Time—9.15 p.m.Place—The wine cellar of No. 445, Russeldish Square.Play—"The Tin Kettles of London."
Time—9.15 p.m.Place—The wine cellar of No. 445, Russeldish Square.Play—"The Tin Kettles of London."
"Act I, Scene I.—Peggy is asleep on the mattress that is kept down here." ("Peggy is her sister, aged nine," explained Barcroft.) "I have a few dozen bottles of champagne in front of me, so if my writing gets a bit wobbly you will know the cause. Golly! They are making a beastly row; I shall go deaf in a minute. A policeman tore along the road just now, ringing his bicycle bell and shouting, 'Take cover,' so we adjourned to our dugout as usual. The housemaid is shaking like a jelly. I hope she won't collapse on top of poor me.
"Act I, Scene II.—Crash.... That's some of our glass gone—that means another piece of shrapnel, hip, pip. In the last raid we had some glass broken in the kitchen skylight, and afterwards I had a gorgeous find—a piece of shell weighing three-quarters of a pound.
"Act II, Scene I.—There's an aeroplane going overhead—a moment of suspense. Bang!... A bomb next door by the sound of it, but I expect it's really a good way away. It's ten o'clock now, so they've been at it for three-quarters of an hour—what an age I'm taking to write this letter, but I stop every minute to listen to the orchestra playing a selection which varies between the big drum (bombs) and the kettle-drums (guns). Please excuse the writing and the pencil, but there are nine of us squashed into about eight square feet, with hardly any ventilation. Do you think that the motor of your laid-up car would drive an air-fan? Because, if so, you might send it to us and I could rig it up before to-morrow night, as we have been down here at least once every night this week, and I expect we shall continue to do so until the end of this moon.
"Act II, Scene II.—There's another aeroplane. They always seem to spend ages going over this house.
"10.15.—We're been down here an hour and Fritz's still going strong, like Johnny Walker. There's a motor-ambulance going past.
"10.20.—A lull in the operations.
"10.35.—Just been out to look for shrapnel, but could not find any. Molly" ("the second sister," explained Barcroft) "is still out there;so are most of the neighbours, in airy evening dress. The 'All Clear' signal has not been given, but there's no more firing.
"10.45.—'All Clear' just sounded, and I'm off to bed, so good-night.
"DIANA."
"P.S.—A policeman has just come to say, that they have been driven off, but they may come back again, so the 'All Clear' signal has been cancelled.
"Sunday morning.—The 'All Clear' signal was not given last night till 1 o'clock.
"DIANA."
"Well?" inquired Billy, as the Moke handed back the letter. "What do you think of that? Not bad for a sixteen year old, eh?"
"A girl to be proud of, Barcroft," replied Sylvester. "British to the core. By Jove! I can see a German fräulein writing a letter like that and under similar conditions—I don't think."
"And," added Barcroft, "it shows the true drift of public opinion. Thanks to the absurd restrictions of a rotten censorship all sorts of vague and inaccurate rumours float around. You cannot muzzle millions of people, you know. Consequently it is the froth that floats on the surface—the vapourings of irresponsible individuals of excitable temperament. That whichmatters most—evidences of the calmness and steadfastness of the bulk of the population in the danger areas—is only occasionally revealed by such means as this. Yes, Diana is a topping example of British grit and courage."
"Any stunts lately?" asked Farrar.
Barcroft shook his head.
"Not counting the destroyer we've just done in, we haven't had a decent strafe for nearly a week. I can't imagine where Fritz hangs his hat and coat up about here. There are dozens of U-boats in the Mediterranean. It is certain that they put into the Adriatic for repairs and replenishing stores, but where, goodness only knows. We've tried Trieste, Pola, and Fiume, and drawn blank. I'd like to meet some one who could give me the tip."
"You have," remarked the sub quietly.
"Who—where?" demanded the flight-lieutenant.
"This child," replied Farrar, nudging his own ribs. "I'd recognise the place at once. It's somewhere behind the islands off the Dalmatian coast."
"By the Lord Harry!" ejaculated Billy Barcroft explosively. "We'll land Sylvester and Little Willie, fill up with bombs and petrol, and you'll pilot me to the U-boat base. Farrar, my bird, we'll have a glorious stunt and the most gorgeous strafe on record. Game?"
"Rather," replied the sub enthusiastically.
BILLY BARCROFT would have been disagreeably surprised had the R.N.V.R. sub given him an answer in the negative. He was perfectly aware that Nigel Farrar was rightfully entitled to be sent home on leave, following his escape from an enemy country. Yet, with characteristic impetuosity and zeal, Farrar had jumped at the offer to guide the "Avenger" to the secret U-boat base, and incidentally "get his own back."
In less than twenty minutes the flying-boat returned to her base. Barcroft made his report and obtained the squadron-commander's ready permission to attempt another stunt. Sylvester, rigged out in new civilian clothing and taking the baron's uniform with him as a souvenir, lost no time in catching the first train to Milan, where, with luck, he might join the through express to Paris—and home.
"You'll look me up directly you arrive home on leave, old man?" he asked, when Farrar bade him farewell and a speedy journey, knowingperfectly well that the latter wish was almost as hopeless as asking for the moon.
"I'll certainly look you up before I rejoin my ship," replied the sub evasively.
The Moke regarded his chum curiously.
"Wonder what the move is?" he asked himself. "Farrar's people aren't in England. He has no relatives there as far as I am aware of. I wonder—ah! the sly dog!"
As soon as the flying-boat had replenished her petrol tanks, taken on board a stock of bombs and trays of ammunition, the flight began. Barcroft was anxious to carry out the stunt in broad daylight. With reasonable luck he hoped to be back again by sunset.
The "Avenger" was not alone. Following in V-shaped formation were four of her sister craft, their load of bombs aggregating a little more than a ton. They flew high—between 8,000 and 10,000 feet—with very little noise: the motors were effectively silenced, and only the purr of the pistons and the whirr of the huge propellers disturbed the stillness of the rarefied atmosphere.
High over the Istrian coast they flew, keeping above, but just inside, the chain of islands that had proved more than once the salvation of a hard-pressed hostile vessel.
Presently Farrar pointed to a ridge of mountains slightly on the "Avenger's" port bow.
"That's the show," he declared. "I recognise it by the conical peaks."
"Sure?" asked Barcroft dubiously. "I've flown all along the coast and across those hills, but not a trace of a U-boat base did I twig—and I was mighty particular. Searched every inlet with my binoculars. Not a sign of a wharf, workshop, or anything of that nature."
"I'll eat my hat if I'm wrong," said the sub confidently, as he reached for a pair of powerful glasses. "There you are! See those patches of green in the water?"
"Yes," admitted Barcroft. "They were there last time. Reeds on the mudbanks."
"Camouflage," corrected Farrar. "The whole show is covered with boughs and branches to escape aerial observation. Each of those patches screens a Fritz."
"Does it, by Jove!" ejaculated the flight-lieutenant. He swung round and nodded significantly to his second-in-command. Not a word was exchanged between Barcroft and Kirkwood. Old hands at the strafing business each seemed to know instinctively the other's mind.
A slight depression of the horizontal rudders, a faint click as the ignition was switched off, and the "Avenger" commenced her two-mile glide, descending to two thousand feet, her consorts following her example.
Fascinated, Farrar leant over the side of the hull. This sort of warfare was new to him.It seemed a very one-sided business, for not a shot was fired from the enemy base. Optically there was little to be noted—merely a forked arm of the sea with an island lying almost athwart the entrance, a range of hills enclosing the water, and a number of what appeared to be patches of verdure on the surface of the harbour and also on the sloping ground on the east side.
Suddenly the motor fired again. The flyingboat, quivering under the powerful pulsations, changed her volplane to a horizontal movement, Simultaneously Kirkwood released the first bomb.
For several hundred feet Farrar could follow its descent, until it became a mere speck against the dark green background. Then another, and yet another missile started in its devastating career.
A cloud of smoke, dwarfed to the size of a mushroom, announced that the first bomb had got home fairly in the centre of the seaward tier of moored U-boats. Like the rending of a veil the camouflage vanished, revealing to sight seven of the modern pirates and an ominous gap in the centre.
There was plenty of activity now. Men looking like ants swarmed everywhere, emerging from the interiors of the Unterseebooten and making for the doubtful shelter of dry land. Others, hesitatingly, began to cast off bow and stern ropes, with the evident intention of takingthe trapped submarines into deep water and there submerging until the danger was past.
The rapid shower of bombs completely frustrated their attempt. Long, cigar-shaped hulls were shattered asunder, the floating pontoons smashed to matchwood, as the five flying-boats manoeuvred to keep above their much-desired objective.
Once during the strafing operations Farrar glanced at the "Avenger's" skipper. Barcroft, his set features absolutely unperturbed, was steering the flying-boat as coolly as if he had the whole atmosphere to himself, notwithstanding that four other swiftly moving aircraft were describing apparently erratic circles and curves at a reduced rate of about fifty miles an hour within a radius of half a mile. It was an aerial gymkana, in which the merest collision would inevitably result in a tremendous crash, yet the strafing continued systematically and continuously.
A few bombs struck the surface of the water, but direct hits were numerous and devastating. Of the twenty-four submarines only three remained afloat. Some might have been submerged by design on the part of their crews. Even then they stood a poor chance against the enormous concussion of the powerful missiles. Even a buffer of twenty feet of water was unable to save the steel hulls from being shattered.
Ashore three distinct fires had been started,two in the sand-bagged and camouflaged workshops, the third in a large liquid-fuel store, from which the flames were mounting a couple of hundred feet in the air. Crowds of German and Austrian soldiers, sailors and workpeople, driven from their futile shelters, were running in all directions, and still the bombs dropped remorselessly and destructively.
A passive spectator Farrar felt not the slightest qualms. A woodman destroying a nest of young adders could not have shown less compunction. The cold-blooded murderous record of the U-boats had put them without the pale. Stamped with the brand of Cain, every man's hand was against them, Allies and neutrals alike, for the modern pirates, compared with whom Morgan, Lolonois, and Gramont were gentlemen, had roused the indignation and horror of the civilised world.
"No eggs left!" reported Kirkwood laconically.
Barcroft nodded. The other flying-boats had also exhausted their stocks of bombs, but their task was not yet done. Photographs showing the damage done had to be taken, from which enlargements were to be subsequently made in order to confirm the observer's reports.
Although the members of the Royal Air Force are the least given to exaggeration, there have been instances in which observers have unintentionally overratedthe damage doneby their bombs. Objects seen through dust and smoke are apt to appear different from what they actually are, while in the tension and excitement of a raid a casual glance might convey an erroneous impression on the mind, upon which inaccurate reports are based. But the camera, emotionless and strictly impartial, records the scene with absolute fidelity; hence the importance of photography as a necessary adjunct to the airman's panoply of war.
Suddenly a cloud of white smoke mushroomed a few hundred feet below the "Avenger." Another leapt seemingly from nothingness at an unpleasantly short distance on her quarter. The anti-aircraft guns were getting into action at last, and the strafe no longer promised to be a one-sided business.
Soon the "air was stiff" with flying shrapnel, while shells of a hitherto unknown type added to the flying-boats' peril. These missiles, on bursting, liberated long tentacles of the lightness of silk that floated in strings of fire in the air.
A burst of shrapnel, seemingly close under the "Avenger's" nose, caused the flying-boat to pitch and roll like a tramp in ballast in a heavy seaway. Before Barcroft could get her under control the uppermost of the triplanes was foul of one of the burning tentacles.
The bight of the flaming tendril engaged against the forward knife-edge of the plane, while the ends, swept backwards by the rush ofthe flying-boat through the air, swung together like a gigantic streamer of flame in the "Avenger's" wake.
No manoeuvre could possibly extricate the flying-boat from the fiery embrace. A tail-spin, instead of enabling the plane to back away from the tentacle, would result in the streaming ends winding themselves round the spread of canvas; while in addition the falling aircraft would lose all advantage of altitude ere she recovered from the "spin."
Although the fabric of the planes was supposed to be of fire-resisting material the prepared canvas was already smoking and charring. Like a flash Farrar realised the danger. The time had come for him to act, and with characteristic alacrity he seized upon the chance.
Swarming aloft, with a knife between his teeth, he gained the upper plane. The windage was terrific, smoke and embers were swept into his face, the heat scorched his hair. Hanging on like grim death with one hand he slashed at the fiercely-burning tow, through the centre of which a fine flexible wire maintained cohesion of the deadly firebrand. Hacking fiercely at the wire, regardless of the flames that ate into his hand, his efforts were rewarded by the sight of the severed tentacle disappearing like a streak of lightning in the wake of the swiftly moving planes.
Then, and only then, did the burning painassert itself. All power to move seemed to have vanished from his arm. Muscles and sinews were completely numbed, while the tightly contracted flesh throbbed and plunged with the excruciating torture of the livid burns.
"I'm in the cart this time," he muttered, wincing with the agony of the fire. "Hanged if I can climb back again, and the plane's still smouldering."
Vainly he endeavoured to smother the charring fabric. His right arm was as helpless as that of a new-born babe. Stealthily, yet steadily, the patch of calcined canvas was increasing. At any moment, fanned by the terrific draught, it might burst into flames.
Then he became aware of some one lying flat beside him: of Kirkwood drenching the burning plane with a fire-extinguishing chemical, of the spray of the liquid blowing back into his face.
"That's settled it, by Jove!" shouted Kirkwood in the sub's ear. "Nip on down. Can't? Here, let me give you a hand."
As in a dream the injured officer found himself assisted to the hull of the flying-boat. She had left the bursts of shrapnel far astern and was heading homewards. Her consorts were also returning—all four.
"Good man!" exclaimed Barcroft admiringly, as Farrar gained the deck. "What, hit?"
The sub shook his head. Everything was growing very dim and misty.
"Not at all!" he replied, his voice sounding strange and distant. "Not at all. A great strafe, wasn't it?"
"Mind his hand, Billy," exclaimed some one warningly—also dim and distant seemed his voice. "It's pretty bad."
Barcroft was only just in time to save the injured sub from dropping inertly at his feet as merciful oblivion overtook him.
"CHEER-O, Slogger!"
"Cheer-o, Moke!"
These, the curt but nevertheless brimful of meaning exchange of greetings when, four weeks later, Farrar and Sylvester met at Southampton Docks.
The sub's right hand was still swathed in surgical dressings, otherwise in appearance he was much the same as of yore, except that on the breast of his uniform coat he wore the ribbon of the Distinguished Service Order and the Distinguished Service Cross, for the young R.N.V.R. officer had pulled off a double event. The former distinction had been awarded for his services in strafing Fritz, the latter for conspicuous gallantry in extinguishing the flames that threatened to destroy the "Avenger" in mid-air.
"Congrats, old bird!" said the Moke heartily. "I saw the announcement inThe Gazette. Now, how about it? You're coming back to Lynbury with me, I absolutely insist,and my people are expecting you. That's why I broke my journey from Waterloo."
Ten minutes previously Farrar would have firmly declined the invitation, but in his pocket reposed a recently opened telegram which read:
"Welcome home; we are returning to The Old Croft on Monday, when we shall be delighted to see you. Bruno awaits you. Winifred."
And the day was Friday. Three whole days, and then——
"Right-o," he replied to his chum's pressing invitation. "I'm on it, but I'll have to leave by the first train on Monday."
"What for?" demanded the astonished Sylvester. "Come, come, Slogger, why these unusual blushes that suffuse your cherubic visage? Do I tumble to it? Miss Greenwood? More congrats, you sly dog!"
"Yes," replied Farrar. "And I am the luckiest fellow in the whole wide world. Hullo, here's another old pal! Forgot to mention it before."
He indicated a young officer, upon whose sleeve two rings and a curl denoted that he was of the rank of lieutenant. He was limping slightly as he gripped the rail of the gangway with one hand and leant heavily upon a stick.
The Moke looked at the lieutenant, and then at the sub.
"Hanged if I can fix him," he remarked dubiously. "No, surely not?"
"Yes, it's Holcombe," declared Farrar. "Holcombe, my festive, you remember the Moke?"
"Good old Lynbury times," exclaimed Holcombe, grasping Sylvester's outstretched hand. "Of course I do. But, my word, Moke, you've altered some! Had a rotten time in Germany, I understand from Slogger; and a pretty exciting time the pair of you had in breaking out. What are you doing now?"
"Oh, just run down to have a pow-pow with Slogger," replied Sylvester. "You're coming along with us too, Holcombe. The more the merrier, if you don't mind nut-butter and a concoction of sawdust and Epsom Salts which we are beguiled into eating under the name of war-bread."
"Holcombe means, what are you doing to earn your rations, Moke?" interposed Farrar.
"They've pushed me into the Foreign Office," explained Sylvester. "Suppose they imagined that my experience in Germany might be of service. You see, I know a good deal of the internal conditions before war broke out."
"Just the sort of chap to do some good," replied Holcombe. "You'll be in the Corps Diplomatique yet—the Diplomatic Corpse as our old friend the Lynbury guard remarked on one occasion. Wonder if he's still in charge of the Lynbury and Marshton express?"
"Don't know, I'm sure," said the Moke. "But we'll soon find out."
"By the bye," remarked Holcombe, "have you heard anything about von Gobendorff?"
"Shot in the Tower," replied Farrar laconically. "Thank goodness I wasn't knocking around to be called to give evidence at the court martial."
"You may be in a similar stunt, old boy," rejoined Holcombe. "One of our light cruisers disabled a brand-new U-boat last Monday. They managed to save about a dozen of the crew before she sank. Amongst them was her skipper—guess who?"
"Not von Loringhoven?"
"Right first shot," exclaimed Holcombe. "It was von Loringhoven, and he had the wind up properly. I don't think that he'll get away in a hurry this time."
When at length the three churns changed trains at Marshton Junction they found their old favourite of school days still on duty.
"Know you, Mr. Sylvester? Of course I do. And you are one of the Corpse, I hear?"
"Not yet, guard," said the Moke hurriedly. "Still, getting on that way. Do you recognise these gentlemen?"
"Bless my soul, sir, it's Mr. Holcombe and Mr. Farrar! You a captain yet, sir?"
"Like my friend Sylvester I'm getting on that way," explained Holcombe. "And here'sour modest hero coming down to Lynbury with two little bits of ribbon, you see."
"What be they for, sir?" asked the veteran guard.
"Oh—er—just for doing something in the way of strafing Fritz," replied Nigel Farrar.
THE END
THE END
Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
Transcriber's Notes:This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprints have been corrected:This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprints have been corrected:[and it's a deal," re-rejoined]→[and it's a deal," rejoined][The "Tantalus" was slowy foundering.]→[The "Tantalus" was slowly foundering.][{Illustration: "SEIZING FARRER BEGAN TO HAUL]→[{Illustration: "SEIZING FARRAR, BEGAN TO HAUL][whether there were any news]→[whether there was any news]["Afir-el Bahr" had been]→["Afir-el-Bahr" had been][the danger done by their bombs.]→[the damage done by their bombs.]Not corrected, but interesting to mention, is another misprint on the spine:the spine shows the title: [THE FRITZ STRAFFERS]but of course that should be: [THE FRITZ STRAFERS]A few cases of punctuation errors were corrected but are not mentioned here.
This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprints have been corrected:This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprints have been corrected:[and it's a deal," re-rejoined]→[and it's a deal," rejoined][The "Tantalus" was slowy foundering.]→[The "Tantalus" was slowly foundering.][{Illustration: "SEIZING FARRER BEGAN TO HAUL]→[{Illustration: "SEIZING FARRAR, BEGAN TO HAUL][whether there were any news]→[whether there was any news]["Afir-el Bahr" had been]→["Afir-el-Bahr" had been][the danger done by their bombs.]→[the damage done by their bombs.]Not corrected, but interesting to mention, is another misprint on the spine:the spine shows the title: [THE FRITZ STRAFFERS]but of course that should be: [THE FRITZ STRAFERS]A few cases of punctuation errors were corrected but are not mentioned here.
[and it's a deal," rejoined]
[The "Tantalus" was slowly foundering.]
[{Illustration: "SEIZING FARRAR, BEGAN TO HAUL]
[whether there was any news]
["Afir-el-Bahr" had been]
[the damage done by their bombs.]
Not corrected, but interesting to mention, is another misprint on the spine:
the spine shows the title: [THE FRITZ STRAFFERS]but of course that should be: [THE FRITZ STRAFERS]
A few cases of punctuation errors were corrected but are not mentioned here.