A DUEL WITH A ZEPPELIN
"THE gale must have backed to the south'ard," explained Desmond
Blake. "It has carried us well northward of our proper course.
There's a large vessel almost immediately beneath us, Athol. Get your
binoculars and see if you can make out her nationality, and, what is
equally important, the direction of the wind."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Athol, after a brief investigation. "It is not a
vessel--it's a Zepp. She's not so very far above the surface; I can
tell that by the position of her shadow on the waves."
"Here, take the helm," said Blake, handing over the steering wheel to
the lad. "Let her volplane in spirals. I must see what this game is."
It did not take Blake long to form a pretty accurate idea of the
situation. The sea was fairly calm, showing that here, at least, the
gale had blown itself out. The water, too, was clear and
comparatively shallow, the bed consisting chiefly of white sand.
Visible against the bottom of the sea was a long grey object,
sufficiently distinct to enable Blake to decide that it was a
submarine.
Less than three hundred feet above it hovered the Zeppelin, flying
slowly dead into the eye of the light breeze and thus endeavouring to
keep almost stationary over the submerged craft.
On her part the submarine was creeping over the sandy bottom,
sometimes backing astern and striving to hide herself in the
disturbed water from the watchers on the Zeppelin.
The airship, intent upon the destruction of the submarine, had now
descended to within two hundred feet and was dropping specially
shaped bombs resembling aerial torpedoes. On striking the surface of
the water these diabolical contrivances would plunge to the bottom
under their own weight and momentum, then exploding with sufficient
force to destroy any craft within fifty feet. Up to the present,
however, the Zepp had not scored, although the crew were getting
nearer their objective with each missile they dropped.
A sharp order and Athol and the sergeant manned the two automatic
guns. Although the weapon did not fire shells, the peculiar nature of
the bullets would enable them to rip up the airship's envelope like
a jagged knife once the gun could be brought to bear.
All intent upon the destruction of the submarine the crew of the
gas-bag had no inkling of the presence of the battleplane until a
regular sheaf of bullets struck the Zeppelin well for'ard. In a
couple of seconds the pilot's gondola was completely wrecked; but the
ballonets came off comparatively lightly. There was a rush on the
part of the Zeppelin's crew to man their guns, while with a bound the
airship shot vertically upwards, intent upon gaining a greater
altitude than that of her attacker.
But for once the commander of the airship had underrated the climbing
capacity of a "heavier-than-air" machine; for, anticipating the
manoeuvre, Blake set the battleplane to climb at her maximum speed.
With her fuselage pointing almost vertically the battleplane rose
under the powerful beats of her wings. Thanks to the balanced gear of
the seats, all four of her crew felt no inconvenience. Athol and
Sergeant O'Rafferty were pumping in hundreds of nickel bullets, until
it seemed as if the Zeppelin must be riddled through and through.
Still the gas-bag rose. Two of her guns were replying to those of the
battleplane, firing a sort of combined high explosive and shrapnel
three-pounder shell.
Long rents were now visible in the glistening sides of the envelope,
as the shower of bullets completely penetrated the frail covering to
the numerous gas-filled sub-divisions of the air-ship. Yet she showed
no tendency to drop. Her upward motion seemed uninfluenced by the
loss of hydrogen; but whether this was owing to the great reserve of
buoyancy or to the immense quantities of ballast thrown overboard,
none of the battleplane's crew could decide.
While the British automatic guns were making hit upon hit the German
fire was becoming more and more erratic. The first few shells hurtled
perilously close to the battleplane; fortunately the time fuses had
been badly adjusted, for the missiles burst harmlessly a couple of
hundred yards beyond their objective. But after a few rounds a kind
of panic must have seized the Hun air-pirates. Perhaps they realised
that they were "up against" something that was their superior in
manoeuvring and offensive powers, for they blazed away recklessly
without scoring a single hit.
Throughout the race skywards the battleplane easily held the
ascendancy, and as the Zeppelin reached a great altitude the
increasing rarefaction of the air, in addition to the loss of
hydrogen through the perforation of the ballonets, began to tell.
"She's dropping," exclaimed Dick, enthusiastically, as the huge
fabric began to drop stern foremost.
Right above the now doomed Zeppelin flew the battleplane. In this
position she could no longer give or receive blows, for the Zepp
mounted no guns on the upper side of the envelope while the
battleplane's automatic weapons could not be sufficiently depressed
to bear upon her antagonist. Had Blake any bombs in reserve he could
have easily destroyed the airship with one properly-placed missile,
but his last had already been used to good purpose in the raid upon
the German capital.
In almost absolute silence the battleplane dropped in short spirals,
following the downward plunge of her defeated foe.
Suddenly the British machine gave a terrific lurch. To the lads it
seemed as if the whole bulk of the mechanical bird was being hurled
sideways. They were dimly conscious of the fuselage turning rapidly
and erratically around the gimballed seats, while the air was rent
with vivid flames and pungent volumes of black smoke.
In vain Blake attempted to lock the wings, The controls, fixed to a
dashboard on the coaming in front of his seat, were moving too
rapidly past his outstretched hand as the body of the machine rolled
over and over.
The horrible thought that the battleplane was rushing headlong to
destruction gripped the minds of all on board, yet not a cry burst
from their tightly set lips.
With a rending crash something penetrated the floor of the fuselage,
and, missing Athol's feet by bare inches, vanished outwards through
the deck, tearing a jagged gash through which the lurid smoke-laden
clouds could be plainly discerned. Fragments of metal, none of them
of any size, began to patter upon the aluminium framing.
All this took but a few seconds, for with a rush like that of an
express train emerging from a dark tunnel, the battleplane, still
tilted on her side, shot into the pure sunlit air. Then, gradually
recovering her normal trim, she allowed herself to come once more
under the control of her designer, builder and pilot.
Shaken and well-nigh breathless, for the atmosphere through which the
machine had plunged was highly charged with poisonous fumes, it was
some minutes before Athol and Dick fully realised that they were
still alive. Almost their first thoughts were concerning the
Zeppelin. In vain they looked over the side of the chassis in the
hope of seeing a tangible proof of their victory. The airship was no
longer in existence. An explosion, either the result of an accidental
ignition of the escaping hydrogen or of a deliberate act on the part
of the crew, had literally pulverised the huge and frail structure.
The battleplane, almost immediately above the source of detonation,
had narrowly escaped destruction, having been enveloped in the
terrific up-blast of the fiery gases. The sliver of metal that had
only just missed Athol's legs was a piece of aluminium sheeting from
the dismembered Zeppelin, for it was afterwards found bent round one
of the girders of the landing-wheel framework.
"I'd like to wait till the submarine reappears," remarked Blake, "but
it's getting too late to-day. We are, I should imagine, less than a
hundred miles from Riga, and it wants but an hour and a half to
sunset. By the by, has any one seen anything of Private Smith?"
No one had. When last heard of the ex-prisoner had been sleeping
soundly in one of the bunks.
"See where he is, sergeant."
O'Rafferty descended from his perch and entered the interior of the
fuselage. The bunk was empty. A couple of blankets hitched up upon
some hooks in the ceiling trailed forlornly to the floor.
"You there, Smith?" shouted the sergeant.
"Here, sergeant," replied a drowsy voice from the very after end of
the tapering body. "Have they finished strafing us yet?"
Wedged in so as to be incapable of moving hand or foot was the
imperturbable Private Thomas Smith. When the battleplane had
commenced her almost vertical leap in her encounter with the Zepp,
the Tommy had been shot from his bunk. Alighting on the floor he had
slid aft to the position in which O'Rafferty had discovered him.
There, throughout the erratic and violent motions of the battleplane
following the explosion of the airship, he had lain, too sleepy to
realise what was taking place, and when roused by the Sergeant's
voice he was still under the impression that he was in a dug-out
somewhere in France during a heavy bombardment by hostile guns.
The sun had dipped behind the waters of the Baltic as the battleplane
flew serenely across the broad waters of the Gulf of Riga. A thousand
feet beneath the airmen lay a powerful Russian squadron, including
dreadnoughts, armoured cruisers and destroyers.
Keenly alert to the possibilities of hostile vessels from the air the
Czar's sailormen were quick to discern the approach of a strange and
altogether remarkable battleplane. Soon the distinctive tri-coloured
circles could be discerned. All doubt as to the nationality of the
mysterious aircraft was now at an end, and the British machine was
given three ringing cheers, the volume of sound being easily heard by
her crew.
Five minutes later the battleplane came to earth upon the Ruski
Aviation Ground, a few miles eastward of the Slavonic stronghold of
Riga.
Upon alighting Blake and his companions were warmly greeted by a
group of Russian staff officers, some of whom spoke English fluently,
while all could converse with the utmost ease French.
"You are slightly beyond the scheduled time, Monsieur le Capitaine
Blake," remarked a courteous colonel of the Preveski Guards. "We
trust that you met with no misfortune?"
"Slight mishaps that proved blessings in disguise," replied Blake, as
he proceeded to give a brief outline of the battleplane's adventures.
"Extremely gratifying," declared the Russian. "And your compatriots
have done well in the raid, although, alas, they have lost heavily.
Of the number that left the soil of France for this lengthy flight
only six have contrived to arrive here."
"And one cannot make omelettes without breaking eggs," added another
of the Czar's officers. "_Ma foi!_ From all accounts you British have
made a fine hash of Berlin."