The Way of the Air 12

The Way of the Air 12

We turned as soon as were able, and waited for the enemy to recommence

the attack. He was all out now, and putting on top speed bore down

upon us with the speed of an express train. Nearer and yet nearer he

drew. Thankfully I noticed that we were both at the same altitude. When

yet about a quarter of a mile distant, his observer opened fire, the

bullets flying all around us in a leaden stream, and still we did not

reply. I looked at my observer. He was bending over his gun, fumbling

about with some portion of the mechanism. There was no need to ask what

was the matter. Alas! I knew too well. The gun had jammed. Now followed

a ticklish time for both of us, for without the gun we were completely

unarmed, and Fritz was drawing nearer every second. Already I could

hear and feel his bullets singing past my head, occasionally chipping

portions of the machine. Now he was right level with us. What were we

to do? To remain in that same position would mean certain death. If

we climbed, he would climb faster, and would almost immediately be up

with us again. There was only one thing to be done--the unexpected!

So putting her nose-down, we dived towards the earth like a stone,

and had gone over a thousand feet before I could get her level again.

This maneuver so upset the calculations of the enemy, that he was now

about three-quarters of a mile distant. This gave us precious time to

prepare again for the attack. The observer was still working feverishly

away, when we commenced to climb. Fritz had already turned and was

coming down to meet us; but we had the advantage this time of having

the wind behind our backs. If only that infernal gun were ready! Up we

climbed, and down came Fritz; all the faster because he knew we were

comparatively unarmed. Now we were under half a mile distant, now only

a quarter, and now he had commenced to fire. Would we never reply? At

last! Brrr! Brrr! Brrr! yapped the gun in our bows.

 

Fritz was so startled at this unexpected development that for a moment

he paused in his firing. This was our opportunity; taking steady aim

J---- put the whole drum of 47 cartridges into his back in three

bursts. He staggered and reeled, he was hit; I felt I wanted to cry out

for sheer joy, but my throat was parched and dry. Oh! the reaction

after that dreadful ten minutes. But although we had hit him, Fritz

was yet by no means out of running, that is if he elected to remain

and fight it out, which I doubted extremely; for the Hun is ever

super-courageous when he has an unarmed and helpless foe to deal with.

So throttling her down I watched him anxiously. Turning to the left he

started off at top speed in the direction of his own base. This I had

expected, and off we started in his trail with only another half-hour’s

petrol in our tanks. On and on he flew, over wood and town, and we

were close in the rear, both flying at top speed. Every moment he was

getting lower. I knew only too well what that meant. He was trying to

lead us into a trap, where we would make a set target for a ring of

his anti-aircraft guns. We must never let this happen or we should

be finished for a certainty. If we could only catch up with him; but

it was in vain we wished, for he was yet a quarter of a mile ahead,

when, as usual, the unexpected happened. He had engine trouble. Within

five minutes we were almost on top of him. He commenced to sink like a

stone. Now was our opportunity, an opportunity which our observer was

not slow to take advantage of. Right into the middle of his back flew

the steady stream of bullets. Again he reeled, and this time there was

that peculiar fluttering of the wings, which tells only too plainly

that an aeroplane is “out of control.” Like poor B---- he commenced to

whirl round like a humming-top, then with one long last plunge he had

crashed into one of his own encampments, and all was over.

 

We were left to reach our own lines with twenty minutes’ petrol

remaining, and under a violent bombardment of the enemy “Archies.”

 

* * * * *

 

Again an interesting personal account, told in the words of the pilot

participating in a Zepp Strafe:--

 

The orderly from the telephone room brought the news. Zeppelins had

been sighted at ---- and were proceeding in a northerly direction. This

meant that they would be overhead at any moment.

 

A few sharp orders and the station began to throb with life.

 

Mechanics hurried hither and thither, some to the sheds to get out the

machine, others to fetch the bombs and a Véry’s pistol from the armory;

yet others to lay out the light flares across the aerodrome in order

that upon our return we might perchance be able to define the right

landing ground.

 

Compasses, electric light torches and maps were dragged hurriedly from

their hiding-places in lockers. A general bearing was taken of the

enemy’s course, and we ran out on to the aerodrome, where a searchlight

had already begun to work, sending long, scintillating beams of light

across the dark night sky, turning and twisting, first in one quarter,

then in another, covering the heavens in the twinkling of an eye, but

never disclosing the true object of its search.

 

At last there is a shout from one of the men by the light. He had

discovered the whereabouts of the Zeppelin. Yes! there she is! A long,

gray, cigar-shaped object far up in the clouds.

 

We hurried across to the machine, and while I examined the bombs in the

bomb-rack beneath the fuselage (body), and attended to the fitting-in

of the Lewis-gun, the pilot tested the engine. And before five minutes

had elapsed since the first alarm we were off the ground.

 

Who can well and truly describe the sensations of night flying?

Suddenly one is hurled from the ground into an unbounded space of

darkness at the rate of fifty miles an hour. It is like jumping off a

cliff on a dark night and plunging on and on, one knows not where. It

is impossible to see beyond one’s nose, and the only thing that seems

real and natural is the incessantly loud hum of the engine. It is a by

no means pleasant task.

 

Leaving the ground we miss a roof-top by inches, and, feeling

considerably shaken, climb rapidly. At first it is dark, pitch dark.

We see nothing, we know not where we are. One would lose one’s reason

were it not for the hum of the racing engine.

 

At last there breaks through the long shadows of darkness, beneath us,

a long, narrow, winding ribbon of shimmering gray. The young moon has

broken through the clouds and the reflection of its light upon the

water gives us the position of the river. On either side or moving

slowly along the surface are small pin-pricks of colored lights; I

switch on my electric light in front of the observer’s seat, glance at

the altimeter, and discover that we are already 500 feet up.

 

The glare of that light, feeble though it be when contrasted with the

black darkness of the atmosphere around, has got into my eyes, and for

a moment or two I can distinguish absolutely nothing. Then lights begin

to make themselves visible.

 

The street lamps can easily be distinguished; as being darkened at the

top the light is concentrated downwards in a circle onto the pavement

beneath, which serves the purpose of reflecting it heavenwards and

upwards. The main streets can be picked out by the two parallel lines

of colored lights; the windows of shops, the lights of which have been

covered with red and green shades.

 

I have another look at the altimeter. Only a thousand, but still

climbing steadily. Into a dark bare patch of land far below there comes

rushing a flaring, glaring gleam of light, followed by a string of

smaller lights. I puzzle out what this strange apparition may be. It is

a railway train.

 

As we mount yet higher we begin to lose all our bearings, and all sight

of the earth beneath. A much more beautiful earth when compared with

the dull, prosaic everyday affair, looking for all the world like a

huge garden decorated with a myriad of multi-colored lights. It is

difficult to realize that those few, straggling, irregular rows of

lamps encompass seven million living souls; that there far below us

sleepily blinking and twinkling is the greatest city of the world.

 

The altimeter registers 5000 ft. Getting nearer to the Zepp altitude,

yet no sign! The anxiety of waiting and suspense is becoming

insufferable. Nothing but the incessant throb of the engine. But I have

spoken too soon! Out of the darkness and blackness there rushes past,

with the speed of an express train, a black unholy shape.

 

Suddenly there is the most violent cannonade; a sure sign that the

anti-aircraft gunners have spotted their quarry. Searchlights from all

directions are in a second of time concentrated upon ourselves, while

they are endeavoring to get the range. This latter, much to the disgust

of the pilot, who, blinded by the glare, banks too steeply, just in

time saves her from a nose-dive, and consigns all anti-aircraft gunners

to a certain well-known locality possessed of a permanent and extremely

warm climate.

 

We are in luck’s way, however; for presently the guns are all silenced.

The searchlights go out one by one. All becomes quiet and dark,

dismally dark. We cruise around for another ten minutes or so, then

descend cautiously and gradually. With one eye glued to the altimeter,

to make certain of the height, I peer over the side with the other to

pick up the first sign of lights or landmarks.

 

Eight thousand feet! Seven thousand feet! Getting horribly cold! Six

thousand! Five thousand! Shall we never get down? Four thousand! Three

thousand! it seems like an age. Two thousand! One thousand! Cautiously

now or our necks will be broken!

 

At last we are safe back on Mother Earth again, and very thankfully

seek the refuge of our beds!

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVI

 

AN AIR FIGHT WITH A HUN

 

 

_Somewhere in the North of France,

Saturday._

 

To-day our special delight has been a bombardment from enemy aeroplanes.

 

They came over about noon and roused the fearful and subdued the proud

while we were all at lunch. They circled overhead for about five

minutes, dropped a dozen or so bombs, then cleared off hurriedly before our own men had time to get away.