CHAPTER VIII
THE RAID ON KRUPPS
IT was a dark night, some two or three hours before dawn, whenAir-Mechanic Pearson, one of the outer sentries at the aerodrome nearContalmaison, thought he heard the whirr of propellers somewhere inthe dark skies above.
For a few seconds he peered up into the gloomy heavens, trying tolocate the sound, for he was very much puzzled, and could not accountfor the sound on such a night.
"They can't be aeroplanes returning from over the lines," he toldhimself, "or we should have had notice to light the flares. It willbe a sheer impossibility to land without a crash on a dark night likethis."
Again he listened, and he thought the droning sound settled down intothe throb of engines. He was anxious, however, not to call out theguard on a false alarm, for he had once been severely reprimanded forso doing.
"They cannot be hostile 'planes attempting an early morning raid; itis far too thick. It would be like a nigger trying to find a blackcat in a dark cellar," he muttered.
A quarter of a minute later, however, he thought he had discoveredthe real cause, for the throbbing of aerial engines could now bedistinctly heard.
"It's a Zeppelin!" he exclaimed. "They're going to find the aerodromewith their search-light, and bomb the place, then make off before ourmachines can get up," and he instantly yelled out at the top of hisvoice, "Turn out, guard!"
The alarm was caught up, passed on to the next sentry, who repeatedit, and the next moment, after turning out the main guard, thesergeant came running up, and asked:
"What's the matter, Pearson?"
"Zeppelin approaching from the eastward, sergeant!" replied theair-mechanic.
"Zeppelin, man! What the deuce do you mean? Where is it?"
"Up there, sergeant. I can hear it quite plainly now."
"By Jove, so can I!"
The next moment the sergeant was back in the guard-room. From thencehe dashed into the orderly-room, and knocked at the inner door, wherethe orderly officer for the night was on duty.
"Come in," cried the officer in answer to the knocking. Then, as thesergeant, all puffed with his exertion, entered and saluted, he said:
"What's the matter, sergeant?"
"Zeppelin approaching from over the German lines, sir. Hadn't webetter 'phone to the anti-aircraft guns, and the searchlights to pickup the raider before he bombs the place?" for to the sergeant's mind,visions of falling bombs and terrific explosions were present.
"Zeppelin?" laughed the orderly officer.
"Yes, sir. I can hear the engines as plainly as possible outside."
"No, you're mistaken. It's the 'Gertie' returning. She's been out onsecret service work behind the German lines. I've been expecting herfor a couple of hours. Not a word of this to the men, now. I amexpecting a secret service man back before dawn, and the 'Gertie's'been to fetch him. Picked him up at some secret place in the dark,far behind the enemy's lines."
Now, the "Gertie" was a baby-airship detailed for special service,and not the least important part of her work was the secretjourneying to and fro, across the German lines, to quiet ruralplaces, where, in the dark, she dropped messages, carrier pigeons,etc., and occasionally brought back some daring member of the BritishSecret Service, who had been collecting information behind theenemy's lines.
By this time the orderly officer was out on the aerodrome, and thesquads of air-mechanics were being roused by the orderly sergeant.Suddenly there came a cry from one of the guard.
"Airship signalling to the aerodrome, sir!"
"What signal was that?" demanded the officer.
"Two green lights and a red, sir, over there, half a mile away," camethe reply.
"That's right. It's the 'Gertie' trying to find the landing place.Flight-sergeant, where are you?"
"Here, sir," came the answer, as the aerodrome flight-sergeant, justroused by the alarm, rushed up, without putties or tunic on.
"Light the usual flares at the landing-place, and give the Brigadecolours as well."
"Yes, sir."
And the next instant he had disappeared into the darkness again tohurry up the air-mechanics and to light the flares. The "Gertie" hadvery nearly found her mark, having over-shot it but half a mile or soin the pitchy darkness, which was a very creditable performance.
As soon as the flares were lighted, her engines, which had been shutoff, were heard again, as she gradually came nearer and nearer,until, when right overhead, she began to descend slowly.
"There she comes! This way, lads!" cried the stentorian voice ofSnorty, whose piercing eyes were amongst the first to spot thelooming mass overhead.
"Steady, there, steady!" came the next order, as the ropes and dragswere lowered, and the men made a scramble for them. And, in a veryshort space of time the baby-airship was made fast, and from thesingle gondola, in which five men were cooped, some one leapt out,who held in his hand a bundle of documents.
"Captain Scott, I believe, sir," said the orderly officer steppingforward.
"Yes. Are you Lieutenant Grenfell?"
"Yes, sir." And with that the two men went off together to theprivate room of the orderly officer.
The newcomer was the bearer of some important plans and sketches, toobtain which he had risked his life every hour of the day and nightduring the past three weeks. They were nothing less than detailedplans of the great German arsenal at Krupps', for which theCommanding Officer had been anxiously waiting. For some timepreviously, the C.O. had received from the War Office, through theGeneral Headquarters in the field, a peremptory order, something likethe following:--
_"To the Officer Commanding,_ _"--th Squadron, Royal Flying Corps._
"It is of vital importance that the enemy's supply of munitionsshould be hampered and restricted as far as possible, in view of theoffensive to be undertaken shortly. As soon, therefore, as thenecessary plans and papers reach you, you will detail one of yourbest flights, under your most capable Flight-Commander, to carry outthe first raid on the enemy's main arsenal at Krupp'."
This document, signed by one of the generals commanding in the field,had been in the hands of the Squadron-Commander for some days, and hehad been eagerly awaiting the arrival of the promised plans andsketches. As soon, therefore, as the orderly officer received them,he sent Brat, the despatch-rider, with his motor cycle and side carto the C.O.'s quarters. And ten minutes later that distinguishedperson was leaving the officers' quarters on his way to theaerodrome.
Having arrived, after ten minutes' chat with the officer belonging tothe secret service, his first words were:
"Grenfell, ask Flight-Commander Dastral to come down at once."
"Yes, sir."
And on his next journey, Brat fetched Dastral down from his bunk atthe mess to join the party.
"Dastral," was the first word from the C.O. as soon as the daringyoung pilot entered.
"Yes, sir," replied the Flight-Commander, saluting smartly.
"Here's something for you after your own heart."
"What is that, sir?" asked the youth, smiling.
"The promised raid on Krupps'. How would you like to undertake itwith your flight? You have often spoken about it."
"Nothing would please me better, sir."
"And the other fellows belonging to your flight, what about them?"
"They would follow me anywhere, sir!"
"Gad, I believe they would, for they all worship you. I believethey'd follow you to 'Gulfs,' if you led them there."
Dastral laughed, and repeated his avowal, that he would be only toopleased to start at dawn should the weather conditions prove goodenough.
"Right!" exclaimed the major. "Then, you'd better spend the next twohours with Captain Scott here, and with your men. Get thoroughly holdof these plans, and fix them in your mind."
So, while breakfast was laid for the Intelligence officer, Dastralgot his men together, including Mac and Jock. Afterwards the eightmen who were going into action carefully laid their plans, arranging
a code of signals and the method of attack, should they succeed inreaching their destination. Then they went over to the sheds,examined and tested the machines, saw them loaded up with bombs anddrums of ammunition. The guns, compasses, etc., were then shipped andeverything was ready.
Dastral looked at his watch. In an hour it would be dawn.
"We must be off, boys. We must cros the German lines beforedaybreak."
"Right, sir," replied the others, "We can be ready in ten minutes."
Then, having previously breakfasted, they put on their thick leathercoats, pilots' boots and helmets, and made ready. The C.O. came downto wish them godspeed and a safe return. The probable time of theirreturn was fixed, and it was arranged that an escort should meet themon their way back to defend them from hostile aircraft, lest any ofthem should be in difficulties, and unable, through damaged machinesor lack of ammunition, to fight their way home.
"Stand by! Contact, switch off!" came the order.
The propellors were swung vigorously once or twice, then, one afteranother, the engines broke into their mighty song, and the machinestaxied off into the darkness across the aerodrome, and as thejoy-stick was pulled over each 'plane sprang into the air, and beganits long voyage.
"Good-bye, and good luck!" shouted the C.O. as each man taxied off,and as a parting salute, each pilot raised his gloved hand from thecontrols for an instant.
Four hundred miles, that was the distance of the double journey. Twohundred miles of enemy territory to be traversed before they reachedtheir objective; then, another two hundred back again to safety; andno chance of a landing to remedy even the slightest defect. That wasthe prospect before these daring aviators, as they sallied forth ontheir dangerous errand this morning about half an hour before thefirst faint whisper of dawn came up out of the east.
No wonder the Commanding Officer of the Squadron, as he watched themdepart, turned to his companions and said:
"A perilous venture, isn't it, for the boys?"
"You're right, sir," replied the orderly officer. "I hope not one ofthem will lose the number of his mess before nightfall."
"Ah, well. We have had some vacant chairs in the mess lately. Fourhundred miles," he was heard to remark as he turned on his heels andwent back to his room.
He was a kindly, considerate commander, for he had that rare qualitywhich combined firmness with kindness, and because of that he wasloved by all his men.
The adventurers crossed the German lines at seven thousand feet, andin the darkness the enemy's searchlights failed to find them, so theywere well away for once. There was just a little doubt in Dastral'smind about the weather conditions when he started, as the success ofthe venture depended very much upon the visibility. At present,however, the dull cloudy weather was in their favour, if only itmight clear up later.
He was therefore very pleased when, having left the enemy's linessome thirty or forty miles behind, the first tinge of dawn lit up thesky in front of them, showing the horizon clearly. The wind hadchanged during the last hour, and, though it grew colder, it becamemuch brighter.
Once or twice the Flight-Commander looked round at his followers,casting a critical eye upon the whole flight.
"Thank goodness, the engines seem to be running well. Everythingdepends on them," he murmured.
His own machine was a double-seater type with the observer's carprojecting right in front of the engine, a powerful twelve-cylinderedR.A.F.
A little later Jock, speaking through the tube, shouted:
"Shots on the left, Dastral!" and he pointed to a spot far downbelow, for the landscape had opened out now, and they had beenspotted for the first time.
Dastral looked down, and saw several rapid flashes, away down on theleft, where a battery of "Archies," having found them, had openedfire.
In front of the machine which was leading the flight, Dastral sawseveral black bursts of smoke, and in the centre of each burst was ayellow glare.
"Ah, the Boches have found the range to a nicety!" yelled Dastral toJock. "Look out! We must dive."
Then, pulling over the controls, the hornet dipped at the head, doinga neat little nose-dive of some five hundred feet, throwing theenemy's range out of gear, and compelling him to readjust his sights.
As he dived, the others, with an eye always on their leader, followedhim, and the whole flight dived clean underneath a mass of curtainfire, intended to bar their progress. So cleverly was it all donethat they all escaped without a scratch.
The Commander looked down at those batteries still spitting fire.With not a little contempt he regarded them. They could not touchhim, for already, before they could readjust their fire, the wholeflight was out of range, for the engines were now doing well, and aspeed of a hundred and twenty miles an hour had been worked up.
At another time Dastral would like to have dived down to within fivehundred feet of those German guns, and put them out of action, but hehad other work on hand today; work which would take all his time andskill to complete satisfactorily, and to bring his men back tosafety. Even if Himmelman himself should attack him now, he mustrefuse him battle, unless compelled to fight for mere safety. Hispresent duty was to bomb the great arsenal at Krupps', and, as far aspossible, leave the principal buildings nothing but a heap of smokingruins. So he opened out the throttle of his engine to the full, andfor the first time reached one hundred and twenty-five miles an hour,not a very bad speed when you are loaded up with heavy missiles.
They had been flying for an hour now, and had climbed higher andhigher until they were at nine thousand feet. It was bitterly cold,and already their feet and hands were numbed. What would they be likein another two hours?
An hour and a half passed, and shortly afterwards Jock shouted:
"The Rhine! The Rhine!"
Nor indeed was he mistaken. He had been eagerly searching for thefamous stream that runs through the German Fatherland, and of whichthe Hun is so proud. And now, there it was, a little way ahead ofthem, running through the landscape like a silver thread.
Soon they were over the stately river, and Dastral, knowing that theroad was as plain as a pikestaff now if the weather kept clear, nolonger heeded his compass, but, wheeling smartly to his left,followed the stream on its way to the sea.
"What town is that?" shouted the pilot, as a vast assembly of housesand spires came into view.
"Coblentz," replied the observer, with his finger on the waterproofmap.
"Better look out for trouble, hadn't we?"
"Yes, the Ehrenbreitstein Forts are down below; just a little wayahead on the left. They have plenty of guns down there."
This place, called the Gibraltar of Central Europe, is a toweringfortification, overlooking the town of Coblentz, and defending theline of the Rhine. The river runs between the fort and the town, andthe two are connected by a bridge of boats.
"Better skirt the town, else they will think we are going to attackthe place, and some of our fellows might get winged."
"Poch! They can't hit us. All their best gunners are miles away atthe front. Let's go straight on. We shall be out of their range infive minutes."
Before they reached the town the white puffs of the 77's made a lineof smoke ahead of them, and, intermingled with this, they saw theblack cloudlets caused by the bursting of the enemy's 105 calibreshells. In fact they were ringed with a curtain of shell fire.
Dastral gave the signal by a sudden clip of his 'plane, which wasleading.
"Ninety degrees left and dip 500 feet!"
The Flight-Commander led the way through a gap in the curtain fire,and the rest followed, swerving rapidly to the left, then down, downin a fearful nose-dive of hundreds of feet, before they flattenedout.
"Bravo! Well done, boys!" yelled the leader, waving his hand to thedaring men behind. For they had outclassed the Boche, and before hecould rectify his aim, the machines were out of range once more.
On the other side of the town, however, they came in for the sametreatment, but they once more evad
ed the enemy's fire, and soon theyleft the town of Coblentz, with its Denkmal of Wilhelm der Grosse,and the forts of Ehrenbreitstein behind them.
"Three hundred shots for nothing, Jock," shouted Dastral, who washighly pleased with himself.
Jock did not hear, however, for the wind carried the words away, andthe observer was otherwise engaged, searching the skies with hisglasses. A moment later, however, having discovered what he waslooking for, he turned and shouted:
"One, two, three of them climbing to attack us!"
"Where are they?"
"Down below there to the left. Two yellow fat 'planes with blackcrosses on them, and a white one."
Dastral looked serious for a moment, as, holding the joy-stick withhis right hand, he raised his glasses with the other and looked down,to where, from an aerodrome just by the river, three enemy 'planeswere rising up to fight with them.
The shadow passed from the fair, young face of the chief pilot, as hegazed upon the enemy, and a calm smile wreathed his face.
"Humph! Let the devils come. We are not afraid of them. Sorry I can'tstay to fight them, Jock. Our first business is to bomb the arsenal,not to pick a stray quarrel with these beasts, who are asking fortrouble."
Then, opening out his engine once more to the full, he waved his handcoolly to the enemy, and called out:
"Good-bye, Mr. Boche. Some other time, if you don't mind, but to-dayI'm busy."
His followers understood, and opened the throttles of their enginesaccordingly, and, speeding on, soon left the enemy behind, for theywere slower machines, all the enemy's best fighters being on thewestern front.
Again and again Dastral looked round to see that his comrades wereall right. Eagerly he looked for the red, white and blue cocarde onthe wings, and felt very happy, for there was no need to be miserableand lonely with those brave fellows so near. Had they not sworn tofollow him to the "Gulfs," if necessary?
The chief enemy, however, so far, was the biting cold. Thethermometer was showing sixteen degrees below zero. Even with thethick leathern coats, pilots' boots and padded helmets, it wasimpossible to keep warm. The cold intruded everywhere. The thoughtwhich consoled them, however, was this:
"We shall soon be there, now! And we shall be the first raiders tobomb the enemy's citadel, where he manufactures his enormous supplyof shot and shell to keep the war going."
They were following the Rhine still. Every now and then they couldsee long strings of barges being towed up and down the river betweenCoblentz and Dusseldorf.
"Cologne!" shouted the observer, and Dastral nodded, as he lookedahead and saw the twin spires of the wonderful cathedral, and closebeside it the ancient Rathaus.
"What a target!" shouted Jock, as the great city lay beneath them.
"Yes, but there are women and children down there, Jock, and I am nota pirate. When we get to Essen we will begin."
"All right, old fellow. It was only a joke," came back the replythrough the speaking-tube.
They received another baptism of fire as they reached the outskirtsof the city, but, skirting round to the right, they avoided the heavyfire of the forts at Deutz, for Dastral knew that the brutes were notshooting badly to-day, and he was anxious not to have a singlemachine crippled before his mission was completed.
"There'll be plenty of fighting soon, my boy!" called Dastral. "Theenemy will have guessed our objective by this time and they will bepreparing a reception for us."
The observer nodded, for he knew that the fires down below would bebusy, and the various German Commands would be communicating withEssen and the arsenal at Krupps'. There was no time to lose, and so,despite the cold, they were still doing about one hundred and twentymiles an hour.
"Dusseldorf!" soon came from the observer's nascelle, for they hadpassed Coblentz, and many other towns and villages that lay about theslopes of the Rhine.
"See that!" shouted Jock.
Dastral again looked in the direction pointed out by his comrade, andhe beheld a great blur of smoke on the right, which blotted out thelandscape.
It was Germany's black country. Here the towns were clustered thicklytogether. Elberfeld, Barmen, Essen, and to the west of thelast-mentioned town lay the mighty works of Krupps. Somewhere in thatcloud of smoke lay the object of their long flight.
The Flight-Commander pointed his machine in the direction indicated,and the rest followed. The real fight was about to begin at last. Howwould they come out of it?
They were all eager to begin, for each machine carried a couple ofthe new land torpedoes, in addition to a number of twenty poundbombs.
It was well they had arranged a proper plan of campaign, else theirlabour would have been half in vain. Now, with the information whichhad come to hand by the mysterious Captain Scott, they knew the exactlocation of the very buildings on which they were about toconcentrate their fire.
"Now we're going to be strafed! I thought so!" cried Dastral.
"Phew! We're in for it now!" replied Jock, as the shot and shellbegan to scream past them, bursting with red spurts of flame,followed by white puffs and black clouds.
Where was the huge powder factory? They were all searching keenly forit now, for the atmosphere was smoky, which was partly their defence,and partly their disadvantage, making it difficult to place theirbombs correctly.
It would never do to fail now. They must go lower down and risk theheavy fire from the "Archies."
The T.N.T. sheds, where are they? The nitro-glycerine works, and thehuge dump?
Oh, yes, there they were. Not all the smoke could hide them. Not allthe enemy's fire could stop those daring and intrepid raiders.
Dastral gave the pre-arranged signal, and each 'plane dived to theobjective for which it had been detailed.
"Boom-m-m!" went the first land torpedo.
Yes, the Flight-Commander had found the powder works. A flame of fireshot up hundreds of feet, and the place began to burn fiercely. The"Archies" roared louder than ever.
"Boom-m-m! Boom-m-m! Boom-m!"
The others had found their objectives too. Four huge blocks wereburning fiercely. Down below the crowds were surging out of thedoomed buildings, running hither and thither to escape those terriblebombs which were now being dropped in a dozen places, in rapidsuccession, and the still more terrible explosions which must shortlycome unless the fierce fires which were now raging could be quicklysubdued.
The utmost confusion reigned down below. The impossible had beenaccomplished. Krupps', the very heart of Germany, had been bombed bya few daring raiders.
"Donner and blitz!" people down below were shouting. "What is thegood of our great Prussian army if it cannot prevent such things?"
The raiders were off now, for all this had been done in less thanthree minutes, once they had found their targets. As they made offGerman aeroplanes rose to pursue them. In every direction they sawthe enemy, who had been surprised after all, in spite of the warninghe must have received.
As they made off strange electric shocks seemed to agitate the air,and to make the machines rock wildly. Violent waves disturbed theatmosphere. Evidently the enemy had discovered some new device ofcreating air-pockets, and filling the heavens with lurid flashes ofelectricity.
But the device fails. The machines pass out of danger, but alas, itis doubtful whether two of them will ever reach the shelter of theirown lines again. Still, they are going to make the effort. Numberthree and four have been badly hit, and Dastral's 'plane is torn withbits of shrapnel.
Once or twice they look back at the flaming destruction which theyhave wrought, all in the space of a few minutes. As they do so, amighty column of flame and black smoke rises up into the air, and aterrific explosion takes place, which shakes the earth for fiftymiles around.
Yes, the T.N.T. works have gone up, and the two explosions which soonfollow show that something else has gone into the sky as well.
"Bravo! Krupps' has been bombed!"
Dastral gives the signal for his men to turn to the westward, and to
make with all possible speed for the shelter of their own lines.
But enemy 'planes are in rapid pursuit, and there are two lame ducksin the flight. It means another two hours' journey, and there is nochance for the lame ducks if they are further molested.
The leader quickly decides. He has still some fight left in him, andso has Mac. They will escort the rest. He signals to Mac, "Take theleft flank!" and Mac understands, while he himself takes the rightflank.
Then he orders the others to go S.S.W., for they must not infringethe neutrality of Holland by going due west. And so they proceed,until Jock signals that two of the Huns are gaining upon them. Theyare fast 'planes, and will do some damage if they are not dealt with.
At present they are still half a mile behind and a thousand feetbelow them. So Dastral circles round once or twice as if to fightwith them, but only one of them accepts the challenge, and opens fireat the Flight-Commander.
"Rap-rap-rap-rap-rap!" comes the sound of the fire, just audibleabove the roar of the engines and the whir-r-r-r of the propellers.
But Dastral has the weather-gage of him, for he has a thousand feetgreater altitude. He waits a moment, circling round. Then, as theBoche comes up, he dives at him, as though he meant to ram him, forhe knew this would unnerve the enemy more than anything else.
At the same moment he treats the Boche to three sudden bursts of firefrom his Lewis gun. It is quite enough for the enemy. He hasoutdistanced his friends, and does not care to engage this air-devilof an Englishman alone, so he swerves round, and hauls off a little,hoping that the Britisher will be sufficient of a fool to pursue him,but Dastral returns to his command, so that he may shepherd the lameducks through any further peril that may come upon them.
Again and again on that long journey back he has to turn and fight,and often Mac accompanies him.
At length, half frozen to death, with their eyes smarting so thatthey can scarcely see, one of them sights the relief squadron whichhas come to meet them and escort them back to safety.
Half a squadron has come to meet them, good fighters, all fresh andready for any hostile aircraft that cares to take the challenge. Andso, after nearly six hours of a trying ordeal, "B" Flight returnssafely to the shelter of the aerodrome behind the British lines.
Dastral of the Flying Corps Page 8