Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S.: A Story of the Great War

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XIII

  EXIT SEAPLANE No. 445B

  "WHY did I leave my comfortable bunk and try my hand at fishing atnight upon the wild North Sea?" enquired Lieutenant Fuller as hewithdrew his benumbed hands from his airman's gauntlets and fumbledineffectually for his electric torch. "Dash it all, man! What areyou fiddling about with?"

  "Only that releasing lever," replied Kirkwood from the depths of thefuselage. "That confounded Zep! If only the blessed thing hadn'tjibbed I'd have strafed her, sure as fate."

  "Chuck it!" ordered Fuller. "Let the beastly thing alone, or you maydrop a plum. This child doesn't want to be hoist with his ownpetard. Well, thank goodness we're afloat. That's some consolation.Where the hooligan Harry is that confounded torch?"

  "Take mine," said the A.P. passing for'ard the desired article."Say, old man, we appear to be rolling more to starboard than tot'other side. Hope the float isn't leaking."

  Fuller leant over the side. It was too dark to discern anything.Prudence forbade him to flash the torch upon the invisiblesupport--a support so light and frail that the wonder of it all wasthat it hadn't given way under the force of the impact with thewaves.

  The crippled seaplane was tossing and rolling under the combinedaction of the short crested waves and the stiff breeze. It wantedabout two hours to daylight. Meanwhile every minute saw theamphibious craft drifting further and further from shore.

  There were no signs of the "Hippodrome." Possibly the seaplanecarrier had resumed her voyage, in the supposition that the missinghornet had made one of the fishing harbours on the Yorkshire coast.The absence of any wireless call rather knocked that theory on thehead. On the other hand the "Hippodrome" could not, without greatrisk of being submarined, since she was unaccompanied by destroyersor patrol-boats, steam seaward on an apparent wild-goose chase forher errant child.

  "She's holding, I fancy," said Fuller referring to the suspectedfloat. "Anyhow we've kept afloat so far and there's no reason why weshouldn't do so until I tackle this most refractory motor."

  Making cautious use of the flash lamp the pilot minutely examinedthe complicated mechanism. It was not long before the mischief wasdiscovered. Not only was the petrol-tank completely perforated bythree shrapnel bullets, but the pipe leading from it to thecarburetter had been cut clean through. That accounted for theengine running for some seconds before coming to a stop. Until thelast of the petrol in the carburetter had been drawn into thecylinders firing was still taking place.

  Further examination revealed the fact that, the motor was otherwiseundamaged, although, judging by the holes in the fuselage andthrough the planes, it seemed wonderful that pilot and observer hadescaped being hit.

  "Can I bear a hand?" enquired Kirkwood.

  "No, thanks," was the reply. "Close enough quarters as it is. Weshould only be tumbling over one another."

  By the aid of a piece of flexible tubing lined with indiarubber thebroken portions of the petrol pipe were temporarily reunited. Thenext step was to plug the holes in the tank. This task was performedby means of a metal instrument consisting of a metal rod of about athird of an inch in diameter and four inches in length. Two thirdsof the length was threaded and fitted with a "butterfly" nut infront of which was a cylindrical plug of guttapercha faced withindiarubber. At the other extremity was a swivelled cross-bar ofabout an inch in length and so arranged that it could lie in astraight line with the rod.

  This end Fuller inserted in one of the perforations in the side ofthe tank. Then, giving the rod half a turn, he allowed the swivelbar to fall into a position at right angles to the rod. It was thenimpossible to withdraw the latter owing to the cross-piece engagingon the inner side of the tank.

  The flight-lieutenant's next move was to screw the pliable plug hardagainst the perforated metal by means of the "butterfly" nut, and byso doing hole No.1 was repaired--the first of six. While Fuller wasengaged upon the work of making good defects Kirkwood, his mindstill uneasy on the subject of the float, lowered himself over theside.

  Gaining the upper side of the float he felt along it with his hand.As he did so a wave swept the frail buoyant structure.

  "By Jove!" he exclaimed. "This is a treat. The water is quite warm."

  Compared with the intense coldness of the upper air the sea, at thistime of the year, was indeed tepid. The contrasted temperature actedlike balm to his numbed hands. He revelled in the comfort.

  While thus engaged the A.P. discerned a large object looming throughthe darkness--a cylinder nearly a yard in diameter. It was floatingwith very little of its bulk showing above the surface, and, owingto the comparatively rapid drift of the seaplane, it appeared to bemoving steadily through the water and bearing straight down upon thefloat.

  For a brief instant Kirkwood remained stock still in his recumbentposition, unable to raise a finger or utter a cry. The object was afloating mine.

  He could discern the horns with remarkable clearness, for the thingseemed surrounded by an aura of phosphorescent light. One blow fromthe underside of the float upon those delicately adjustedprojections with which the mine simply bristled would result inutter annihilation.

  Kirkwood's mind was steeled to the dangers of a ten or fifteenthousand feet fall through space; but this, to him, unusual dangerliterally took the wind out of his sails.

  Then, like a flash, the reaction set in. The will to cope withsudden perils asserted itself. A plan, unpretentious in all itsdetails, formulated in his active brain.

  Throwing himself flat upon the float and grasping one of thesupports with his left hand, the A.P. hung as far in front as hepossibly could without losing his balance. His outstretched handcame in deliberate contact with the drifting horror. The smooth,slimy surface--for the mine had evidently been in the water for sometime--offered no resistance, and he thrust until his fingers"brought up" against one of the horns.

  How far short of the minimum pressure required to snap the brittleprojection and allow the chemicals contained therein to igniteKirkwood was never to know. He was just aware that either theseaplane or the mine was swinging clear--perhaps it was a mutual"get out of my way" affair.

  Scraping the for'ard outer corner of the float by a bare six inchesthe infernal contrivance, fended off by the A.P.'s outstretchedhand, glided past, until with a sigh of relief the observer watchedit disappear in the darkness.

  For quite a minute he hung on, his heart beating like a piston, hiseyes peering through the blackness ahead. Floating mines, he knew,were generally in considerable numbers. The fact that one peril hadbeen averted was no guarantee that all danger from these jettisonedcylinders of potential death was over.

  "Where the Christopher Columbus are you, old bird?" exclaimedFuller, who, pausing in his work, had missed the rest of the "crew.""What, down on that float? What's wrong now?"

  "We nearly bumped into a mine," reported the A.P. "The beastly thingwas within six inches of my nose."

  "A miss is as good as a mile," remarked the pilot nonchalantly. "Ifthe thing had gone up six inches or six feet wouldn't have made anydifference. They wouldn't have found either of us, and therewouldn't be enough of the pair of us to make a satisfying meal for asolitary North Sea herring. Look here. Up with you and give me ahand at filling the tank. I want to test my handiwork."

  By the time the repairs were completed to the satisfaction of allhands, grey dawn was breaking over the wild North Sea. As far as theeye could penetrate the haze that hung about in detached patches theexpanse of water was unbroken. Not a sail of any description was insight and the beetling cliffs of the Yorkshire coast had long sincedipped beneath the horizon.

  "Fill her right up now," continued the pilot, indicating therepaired tank. "It's lucky we had so many spare tins of stuff onboard. We'll mop up most of the petrol during the plug home againstthe wind, I reckon."

  Fuller, deep in final adjustments, and Kirkwood hard at workemptying the contents of the petrol-cans into the tank, were unawareof the new menace that threatened them, until a huge grey shape
loomed up within fifty yards to windward of the seaplane.

  The shape was a German submarine mine-layer, She was running awash,while on the short, narrow platform in the wake of her conning-towerstood a couple of officers and a half a dozen seamen.

  "You vos surrender make!" shouted one of the Germans.

  "I'll see you to blazes first!" retorted Fuller as he franticallymanipulated the starting mechanism.

  For once the accurately-timed engine failed to respond to themaster-hand. A mutinous back-fire was the only result. Fuller triedagain but ineffectually.

  The Hun submarine then thought it time to butt in. This she did mostneatly but none the less completely by running her nose into theresistless structure of the jibbing seaplane. Her rate of speed wasbut three or four knots, but that was enough. Amidst the rending ofstruts, the crashing of the shattered floats and the harp-like twangof severed tension-wires the luckless 445B turned absolutely overand disappeared beneath the waves, leaving pilot and observerstruggling in the water.

  "Dash it all!" soliloquised Fuller as he struck out for thesubmarine. "This is the second time the Huns have nabbed me. I'llbet there'll be a third. Just my rotten luck. Come on, old bird,half a dozen more strokes. They are going to heave us out of theditch."