Dastral of the Flying Corps

Dastral turned round once more to look at his battered flight. Could he do it? Where were the German Fokkers? he asked himself. And for once he hesitated. It was only for a moment, however, and it was not for any thought of himself that he hesitated, but the knowledge that he would be attacked shortly by enemy 'planes, and that some of his machines would be lost, for they were not in any fit state at present to engage with enemy warplanes. Jock, always an eager fighter, was edging him on, however.

"What say you, Flight-Commander? The others seems eager to fight. We've plenty of bombs left yet, and haven't touched the drums. Let's bring the blighter down, so that it can't kill any more babies in their cots."

"Right-o, Jock! Throw out the signal-Zeppelin."

And the next moment a couple of smoke bombs were thrown out by the observer, which gave the order, "Prepare to attack."

"Whir-r-r!" went the four 'planes on their new tack, as the controlling wires went over, and each machine banked suddenly and came round head on towards the enemy.

"By Jove, she's seen us and she's heading off too!" shouted Jock through the tube.

"Yes, so I see. Bet she's using her wireless some to call for the Fokkers. We haven't much time to lose."

In less than three minutes they were within machine-gun fire of the huge gas-bag, which was flying as low as three thousand feet, and seemed incapable of lifting herself much, either through shortage of gas or damaged machinery.

"Look out! She's opening fire! See there!" Short sharp jets of fire spat out from the gondolas of the Zeppelin in half a dozen different places, and the bullets began to whistle and ping-ping about the ears of the aviators.

"Reserve your fire, boys!" ordered Dastral, for he knew that they would all be anxious to fire. Then he threw out another order, which meant, "Attack from above."

This they all understood immediately, and followed Dastral as he made his machine almost sit upon her tail, as she climbed and manoeuvred to get above the huge lumbering mass, which was already levering away to leeward on account of some defective machinery, and the fresh breeze which had sprung up from the south-east.

Two minutes later they were almost directly above the Zeppelin, and, except for two machine-guns which were mounted above the envelope, they were immune from fire, for the other guns down below were screened by the huge looming mass above them.

Even the gunners on the top were practically useless, for the terrors of the past night and the impending death now awaiting them had shattered their nerves, and they were firing wildly, so that the daring aviators had them at their mercy, for the hornets were about to attack.

Dastral gave one more look round at his flight, and saw them coming boldly on behind him. Then he shouted to Jock:

"All ready there?"

"Aye, ready," came the response.

"Then in mercy's name fire!" A short, sharp nose-dive of two hundred feet, and they were within a hundred feet of the leviathan, and immediately above her. So near were they that they could see the affrighted machine-gunners on the top of the gas-bag leave their posts and try to escape down the escalier, but they had left it too long. They were now about to pay the price for the toll they had wantonly taken of innocent lives during the long dark hours of the past night. And, like all cowards who wreak their vengeance upon helpless folk, they feared the dread spectre when it came close to themselves.

"Whis-s-sh! Boom-m-m!" went the first bomb; a time fuse fixed for two seconds. The explosion rent the envelope, and allowed vast quantities of gas to escape from two of the ballonets, so that the huge mass crumpled in at the head, and began to sink slowly at the nose.

Another bomb was dropped, and the second and third machines coming up, dropped petrol and phosphorus bombs, which blazed away, igniting the escaping gas.

She was well alight now, and in the fore part she was burning fiercely, but as yet she did not explode. Dastral saw that she was done for, however, and knowing that the enemy craft could not be far away after all this time, made off and signalled his men to follow.

Down, down went the blazing mass for a couple of thousand feet, then rolling over, it literally fell asunder into several parts, and each part, still burning, carried its helpless inmates down to destruction.

Once more Dastral looked round, and as he did so, he gasped out the words:

"Great Scott! The whole place is alive with Fokkers, Rolands and Aviatiks!"

Then followed a fierce running fight, in which the English were outnumbered three to one. The enemy were all around them, for they had been called by wireless from every direction. Dastral headed his men into the thick of the combat. Three German 'planes were brought down, and not till every round of ammunition was fired, and every drum empty did the Commander call off his Flight again, or rather what was left of it.

Brum, fighting bravely to the last, had gone down in a whirling spiral after first sending down an Aviatik. Steve followed him a little later, with his machine blazing, for his petrol tank had been plugged time after time. Dastral alone, with Mac, both their machines damaged beyond repair and both their observers wounded, staggered through the curtain fire at the trenches later in the morning, and came to earth just behind the British first line.

CHAPTER V

A BOMBING RAID

DAWN was just breaking over Devil's Wood and Ginchy. The owls and bats which had flitted over the night-bivouacs had returned to their hiding places about the battered towers of the old church near by. A saffron tint flushed the low summit of the eastern ridge, beyond Combles and Ginchy, while thin blue-grey columns of smoke showed where the Germans held fast their steel line from the Somme to Bapaume.

Scarcely had the stars faded away, however, and disappeared in the morning light, when the little field telephone in the orderly officer's tent at the aerodrome near Contalmaison went "Ting-a-ling-ling!"

"Are you there?" came the query over the wire.

"Yes. Who is that?"

"Advanced Headquarters, Section 47, East of Ginchy. Is that the Wing H.Q., Royal Flying Corps?"

"Yes. What is the matter, that you ring a poor chap up for the twentieth time in half an hour?"

"Matter enough, Grenfell, old fellow! Seven aeroplanes have just crossed our lines from the direction of Morval and Lesboeufs. They are flying in your direction, west by west-sou'-west. Can you hear me?"

"Yes, yes, but I say, Ginchy. Hullo! Were they enemy 'planes?"

"Our sentries couldn't make out their nationality; it was too dark. That's why the O.C. wanted me to 'phone you, lest it should be another raiding party coming to bomb you, as they did the other morning at dawn. He wants you to take 'Air Raid Action' at once. Got me, old fellow?"

"All right, Ginchy. We'll be ready for the blighters this time. S'long! Remember me to Crawford when you run across him."

"Can't, old man."

"How so?"

"He got a packet in the knapper this morning, and he's already on his way to Blighty."

"Lucky beggar! Good-bye!"

"Goodbye."

"Ting-a-ling-ling!"

Thus the brief conversation closed, and within another thirty seconds the orders had been given for "Air raid action" and every one was ready. The men of "B" Flight, No. – Squadron under Dastral, were standing by their machines, and the aerial gunners and observers were placing the last drums of ammunition in the cockpit, where they would be ready to hand. Almost immediately afterwards the sentries on duty at the eastern end of the aerodrome gave the alarm:

"Aeroplanes approaching from the east!" Half a dozen pairs of glasses soon found the machines, and, for a moment, there was a little thrill of excitement, as the anti-aircraft gunners received their orders to load up and fix the range.

"Stand by to start the propellors!" shouted Dastral, the Flight-Commander, to the air mechanics.

"Are all the pilots ready?" came next.

"Yes, sir," replied the Flight-Sergeant.

In another moment the whole flight would have been in the air doing a rapid spiral, for the hum of the approaching aeroplane engines could be distinctly heard now.

"Whir-r-r! whir-r-r-r!" Nearer and nearer came the well-known sound of the propellors, when suddenly the Squadron-Commander, who had been intently watching the early morning visitants through his glasses, called out: