Dastral of the Flying Corps

by Rowland Walker

  CHAPTER IV

  STRAFING THE BABY-KILLERS

  DASTRAL and Jock received a hearty welcome home that morning.Although it was scarcely yet six o'clock, their day's work wasfinished, and a good day's work it had been. Dastral's laconic reportwas handed to the Squadron-Commander. Then, as soon as his slightflesh wounds had been dressed by the genial "Number Nine," as CaptainYoung, the medical officer for the squadron, was called, they went into early morning breakfast at the mess.

  "So you've had a scrap with Himmelman, have you, Lieutenant?" askedNumber Nine at the breakfast table.

  "Just a slight skirmish," replied Dastral.

  "You're lucky to get away from him!"

  "You think so?" queried the young pilot, pouring out another cup ofcoffee, and pressing Jock, whose wound was giving him a good deal ofpain, to another slice of hot buttered toast.

  "I do, decidedly. He's so deucedly clever that he's uncanny. Wehaven't found the man who can match him yet on our side. But one ofthese days we shall do it."

  Dastral did not reply for some time. His mind was full of the detailsof the recent encounter he had had with the unbeaten champion. Hewondered what Himmelman thought of his own tactics which had made theair-fiend sheer off at the last moment. And he also determined thatshould the opportunity ever come to fight with him on equal terms hewould not refuse the challenge. If it were possible the western frontshould be rid of this champion, and the supremacy of the air wrestedfrom the Germans.

  For the next few days Dastral and Jock remained on light duty,nursing their wounds, and taking strolls about the aerodrome nearContalmaison. The hornet had been so badly damaged that it wasnecessary to send to England for new parts to be supplied before itcould be flown again.

  At the end of a fortnight, however, they were both quite well again,and the hornet had been brought to its pristine condition. Then theytook part in several reconnaissances over the enemy's lines, and inmore than one bombing raid, but nothing of unusual importancehappened for nearly a month, when the following incident occurred:

  Dastral had just been made Flight-Commander, and so, in addition tothe hornet, three other active warplanes and three brilliant pilotswho were ready to follow him to the "Gulfs," wherever that might be,had been placed under his command. This was the section of the RoyalFlying Corps called "B" Flight, which was to win much fame and gloryin the days of the near future. Already, Dastral, by his cool daringand skilful manoeuvring, had won a great name amongst his fellows,and some had even begun to talk of him as a possible competitor withHimmelman.

  Often, after one of his more than usually brilliant raids orreconnaissances over the lines, his friends would remark of him inhis absence:

  "Some day he will meet with Himmelman again, and then one of the twowill never return."

  "What a fight that will be!" remarked Number Nine one day, as he lithis cigar and leaned back in his comfortable fauteuil, to puff ringsof smoke into the air.

  "And I hope I shall be there," said Mac, one of the pilots of "B"Flight.

  "And while Dastral fights with Himmelman, may I be there to fightwith Boelke," added Brum to his friend Steve, both pilots belongingto "B" Flight.

  Brum was short and sturdy, while Steve, or Inky as he was sometimescalled, was tall and thin and very dark, with piercing blue-greyeyes, and they both considered Dastral the finest and fairest fighterin the British Air Service.

  One day, while the great fight on the Somme was in progress, and theAllies, by their great pressure were winning village after villagefrom the enemy, there came a mysterious message to the CommandHeadquarters of the ---- Division, stating that the enemy hadfinished the construction of three huge Zeppelin sheds not far fromBrussels. Also that the same number of Zeppelins had just arrivedfrom Friedricshaven to take possession of the sheds, evidentlypreparatory to a raid upon Paris or London.

  The wires and despatch-riders were busy that day between the CommandHeadquarters and the Aerodrome. Plans were drawn up to destroy at anearly date both the airships and the sheds. After some consideration,it was decided that "B" Flight should have the honour of carrying outthe raid, and accordingly Dastral and Jock went to work at once withtheir maps and charts to evolve a thoroughly sound plan of campaign.

  Several days later, towards evening, another coded message from thesame secret service agent behind the lines came to hand by carrierpigeon, which when decoded ran something as follows:

  "Two Zeppelins just left Brussels' sheds, travelling west-nor'-west!"

  "Send Flight-Commander Dastral to me at once," said theSquadron-Commander, immediately the message was read to him.

  As soon as Dastral appeared the O.C., who had been pacing about hislittle room, turned abruptly upon the pilot, and said,

  "See this, Dastral?"

  "Yes, sir," replied the youth, scanning the brief message, which toldhim so much.

  "You know what it means?"

  "It evidently means that a raid on London is imminent, and is beingcarried out to-night, I fancy, sir."

  "Exactly!" snapped the O.C., who at such times became easilyfractious and irritated.

  At this moment the telephone in the C.O.'s office suddenly burst out,

  "Ting-a-ling-ling!"

  "Yes, who's there?" asked the Major sharply.

  "Advanced Headquarters, Fourth Army. Are you the R.F.C.?"

  "Yes--Squadron-Commander speaking from No. 10 Aerodrome."

  "Right. News is just to hand by field telephone that three Zeppelinshave passed overhead making for the Channel. We have wired the coaststations and the R N.A.S. to look after them, and if possible tobring them down. There is evidently a raid in progress. What do youthink you can do in the matter?" asked the officer at the other end.

  "Hold on just a few seconds, sir!" replied the Major. Then, turninground to Dastral, he repeated the conversation briefly, and said,

  "What do you suggest?"

  "Just this, sir," replied the pilot. "Our plan to destroy the shedsis well forward, and we hoped to carry it out in three or four days.We know exactly where the place is----"

  "Yes, yes, go on. The staff officer is waiting at the other end ofthe line," blurted out the C.O.

  "Well, sir, if you will detail me to take my flight over there, so asto be on the spot at dawn, when the airships return, we may be ableto strafe the lot. At any rate, we can destroy the sheds, and aZeppelin would be useless without its cradle, and would soon come togrief."

  "Good! Prepare your flight at once for the venture, and we must leavethe other Squadrons and the R.N.A.S. and coast batteries to try andstop the raid."

  "Yes, sir," replied the pilot, saluting smartly and departing on hiserrand.

  So while the C.O. concluded his conversation with Headquarters overthe 'phone, Dastral got to work at once with his flight.

  While Snorty, the Aerodrome Sergeant-Major, and Yap, the rag-time"Corporal," and a squad of experienced air-mechanics prepared themachines for action, the Flight-Commander got together his pilots,Mac, Steve, and Brum, with their observers, and explained everydetail of the proposed campaign. Distances were carefully worked out,a prearranged code of signals agreed upon, maps and charts examinedand committed as far as possible to memory, and a score of necessarydetails worked up, so that there should be no confusion in the methodof attack.

  Having spent an hour thus discussing the matter and threshing outevery aspect of the question that arose, Dastral said,

  "Now then for a rendezvous, lads, for we must go singly, and cometogether smartly, at the precise moment, just as the dawn isbreaking, which will be no easy matter."

  "Let it be the Lion Mound on the battlefield at Waterloo," suggestedMac.

  "Well, yes, that will do," said the Flight-Commander. "It is onlyabout two miles away from the sheds, which are close by the villageof Braine l'Alleud."

  "Agreed," they all cried. "It will be a landmark we shall easilyfind."

  "Then understand, all of you, that you must be there exactly as thedawn breaks, a
nd, as soon as we pick each other up, we shall fallinto regular flight formation, make a bee line for the sheds, anddrop the squibs before the enemy can get to work with their Archies,"said Dastral.

  "And the cargo, Dastral? What shall we load up with?"

  "Six twenty-pound bombs each, with ten drums of the new machine-gunammunition. I think that will be all we can safely take withoutreducing speed."

  "Right, sir!"

  "And understand, boys," the leader went on. "There must be nofighting on the way there, even if attacked, unless it is absolutelynecessary to prevent a crash. I quite expect we may have to fight anairship or two, and possibly a patrol of Fokkers or Aviatiks, for theZeps are sure to be escorted on their way back, if they get wind ofour little game."

  "Agreed, sir."

  "And now, gentlemen, to bed, all of you. It is imperative that youshould each have a good night's rest, for if any man's nerves are rundown in the morning, I shall put him off," said Dastral seriously,and they knew he meant it, for he could be serious at times, despitehis laughing blue eyes, and his apparently gay and reckless manner.

  So to bed they went, for they were all tired out, and not even thepromise of the morrow's venture could keep them awake, for thesedaring airmen had learnt the happy knack of taking sleep wheneverthey could get it, as soon as duty was done, and of forgetting allabout their machines as well as their own wonderful exploits.

  Next morning, long before dawn, Corporal Yap, humming one of hisrag-time songs, went round the bunks of the officers' mess and gentlycalled the pilots and observers one by one. Within an hour they hadbreakfasted and were out on the aerodrome watching the machines beingwheeled out, by the aid of the hand-lamps and electric torches.

  After a brief but careful final examination of every strut and wire,the machines were quite ready, all loaded up, with the machine-gunsshipped, compasses aboard, etc.

  "All ready, sir!" reported Snorty, as he came up and saluted.

  "Tumble aboard, lads!" called Dastral, and within two minutes thepilots and observers were in their seats, and the air mechanicsstanding ready to swing the propellors.

  "Swish!" went the whirling blades.

  "Stand clear!" came next in a shrill voice.

  Then away into the darkness sped the four machines. In a few secondsthey were lost to sight as they taxied across the aerodrome. Then oneafter another they leapt into the air, and began their upward climb,leaving their friends and well-wishers behind them, craning theirnecks to get a last view of them as they tried to locate them in theupper regions, by the hum of the gnome engines, and the loudwhir-r-r-r of the propellors.

  After rising rapidly to seven thousand feet the 'planes made off inthe direction of the enemy's trenches, which they crossed atdifferent points, for they had already separated in accordance withtheir plans. As they crossed the lines a dozen milk-white armsstretched up to reach them. These were the German searchlights, forthe alarm had been raised and messages about.

  "English aeroplanes crossing our lines!" had been flashed from thetrenches to the Archies and the German searchlights.

  "Boom-m! Boom-m!" went the anti-aircraft guns in a mad effort to findthe raiders. But their efforts were futile, for the raiders lookeddown upon the little spurts of flame far beneath, and laughed as theyquickly passed out of range.

  The distance to be covered was nearly a hundred miles, before theyarrived at the appointed rendezvous, but that did not trouble thedaring aviators. Steering by compass, and watching the eastern skyright ahead for the first faint tinge of dawn, onwards they sped overCambrai and the ruined fortress of Mauberge. Then they crossed intoBelgian territory, that land of wretchedness and suffering, where abrave little people were enduring torment under the heel of the hatedPrussian.

  They were rapidly nearing the neighbourhood of the rendezvous whenJock called to Dastral, and shouted,

  "Look, there comes Aurora, the Daughter of the Morn!"

  The pilot looked in the direction indicated by his observer, and awayto the eastward, over the far horizon, he saw the first grey streakwhich heralded the coming day.

  He watched it as it grew and rapidly diffused itself over the sky.From grey it turned to a pale yellow, then as they still sped on,crimson flashes shot out over the firmament, as though the door ofheaven had literally been unbarred, and the dark curtain of night hadbeen rolled westward.

  "Keep a good look-out for the other machines, Jock!" cried Dastral,for he had no time now to dwell in rhapsody over the beauty of thedawn. Danger was at hand, and he had a stern duty to fulfil.

  The observer, however, did not need to be reminded; he was alreadypeering through his glasses, searching the skies in the faint lightfor signs of the other 'planes.

  "Can you make out any landmarks?" asked Dastral through the speakingtube, becoming not a little alarmed, and fearing that in the darknessthey had overshot the mark and sailed past the rendezvous.

  "Yes. Look, we are over a big city. I can see a dozen spires peepingup already through the gloom," replied the observer, after peeringdown towards the earth for another minute.

  "Good!" ejaculated the pilot, bringing over the controls, and bankingswiftly to come back on his course. "We must be over Brussels. Wehave come too far."

  The next minute they were speeding away South-west towards theappointed rendezvous. Opening out the engine, they were soon goingfull pelt, before the enemy's guns could find them.

  "Aircraft in sight to the northward," came next, for Jock had pickedup a tiny speck away on their right.

  And now for a moment there was intense excitement, for they knew notas yet whether the newcomer might prove to be an enemy, and they wereanxious to avoid being entangled in a fight until their work wasdone.

  "Can you pick up the Lion Mound yet?" asked Dastral. "It cannot befar away now."

  "Yes, I have it now. A little further away to the right. Can you makeit out?"

  "Yes, I see it. We'll be there in a minute. Keep your eyes wellskinned for the others. I think that must be Mac. away on our right,though he seems to be hanging back a bit; he evidently mistakes usfor an enemy machine as we have come from the direction of Brussels.Can you make out his marks yet?"

  "Not yet. It isn't light enough, and he's keeping too far away."

  They were now right over the Lion Mound on the famous field ofbattle. The village of Waterloo was just behind them, standing almostexactly as it stood on that memorable day, Sunday, June 18, 1815. Inthe morning mist the old chateau of Hougumont lay sleepily ensconcedin the hollow, while on the left the smoke was already rising up fromthe farmhouse of La Haye Saint.

  "Another 'plane coming up on the south, making a bee line for us,"shouted the observer.

  "Splendid! That must be Steve," exclaimed Dastral, warming up alittle as he saw that two of his three birds had reached the spotsafely.

  "But where the deuce is Brum? He should be here by now. It's gettingquite light," said Jock, peering in every direction for the missingaviator.

  "Ho! ho! here he comes."

  "Where away? I can't see him."

  "Right behind us. He must have over-shot the mark also, and he'scoming back on our trail from Brussels."

  The next instant, Dastral did a rapid swerve, and a steep nose-dive,in accordance with the pre-arranged code made before starting.

  This was quite sufficient, for the strangers had been stalling theirmachines, and circling around, waiting for the signal. Now theyopened out their engines and came on at top speed to meet theirleader.

  As they came up Jock could see the observers waving their hands inrecognition. Yes, they were all here. The first part of the businesswas over. They had all come safely through and gained the rendezvous.

  "Now we must get to work, for there's trouble brewing somewhere forus, and the sooner we get through the affair the better," shouted thepilot through the speaking tube.

  As the machines came up, they wheeled smartly round, and each took upits appointed place in the formation. To an observer down below i
tmust have appeared that they were great birds wheeling about toorder, just like a platoon of infantry on parade.

  "Prepare for action," was the next signal given, as they sped off,led by Dastral.

  "Braine l'Alleud next," called Dastral.

  "Yes, a little further to the right, just below the dip in the hill.We should see the Zeppelin sheds shortly," responded Jock, who wasready for the query, and had one finger already on the waterproofmap.

  "Shall I follow the road?" asked Dastral.

  "Yes, till I pick up the hangars."

  A moment later, the huge sheds came into view, and Jock, putting downhis glasses, shouted with glee:

  "There they are--three of them, and quite a crowd of people roundabout them. A little more to the left."

  "Yes, I see them--why, there are hundreds of people there. What onearth can they be doing there?" asked Dastral.

  "German soldiers waiting for the return of the Zeppelins that raidedEngland last night, I expect."

  "Phew! Our luck's in this time."

  "They think we're friendly machines too, I believe," cried Jock,fingering the bomb release, ready to let go the first twenty-poundbomb on to the hangar. "Evidently, they can't make out our marks yetin the morning mist."

  "They'll soon think differently," replied the pilot, as, coming up atfull speed, followed by the rest of the flight, he did a rapidnose-dive of two thousand feet. Then, flattening out to get a bettercontrol over his machine, he swept on again till nearly exactly overthe first huge shed, and did another rapid nose-dive, the speed ofwhich must have approximated one hundred and fifty miles an hour.

  "Look to it, Jock. Let go, man!" he yelled.

  Jock pulled the clutch of the bomb release, and the first missilefell almost into the middle of the huge building. He could not failto hit it, for the target was so large, and Dastral had dropped towithin three hundred feet of the high roof.

  "Swis-s-s-h----Boom-m-m-m----!"

  The explosion was terrific, and the huge roof of the buildingcrumpled in with a crash.

  Scarcely fifteen seconds later Mac. dropped a petrol bomb into thehalf ruined building, and before the third plane could come intoaction, huge flames were bursting out everywhere.

  Then it was that the German anti-aircraft guns, discovering theirmistake, turned their concentrated fire upon the first machine, whichby this time was passing the second hangar, and about to repeat theprocess.

  "Spit! bang! boom!" And now the calm morning air was alive withbursting bombs and tearing shrapnel, while down below the distractedGerman soldiery, who had been waiting to house the returningZeppelins, were rushing hither and thither, bewildered, whilst theirofficers were cursing those verdomt Englanders, who were always up tosome new devilment.

  "Gott in Himmel! Gott strafe England!" came from many a mouth, andcurses and cries of anger, coupled with shouts of defiance, rent theair.

  "Are you ready, Jock?" yelled Dastral, as they whirled through ascreen of bursting shrapnel.

  "Yes, aye, ready!" came the response from the observer, whose eyeswere lit with the light of battle.

  "Then let go!"

  "Boom-m-m!" went another bomb on to the second hangar, and so withthe third and last.

  Within three minutes the whole of the structures of the three hugesheds were blazing fiercely, and, as the 'planes sped away, andclimbed out of the line of immediate fire, they noted with joy thatthe flames from the third shed were larger and fiercer than thosefrom the others.

  Huge forks of fire leapt three hundred feet into the air, and theheat was so fierce within a hundred feet that everybody within thatzone of fire was scorched and fell fainting or dead.

  "Some blaze that, Jock!" cried Dastral as soon as they had left thefire curtain of shrapnel behind them, and could observe the burningmass properly.

  "Yes, there's a Zeppelin in there, I'll swear to it. Else it wouldnever blaze like that." Scarcely had he spoken, when a terrificexplosion rent the air, fifty times as loud and terrible as thatcaused by the bursting of the twenty-pound bombs. At the sameinstant, a huge column of smoke, flame and debris shot up into thesky, making the very aeroplanes tremble with the tremendousvibration.

  "Great Scott, you're right, Jock! We've done it this time. It musthave been a Zeppelin. There is nothing left of the shed now. It hasbeen clean lifted away."

  The destruction wrought down below had been terrible. The casualtiescaused by the bombs had been as nothing compared to the terribledeath-roll amongst the German soldiery by the explosion of a millioncubic feet of gas and the wreckage of the huge hangar. The burning,blazing missiles of bent, twisted iron, steel, timber and aluminiumcame down from the skies, and wrought death and havoc amongst thelabour battalions which must always be on duty near a Zeppelinhangar.

  Once they were out of range of the enemy's guns Dastral looked roundupon his companions. So far they had come through pretty well. Novital hit had been made, but every machine had received its quota ofshrapnel. Not a 'plane amongst them but had its fifty or sixty jaggedtears through the planes. Mac's propeller had also been hit, but asit was only slightly splintered, it still enabled the pilot to carryon.

  However, as he wheeled round his flight, Dastral saw that it wouldtake his brave followers all their time to get back nearly a hundredmiles to safety. He gave the signal, therefore, for every pilot tomake a bee line for the English trenches, and thus get home beforethe Aviatiks, Rolands and Fokkers came, which he knew would beclimbing up already to attack them, from the aerodromes in thevicinity of Brussels.

  Two of the observers had also been wounded, though slightly, andsignalled accordingly, so that Dastral became uneasy, lest, afterall, their return to safety should be hindered. Most of all did hefear that it might be necessary to leave one of his machines behind,for, if an aeroplane is forced to land in enemy territory, there issmall chance of escape, either for man or machine.

  The whole flight, therefore, had fallen into position for return,with Dastral leading, for he had signalled his men to keep together,as far as possible, till they were about to cross the lines.Suddenly, however, when they had proceeded some eight or nine mileson their way, Jock, who had been scanning the north-western horizon,called out:

  "A Zeppelin! A Zeppelin!"

  "Good heavens, where?" shouted Dastral.

  "Away over there on the right, low down on the horizon."

  "Phew! So it is. One of their lame ducks coming home to roost, afterraiding some English village, I expect."

  "The devils. I say, Dastral?"

  "Yes?"

  "Let's strafe the baby-killer!" shouted Jock.

  Dastral turned round once more to look at his battered flight. Couldhe do it? Where were the German Fokkers? he asked himself. And foronce he hesitated. It was only for a moment, however, and it was notfor any thought of himself that he hesitated, but the knowledge thathe would be attacked shortly by enemy 'planes, and that some of hismachines would be lost, for they were not in any fit state at presentto engage with enemy warplanes. Jock, always an eager fighter, wasedging him on, however.

  "What say you, Flight-Commander? The others seems eager to fight.We've plenty of bombs left yet, and haven't touched the drums. Let'sbring the blighter down, so that it can't kill any more babies intheir cots."

  "Right-o, Jock! Throw out the signal-Zeppelin."

  And the next moment a couple of smoke bombs were thrown out by theobserver, which gave the order, "Prepare to attack."

  "Whir-r-r!" went the four 'planes on their new tack, as thecontrolling wires went over, and each machine banked suddenly andcame round head on towards the enemy.

  "By Jove, she's seen us and she's heading off too!" shouted Jockthrough the tube.

  "Yes, so I see. Bet she's using her wireless some to call for theFokkers. We haven't much time to lose."

  In less than three minutes they were within machine-gun fire of thehuge gas-bag, which was flying as low as three thousand feet, andseemed incapable of lifting herself much, either through shortag
e ofgas or damaged machinery.

  "Look out! She's opening fire! See there!" Short sharp jets of firespat out from the gondolas of the Zeppelin in half a dozen differentplaces, and the bullets began to whistle and ping-ping about the earsof the aviators.

  "Reserve your fire, boys!" ordered Dastral, for he knew that theywould all be anxious to fire. Then he threw out another order, whichmeant, "Attack from above."

  This they all understood immediately, and followed Dastral as he madehis machine almost sit upon her tail, as she climbed and manoeuvredto get above the huge lumbering mass, which was already levering awayto leeward on account of some defective machinery, and the freshbreeze which had sprung up from the south-east.

  Two minutes later they were almost directly above the Zeppelin, and,except for two machine-guns which were mounted above the envelope,they were immune from fire, for the other guns down below werescreened by the huge looming mass above them.

  Even the gunners on the top were practically useless, for the terrorsof the past night and the impending death now awaiting them hadshattered their nerves, and they were firing wildly, so that thedaring aviators had them at their mercy, for the hornets were aboutto attack.

  Dastral gave one more look round at his flight, and saw them comingboldly on behind him. Then he shouted to Jock:

  "All ready there?"

  "Aye, ready," came the response.

  "Then in mercy's name fire!" A short, sharp nose-dive of two hundredfeet, and they were within a hundred feet of the leviathan, andimmediately above her. So near were they that they could see theaffrighted machine-gunners on the top of the gas-bag leave theirposts and try to escape down the escalier, but they had left it toolong. They were now about to pay the price for the toll they hadwantonly taken of innocent lives during the long dark hours of thepast night. And, like all cowards who wreak their vengeance uponhelpless folk, they feared the dread spectre when it came close tothemselves.

  "Whis-s-sh! Boom-m-m!" went the first bomb; a time fuse fixed for twoseconds. The explosion rent the envelope, and allowed vast quantitiesof gas to escape from two of the ballonets, so that the huge masscrumpled in at the head, and began to sink slowly at the nose.

  Another bomb was dropped, and the second and third machines comingup, dropped petrol and phosphorus bombs, which blazed away, ignitingthe escaping gas.

  She was well alight now, and in the fore part she was burningfiercely, but as yet she did not explode. Dastral saw that she wasdone for, however, and knowing that the enemy craft could not be faraway after all this time, made off and signalled his men to follow.

  Down, down went the blazing mass for a couple of thousand feet, thenrolling over, it literally fell asunder into several parts, and eachpart, still burning, carried its helpless inmates down todestruction.

  Once more Dastral looked round, and as he did so, he gasped out thewords:

  "Great Scott! The whole place is alive with Fokkers, Rolands andAviatiks!"

  Then followed a fierce running fight, in which the English wereoutnumbered three to one. The enemy were all around them, for theyhad been called by wireless from every direction. Dastral headed hismen into the thick of the combat. Three German 'planes were broughtdown, and not till every round of ammunition was fired, and everydrum empty did the Commander call off his Flight again, or ratherwhat was left of it.

  Brum, fighting bravely to the last, had gone down in a whirlingspiral after first sending down an Aviatik. Steve followed him alittle later, with his machine blazing, for his petrol tank had beenplugged time after time. Dastral alone, with Mac, both their machinesdamaged beyond repair and both their observers wounded, staggeredthrough the curtain fire at the trenches later in the morning, andcame to earth just behind the British first line.