Dastral of the Flying Corps

by Rowland Walker

  CHAPTER IX

  THE GIANT WAR-PLANE

  FOR some days after the daring adventure recorded in our last chapterthings had been fairly quiet along that portion of the Somme front,near the sector patrolled by the 'planes of the --th Squadron. Therehad been the usual daily reconnaissances over the enemy's lines; theusual spotting and registering for the artillery by the aeroplanesand the kite balloons, but the dull, cloudy weather had restrictedthe use of the 'planes to a great extent.

  One incident that had occurred, however, caused no little excitement,and awakened the professional curiosity of the pilots, observers andair-mechanics of the squadron.

  Late one afternoon a very small but swift aerial scout, in the shapeof a new type of baby-monoplane, suddenly appeared over theaerodrome, and after circling round once or twice, made several rapidspirals and descended on to the grounds. It was no enemy machine, forthe red, white and blue cocarde of the Allies was plainly visibleupon the underside of the wings, and also on the rudder.

  No sooner had the ferry-pilot who had brought her over from England,made a landing, and climbed out of his tiny nascelle, than everypilot and observer who was about the place, and not on duty, gatheredround to welcome the newcomer with the usual greeting, and to floodhim with questions as to the new machine. Amongst the rest theFlight-Commander of "B" Flight could be seen talking and arguing withhis friends.

  "Gee-whiz! But isn't she a beauty, boys?" he was heard to exclaim,as, with quite a boyish enthusiasm, he completed in less than twominutes his first brief examination of the machine.

  "By Jove, but she's a gem!" replied Mac, to whom the question hadbeen more particularly addressed.

  "I've never seen anything like her," exclaimed another member of "B"Flight. "I don't think the Huns have anything to equal her."

  "Not even their Fokkers?" ventured one of the pilots, who was alreadyseated in the little cockpit, trying her controls, for he was justlonging to take her aloft. "And you came from London in an hour and aquarter?" asked Dastral of the ferry-pilot, helping him out of histhick leather coat.

  "Yes, quite easily," replied the latter.

  "And you never even pushed her?"

  "I never opened the throttle to the full till I rushed the Channel,half an hour ago."

  "And then you let her rip?"

  "Yes, I did then. She fairly seemed to leap over the English Channel.She touched one hundred and sixty miles, and for a while she quitefrightened me."

  "Phew! I should think so. What the deuce shall we get to next? Onehundred and sixty miles an hour! Great Scott! I'd give ten years ofmy life to meet Himmelman on her, when I've fairly tried her," saidDastral quietly.

  There was a note of silence when the Flight-Commander spoke thus, forhe did not often express himself like that, though every one knewthat the ambition of his life was to meet the German air-fiend onequal terms, and fate had decreed that before very long his wishshould be gratified.

  After this, they all adjourned to the messroom, and, for thatevening, and the next, the ferry-pilot was their guest.

  At dinner that evening, when John Bunny, the jovial, stout, stumpy,chubby-faced waiter at the officers' mess, had cleared away, andcigars were lighted, and chairs drawn to the fire-place, all the talkwas about the baby-monoplane. For the time being even the war fadedaway, except so far as it hinged upon the coming deeds of the newmachine. They discussed its merits and its possibilities, its highspeed, its wonderful but powerful engine, capable of 200 horse-powerand nearly two thousand revolutions a minute.

  Next morning, as soon as it was light, Dastral was seated in thelittle nascelle, climbing into the azure. For an hour he tested it,and came down delighted with his new plaything. Again and again hetried it during the next two days, until he was thoroughly at homewith it, and could handle it just as well as any other machine he hadever flown. Indeed, the ferry-pilot who watched him was amazed at theantics which the Flight-Commander performed with the trippy littlething.

  On the third morning after the arrival of the new visitant, theaerodrome was startled by renewed activity on the part of the enemy.Just as dawn was breaking Lieutenant Grenfell, who was again onorderly officer's duty at the aerodrome, was called suddenly to thetelephone by the Flight-sergeant in attendance saying:

  "Advanced Headquarters Ginchy want to speak to you, sir."

  An instant later he was holding the receiver, and heard Ginchy speakplainly.

  "Is that Advanced II.Q. Ginchy?" he asked.

  "Yes. Is that the orderly officer, Contalmaison aerodrome?"

  "Yes. Anything the matter?"

  "Enemy 'planes crossing our lines, and coming in your direction,"came the laconic answer. "Want you to take necessary action at once."

  "Right, old fellow. Action shall be taken at once. But I say--hullo,are you still there?"

  "Yes."

  "How many enemy 'planes were there?"

  "Three have crossed over. A very big one, and two fast scouts. Theothers have all been turned back by our A.A. guns, but they aretrying again, I think, as the guns are opening fire upon them oncemore."

  "All right. Good bye!"

  Then, turning to the Flight-Sergeant, the officer said:

  "Quick, sergeant! Sound the alarm to call up the men, and get themachines out of the hangars ready for action. There is no time tolose. If they are fast machines they will be here in less than fiveminutes."

  "Yes, sir," and the sergeant saluted and departed upon his errand,calling out the guard and giving the orderly sergeant instructions torouse all the men at once, while he himself returned to the orderlyofficer, and assisted in calling the pilots from their bunks bytelephone.

  Rapidly as everything was carried out, before all the machines couldbe got ready, or the pilots prepared, the enemy had arrived and hadbegun to bomb the aerodrome.

  "Whis-s-s-h! Boom-m-m-m!" came the first bomb, which was quicklyfollowed by others.

  It was only just light enough to make out the machines, but Dastral,who was one of the first pilots on the spot, was already in hisbaby-monoplane, ready for the propeller to be swung, when the firstbomb fell, not thirty yards away. His attention, however, for thepast few seconds while the drums of ammunition were being brought,had been fixed upon the raiders.

  He was amazed at what he saw. There were two small machines,evidently fast scouts and single-seaters, each fitted with asingle-fixed gun, but the other visitor was a huge warplane, so bigthat for the moment he was astounded.

  "Look, Jock!" he shouted. "Egad, but she's a tri-plane, a giant, witha double fuselage, two engines, and a protected or armoured car inthe centre--at least, so it seems to me. And she's got two gunners atleast. Great Scott! where are those drums? I must get off at once, orthey will blow the place to bits. They've already hit No. 3 shed, andprobably damaged half a dozen machines."

  "Here is your ammunition, sir!" cried Corporal Yap, running up atthat moment with the drums and placing them in the cockpit.

  "Right. Stand clear there!"

  "Rap-rap-rap! Whir-r-r!" came the sound of the engine and thewhirring blades of the monoplane, for it could be distinctly heardabove the roar of the anti-aircraft guns which were now furiouslyshelling the invaders. And while some confusion reigned for themoment at the aerodrome, the little hornet taxied off, and leapt upinto the air.

  Dastral was the first to mount up, but the Dwarf being asingle-seater, he was compelled to leave Jock behind for the nonce.

  Higher and higher he climbed, for the monoplane had the power to riserapidly, and when at full speed to sit on her tail for a shortperiod, that is, to climb nearly perpendicularly. She was so small,too, that she was difficult to perceive even from a short distance.Thus she was more fortunate than the others, which, on rising shortlyafterwards, received the concentrated fire and bombs of all the threeraiders.

  Even Munroe had to land again, with his machine blazing, for one ofthe bombs had shattered his petrol tank, and set the machine on fire,so that the pilot himself was rescued with
difficulty from thewreckage. Two other machines were also compelled to descend, for theenemy, having the weather-gage and being directly above them, had theadvantage.

  The Flight-Commander by this time was well away, and was careeringround, climbing more rapidly than he had ever done before, andlooking forward to the coming combat. He could see his own target,but, relying upon the small target that the Dwarf offered, he keptjust sufficiently away to render his own machine invisible to theHuns, who were having the time of their lives.

  Dastral was in a fighting mood; he felt ready to fight all the Bocheairmen in the world, if he could only get at them. Higher and higherhe rose, and marked the little register as it clicked out thealtitude:--

  "Three thousand--four thousand feet."

  Its quiet voice was drowned in the roar of the engine and thewhir-r-r of the propellers, but its face seemed to smile at the pilotand beckon him to victory.

  He had got well over towards the enemy's lines, in his circlingsweep, for he was determined to keep well between the enemy and hisbase. Besides, it was good strategy, for the day was breaking andalready, up there, he could see the rim of the sun showing over theedge of the eastern horizon.

  "I shall have the sun behind my back when the fight begins, and theHuns will have it in their eyes!" he told himself.

  At six thousand feet he banked and swept round towards the enemy,still climbing rapidly, for the Boches were at about seven thousandfeet. Again and again he made the whizzing Dwarf almost to sit uponher tail, so eager was he to reach seven thousand five hundred.

  He felt perfectly happy, and braced for the conflict. His onlyanxiety was to get to business at once.

  "Five thousand--five thousand five hundred feet," said the littledial, and Dastral laughed riotously.

  "Seven thousand," came at last, though it seemed an age to the eagerpilot.

  Glancing down and away to the west, he could see his comradesclimbing up to his assistance, for he had left them far behind. TheBoches had seen them too, and were diving to attack them, droppingbombs and firing incendiary bullets.

  "Capital!" shouted Dastral in high glee, as he saw the enemy makeseveral rapid dives, giving him exactly what he wanted, theweather-gage.

  "The beasts haven't seen me, or they wouldn't do that!" Dastral toldhimself, and he was right, for the enemy had not even suspected hispresence yet, or, if they had seen him leave the ground, they hadlost sight of him, owing to the tactics he had adopted. They weresoon to have a knowledge of his presence, however.

  "Now for it," said Dastral between his teeth, as, having reachedseven thousand feet, he whizzed away to the attack of the nearest'plane, one of the enemy's fighting scouts which had accompanied thehuge warplane.

  "Whir-r-r-r!" went the hornet, as Dastral opened the engine throttleto the full.

  The speed of the hornet was terrific, and the sound of the windrushing past him sounded to the pilot as loud as the noise of theengine.

  "One hundred and sixty!" laughed the speedometer.

  "They can't beat that," replied Dastral, as though the littledial-face understood. He felt that he must talk, though he had noobserver this morning.

  Now he was over the fighting scout, and she saw him for the firsttime. She was the highest of the three, but she was a thousand feetbelow him, and, relying on her speed, she banked, turned swiftly, andtried to escape, actually leaving the warplane to look after herself.

  Dastral pulled over the controls, and down, down he went in athrilling nose-dive as though he would crash her to the earth withhis own fuselage, but that was not his intention. At five hundredfeet he opened fire, and gave her three drums in rapid succession,and never was sound more agreeable to his ears than that"rap--rap--rap--rap--rap!" of his machine-gun as he sprayed the enemyfrom end to end of his fuselage with incendiary bullets.

  Before the third drum was exhausted he noticed the flames leap fromthe doomed German, for Dastral had sent three flaming-bullets throughhis reserve petrol-tank, and in that moment he knew he had only twoenemies left to fight, for the first enemy 'plane went down blazingin a plunging dip, which ended in a spinning nose-dive and a terriblecrash, right over the eastern end of the aerodrome.

  Dastral looked down, his eyes gleaming with victory, glad he hadfinished number one, but sincerely hoping in his heart that hiscomrades on the ground would be able to save the pilot from theburning wreckage, for of all deaths that the daring aviator dreads,to be burnt is the worst of all, and few English pilots, having sentthe enemy down, wish him such an end.

  There was no time for sentiment, however, this morning, for the nextmoment Dastral was startled by the sound of a machine-gun behind him:

  "Rat--tat--tat!"

  Yes, one of his own friends was already attacking the warplane. Itsounded like Mac, and the tactics seemed suspiciously his, for he hadbeen creeping up behind Dastral, following his leader, as he had sooften done before, and he was now engaged in a battle royal with themonster, wilst another 'plane was tackling the second scout, thoughat a disadvantage.

  For a second Dastral was halting which way to turn, but pilots haveto make rapid decisions every day, and when he saw Mac's danger, forthe enemy would assuredly send him down in a few minutes unless helpcame, the Flight-Commander banked quickly, and, still having theadvantage of nearly a thousand feet in altitude, he swept on to helphis man.

  It was well he did, for though Mac fought bravely, as Dastral hadtaught him to do a score of times, he was no match for the hugeGerman, with her armoured car, and two machine-gunners in addition tothe pilot.

  As Dastral swept back to his comrade, he saw the two machines rakingeach other, but though Mac got in several shots at the fuselage andthe engines, he hit no vital part.

  "Ye gods, what a huge brute she is!" ejaculated the Flight-Commanderas he drew near, and sailed over the top of the monster, just seekingfor some weak spot.

  Before he could clamp in his drums he saw Mac's machine reel, andspin round once or twice, as though the controls had been broken bysome questing bullets. The German continued to fire, however, and thenext instant Dastral saw the reason of it all, for he saw Mac'sobserver stretching over towards the pilot.

  "Heavens! The poor chap's hit!" he exclaimed. Then shouting almostfiercely, as though he fancied Mac could hear him, he cried:

  "Never mind, they shall pay for it, Mac!"

  Again Dastral jammed the controls hard over, and though he knew hewas fighting a different creature altogether this time, he tried hisold tactics. He swept down as though to collide with the enemy andcrash with him to earth, for he knew this was the best method ofunnerving the Hun. With his feet on the rudder bar, and the joy-stickbetween his knees, and his hands clear for his gun, he fired twodrums, but seeing no immediate effect, he flattened out suddenly,when only fifty feet from the Bosche, and pulling the switch of hisbomb release, he dropped a twenty-pound bomb fairly on to the centralarmoured car of the monster.

  Scarcely had he swept past his adversary when the thing exploded atclose quarters, causing him almost unconsciously to loop the looptwice in rapid succession, for the very atmosphere seemed to be blownaway from his propeller blades, and the air was so full ofair-pockets that for a moment this daring aviator was in imminentdanger of a side-slip and a fearful crash to the earth.

  It was over in a minute, however, and the "Boom-m-m-m!" of theexplosion and the smother of gas, smoke and flame being past, helooked round him, and saw the German three hundred feet below him,with half his central armoured car blown away, and with both gunnersapparently lifeless, and the pilot, bleeding, still sticking itgrimly, trying to volplane his machine to the ground.

  The Flight-Commander looked down, and sweeping round till he hadgained his old position, he was about to drop a second bomb to finishthe warplane, but he withdrew his hand from the bomb release, saying:

  "Poor bounder! He's bound to go down. He cannot get her over thelines. I'll let him alone."

  Then, looking around for the third machine, he was just in t
ime tosee her disappear eastward towards her own lines, and saw two English'planes, which seemed to have come from nowhere, following her.

  "Ah, well, I'll go down and receive that chap's surrender--that is,if he can manage to get down without a crash."

  There is, apparently, more honour in aerial fighting in these daysthan in any other field of warfare, and, when a pilot has brought hisman down, should he fall, say, into the conqueror's lines, very oftenthe victor will descend and receive the surrender of the vanquished.

  Dastral's professional curiosity also urged him to do this. The hugemachine was of a new type, for in all his experience he had seennothing like it, and he was eager to examine it.

  Keeping his eye, therefore, on the descending German, who was tryingwith the utmost care to navigate the aerial monster to the ground,Dastral banked, then spiralled, and after one or two rapidnose-dives, planed swiftly down to within a few score of yards of theplace where the monster must ultimately descend; and three minuteslater, having landed, he waited calmly on the ground for mein herr tocomplete his landing.

  Down, down she came, lobbing first one way and then another,finishing up with a bump which completed the wreckage of one of herhuge outstretched planes, and hurling the lifeless form of anobserver-gunner to the earth.

  "My word, what a size she is!" cried some one from the group ofofficers and men standing by.

  She was a mass of wreckage, and how the wounded pilot had managed tobring her down so calmly was a miracle.

  "Where are you hurt, Captain?" asked Dastral, helping the wounded manfrom the wrecked car.

  "Here and here, Flight-Commander!" replied the German in goodEnglish, leaning heavily on the pilot, who a few minutes before hadbeen his deadly enemy.

  "Fetch Captain Young, the M.O., at once!" ordered Dastral, andimmediately one of the air-mechanics ran off to find Number Nine.

  "You were a marvel to bring her down without a crash!" said Dastral."I'm sure I could never have done it."

  The German smiled. He was a fair-haired Prussian, not at all of theHun type, and there was moisture in his blue eyes as he replied,

  "I thank you for the compliment, Flight-Commander. You also are_some_ pilot, as you English say."

  "And she is _some_ machine, too!" urged Dastral, trying to keep upthe man's spirit until the medical officer arrived.

  "Ah, my poor machine, and my poor gunners! They were brave fellowsand they died for the Fatherland. And the machine?--yes, she was abeauty, and it was her first trip. Now she is a ruin, and I mustsurrender her to you, but you will never be able to use her. See!"

  Dastral turned round to look, and noticed that the German warplanewas in flames, for the pilot, mortally wounded as he was, knew hisduty, which was, if he could not bring his machine back, to destroyit. And his last act, which had been unnoticed, ere he left themachine, was to set her quietly on fire, only waiting to make surethat the second gunner was really dead.

  "Ah! My poor machine, but you English--will--never--use--her!"

  As he uttered these words slowly, gasping and clutching at his heart,the German turned ghastly pale, and, staggering, fell into the armsof Dastral just as the medical officer came running up.

  For a moment Dastral held him, but the blood began to gush from hismouth and nostrils, and then his head fell back, for he was dead.

  "You are too late, doctor," said the Flight-Commander sadly, as helaid the dead captain down on the grass, and looked at his pale faceand wide open eyes, still staring up at the azure blue of the openingday, as though even in death the skies were calling him up there, asthey did in life; for he had been one of the most brilliant of theGerman aviators, second only to Himmelman, who indeed had been histeacher.

  "Too late, doctor! There was no chance for him from the beginning. Hewas mortally wounded."

  "Yes, poor fellow, he has fought his last battle!" replied the M.O.

  "Poor fellow! I wish he could have lived," muttered Dastral, and afeeling of unutterable sadness came over him, and he cursed the warwhich had made him this man's enemy.

  Again he looked at the Prussian's face, and, stooping down, closedthe man's eyes in their last long sleep. Then, turning to anair-mechanic, he said:

  "Bring a German flag, and wrap it round him," and so he strode awaytowards his bunk, depressed by a feeling of profound melancholy.