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Another World · The Non-Stop Stowaway

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Chapter nine of The Non Stop Stowaway. This is a LibriVox recording. All
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LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,
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please visit LibriVox dot org. Read by voice over Leon The Non Stop Stowaway
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by Clayton Knight, Another World. As the plane rolled to a stop,
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both Jack and the skipper found their tongues. What was the meaning of this
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performance? Why were they forced down? Where had they landed? Certainly these
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other pilots were not treating them or their flight to India with the seriousness that
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they deserved. The skipper remarked in a disgusted tone of voice as they climbed
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out. It looks like a good for nothing training ground for pilots from all
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over the world, except that most of them can fly, and fly well.
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The other planes were now landing all around them, and their pilots clambering
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out hurried over and started examining every detail of their machine. They were a
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good natured lot and seemed to have no idea of harming them in any way.
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Kiwi was still in the cockpit of the plane, not knowing what to
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do. Several of the pilots spied him plainly delighted, they shouted to him
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to come out and join them. The Skipper, still bewildered, looked up
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as Kiwi started to climb through the window and said, watch out, Kiwi,
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better let me help you down. With that, a great shout went
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up from the crowd. Here's a Kiwi. It was then that the crew
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of the Dauntless, looking about, realized that there was nothing but pilots anywhere
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in sight. There was a commotion on the edge of the crowd, and
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elbowing his way in was a tall young man wearing a British officer's uniform.
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Grasping the Skipper by the shoulders, he swung him around and then blurted out,
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well, if it isn't Skipper McBride, of all people. At the
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same time, the Skipper recognized him and exclaimed, why Thorn, What are
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you doing here? And where are we anyway? Thorn told him that he
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had been there for a long long time. He could scarcely remember how long.
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We keep no track of time in this place. Skipper, You're in
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another world now. The knights follow the days, and we have nothing to
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worry about. Then he wanted to know who Jack was, and also who
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the boy was. The skipper explained to him hurriedly of their flight and of
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their hopes of landing in India, how Kiwi, who was his son,
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had at the last minute stowed away aboard the plane, and how he had
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been able to help them in their journey over the water. Thorn suggested that
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they get out of their flying clothes and that he would take them to a
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place where they could rest up. As Jack was removing his suit, Thorn
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and one or two of the others spoke up, well, here's the navy.
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There's a whole crowd of your fellows here, and no doubt you'll find
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many friends among them. They had started off toward the edge of the field
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when the skipper stopped and asked if something could not be done for their plane.
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Thorn waved him aside, with oh, it's all right where it stands,
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don't worry about it. As they were walking along, Thorn became interested
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in Kiwi and asked him how he liked flying. Kiwi, who had admired
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Thorn immensely from the first, chattered to him of their adventures in the clouds
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and of their narrow escape from the iceberg. Arriving at the edge of the
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field. They were made comfortable. Then a message came for Jack that a
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crowd of his navy friends, hearing of his arrival, would be landing soon
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at a nearby field, and would he come over and join them. Jack
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left, saying that he would return later. The skipper now took this opportunity
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to ask Thorn more about this flying world in which they had landed. Then
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Thorn began. This little kingdom of what you and Jack and Kiwi are now
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a part is composed entirely of aviators who, in the other world gave their
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lives for the advancement of aviation. Among us here are men who made experiments
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with the earliest gliders, who tried to fly crazy contraptions built by the rule
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of thumb, and flown more by confidence than by knowledge. There are also
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among us pioneers who tried to find ways and means of doing impossible things in
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the air. The last War contributed hundreds who were the founders of traditions for
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the use of aircraft in battle. Some were sacrificed in order that the need
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for parachutes for every pilot should be recognized. Many whose names are even now
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unknown in aviation here have found their place, and here their merits have been
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recognized. Test pilots, those unsung heroes of experimentation, form a large part
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of our numbers. Beginning with the legendary Icarus and continuing up to the present
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time, a steady stream of recruits have flowed into our kingdom, and they
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marked the progress of man's conquest of the air. Then Thorn rattled on in
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a way that the Skipper remembered as characteristic of him in the old days,
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recounting stories of pilots they had both known. Both Jack and the Skipper found
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many friends. Only a short time before several other planes attempting to cross the
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Atlantic had landed here. Two frenchmen with glorious war records were part of the
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group. They told their stories of fighting the elements over the Atlantic and their
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experiences with the treacherous Ice. They talked on and on, and all seemed
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anxious to know the details of any new developments that were being made in aircraft.
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Anything that had to do with flying interested them. Kiwi sat and drank
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in their stories, But since his talk with Thorn, he had had little
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to say, for he felt that he was something of an out cider.
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Inasmuch as he really did not know how to fly. As time went on,
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more flyers gathered round. Some were old friends of the skippers, others
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pilots who knew him, or knew people whom he knew. Always overhead there
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were planes tumbling about. Kiwi looked up and watched them stunting, rolling and
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looping like so many swallows on a summer afternoon. All their motors seemed to
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run without a skip or a miss, And once or twice he saw pilots
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floating lazily down in parachutes, apparently just for the joy of it. An
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all red plane came skimming close over their heads. The skipper looked up quickly.
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He pointed it out to Kiwi and said, that's a camel plane.
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Remember I told you about them. The plane came back and landed not far
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away, and a pink cheeked young fellow slid to the ground and came on
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a run to join their group. The skipper recognized him at once, and
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pulling ki Kiewi to his feet, he said, here's old armbuister, the
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fellow who taught me to fly. Kiwi looked the new man over with the
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greatest admiration. For Dad had told him many stories of Armbruster's flying skill.
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He remembered Dad's telling how he would take off from the ground into a loop,
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just missing the field by inches as he came around. How he had
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on a dare flown through a long hanger with just a few inches to spare
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on either side. How he used to fly across the tops of some sawtooth
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hangers, just touching his wheels lightly on the top of each peak as he
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passed. Dad had said that Armbuster was the most natural flyer he had ever
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seen. He never needed instruments to tell him what he was doing. Armbruster,
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when he found out who Kiwi was, made a great fuss over him.
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He asked Kiwi all about Dad and what he had been up to.
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He wanted to know all about their flight and about the plane they were using.
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He suggested that he and Kiwi should go and inspect the Dauntless. Of
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course, Kiwi liked the idea, leaving Dad gossiping with old friends, they
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walked over to where the plane stood and climbed over it. As they were
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sitting in the cockpit together, Kiwi turned to Armbruster with the greatest seriousness and
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said you know, sir, I have never really learned to fly, but
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Dad has been promising to teach me for an awfully long time. Do you
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think, mister Armbruster, maybe you could find time to do it. Armbruster
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was delighted. Sure, he said, I know just the plane, and
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later I will borrow it and we will send you off in no time.
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After they had inspected all the instruments, some of which were new to Armbruster,
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they climbed out of the cockpit, Armbruster remarking that never before had he
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seen such a big petrol tank in a plane. Then, turning to Kiwi,
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he asked, how would you like to make a tour around and see
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some of our machine. This was just what Kiwi had been hoping for,
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and for the next couple of hours they went from one plane to another,
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while Armbruster pointed out their characteristics and the peculiarities of each. He showed Kiwi
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a soopwith Dolphin, a compact by plane in which the pilot sat so that
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his head came above the top. Plane. That was a good plane during
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the war. Armbruster told him it could go up high about twenty thousand to
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twenty two thousand feet and had a back stagger so that the pilot had a
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good view both up and down. Then they came to a spad. Armbreuster
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explained how the French had used them to splendid advantage, how fast they were,
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how beautifully they maneuvered, and finished up by saying, all in all
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a beautiful bus. Alongside this plane was an enormous handly page, its body
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towering above the little spad, the wheels of its undercarriage being almost as high
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as a man. Two rolls rice engines drove it through the air, and
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while they were talking about it, another one came down to land, its
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slow descent reminding Kiwi of a freight elevator. So they went from one plane
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to another. Soon they came to a German Fokker D seven, painted in
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glaring colors with lavender wings and a pink body. Armbruster said that Schaefer's machine
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he and I had a good many scraps during the war over a round Saint
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Quentin. However, neither one of us ever did much damage to the other,
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although one day he did get a couple of shots through my center section.
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If he is around anywhere, I want you to meet him. For
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he and your dad had a few skirmishes too in the old days. Armbruster
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next pointed out an SE five, but this was not new to Kiwi.
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He had seen several of them back on the field at New York where they
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were being used for sky riding. At later they came to where sitting all
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alone was a rather clumsy looking plane, which Armbruster said was a b E.
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They were known to all the war flyers as quirks. Turning into Kiwi,
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Armbruster remarked, Kiwi, there's the plane that your dad learned to fly
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in, and I am going to borrow it and see how well you can
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handle it. It's a clumsy old thing, but you will love it before
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you get through with it. Let's go and look up the pilot it belongs
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to, and if he says the word, I'll take you for a flip
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right now. Q's excitement began to rise, and even though they had not
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been able to finish their flight to India, he began to feel that learning
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to fly would be compensation enough. As they strolled back in the direction of
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the group that surrounded the skipper, pilots called to them from all sides.
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A boy among all these older pilots was considerable of a curiosity, and they
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all seemed envious. And they learned that Armbruster was to teach him to fly.
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They rejoined the Skipper and his friends, and Armbruster started off to find
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Hamer, who flew the quirk to get his permission to use the plane.
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Just then, Key, we heard Thorn say, what happened to little Jimmy
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Dugan. We heard at one time that he would join us, but no
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one has ever seen him. He certainly started for here. Then the Skipper
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told the story of Jimmy Dugan and his adventures, and they found out at
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last why Jimmy Dougan never came. Jimmy, though an American, had joined
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the Canadian Army from the first he had disliked carrying a rifle and had got
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a transfer into a unit of sappers. It was their job to dig tunnels
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far out under the lines, packed them full of explosives, and when they
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thought the enemy least expected it, touch them off from a safe distance with
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an electric fuse. This form of amusement Jimmy had soon tired of and felt
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that he needed a little more action out in the open air. Therefore,
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in due time he became a dispatch rider and sped over the highways and byways
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of France on a motorcycle. Getting a taste of speed. Jimmy looked about
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him for something better, and, as he expressed it, having worked under
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the ground and on the ground, I thought why not try the air.
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His commanding officer, having in mind Jimmy's smashing destructiveness with motorcycles, had some
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misgivings about transferring him to the flying Corps. There the possibilities of damage were
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increased one hundredfold. However, Jimmy made his officer's life miserable until it was
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accomplished. Jimmy had learned to fly with only the usual few crashed undercarriages,
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and had been hurried out to the front during March of nineteen eighteen, when
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pilots of any kind were in great demand, arriving at a squadron near Balliwell,
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Jimmy had been plunged into the war in the air, without the customer
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very few days in which to get acquainted with the lions. Almost miraculously,
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he had done his work and escaped injury. During the hectic days that followed
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upon the enemy's breakthrough in March. Because of the terrific losses and pilots and
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planes during those days, Jimmy found himself a veteran of the squadron. Within
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three weeks. Time passed quickly. Everyone was living his life to the hilt,
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resting his jangled nerves as best he could during the days it rained or
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clouds were too low for work aloft. At the end of six months,
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Jimmy was due for leave. His orders read that he was to catch the
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leaf boat for England on a certain afternoon. A car was leaving the squadron
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at eleven o'clock in the morning, which would take him to the coast.
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It was an unwritten law that pilots need do no flying on the day that
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a channel boat is to take them to England in comparative safety. However,
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by this time, Jimmy's whole life was flying and fighting. As his kit
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bag was all packed, he decided to go off with the morning patrol for
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just one more look at the war. It was a morning when their part
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of the front was comparatively clear of clouds. Off to their left, as
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they climbed, they could see banks of broken clouds that became thicker and heavier
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toward the horizon where England lay. As it crossed the pot marked and broken
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and torn country where men were living like so many rabbits, Jimmy sighted up
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in the sun a group of specks, looking as if a handful of pebbles
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had been tossed up there. They had not long to wait to discover whether
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they were friend or enemy. Six fokkers, their noses pointed down, their
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motors going full blast, swept down upon them. Jimmy could see the sun
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reflecting upon their brightly painted wings. Jimmy's flight was outnumbered, for one of
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the seas had found it necessary to turn back with engine trouble just before they
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arrived at the lines. The fight that followed had no new aspects for Jimmy.
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It had happened many times before. The familiar dryness was in his mouth.
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He felt the old thrill and tingle of the uncertainty of it as he
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pulled over and did a half roll, making the first foker miss him on
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its dive. In the confused minutes that followed, he had no time to
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follow his friends in their efforts. They were all veterans like himself, and
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he felt relieved that Campbell the new man with the squadron had left them because
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of his dut engine. Before the fight started, Jimmy was having his own
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troubles with a fellow and a foker with blue wingtips. They were evenly matched
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until another foker, heavily camouflaged, had streaked a line of tracer bullets through
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Jimmy's struts. While his entire attention had been given to focusing his sights on
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the blue wingtips. As he yanked his essie around to drive the newcomer off,
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the fellow for a fraction of a second did the wrong thing, and
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a burst from Jimmy's machine gun found its mark. The plane staggered like a
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wounded thing and went down out of control. Jimmy turned quickly in time to
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see his blue wing tip fellow engaged by another se They were some distance off,
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too far for Jimmy to be of any help. For the moment,
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he looked about for new worlds to conquer. The fight had broken up his
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patrol. They were scattered widely, and now an anti aircraft battery was devoting
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its whole attention to preventing Jimmy from regaining his own side of the lines.
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The first burst startled him as it came up alongside and spread out level with
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him. The warmp of its explosion made his machine shudder, and he saw
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a ragged hole in the wing about four feet from the fuselage. I must
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foolish, fellow, Jimmy said to himself, and his two more black,
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greasy palls of smoke followed the first. He changed his direction and steered toward
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them, knowing that the gunners would change their range slightly before trying again.
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Then, for a few seconds he twisted and turned, lost height and gained
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it again, till the enemy gunners apparently decided to try for some of the
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others. Away to his left, Jimmy saw another see picking away at an
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enemy two seater. Inasmuch as he had the advantage of height, he decided
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to help in this little matter. Getting terrific speed from a long dive,
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he zoomed up under the fat belly of the enemy machine just as the other
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see was swinging in from the other side. They both opened up with their
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guns at the same time. The two seater reared up into the air like
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a bucking horse, quivered for a moment, slid off on one wing,
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and a slow curl of black smoke streamed from it as it went spinning downward.
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Jimmy's heart jumped within him as he saw their enemy go down. He
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yelled at the top of his lungs, trying to drown out the sound of
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his motor. Not so bad for a leave day, then Jimmy remembered he
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must catch the tender before eleven. He looked at his watch and decided that
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he could just make it if he started for home now. He throttled back
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his motor a little and made his way north. The wind had drifted him
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south and east, but always keeping a sharp lookout behind, he made his
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way toward home. He felt hot and tired, and began to think of
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his leave and of the two weeks he would spend in England. He knew
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old friends would be there, and he began counting up the money he had
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saved for this vacation from the war. The erratic shooting of an anti aircraft
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group of batteries brought Jimmy's mind back to the war with a snap. If
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these gunners were shooting at him, they were mighty poor marksmen. Then he
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discovered a camel machine. Starting on a long dive, he looked below to
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see what was attracting this fellow, and there, only about fifteen hundred feet
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off the ground was one of those fat sausage balloons which carry officers in its
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basket who correct the fire of the artillery. Jimmy gasped as he thought of
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this fellow taking a chance with a balloon, for he knew full well that
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a camel had no business trying that sort of work. They dived too slowly
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to be effective, and observation, balloons were always heavily protected by machine guns.
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Having the range of the balloon, they could surround it with a perfect
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hail of bullets through which it was necessary to pass in order to set the
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balloon out fire. The thought flashed through Jimmy's mind, Well, if that
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fellow's trying it, why shouldn't I I still have time to take a shot
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at it and catch the leave boat. They were both diving now from opposite
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sides, the camel's guns just starting to spit when Jimmy was horrified to see
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the camel quiver and burst into flames. This fact was just impressed upon him
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when he heard the sing of bullets and the crackle of wood, and felt
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a stream of hot metal scrape both his legs. One terrific jolt hit him
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in the chest, and he went down. His last conscious thought was of
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a burning sensation in his legs, yet there was no fire. All went
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black before his eyes, and he must have fainted. When Jimmy came to,
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he found himself still strapped in his seat. The engine pointed straight down
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in front of him into comparative darkness, while pale daylight streamed in upon him
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over the tail. Slowly, he looked about him. The wings were gone.
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Turning his head with an effort, he saw them lying twisted and torn
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among the red tiles on the roof of the Belgian house into which he had
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crashed. Below him was a turmoil of sound. Deep guttural voices spoke in
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a tongue he did not understand. He tried to unhook his belt, but
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was too weak to do it. After minutes and minutes of talking and shouting,
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a ladder was put up beside him. His belt was unhooked, and
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he was lifted out of the machine and carried to the floor below. Here
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they tried to make him walk, but he found it was impossible, so
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they carried him down to the basement of this house, and there, of
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all places he found, there had been fixed up an enemy first aid station.
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Jimmy saw the heavy face of the doctor as he bent over and impersonally
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examined him. The doctor spoke to an assistant. They both looked him all
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over again, and then the doctor gave a quick, sharp order to the
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stretcher bearers who were waiting. They picked him up and carried him into another
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room, setting the stretcher down upon the floor. As he looked around the
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bare little room, he made out two other figures, one stretched out in
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a bunk built into the side wall and filled with straw, the other on
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a stretcher. Nearby, A soldier with a gun leaned against the doorway and
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inspected Jimmy curiously. Gradually, it came back to Jimmy that it must be
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eleven o'clock. There was a pain in his chest which hurt him to breathe,
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but still the thought persisted in his mind. The car goes at eleven
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for the leave boat. Then he slowly and painfully realized that the leave boat
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was not for him. He was down, he had crashed. He was
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on the wrong side of the lions. If he could only breathe easier,
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wouldn't be so bad. Through the doorway came a man dressed all in black,
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with a long cinnamon colored beard suspended from his neck. On his silver
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chain was a cross, which he fingered as he made his way to the
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figure in the bunk. It came over Jimmy that this was a priest who
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had come to give the last sacrament to a man who was not expected to
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live. The priest finished his rights with the man in the bunk, then
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turned to the figure on the other stretcher, and again came the low mumble
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of his voice. He next approached Jimmy. Then Jimmy began to understand that
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the doctor had sent him to this room because he was not expected to live.
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This worried him not at all. He felt sure that if the obstruction
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in his chest could be removed, he could take one long, deep breath,
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everything would be all right. As the priest came toward him, Jimmy
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set up a great outcry, not realizing that the priest might not understand English,
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he explained to him over and over again that he must be sent back
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to the doctor, and that if the doctor would remove this lump in his
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chest, all would be well. The priest appeared to be unconvinced. Jimmy
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half raised himself on his stretcher and repeated again and again that the priest must
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send for the doctor. At last, the priest seemed willing to humor him
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in his wish, patted him on the head, and went out of the
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room. Left alone, Jimmy was more miserable than ever, wondering if the
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priest had understood after what seemed to him an eternity, The priest came back,
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gesticulating with his hands to the doctor, who accompanied him Jimmy. He
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repeated his demands, and the doctor, apparently convinced, leaned over, opened
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Jimmy's tunic, and, after another examination, had him carried back to the
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operating room. After a few tortuous minutes with a peculiar wire instrument, the
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doctor gave a triumphant act and held up for Jimmy's inspection a piece of metal
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the size of his little finger, and, saying souvenir, handed it to
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him. Jimmy tried weakly to take it, drew a long breath, and
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almost at once began to feel better. For the next few minutes, the
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doctor worked rapidly he bandaged up Jimmy's chest and legs, and finishing his task.
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This man in an enemy uniform seemed as pleased as did Jimmy. And
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then the skipper continued. When I saw him after the war was over,
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he was being helped off a hospital boat at Folkestone, limping on two canes.
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It is true, but otherwise apparently none the worse for wear, except
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that he had no buttons on his coat. His wings were gone, as
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were all his badges of rank. After I had talked to him for a
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few minutes, I said, it looks as if the souvenir hunters had been
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busy with you. Where are all your buttons and your wings? Jimmy replied
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with a slow smile. I didn't lose them until after the armistice. So
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many people in Belgium had been good to me, had shown me so many
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kindnesses that I had to do something to reward them. And it was a
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very pretty girl who got my wings. During the telling of the story of
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Jimmy Dugan's adventures, Kiwi had listened with divided interests. He was ever on
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the watch for Armbruster's return, that he might now get his chance to learn
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to fly was of more importance to him than stories of other days. He
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did not have long to wait. Very soon the cheery face of Armbruster appeared,
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and he called out from a distance, all right, Kiwi, I'm
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ready now if you are. The skipper looked up quickly. Kiwi put his
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hand appealingly on his father's arm. Captain Armbruster, he said, has just
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promised that he will teach me to fly. May I go with him?
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By this time Armbruster had come up to the group, and he explained to
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the skipper his plan to teach Kiwi. I believe I have the same old
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quirk that you learned on, he said to the skipper. And I'm curious
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to see what sort of a hand this son of yours has for flying.
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End of Chapter nine