Aces Up Part 9

McGee, looking back, could see the searchlights sweeping eastward in their efforts to keep the fleeing planes spotted. But their luck had already been great indeed, and now they were again feverishly searching the black and seemingly empty sky.

"Good time to tool this baby home," McGee thought as he swung around and headed for the 'drome, its location still well marked for him by the flickering flames of the fallen s.h.i.+p.

"Poor old Nancy!" he said aloud as he realized that the thwarted bombers would likely spew out their hate on that sorely tried city. "I'm sorry to wish this off on you, but you are used to it and these lads are not.

Talk about luck! I wonder what good angel is perched on my shoulder."

Back over the 'drome he signaled with his Very light pistol for landing lights, his take-off having been too sudden to permit of thinking of ground flares. He circled the field, waiting for the lights. No response. He signaled again. Still no response.

"Too much excitement, I guess," he mused. Then he flew low over the remains of the burning plane, around which had gathered a large group--large enough, McGee thought, to include every man of the squadron from the C.O. down to the lowliest greaseball.

"Humph! A fine target you'd make!" Red snorted, and felt like throwing his Very pistol into the group. "Well, here goes! I've made darker landings than this. And if I crack up--" he smiled as a grim Irish bull flashed through his mind--"it will be a good lesson to the ground crew.

Nothing like Irish humor at a time like this."

2

If one who stands less than five feet six and is freckled of face and red of hair can command hauteur and dignity, then it can be said that a few minutes later McGee, with hauteur and dignity, strode into the excited, gabbling group that surrounded the burning German plane. For a moment none of them recognized him. With hands on hips, arms akimbo, he stood watching them. He was still just a little too mad to trust his tongue.

Major Cowan was the first to notice him. "Ah! Lieutenant McGee! I am--"

"No sir, I am Lieutenant McGee's ghost. McGee got his neck broken over there just now--trying to make a landing in the dark. Your ground crew were exceedingly helpful to him, Major. So nice of them to obey his signals so promptly."

For once Cowan was at a disadvantage. "Gad, man! Did you signal?"

"Oh, yes. I waved my hand. Rather original idea, don't you think?

Perhaps you weren't expecting me to come back."

"Frankly, Lieutenant, I wasn't." The look on Cowan's face was one of genuine admiration. "You have done a courageous thing, Lieutenant--and I thought it foolhardy. I said as much to Lieutenant Larkin, and I apologize to you, here, in the presence of all these men who witnessed your courage."

All the others thereupon surged around McGee, pumping his hand vigorously and clapping him on the back.

McGee's anger faded. It was a thing that never stayed long with him.

"Is Larkin here?" he asked.

"He was," Cowan answered. "Came a few minutes after you took off, but when I refused him a s.h.i.+p he got mad as a hornet, bawled out the light crew and--and me, and then jumped back in his car and rode off. Rather tempestuous fellow."

"If he had stayed here," McGee said, regretfully, "my Camel wouldn't now be standing over yonder on its nose with its undercarriage wiped off.

He'd at least think of landing lights." He pushed his way through the crowd toward the burning embers of the twisted, broken and charred plane. "Pilot burned to a crisp, I suppose," he mused half aloud.

Hampden, who was standing nearest, answered:

"No, the poor devil jumped. Landed over there by the road. They carried him over to the hospital tent. Not a--a whole bone in his body." His voice seemed choked. "It's a--a fearful way to go."

"A sporting way, I would say," Siddons spoke up. "Even in the last moment he rather cheated you, McGee. He escaped the flames, anyhow."

McGee looked at Siddons searchingly. In those cold grey eyes and in the half-taunting smile there was none of the sympathy or natural, normal emotion that had so choked Hampden's voice.

"He did not cheat me, Lieutenant Siddons," McGee said, his voice edged by his dislike of the man. "I am only one of the small factors in this unfortunate game. Duty may be pursued without wanting to see others suffer. He was a brave man. I salute him." He turned to Cowan. "Major Cowan, if your crew had attempted to extinguish these flames we might have added a great deal to our knowledge of the progress the enemy is making. I could not recognize this plane in the air. I think it is a new type."

"By Jove! I never thought of it."

McGee turned away to conceal an expression which he could not control, and as he did so he heard Yancey growl to Hampden:

"What a first-rate kitchen police in a Home Guard outfit that bimbo would make!"

As McGee walked back toward the hangar, Hampden and Siddons joined him.

He felt Hampden give his elbow a congratulatory squeeze. Then Siddons said:

"Are you going over to have a look at your fallen adversary, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, I say, Siddons!" Hampden exclaimed, pained and surprised.

"I am going to make out my report," McGee answered, simply. "I wonder if you would like to give me a confirmation, Lieutenant Siddons?"

The question took Siddons off his feet. "Why--er--do you really want me to?"

"Not especially; I just had a feeling that you would be pleased to have your name brought in it somehow."

Several of the pilots followed McGee into the hut used for headquarters, but Siddons was not among them. Whatever his feelings, following the little instructor's pointed rebuke, he concealed them behind the cool indifference which marked all of his actions. At the door to headquarters he turned down the gravel walk that ran in front of the row of huts used as quarters and was soon lost to sight in the darkness.

3

McGee's report of his victory was characteristically laconic. Not a word did he employ that was not necessary to the report. No fuss, no feathers, no mock heroics. He had engaged an E.A. (enemy aircraft) and had sent it down in flames. Reading the report, one would find little enough to lift it out of the usual run of reports. Another meeting; another victory. No more, no less. Only in the last paragraph did he depart from his usual method of reporting. He wrote:

"My Camel carried no ground flares. Twice signaled for landing lights with no response. Circled field. Entire personnel was gathered around burning E.A. and making no effort to extinguish fire, which by this time had nearly consumed plane. Forced to land in dark. Wiped out landing gear and shattered prop.

"Recommendation: That all commands advise ground crews that a live pilot is of more importance than a dead enemy."

Having finished, he looked up at those who had followed him into headquarters. They were gathered in little groups, excitedly discussing the victory, which had actually been the first encounter they had witnessed. Fortunately, the victory had been on their side and they were considerably bucked. It seemed dead easy. Why, one man had gone aloft, bagged a plane, thwarted the plans of the enemy and was back on the ground before you could tell about it. The war was looking up! And this instructor was no slouch. What this squadron wouldn't do to the enemy when an over-cautious Chief of Air Service said "Let's go!"

Hearing their comments, McGee smiled. He knew, better than they, the great element of luck in his victory.

The enemy, whose aim it had been to thoroughly frighten and subdue this green squadron, had succeeded instead in greatly increasing their confidence in themselves. The enemy had come to sow destruction; they had actually planted a seed that sprang instantly from the ground, bearing the bold and st.u.r.dy flower of self-confidence. Old dogs of war had been unleashed, and now a new pack was yelping on the trail.

"Where is Major Cowan?" McGee asked.

"Over at the hospital tent," someone answered.

"Oh, I see. Perhaps it's just as well. He might not care to sign a confirmation after reading my recommendation. Which one of you will give me a confirmation?"

As one man they surged forward.

"Just a minute!" Red laughed. "I said which one. On second thought I guess I'd better leave that to the C.O. First victory from his squadron, you know."

"His squadron nothing!" Yancey growled. "You don't belong to us--yet."

"No, but I'm here by a.s.signment; I wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings." He chuckled. "I'm afraid, though, that the last paragraph in this report has a sort of stinger in it."