  “We’re approaching Athensi. Boy, what a place. We can see the arena. We’re over it and Frank is dropping the old buss. Now he’s pancaking, and they’re beginning to shoot at us from the platform, and the—Well, say, I’ll talk to you later.” Roy Stone’s voice ended abruptly. Jack turned to his father, who was pacing up and down the grove, listening for word from Jack, listening too for sounds from Korakum which would indicate the arrival of the Janissaries and the beginning of the attack, torn between conflicting emotions, eager to hear of the outcome of the attempt to rescue Bob, and desirous also of doing his part to beat off the Janissaries, and called to his anxious parent the purport of Stone’s last message. The two looked at each other. At that moment, the sound of rifle fire came to them from the direction of Korakum. Mr. Hampton seized his rifle and started up the Great Road. “Take care of yourself, Dad.” Jack was to stay and hear the outcome of the daring attempt to rescue Bob. He felt a strange tightness of the throat as his father disappeared. Would he ever see him again? Would he ever see Bob and Frank again? What was to be the outcome of it all? * * * * * * * * Less than an hour from the time of taking-off, Frank nosed the airplane through a gorge between towering mountains the sides of which were cultivated in terraces half-way to the summits. Men, women and children, at work in the fields, stood paralyzed with terror, unable to move, this strange monster of the air zoomed along. But those in the plane paid them no attention. They were watching a point ahead, where the two sides of the gorge drew closer together until they were less than a quarter-mile apart. Beyond they glimpsed a great open plain, in the distance, beside a pencilled cleft, the walls of a city at the heart of which rose a clump of great buildings. Only a glimpse they caught, and then the converging walls of the gorge shut out the sight. Steady as a rock, seemingly without a nerve in his body, Frank whipped the plane between the narrowest point of the mountain walls and found that the valley opened out abruptly at once. In a minute or two, as they zoomed along, the mountains had retreated miles away on either hand, they were flying over an intensely cultivated plain, the river flowing below in a gorge that cut through the heart of the plain, and the walls of the city seeming to leap into gigantic size ahead. No longer did Frank require directions from Amrath as to how to proceed. Everything lay clear below—the city walls, the crowding hovels within, and in the middle the walled inner city of the Oligarchy with the Coliseum at its gates. Over the Coliseum he passed, began to spiral, and then pancaked. It was then Roy Stone called his last message to Jack, as with gas bomb ready, he prepared to do his part. Against the metal bottom of the plane came the tiny ping of a rifle bullet or two, but for the most part the shots of the Janissaries on the tower went wild. The ground seemed rushing up to meet them. Throughout the vast oval, surrounded by its banked tiers of empty stone seats, little groups and pairs of men paused in their movements as if stricken, turned into stone, at the sight of this strange monster overhead. Only, from one group, a figure darted away, running along the hard-packed sand of the oval, eyes uplifted, arms waving wildly. As Frank glanced down, his eyes as if drawn by the force of that ant-like figure’s gaze, singled it out of all below. In his heart he knew it was Bob, and that, whether he had received their radioed messages or not, Bob realized friends were at hand. Then below him there was a crash, followed by another, and he knew Roy Stone had landed his gas bombs on the stone platform of the Janissaries, in the very center of the arena. Had they fallen into the sand, no such sound would have followed. He could not delay to gauge the effects of the gas bombs. He must take it for granted they had put the guards out of business, and proceed to land. Even if any Janissaries were left to shoot at them, the chance must be taken. The airplane could not hover longer without being brought into descent, or it would crash. Further, they must operate swiftly, or the gas wave would sweep over the arena and put them out of business, too. Against this contingency, Frank was guarded, but not the others. Roy Stone had one gas mask, but only one, and Frank had been provided with it, as upon him as flier depended the ultimate safety of all. For one thing he was grateful. The Athensian revolutionists, if anything, had underestimated the vast extent of the Coliseum. The arena oval alone was longer than a city block, and between the stone platform of the guards and the sides was room for three planes. Down swept the plane and Frank, even though his eyes were glued to the course, out of the tail of them saw a thin vapor mushrooming above the guard’s platform which he knew must be the released cloud of gas. Not a shot came from the platform as they swooped past. Ahead, the gladiators had run from the path of the oncoming plane to throw themselves prone at the base of the surrounding wall. All except one. He—a strange figure cumbered in heavy armor, of breastplate, and greaves on thighs and calves—was running parallel to them and waving. Evidently, too, he was shouting, but even though the motor was shut off his words could not be heard. There was no doubt, however, of his identity. He had torn off and cast aside a helmet with overhanging crest, and his yellow hair was bare and gleaming in the sun. It was Bob. The wheels of the plane touched the oval, but likewise the end wall seemed rushing to meet the charge. Frank set his teeth, worked the tail, and the big machine swung gracefully in a circle, the outer wing not a foot from the stone wall above which rose the tiers of seats, and came to rest. From the middle where he had thrown himself flat on the sand while Frank executed his maneuvre, Bob regaining his feet sprang for the plane. “In with you, quick,” cried Stone, lending a hand, and Bob half-clambered, half was dragged into the rear pit. Frank pressed the starter, and the engine, still on compression, resumed operations with a roar. “Hold your noses,” yelled Roy Stone, “I smell the gas.” Sweetish acrid fumes, in fact, were in their nostrils. Frank set the plane in motion down the arena, himself immune because of his mask, while the others sat with noses pinched between thumb and forefinger and eyes screwed shut. Down the sand tore the plane and when near the platform in the center it began to lift. Up, up, it went, yet not as swiftly as Frank could have wished. As the far end of the Coliseum was approached, he experienced a sick panic that they would not be able to rise fast enough to clear the banked-up seats. Banking as steeply as possible, he began to swing obliquely, and this maneuvre, dangerous to equilibrium, though it was at such a low altitude, and before speed had been picked up, had the desired effect. The widening arc of the Coliseum gave him just enough room for operations so that as he drew near the side he was able to drag the plane over the top tier of seats. Yet how little room there was to spare was brought home to all with ominous significance, for, as they cleared the top of the lofty stone seats, there came a shock, and a quiver shook the plane which caused Frank to struggle desperately. The next moment they were free and mounting rapidly and the danger was passed. “We bumped with our wheels,” cried Stone. “Don’t see ’em behind us, so I guess they weren’t torn off, but you’ll have a sweet time landing.” A little nod of the head was all Frank’s reply. What cared he about a messy landing? He could manage not to hurt anybody seriously. And any damage to the plane would be more than compensated for by Mr. Hampton. The big thing was that Bob was safe, safe; that he, Frank, had been able to fly a plane in and out of the Coliseum and rescue his big chum. A hand closing hard on his shoulder from the rear sent a thrill throughout his body, and a bellowing voice shouted: “Got your message, old kid. Knew you could do it.” That was all, but that was enough. No matter what praise others might bestow, Frank cared naught. High over Athensi he circled, seeking his bearing for the mountain pass, before darting away, true as a bird. And from their lofty altitude, the others looked down. Now that it was all over, the experience seemed like a dream. In the minds of both Amrath and Roy Stone, still lingered thankfulness for their amazing escape from disaster and wonder at it, too, yet exultation over the success of the daring attempt rapidly replaced all other thoughts. As for Bob, it would be hard to describe the chaos of his thoughts. He had never quite despaired of being saved by his friends, yet when once his captors had reached and entered their mountain country he had realized that nothing less than a miracle could save him. Practising at arms day after day with trainers, cooped at other times in the gladiators’ quarters deep beneath the great stone pile of the Coliseum, he had seen no possible way of escaping. Heart and brain had turned sick at the thought of giving up his life to make holiday for semi-savages. One of his trainers he had bribed with the gift of his gold watch to bring him the coils of wire and the collapsible standards for setting up the antenna. This same trainer had erected the antenna amid the tiers of empty seats, which would not be occupied until the Sacrificial Games and so, finally, Bob had managed to get his little radio set to working. Only very faintly had he heard the messages sent out by the boys from Korakum, and numbers of the words could not be heard, try as he might to tune up. The trainer, receiving his bribe, had shown no further interest in the radio, the use of which was altogether unknown to him. As for the other prisoners, Negroes of various tribes, they were either sunk in apathy and paid Bob no attention, or else out of some vague notion of respect for the white man kept their distance. Thus Bob was not spied upon nor reported. And, faint though the words he did hear, yet he understood enough to realize an effort to rescue him by airplane was to be made that afternoon. How he had seized the opportunity is known. |
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