Dastral of the Flying Corps

by Rowland Walker

  CHAPTER III

  OVER THE GERMAN LINES

  "WE must have been born under a lucky star, Jock, to win the D.S.O.as well as the thanks of the King, for that trifling little incidentwhich occurred yesterday," said Dastral as they sat down to asubstantial breakfast that morning, in the dainty little coffee-roomwhich looked out on to the English Channel.

  "It was a stroke of luck, anyhow, to encounter that U boat just whenwe did. We should have made a landfall in another five minutes, andthen we should have missed her altogether," replied his companion,pausing for an instant in his attack on the coffee and hot rolls.

  "And the hospital ship?" queried the pilot.

  "Ah, the brutes! But we were one too many for them," replied Jock. "Ihad the time of my life during that short fight. I'd just love ascrap like that every day. Almost wish I'd joined the R.N.A.S. now.What say you, old fellow? Besides, the odds were all on our side. TheHun never so much as suspected our presence, else he wouldn't haveshown himself as he did."

  "Just wait a few days, Jock, till we join our fellows down at theSquadron, and you'll have all the excitement you want."

  "You mean?" went on the observer, looking up into the pilot's face ashe helped himself to another portion of grilled ham and fried eggs.

  "I mean," Dastral continued, without waiting for Jock to finish hissentence, "I mean, wait till we get orders from the new SquadronCommander to go over the German lines. The odds will not be so muchin our favour."

  "H'm! I wonder what it's like to be over there with the shrapnelbursting all around you, and miles and miles of trenches below you,with the 'Archies' spitting at you all the time with continuousbursts of fire, and the very heavens full of air-pockets."

  "And half a dozen Fokkers coming up out of the horizon to scuttleyou, and give you a spinning nose-dive of ten thousand feet into NoMan's land, with your petrol tank blazing, and your engine missing,eh? Go on, you veritable misanthrope!" and here both the young heroesburst into a fit of laughter at the woeful, nerve-shattering picturewhich they had both been drawing.

  Thus they continued to talk about the future which lay immediatelybefore them. Yet all these things they were to see, and much more,ere they were many months older. They were full of life and vigour,and in action they were to prove daring and resourceful; yet theywere wise in this, that they did not under-estimate either the taskthat lay before them, or the enemy they were to meet.

  Their chief concern for the present, however, was centred on thebroken aeroplane, with which they had started from England on theprevious day for their first flight overseas. "I wonder what's becomeof the hornet," said Dastral, a few moments later, as they sat by thefireside, and settled down to a smoke.

  "We shall hear shortly, as you have wired to the O.C. reporting theincident. Besides, the destroyer is sure to have brought her in, evenif she is badly damaged."

  Shortly after this the telephone bell in the corridor rang. A maidappeared, and after a very pretty French curtsey, said:--

  "Monsieur le Commandant Dastral, s'il vous plait?"

  "Ah, oui, Mademoiselle, qu'est-ce que vous voulez?" asked Dastral,rising to his feet, and returning the pretty maid's curtsey.

  "C'est pour vous, ce message telephonique."

  "Merci, mam'selle," replied Dastral, as he hastened to the telephonebox.

  "Hullo! Who is that?" asked a voice some twenty or thirty miles away.

  "Lieutenant Dastral, of the Flying Corps. Who is that, please?"

  "Major Bulford, Squadron Commander, speaking from the aerodrome atSt. Champau."

  "Yes, sir!" replied Dastral smartly, springing unconsciously toattention, although the voice was so far away from him.

  "Good-morning, Dastral. Congratulations, my boy. I have heard allabout your adventures yesterday from my Adjutant. You've startedwell! You're just the man we're wanting here. We're having warm workwith the Boches this week. You're a lucky dog to run into a Germansubmarine on your first trip over."

  "Oh, it was my observer, sir. He spotted the blamed thing, and bombedher. It was as easy as winking. Just a stroke of luck, sir, that'sall."

  "Well, I hope your luck 'll keep in. We shall be glad to see you assoon as you can come over. Are you both all right?"

  "Yes, sir. Quite all right, 'cept for a slight chill through being inthe water for a few minutes."

  "Well, better stay where you are a couple of days if you arecomfortable, and then come on here."

  "Thank you, sir. Yes, we're quite comfortable here, and we'll reportat the aerodrome in a couple of days."

  "Right. Good-bye. Oh, I say! Are you there?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I was going to tell you that the machine arrived here about an hourago. It's some 'bus' and I like the look of her, except that she'sbadly smashed, and will be in the hands of the riggers and mechanicsfor four or five days before she can be used again."

  "Oh, that's not so bad. I feared she would be useless after the crashshe got, sir. How did you get her there so quickly?"

  "Oh, we received word from the harbourmaster that she had beenbrought in by a destroyer, and we immediately sent down a couple oftenders with trailers and brought her on here this morning. Good-bye.The fellows here are all anxious to meet you."

  "Good-bye, sir."

  As soon as he had rung off Dastral rushed back into the room to tellJock all about his chat with the O.C. of the Squadron at St. Champau,and especially about the two days' extra leave.

  "Good!" ejaculated his friend. "Seems a decent sort of chap, eh?"

  "Rather a sport, I should say, old man."

  "Capital. That little affair of ours yesterday seems to have done usno harm. It'll probably give us a good entree into the new mess. Hopethey're all decent fellows there."

  So they spent half the morning resting after their excitingadventures of the previous day, and reading the papers, some of whichgave censored accounts of the event. The two days passed all tooquickly, and on the third morning they were both awakened just beforedawn by the rep-r-r-r of a motor bicycle, which pulled up sharplyoutside the hotel.

  It was "Brat" the despatch rider of the -- Squadron, who had come posthaste from Major Bulford, with an urgent message which ran asfollows:--

  "To Lieutenant Dastral, D.S.O., "Hotel de l'Europe, "Boulogne-sur-Mer. "Be prepared to join Squadron immediately. Tender will call for you within an hour. "JOHN BULFORD, _Major_."

  Two hours later both the young officers were on their way to St.Champau, where they arrived before noon.

  They received a warm welcome at the mess and were congratulated upontheir recent adventure. They soon found that plenty of work andadventure awaited them on the morrow. The incessant roar of theBritish artillery, which was carrying out an intense bombardment ofthe whole front, amazed and bewildered them, for preparations werealready in progress for the Somme "push."

  Away to the eastward, the line of battle was clearly demarked. Shellswere bursting in mid-air, and during the afternoon a huge mine wasexploded under the enemy's trenches, which shook the earth for twentymiles around, and hurled thousands of tons of timber, rocks, and clayinto the air, making a crater of huge diameter, towards which theBritish advanced and later in the day captured and consolidated theposition.

  About three o'clock in the afternoon, a flight of aeroplanes, whichhad been over the German lines, returned. Two of them had been badlyhit and one of the observers had been seriously wounded. Theyreported having encountered several flights of enemy 'planes, which,however, had avoided them and made off eastward. They also reportedsome unusual activity behind the enemy's lines, but, the weatherhaving become dull, and the sky overcast, they were unable to make afull reconnaissance.

  "H'm. There must be a further reconnaissance at dawn," the O.C. hadremarked, after receiving their report. Then, turning to Dastral, hesaid:

  "Lieutenant Dastral."

  "Yes, sir," replied the young pilot, advancing towards his superiorofficer, and salutin
g smartly.

  "The mechanics and riggers have been working day and night on yournew machine since we received it. They will continue the work throughthe night, and I want you to supervise it, so that it will be readybefore to-morrow. I want you to use it as soon as possible. We havelost so many of our machines lately over there," and here the O.C.made a gesture with his right hand towards that line of fire andblood, where the British and French troops held back the enemy'shordes.

  "Nothing will give me greater pleasure, sir," replied the intrepidyouth, glowing with pride at the thought that he was to be made useof so quickly.

  "And--er--I want you to carefully study the map of the section inwhich we are working. It will be absolutely necessary for you to knowevery road, hamlet and village marked on that map, before you goover. You understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then get to work at once, my dear fellow. I have great hopes of you,and if you continue as you have begun, I can promise you it will notbe long before you are made a Flight-Commander."

  Dastral blushed deeply at this compliment, for he was but a boy inyears, despite his courage and resource. Leaving the Commander'spresence, he went direct to the shed, where he found Jock, who wasnot only a brilliant observer but a first-rate mechanic, and alreadyhad the work in hand, having been drawn there by his affection forthe filmy thing that had already brought them across the seas, andhad served them so well during at least one great adventure.

  "Well, how is she, Jock?" were his first words.

  "Ripping!" replied the observer, handling the delicate creature asthough she were a lady. "I've already been round her. The engine andpropellor are quite sound now. The new petrol tank and feed arealready fitted, and in another couple of hours she'll be as perfectas when she left England."

  "Good!" exclaimed Dastral, who had the greatest confidence in thelad's judgment in these matters, and was prepared to back him againstany expert in aerodynamics, or the mechanism of any aeroplane inexistence.

  "What say you to a trip in her this evening? There'll be plenty oftime before dusk, old fellow."

  "Yes, I'm quite agreed, even if it's only a joy-ride to try her, forto-morrow we go over there," said the pilot, flinging away the stumpof his cigar, and jerking his thumb in the direction of his shoulder.

  "Over where?" asked Jock, straightening himself from the stoopingposition he had assumed, to examine the baffle-plates on thepropeller.

  "Over the German lines," came the reply.

  "Really! You mean it, and so soon?"

  "Yes, to-morrow at dawn we go over on a reconnaissance; C.O.'sorders."

  "Good!" exclaimed the observer, throwing down a spanner which hestill held in his hand.

  "And here's a map of the section in front of our lines. We must spendthe evening over it."

  So that evening, after the machine had been got quite ready for hernext flight, they spent four hours over the map, scaling it out, andcommitting to memory the names of villages, hamlets, rivers, canals,roads and railway lines, so that when they retired to bed, the wholeof the map was actually photographed upon their minds.

  Morning came at length, and at the first whisper of dawn, havingreceived their detailed orders from the Squadron-Commander, four orfive aeroplanes were wheeled out on to the aerodrome, then taxied offquickly and disappeared in the dark. The last of the flight was thehornet, with Dastral and Jock starting on their first real ventureover the enemy's lines.

  After climbing rapidly, and circling round the aerodrome once ortwice, the machines made off, each to reconnoitre the section of theline allotted to it.

  The hornet carried two Lewis guns, with plenty of ammunition, forwhen an aerial patrol sets out on a flight, one never knows whatduels he may have to engage in before he returns. The hornet had thisadvantage over the other machines, which were of an older pattern:she had a higher speed, was a better climber, and with her improvedcontrols she could manoeuvre more quickly than any other machine yetmade.

  "Gee whiz!" cried Jock down the speaking tube, which ended close tothe pilot's ear, "but she's climbing."

  "What is it?" yelled back the pilot, half turning his head so thathis mouth came near to the end of the tube.

  "Three thousand feet," came the answer.

  "Good! Then we'll make a bee-line and cross the trenches. Look outfor 'Archie'!"

  The dawn had broken by now, and away in the east the gloom waslifting, but down below it was still wrapped in mist and darkness. Itwas the hour of standing-to. Down below thousands of eyes would bestraining through the obscurity to find that speck in the heavenswhence came that whir-r-ring sound.

  But upward and onward went the hornet With a stern, strong beat ofpower in her twelve-cylindered engine. Nearer and nearer she came tothat long line which stretched from the sand-dunes of Belgium away toSwitzerland. The observer was already keenly surveying the landscapethrough his glasses as the light broadened, and the countrysiderevealed itself.

  A silvery streak lay beneath them; it was the River Ancre. Now abroad white patch of roadway came into view. It was the main roadfrom Albert to Bapaume. As they came out of a bank of rolling mistand fog, a few red roofs and a church tower next came into view,standing just where four roads met.

  "Contalmaison?" queried Dastral, and Jock, after a brief reference tohis waterproof map, called back:

  "Yes, and Bazentin on the left."

  They were now almost over the trenches, and far beneath they coulddiscern hundreds of tiny points of fires.

  "What are they?" asked the pilot again, and the observer who had beenscanning those red sparks for a couple of minutes replied,

  "Fires in the British trenches. Men cooking their morning rations.Can't you smell the bacon?"

  Dastral laughed and sniffed the keen morning air, as though inreality he could make out the fragrant aroma of the morning dish,about which those cold, wet, and shivering heroes of the trencheswere standing, ankle-deep in mud and clay.

  "The poor devils!" added the pilot, altering his controls slightly,and wheeling round to the south to pick up the enemy's lines moreclearly at a point where they made a sharp curve.

  They could now clearly see both the British and the German trenches.Three long, scarred and ragged lines of brown earth showed clearlywhere the enemy's front-line, reserve and support trenches stood.Long, twisting lines of similar demarcation showed where thecommunication trenches ran.

  Now they were over No Man's land, sailing along serenely, and theartillery down below had already opened the morning concert on bothfronts, when--

  "Biff, puff----!" came a time-fuse shrapnel and burst scarcely ahundred feet in front of the machine. Then another and another as the"Archies" below spotted the hornet, and tried to give her a packet.

  Suddenly they were in a cloud of yellow smoke and half-poisonousfumes, which made them gasp and sputter. Then, owing to the burstingof the shells and the heavy concussions they found themselves in asuccession of air-pockets.

  "Look out, Jock!" cried Dastral, as the machine rocked and swayed,banking over once or twice as though she had been hit.

  For several minutes they ran the gauntlet of this heavy fire from theGerman A.A. guns, but the terrific speed at which they weretravelling--now nearly one hundred and twenty miles per hour--sooncarried them beyond the range of the enemy's guns.

  Then it was that the day's work really began. Their orders were toreconnoitre behind the enemy's lines and to report by wireless codeany occurrence, such as the threat of a massed attack by infantry,the moving of transport columns, or the locating of heavy artillery.It was also necessary, above all, to watch the skies for theappearance of hostile aircraft.

  The other 'planes which started with the hornet that morning are seenlow down on the horizon, to the north and the south. They also aresearching all the terrain for any signs of activity on the part ofthe Boche.

  Spurts of flame, like jets of fire, are seen in many places. Theseare the German fieldguns firing upon the British trenches. Theobserver does n
ot make any particular note of these; he is out forbigger game.

  Suddenly, the observer steadies his glasses, resting his arm for amoment on the side of the fuselage. The loop line of theCombles-Ginchy railway is just ahead of them and slightly on theirright. Though it is very early yet, Jock notices that the line aboutGinchy is crowded with traffic.

  "Ahoy there, Dastral!" he calls down the speaking tube.

  "Yes," comes back the laconic answer.

  "Railway line blocked with traffic. Troops detraining, I think. Puther over a bit."

  "Right-o!"

  Dastral jams over the rudder bar with his foot and, responding to herhuge tail rudder the hornet comes round in a swift circle, banking alittle as the joy-stick is also put over. Then Jock takes anotherview, exclaiming, as he does so,

  "Yes, by Jove, there must be a whole division of them. Here goes!"

  And dropping the glasses into the pocket prepared for them, herapidly uncoils the long pendant wire, and begins to tap the keys ofhis instrument.

  "Caught them on the nap, Jock, eh? Stroke of luck. Case of the earlybird. Tell the heavies to give 'em hell, old man," shouted Dastral,but the conversation was carried away into the morning breeze, forjock was already sending the message which would shortly bring thethunder.

  "Zip-zip-zip, zur-r-r-r, zip!" went the brief coded message, backover Longueval and Ginchy; over Contalmaison and the trenches towhere the British heavy batteries were waiting.

  Behind the Ancre, in a little dug-out, an expert operator catches upthe message. He has been waiting for it impatiently since dawn. Thebrief tapping which his receiver picks up, tells him exactly the spoton the terrain behind the enemy's lines where the thunder is needed.The whole map is scaled out into tiny sections and sub-sections, eachwith a number or letter to indicate the point where the concentratedfire is needed.

  "Quick!" cries the operator to the little exchange. "Give me H.Q.Heavy Batteries." Then as the reply comes through he gives:

  "A-2-3. Concentrated fire!"

  Within four minutes, while the hornet still circles over the lucklessGermans, now alive to their danger and rushing over each other intheir haste to finish the detrainment of the column, flashes of fireare seen away to the west, and through the air comes a heavyexplosive shell. It is followed by another and yet another. As theyexplode, the observer sees the earth blotted out from view for a fewseconds. He notes how near the first shots fall to the target. Thenhe taps his keys once more.

  "Zur, zip-zip!" cries the machine, and the next shell falls into themidst of the column, destroying nearly a whole train. And so foranother ten minutes the airmen remain, altering the range until atleast a dozen direct hits are scored, and the damage done to therailway, the trains, and the division or so of men is tremendous.

  Very quickly, however, the men are scattered and placed out ofdanger, hiding in the woods, and under hedges and trees where theycannot be seen.

  The Germans, aware of that dangerous pest overhead, have rushed upanti-aircraft guns to deal with it, and have also telephoned to thenearest aerodromes for their beloved Fokkers. So shortly after,having done as much damage as possible in a short space of time, thehornet moves off to reconnoitre further afield.

  "Watch for their verdomt Fokkers, Jock," cries the pilot. "They mayappear at any minute. Himmelman himself may be in the neighbourhood."

  "Himmelman?" queries Jock, more to himself than to his comrade, as helooks round uneasily, for on the previous day he had heard some talltales of the doings of this crack German flyer.

  Then as they move off and open out the engine to gain speed, Jocksweeps the horizon for a sight of enemy 'planes, for a strangecuriosity grips him at the thought of Himmelman, and he wonders halfaloud whether it will ever be his fate to meet this renowned airman,who was said to have brought down more machines than any other manliving.

  But there is little time for soliloquy in the life of an airman inwar time. He must ever be on the _qui vive_. And so for another halfan hour, seeing no enemy 'planes to engage and remembering that he isout first of all for a reconnaissance, he watches the ground more andmore closely.

  They have moved south some distance by this time, and have crossedthe railway near Clery. Below them they see the narrow waters of theSomme, glistening in the sunshine, for by now the sun is up, andthere is the promise of a brilliant day. Jock is keenly watching thewhite road that leads from Peronne to Albert.

  "Ah! Ah!" He gasps. "What is that dark object that breaks the white,sunlit road, as though some dark shadow has fallen across it?"

  He points it out to the pilot, with a few gestures, and Dastralspirals round, and makes off towards the place at a rapid rate.

  As they approach the spot Jock scrutinises it yet more closely, forit looks suspicious. Then suddenly putting aside his glasses oncemore, he calls out,

  "Enemy column on the march!"

  "The deuce it is?" queries the pilot.

  "Yes, ammunition column, I think, but we'll soon find out."

  Then the tapping begins again, and the message is flung across thebattle-ground and is picked up. With a swift mental calculation theobserver has reckoned up when the head of the column will reach acertain point in the road, where a bridge carries the road over atributary of the Somme.

  "Swis-s-s-h! Boom-m-m-m!" comes the first heavy fifteen-inch shell.

  It is a little short and another message on the keys is necessary.

  This time the shell falls plump right into the middle of the column,for so accurately are the guns trained, that, though they cannot seethe object they are firing at, if the message sent only gives theexact position on the map, a direct hit is soon gained.

  The consternation of the Germans can be better imagined thandescribed. Thinking themselves in comparative security so far behindthe lines, a huge shell without the slightest warning explodes nearby, and the next lands clean in the middle of the column.

  The object hit was a motor lorry conveying ammunition up to the guns.The first explosion is followed by another, more terrific than thefirst, for a couple of hundred shells are exploded, and when thesmoke and dust have cleared away the observer and his pilot lookdown, and there is a huge gap in the column, for two of the lorriesare blazing, several have been overturned, and one has disappearedentirely from view.

  Not only so but the road is blocked for the next six or seven hoursfor all traffic, and not only will guns go short of ammunition butmore than one battalion of the German army will go short of food forthe next twenty-four hours.

  For half an hour the guns continue to shell the rest of the column,which by that time has managed to get the undamaged motors away, bydashing blindly down any side turning that leads to anywhere, out ofthat terrible inferno.

  For a little while longer the observer continues to send crypticmessages back to headquarters, which have the immediate effect ofaltering and adjusting the range of the heavy batteries, until thewhole convoy has dispersed sufficiently to prevent the waste offurther ammunition.

  Modern warfare is like a game of chess, with move and countermove,and this applies just as much to war in the air as to warfare onland. Evidently this morning, however, the enemy have been caughtnapping. His air patrols have not yet been sighted. Surely he has hadtime to deal with the offender up there in the skies, who has beenreading the secret of his lines, and the movements in his rear, orcan it be that he is laying a trap for the unwary?

  So far the daring young adventurers have had it all their own way,but a surprise is in store for them. Meanwhile, however, theycontinue to circle around, noting half a dozen little things whichJock briefly enters on his memoranda sheet. A few photographs arealso taken with the telescopic camera, for in reconnoitring theobserver has noted some new lines of brown coloured earth showing upplainly against the green. Becoming suspicious he pointed them out toDastral.

  Holding the joy stick between his legs, Dastral takes the glasses fora minute, then cries out,

  "New trenches, I believe!"

&nb
sp; "I think so, but we must make sure. I want a snapshot. Reservetrenches probably. Perhaps the enemy are thinking of falling back thenext time they are attacked in force."

  "If so, we've got his secret. It's important; we must go down andsee. Hold tight!"

  At that moment while the couple were intent upon the line of newtrenches below, they failed to notice a little cloud that was comingup out of the eastern horizon. Till now it had been bright and clear,as it often is at the break of dawn, but the first little cloud, nobigger than a man's hand, had arisen. And it was in that cloud thatthe danger lay.

  Heedless, however, of this little thing, and willing to take somedeadly risks to get the precious photograph, which might prove to bethe final link in some theory held at headquarters as to the positionon the enemy's front, they ignored the coming danger.

  Putting forward the controlling gear the hornet dipped her head, andmade a graceful nose-dive at a terrific speed, losing in fifteenseconds that which she would shortly very badly need, namely, heraltitude.

  The long, downward glide is finished at last. They are within athousand feet of the newly-dug trenches when they flatten out, andthe camera is released and a series of short, sharp snaps are taken,as the instrument click-clicks. To-morrow, when these are developed,they will tell the divisional commander much that he wants to know,and may explain something which has puzzled him for days past.

  At the moment, however, when they flatten out, half a dozen Archies,artfully concealed under a clump of bushes, suddenly open fire uponthe intruder.

  "Whis-s-s! Bang!" comes one of the shells and bursts within fiftyfeet of the 'plane.

  For a few seconds they are blinded and stunned by the explosion, theflying metal and the deadly fumes. They gasp for their breath, andthe aeroplane rocks wildly, but the terrific speed given them by thenose-dive carries them through the maelstrom once more.

  "Are you hurt, Dastral?" shouts the observer, as soon as he himselfregains the power of speech.

  The pilot turns round just for half a second, and shakes his head,but Jock sees for himself that though he evidently does not know it,Dastral is wounded, for the visible part of his face is covered withblood. Jock, himself, feels that his left arm is useless, and heclenches it tightly with the other.

  There is no time to waste in words, however, for another peril is athand. They are soon out of range of the Archies, which, nevertheless,have riddled the planes with jagged holes. No vital part has beenhit, however, and the two adventurers are not severely wounded.

  "Is the engine all right?" shouts Jock, as he sees Dastral peer intothe mechanism once or twice.

  "She's 'pukka' (all right)," comes back the answer.

  "Then we'd better make for home. Breakfast will be ready. It's nearlysix o'clock, and we've been out an hour and a half."

  Dastral nods, and heads the machine for home, altering the controlsagain in order to get a good altitude ready for crossing thetrenches.

  As he does so he happens to look away to the eastward, as the machinebanks.

  "Great Scott, look there!"

  Jock did look, and in a cloud, not a couple of miles away, he saw twospecks racing for them with twice the speed of an express train.

  Seizing his glasses he fixed them for one second upon the objects, todiscover, if possible, the rounded marks of the Allies upon thenewcomers. Instead, he saw the black cross in a white rounded field,showing distinctly upon both machines.

  "Enemy 'planes!" he shouted to the pilot.

  "Himmelman?" suggested Dastral in a half bantering tone. "We're upagainst it this time, old man. He's the 'star turn' of the enemy'scorps, and he fights like the deuce. I would like to have met himupon even terms. As it is, if we cannot leave him and get back withthis information, we must fight him."

  "Open the engine out, Dastral, and I'll bring the machine gun tobear."

  Fortunately, the hornet had not been hit in any vital part, and herengine was running splendidly. But she had lost her altitude to getthe precious photograph, having dropped nearly six thousand feet,and, in fighting, altitude counts a great deal, for it is much thesame as the "weather gage" for which our sea-dogs used to contend inthe olden days.

  The hornet mounted two guns, but in a stern chase like this she coulduse only the rear weapon. If he could only cripple one of theirpursuers by getting the first shot in Jock knew that they would thenbe on more even terms, despite the fact that the enemy 'planes,having caught them unawares, had got the advantage of them.

  "What are they, Jock?" asked the pilot.

  "Fighting scouts, I fancy." Then half a minute later he added:

  "Yes, Fokkers, both of them, single seaters with the gun forward."

  "Are they gaining much?"

  "Yes, they're creeping up rapidly. Now they're nose-diving to gainspeed. Shall I open fire?"

  "Not yet. Wait till they're within six hundred feet before you open.Cripple the leader if you can."

  "Here they come. They're about to open on us."

  "Biff, ping, ping, rap, rap!" and the Hornet was sprayed from wing towing with machine gun bullets.

  "Good heavens, the machine's like a sieve! She'll not last muchlonger at this rate," cried Dastral, as he looked round and surveyedthe damage done. Then, turning round towards the observer, who wassighting his gun, he shouted wildly:

  "Give it him, Jock!"

  Then it was that Jock let fly, a full drum of ammunition clean at thefuselage of the leading enemy 'plane. Thus it was that nerve told.Not for nothing had Jock gained the highest honours in the School ofAerial Gunnery before putting his brevet up.

  "Got him!" he cried exultantly, and the first machine went down in aspinning nose-dive under that withering fire, for the pilot at thecontrols was stone dead, shot through the head.

  The next instant, however, the master-pilot of all the German airmenwas upon them. While his companion had attacked from the level, hehad kept his gage, and now, at the critical moment, he had appearedas it were from the clouds above their heads, firing from his bow gunas he did a thrilling nose-dive.

  It was ever Himmelman's game to pounce upon his opponent and to beathim nearer and nearer to the ground, until he was forced to crash ormake a landing in enemy territory. Once again he was about totriumph, so he thought, for never before had he caught his man soneatly.

  But Dastral was no ordinary aviator, and though his machine was rakedagain from end to end, yet the engine still ran, and to Himmelman'ssurprise his quarry proved much more elusive than he thought. Withhis superior speed, owing to his downward drive, the German air-fiendswept round and round the hornet, firing all the while, but Dastral,his blood thoroughly up now, found an answering manoeuvre each time.

  The end was near, however, for the English machine could not hold outmuch longer. Not only were the planes riddled, but several stays andstruts were gone, and several times the engine had missed. To makematters worse, after the second drum the machine gun had jammed, andthings seemed hopeless.

  "Confound the gun! He's coming on again, Dastral," shouted theobserver, clenching his fist, and forgetting all about the bullet inhis arm.

  "Look out, then, I'm going to ram him. If I've got to go down, he'sgoing down with me."

  The two machines were almost on a level now, and when the German cameon, Dastral just put the joy-stick over, and made straight for hisopponent.

  "Donner and blitz!" yelled the irate Boche, for he did not understandsuch tactics. For one aeroplane to ram another in mid air at twothousand feet seemed incredible, but here was this mad Britishercoming straight for him.

  "Mein Gott, no!" gasped Himmelman, and by a skilful manoeuvre hesheered off, though thousands of his fellow-countrymen were watchinghim from below, for they were now almost over the trenches.

  "Bravo, Dastral!" yelled Jock, though but an instant before his heartseemed to be in his mouth, as the pilot made his almost fatal dashfor his opponent.

  Seeing that Himmelman had failed in his move, the anti-aircraft gunsopened fire
again from below, but the hornet sailed on over thetrenches, and Himmelman did not follow, for out of the west threeBritish fighters were coming to the rescue.

  "Will she hold out, Dastral?" the observer asked a moment later, asthey passed the British trenches, out of the range of the GermanArchies.

  "I think so. Can you spot the aerodrome?"

  "Yes, there it is, a little to the right."

  "Thanks, I see it now," came the softened reply, for Dastral wasrolling a little in his seat, as though he held the joy-stick withdifficulty.

  Jock bent over to help him, and the next minute they landed safely onthe level turf. And Jock remembered hearing a voice say:

  "Come along now. We're waiting breakfast for you in the mess."