But seven and then eight were falling, as though it had been settled to make a clean sweep while about it.
Their turn next!
Jack gritted his teeth and awaited Tom's cry, when he would be the last to burst into the rousing chorus of thunderous reports. The signal came, and Jack pressed the trigger, releasing the hanging bomb, and starting it on its downward journey.
If Tom's judgment was good it would at least strike somewhere in the midst of the debris and add more or less to the wreckage. As to whether the Boche commander-in-chief had been caught napping and buried in the ruins, was a matter about which they could only speculate.
Tom himself doubted whether such a happy solution of the affair could be attained, because he had known of various attempts being made in times gone by to "get" the Kaiser himself when visiting the western front, but always without success.
They heard a frightful crash, much louder than any of those preceding it. The big plane rocked and swayed as though in a gale, and Tom needed all his skill to keep from being thrown off his balance.
It was no mystery to Jack. He realized that by a strange coincidence his falling bomb and that of the other rear plane had exploded simultaneously, making the ground vibrate, and completely destroying anything that had been left of the French chateau.
Their work in this quarter having been thoroughly accomplished the raiders now climbed higher, to rejoin the battleplane squadron hovering above, waiting to act once more as their armed escort.
Looking down in farewell, Jack could see fires burning. The shattered timbers of the wrecked chateau had been set ablaze. He would always remember that strange event whenever again watching fires from a lofty height in the night-time.
The squadron was off again, the second thrilling event connected with the bombing raid having come off as scheduled without any mishap to the Yankee air fleet.
Jack had kept quiet up to now, but it had cost him a severe effort.
Talking when a plane is bombing on its way can never be anything of a pleasure unless it is equipped with an up-to-date wireless telephone for the use of pilot and observer.
Jack himself had contrived some amateur device of this sort which he rigged up as soon as he seated himself back of Tom, although up to then he had failed to make use of it.
The roar of many propellers and the steady hum of a score of engines combined to make a deafening noise. Nevertheless, when Tom felt a tug at his sleeve, such as had been agreed upon with his chum, he took hold of his little receiver and was delighted to hear Jack's voice as plainly as though there had been no interference.
Plainly then Jack's idea was bearing fruit, and properly cultivated there might be something worth while in the scheme.
"Tom, do you get me?" demanded the agitated inventor, the first thing.
"Yes, and plainly, too," came the reply that greatly pleased Jack; for up to then they had found no occasion to test the wireless telephone under severe conditions.
If it "made good" with all that noise about them, Jack felt that he ought to call it a success.
"That's right!" he told Tom, exultantly. "I never missed a syllable that time. Oh, boy! it seems as if it's O K, doesn't it?"
"Splendid thing for talking when you're rushing along; and without cracking your voice, either," Tom told him.
"Did my bomb explode exactly at the same second as the other one?" next asked Jack, more to continue the conversation and thrill with his triumph than for information, because he had already made up his mind on that score.
"Just what it did, Jack. But let up on this now. I've got to keep my whole attention pinned to my work."
That often different minds run in the same channel is proved every day; and in Jack's case it really turned out that while he was testing his crude invention another much more eminent person in far-away America had just succeeded in accomplishing the idea he had in mind, and was almost ready to offer it to the Washington Signal Corps authorities.
After rejoining the squadron of battleplanes the old formation had been resumed. A cordon of fighters moved on either side, one to each bombing unit in the fleet. Just as transports were convoyed across the dread submarine danger-zone of the Atlantic by destroyers and cruisers, so these working planes were protected by those better equipped for holding off intending offenders, and striking with all the strength of Uncle Sam's good right arm.
It would not be for long, Tom believed. Straight as the honey bee heads toward the hive when laden with sweets extracted from blossom and flower, they were now aiming for their main objective, the last powerful stronghold of the Hun in that sector, perhaps in all the extended battle front.
Doubtless they would meet with a stubborn resistance. The enemy must, in the nature of things have been forewarned, and would do everything in his power to ward off the impending blow.
There was likely to be a determined battle in the air, with the Germans closing in to make desperate resistance. There was also bound to be a heavy fire from below. Airplanes, perhaps even Zeppelins of the latest and most powerful description, would attack the raiders, and seek to smash their formation into a chaos that must mean disgraceful flight and heavy losses.
But every American heart beat strong with confidence as the fliers winged their way through space, heading for the Hun stronghold that was intended to be a supreme menace to the onrushing tide of Uncle Sam's boys in khaki.
CHAPTER XVII
FLYING FOR VICTORY
BOTH Tom and Jack could look back to previous experiences in bombing the enemy. They had taken part in excursions that occupied a part of a moonlight night; trips that sometimes had carried them across the border, and to Metz; once they had gone even as far as the Rhine up in the region of Coblenz, where later on Pershing's army was fated to be posted as a guard over the beaten Huns.
But on those occasions their work had been of a different character from that now given to them. They had seen munition plants go up in masses of flames after their bombs struck; watched important bridges being shattered under the same gigantic force; felt a thrill of triumph when a lucky shot exploded some huge munition dump, on which the enemy depended for his reserve store; exhausted their stock of bombs in demolishing an important railway junction, so as to paralyze the transportation of reinforcing bodies of German troops.
All those things they were familiar with, but from the great secrecy that had been maintained in connection with this enterprise they could understand that it far exceeded them all in importance.
Their speed was such that they would be likely to reach their goal shortly, when all the suspense must be over. Jack wished that time had come. He was already trying to figure out just how Tom would plan so as to seem to become lost on the homeward flight, and thus be left to his own resources for a time.
From this reverie he was aroused by seeing the signal flash from the pivot of the spearhead. It gave him an electrical sensation, though that was only to be expected.
Tom, too, knew the crisis was near at hand. He stared ahead, and believed he could even make out spectral objects moving this way and that, like monstrous, though dimly seen, dragonflies, such as all country boys have watched many a time while on a warm summer day, lying at rest on the bank of the "swimming hole."
From this it was evident that news of their probable coming had been sent on ahead, warning the defenders of the German fortress.
Still was the night as yet, but it would not be for long with those opposing air forces ready for a death grapple. While the ten battleplanes, each piloted by a Yankee ace with a splendid record, engaged the flotilla of enemy aircraft, the bombers must be at their more humble but equally important business.
All had been arranged so that there might be the least possible friction, and no confusion. Each pilot and observer knew exactly what he was to do, and every possible situation had been taken into consideration.
Then came the initial firing.
It seemed that one ambitious Boche airman, unable to wait until the oncoming Americans reached the formation arranged to resist the onslaught, had flown ahead and was now exhausting his puny reservoir of missiles against the solid phalanx.
The clatter became a roar as several of the raiders turned their guns on the incautious Hun. Immediately his voice was stilled, and the flittering light dropping earthward, after the manner of a falling rocket-stick, told what had happened to him.
Before he landed his machine had burst into flames, as the escaping petrol caught fire. Jack considered that a good omen for their side.
"Fritz seems to be getting a rough deal on this particular night," he told himself. "Already three of his planes have been destroyed, and several others have gone down out of control, with never a single loss on the side of the Americans. Bully!"
But now the advance had reached the marked line where the rest of the Huns waited to engage the invaders. If they were dismayed by the tragic fate that had overtaken that rash pilot they did not show it, for they attacked with a viciousness that Tom had never seen equalled in all his experience as a flier.
It was undoubtedly desperation that spurred the Boche on. He knew that these wonderful Americans, who his leaders had ridiculed in the beginning, were foes not to be despised; that they had almost taken the entire Argonne; that they had actually threatened to commence the long-talked of march on to Berlin.
So they attacked with fury, and the engagement soon became general.
Right and left there was continual firing going on, as the giant planes wheeled and circled, shooting out flaming tongues like so many blast furnaces in action.
The formation was not broken even then, each battleplane continuing to cover its individual bombing plane with the shelter of its wings, so to speak, though at the same time fighting off the aggressors.