“F.F.V. Old F.F.V., himself.”</p> + +<p>“We used to have one of them in this corps,” a medical private said. “He +was from Norfolk, I think. That F.F.V. stuff stands for First Families +of Virginia.”</p> + +<p>“Right you are,” Langdon mused, from where he sat.</p> + +<p>“Wrong as hell,” Samter mused. “It stands for Fell Flying Valiantly.”</p> + +<div class='tn'> +Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April 15, 1929 issue +of <i>Adventure</i> magazine. +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76083 ***</div> +</body> +<!-- created with ppr.py 2.11 on 2025-05-13 06:46:59 GMT --> +</html> + diff --git a/76083-h/images/cover.jpg b/76083-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..746f428 --- /dev/null +++ b/76083-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/76083-h/images/illus-fpc.jpg b/76083-h/images/illus-fpc.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eae36d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/76083-h/images/illus-fpc.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5dba15 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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