Don Hale with the Flying Squadron Page 5

  CHAPTER IV--"PENGUINS"

  "I say, boy, wake up! Didn't you hear the bugle sound? The reveille!Wake up, for goodness' sake! You'll be late. It's almost three-thirtynow. You have that early morning feeling, eh?--a pippin of a feeling,too! I know, because I know!"

  The sense of this string of words, jerked out with extraordinaryrapidity by Roy Mittengale, was quite lost on Don Hale's mentalfaculties, but, nevertheless, they had exactly the effect the speakerintended. With a start and a half-stifled gasp, the new student sat up.

  Morning! Was it possible that morning had already come? Of course not!He hadn't before suspected Mittengale of being a practical joker.Morning, indeed! He felt quite vexed--quite exasperated, in fact.

  The effects his eyes took in were precisely similar to those he had seenon retiring--the same glimmering yellowish lights, the same lurkingshadows, the long row of windows framing in the palish moonlight of theoutside world.

  He was about to protest. But before he had time the big room, all atonce, became filled with noise and commotion--with the sounds of menjumping out of bed, of men talking, of men hurrying and bustling aboutas though their very lives depended upon the swiftness of theirmovements.

  So, after all, Roy wasn't a practical joker.

  "All right! All right!" mumbled Don. "I'll get right up."

  "You'd better," continued Mittengale, laughingly.

  Don Hale certainly had that early morning feeling, besides being coldand shivery; but, though he devoutly wished that he might enjoy a fewminutes more of repose, he slipped off the mattress and fairly jumpedinto his clothes. By the time Don had finished dressing he was alone.

  A swift dash for the door and a brisk run after leaving the barracksenabled him, however, to overtake speedily the more tardy students.

  It was still a calm, serene moonlight night, with the stars dimmed bythe greater lustre of the earth's satellite, and no hint, no trace ofcolor in the eastern sky to herald the approach of another day.

  The destination of the hurrying crowd Don found was the wash-housesituated not far away; and on arriving there he discovered thatcertainly "all the comforts of home" appeared to be lacking.

  A dash of cold water over his face and arms made the boy feel the needof brisk exercise to counteract the effects of the damp, penetratingchilliness of that early matinal hour. Moisture glistened and sparkledon the tufts of grass, and low over the earth stretched long ghostlystreamers of mist. High up in the heavens a flock of unseen crows,flying swiftly past, sent their cries far over the crisp, fresh air,but, rapidly, distance softened and then stifled the unmusical chorus.

  A rush back to the barracks with the rest of the students put warmthinto Don Hale's shivery frame.

  "Get in line, son, for the roll call," commanded Tom Dorsey.

  In an orderly double column the students ranged themselves alongside thebarracks, an officer appeared and the formality began.

  Proudly, the new student answered "present" as he heard his namepronounced by the officer.

  "Now I suppose we'll get a bite to eat," he remarked to Mittengale, whenthe men broke ranks.

  "Your 'suppose' is all wrong," chuckled the other. "Now you'll learnwhat you're up against."

  "I suspect I'm up against a joker," laughed Don.

  But, again, his suspicion proved to be quite unfounded. The men wereforming in line, and a few minutes later the march for the flying fieldbegan. The day for which Don Hale had looked forward so long--soexpectantly--actually had come. His nerves, responding to the emotionsaroused within him, were tingling, but tingling in a most delightfulfashion.

  The very faintest trace of delicate color, announcing the coming of day,now slowly began to suffuse itself in the eastern sky. It was acheerless and a gloomy hour, not an hour, surely, for drooping spiritsto be abroad; but, fortunately, there appeared to be no drooping spiritsamong that semi-military line of marching men.

  Gradually the long row of curved-roofed hangars, partially hidden by theveils of mists, loomed forth more clearly. Before the head of the linehad reached the first of the immense flying fields--there werethree--numerous mechanics were rolling rather battered-looking littlemonoplanes from beneath the protecting shelter of the canvas coveringsand placing them side by side in long lines.

  "I say, my young knight of the air, cast your optics upon the'penguins,'" called Mittengale, who happened to be marching just ahead.

  Don Hale, however, required no such invitation. He was already studyingthe machines with the most intense--the most eager interest. "Penguins,"he knew, are Bleriot monoplanes, the wings of which have been soshortened as to render the machines powerless to lift themselves fromthe ground; hence the rather curious appellation of "penguins," birds ofthat name not being able to fly.

  Certainly the "penguins" had an extraordinary fascination for the newcandidate. To his active mind they suggested huge dragon-flies--allready to wing their way lightly to other parts.

  A few moments later the boy was standing before the nearest machine. Nowevery semblance to a military line had vanished. Students, moniteurs,mechanics and laborers were all mingling together before the hangars.

  Some time later, while he was still regarding the machines with anabsorbing degree of interest, the voice of the head instructor brokesharply in upon his thoughts.

  In loud tones he was calling out the names of various students anddesignating the numbers of the machine they were to use. Immediately thefuture airmen began jumping into their places, and before many momentshad passed every "penguin" in the long line had an occupant.

  "Goodness! I certainly feel like an outsider," murmured Don. "I reckonI'd better hunt up the sergeant and----"

  At that second the air became surcharged with a series of startlingstaccato explosions, with roars, great crashes and bangs, quiteear-splitting in their intensity--the motors were being tested.Gradually the rising crescendo, suggestive of some strange, wildsymphony, reached its greatest climax, and then as slowly began tosubside. And presently, in its place, came the soft, pleasant drone andhum of many smoothly-working motors and propellers.

  Now the highly interested Don Hale saw the assistants removing theblocks from beneath the wheels of the "penguins" and heard the moniteursgiving their pupils a few final words of advice.

  "By Jove, don't I wish I were in one of 'em!" he muttered. "Ah!"

  The assistants were giving the propellers of some of the nearer machinesa swift turn; and as the whirling blades became but misty circles thestrange "birds" got into action.

  "By Jove!"

  This time Don Hale uttered the exclamation aloud.

  A number of "penguins" had begun to "taxi" across the field, and weresoon traveling at a most tremendous speed. Some twisted and staggeredabout, as though, every instant, they must topple over sideways andsmash their wings against the turf. Others exhibited every indication ofhalting their onward rush and spinning around and around like a top,while still others, as straight and true as a swift breeze tearing itsway across the countryside, kept rapidly growing smaller and fainter inthe distance.

  Yes, it truly was a remarkable spectacle that Don Hale had before hiseyes. In the semi-darkness of that chill and early hour, the rushing"penguins" seemed to resemble a flock of huge birds, full of life, fullof keen intelligence, rather than man-made machines.

  There was a thrill and spice about the scene, too, which causedinvoluntary gasps to frequently come from the mouth of the student. Nowand again, "penguins," while traveling at a headlong pace, seemed aboutto smash into one another. The boy almost held his breath.

  "Ah!"

  One was down. Another, hustling past the fallen "bird," just graced itsbroken wing. The game, even in the beginner's class, was clearly notwithout its dangers.

  Now the most skilfully handled machines had reached theirdestination--the flag at the other end of the field--and were returningas though borne on the blasts of a hurricane. From faint, insignificantwhitish specks they became huge wi
nged creatures in a moment of time,seemingly intent upon crashing their tempestuous way into the groups ofmoniteurs, mechanics and assistants and even through the hangarsthemselves.

  The tense-faced pilots, however, stopped the engines in time, and, oneafter another, the "penguins" docilely came to a halt.

  "Grand sport, sure enough!" cried Don, delightedly. He would haveimparted this thought to others, too, but for the fact that not oneamong those all around him was paying the slightest attention to hispresence. It gave Don a rather unpleasant feeling, as though he was ofvery little importance. It also served to make him decide to report tothe sergeant of the first class at once.

  Accordingly, he began walking toward the nearest group; and then, forthe first time, he caught a glimpse of several of the Annamites attachedto the aviation camp. Picturesque-looking little chaps they were, andunmistakably of the Orient from their yellow complexion and slanting,beady eyes to their small and stocky stature. They were about to crossthe field. What was the meaning of that intrusion?

  All at once Don Hale understood; and, instinctively, his eyes wereturned toward the fallen "penguin," which, like a wounded bird broughtlow by the huntsman's bullet, lay where misfortune had overtaken it. Alittle crowd was collecting, and soon he discovered three distantfigures moving slowly toward the hangars, the one in the centresupported by those on either side.

  "The pilot must have been injured," thought Don, commiseratingly.

  In what seemed to be a very short time to him the sun was almost on thehorizon, and eagerness to begin his task was gripping him with a strangeintensity; no small boy with a lively and joyous anticipation of a visitto the "greatest show on earth" could have experienced more pleasurablesensations, and a glance toward the flying fields beyond served to evenfurther increase them. Above the one adjoining, Bleriot monoplanes wereflying at low altitudes; still further in the distance he could seeairplanes piloted by more advanced members of the third and fourth classmomentarily mounting in the air. The flying fields were beginning toshow a pleasant warmth of color, and the Farnum and Caudron machines,high aloft, catching the sun's reflections, sent them constantlyflashing earthward. These planes possessed a certain grace, but theywere heavy and clumsy craft indeed compared to severalsingle-seaters--Nieuport or Spad machines. These far outclassing theswiftest of the feathered tribe in their flight, darted in and out,swooped downward from dizzy heights or climbed upward until their wingsappeared as the faintest gossamer lines against the soft, purplish tonesof the sky.

  As Don set off in his quest for the sergeant the majority of the"penguins" were racing and tearing about the field in the mostextraordinarily erratic fashion.

  Sergeant Girodet was easily found, but, to Don Hale's intensedisappointment, the officer informed him that he would have to waituntil the afternoon session, adding rather dryly:

  "Monsieur will be safe and sound for several hours longer."

  Don laughed, rejoining:

  "And for a good many hours after that, I hope."

  The Annamites were now bringing in the wrecked and battered plane,headed for the repair shops, vast structures employing hundreds andhundreds of skilled mechanics and helpers. As they were near by and thenight shift still at work, Don concluded to pay them a brief visitbefore journeying to the field where the third class, of which T.Singleton Albert was a member, flew in real airplanes to a height of noless than twenty-five feet.

  And just at this time the boy was overjoyed to hear a familiar, cheeryvoice shouting:

  "Hello, Don! Hello, old chap!"

  Turning quickly, he spied his chum approaching.

  "My, but I'm jolly glad to see you, George!" he called. "Playing thepart of a wallflower isn't a pleasant outdoor sport."

  "Well, it's good you don't get up in the air about it," replied George,laughingly. "That's right--always keep your feet on the ground."

  "I'll try to, even when I'm a few miles high," chirped Don.

  George agreeing to Don's plan, the two began traveling after theguttural-speaking Annamites.

  "It strikes me 'penguins' ought to be easily managed," declared Don,reflectively. "One just has to drive them in a straight line across the_piste_."

  "Yes, that's all," replied George. A twinkling light shone in his eyes."But----"

  "Difficult, eh, old chap?"

  And though George nodded emphatically, Don, nevertheless, felt stronglyinclined to think that when once in the pilot's seat he would surprisenot only his chum but a few others as well.

  Shortly afterward the two reached the machine and repair shops.