Dastral of the Flying Corps

"Don't fire! They are the R.F.C. men bringing in their officers."

The firing, however, came from a different direction, for the Germans, baulked of their prey, and seeing who had given them away, opened fire, and Cowdie stumbled into the British first-line trench into the arms of the sergeant of the Wiltshires, carrying his burden to the last. He was dead, shot through the heart. He had made the supreme sacrifice to save the man he loved.

With a wild cheer the British received the welcome order to charge, and the last thing that Brat remembered was that cheer, as the men swept by him, and he also sank down with his load.

Next day they buried Cowdie, "the regimental spare part." Gently they laid him to rest in a little graveyard by a shattered church, behind the British lines. And over his grave the bugles of the Wiltshires sounded the solemn notes of the "Last Post." And his comrades in Number 7 tent fired three volleys over the hero's grave, just as in the olden days, two thousand years ago, AEneas and his comrades, when they buried the hero Misenus, called his name thrice into the shades.

And Bratby, he recovered from his wounds, and, to-day, upon his breast he wears the ribbons of the Military Medal.

Dastral and Jock also recovered from their wounds, for their work was not yet done, and six weeks later were back from sick leave, preparing once more to strafe the Huns.

CHAPTER VIII

THE RAID ON KRUPPS

IT was a dark night, some two or three hours before dawn, when Air-Mechanic Pearson, one of the outer sentries at the aerodrome near Contalmaison, thought he heard the whirr of propellers somewhere in the dark skies above.

For a few seconds he peered up into the gloomy heavens, trying to locate the sound, for he was very much puzzled, and could not account for the sound on such a night.

"They can't be aeroplanes returning from over the lines," he told himself, "or we should have had notice to light the flares. It will be a sheer impossibility to land without a crash on a dark night like this."

Again he listened, and he thought the droning sound settled down into the throb of engines. He was anxious, however, not to call out the guard on a false alarm, for he had once been severely reprimanded for so doing.

"They cannot be hostile 'planes attempting an early morning raid; it is far too thick. It would be like a nigger trying to find a black cat in a dark cellar," he muttered.

A quarter of a minute later, however, he thought he had discovered the real cause, for the throbbing of aerial engines could now be distinctly heard.

"It's a Zeppelin!" he exclaimed. "They're going to find the aerodrome with their search-light, and bomb the place, then make off before our machines can get up," and he instantly yelled out at the top of his voice, "Turn out, guard!"

The alarm was caught up, passed on to the next sentry, who repeated it, and the next moment, after turning out the main guard, the sergeant came running up, and asked:

"What's the matter, Pearson?"

"Zeppelin approaching from the eastward, sergeant!" replied the air-mechanic.

"Zeppelin, man! What the deuce do you mean? Where is it?"

"Up there, sergeant. I can hear it quite plainly now."

"By Jove, so can I!"

The next moment the sergeant was back in the guard-room. From thence he dashed into the orderly-room, and knocked at the inner door, where the orderly officer for the night was on duty.

"Come in," cried the officer in answer to the knocking. Then, as the sergeant, all puffed with his exertion, entered and saluted, he said:

"What's the matter, sergeant?"

"Zeppelin approaching from over the German lines, sir. Hadn't we better 'phone to the anti-aircraft guns, and the searchlights to pick up the raider before he bombs the place?" for to the sergeant's mind, visions of falling bombs and terrific explosions were present.

"Zeppelin?" laughed the orderly officer.

"Yes, sir. I can hear the engines as plainly as possible outside."

"No, you're mistaken. It's the 'Gertie' returning. She's been out on secret service work behind the German lines. I've been expecting her for a couple of hours. Not a word of this to the men, now. I am expecting a secret service man back before dawn, and the 'Gertie's' been to fetch him. Picked him up at some secret place in the dark, far behind the enemy's lines."

Now, the "Gertie" was a baby-airship detailed for special service, and not the least important part of her work was the secret journeying to and fro, across the German lines, to quiet rural places, where, in the dark, she dropped messages, carrier pigeons, etc., and occasionally brought back some daring member of the British Secret Service, who had been collecting information behind the enemy's lines.

By this time the orderly officer was out on the aerodrome, and the squads of air-mechanics were being roused by the orderly sergeant. Suddenly there came a cry from one of the guard.

"Airship signalling to the aerodrome, sir!"

"What signal was that?" demanded the officer.

"Two green lights and a red, sir, over there, half a mile away," came the reply.

"That's right. It's the 'Gertie' trying to find the landing place. Flight-sergeant, where are you?"

"Here, sir," came the answer, as the aerodrome flight-sergeant, just roused by the alarm, rushed up, without putties or tunic on.

"Light the usual flares at the landing-place, and give the Brigade colours as well."

"Yes, sir."

And the next instant he had disappeared into the darkness again to hurry up the air-mechanics and to light the flares. The "Gertie" had very nearly found her mark, having over-shot it but half a mile or so in the pitchy darkness, which was a very creditable performance.

As soon as the flares were lighted, her engines, which had been shut off, were heard again, as she gradually came nearer and nearer, until, when right overhead, she began to descend slowly.

"There she comes! This way, lads!" cried the stentorian voice of Snorty, whose piercing eyes were amongst the first to spot the looming mass overhead.

"Steady, there, steady!" came the next order, as the ropes and drags were lowered, and the men made a scramble for them. And, in a very short space of time the baby-airship was made fast, and from the single gondola, in which five men were cooped, some one leapt out, who held in his hand a bundle of documents.

"Captain Scott, I believe, sir," said the orderly officer stepping forward.

"Yes. Are you Lieutenant Grenfell?"

"Yes, sir." And with that the two men went off together to the private room of the orderly officer.

The newcomer was the bearer of some important plans and sketches, to obtain which he had risked his life every hour of the day and night during the past three weeks. They were nothing less than detailed plans of the great German arsenal at Krupps', for which the Commanding Officer had been anxiously waiting. For some time previously, the C.O. had received from the War Office, through the General Headquarters in the field, a peremptory order, something like the following:–

"To the Officer Commanding,"

--th Squadron, Royal Flying Corps.

"It is of vital importance that the enemy's supply of munitions should be hampered and restricted as far as possible, in view of the offensive to be undertaken shortly. As soon, therefore, as the necessary plans and papers reach you, you will detail one of your best flights, under your most capable Flight-Commander, to carry out the first raid on the enemy's main arsenal at Krupp'."

This document, signed by one of the generals commanding in the field, had been in the hands of the Squadron-Commander for some days, and he had been eagerly awaiting the arrival of the promised plans and sketches. As soon, therefore, as the orderly officer received them, he sent Brat, the despatch-rider, with his motor cycle and side car to the C.O.'s quarters. And ten minutes later that distinguished person was leaving the officers' quarters on his way to the aerodrome.

Having arrived, after ten minutes' chat with the officer belonging to the secret service, his first words were: