ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER
FOR another three days the battleplane rested on Russian soil, the
climatic conditions remaining unfavourable for the much desired
return journey.
During that period Athol saw a good deal of his father, for the
rescued prisoners were quartered in a little village within three
versts of the flying-ground.
There was every possibility of the colonel's wish being speedily
gratified, for arrangements were already in progress for sending the
released officers and men back to England by ship from Archangel.
Private Tom Smith elected to go with them, although not until he had
spent many an anxious hour deliberating the matter in his mind. He
was already a keen airman; he realised his debt of gratitude to Dick
and the battleplane's crew for getting him out of a most unpleasant
situation. On the other hand he was deeply attached to his old
master, Colonel Hawke. With him he had shared the horrors of the
Meseritz Prison Camp, and the private's sense of loyalty to his
chief, coupled with his desire to share in the colonel's resolution
to "get his own back" upon his former captors, decided him to throw
in his lot with his master.
At five o'clock in the morning of the seventeenth day of their visit
to Russia the battleplane's officers were aroused by Sergeant
O'Rafferty announcing that the wind had veered and was blowing
steadily from the north-east and seemed likely to remain so.
Wireless reports from Russian warships far out in the Baltic
confirmed the statement. There was every indication of the favourable
air-drift continuing for some days.
Already the battleplane was in readiness for flight. Her tanks had
been replenished with petrol, her motors overhauled. There was still
an ample reserve of machine-gun ammunition, while the Russian
authorities had supplied a dozen bombs filled with a super-powerful
Japanese high-explosive. The rents in her wings and in the body of
the fuselage had been made good, numerous neat patches bearing a
silent testimony to the ordeal through which she had successfully
passed.
In accordance with the perfect array that existed between all the
Allies Blake had given the Russian aeronautical engineer every
facility to study the constructive details of his invention; and it
was more than likely that before the war had come to a victorious
conclusion, battleplanes after the model of the mechanical bird would
be seen operating under the control of Russian airmen.
Having taken farewell of their hospitable hosts the crew of the
battleplane prepared to set out on the return journey. This time they
flew alone, for the remaining British biplanes that had taken part in
the raid had already left. Acting under previous orders they had
flown southward, and after a rest at Odessa, had passed over
Constantinople, arriving safe and sound at the Allied Camp at
Salonika.
Amidst salvoes of cheering from the swarm of grey-coated Russians the
battleplane--"secret" no longer--rose steadily and faultlessly, and
shaped a course towards the Baltic.
"I've decided upon an alteration of plans," announced Blake. "The
deciding factor is the petrol question. If we fly direct and over
German territory, we may run short of fuel and have to descend. You
see, the spirit we are now using is different from the prepared
petrol that brought us here. Whether we can cover the whole distance
or not without replenishing remains to be seen. So I propose keeping
over the Baltic and thence over the Cattegat and Skager Rack. By the
time we are in the vicinity of the Skaw I shall be able to determine
whether there will be enough petrol to carry us the rest of the way."
"And if not?" enquired Athol.
"Details already arranged," said the inventor, with a grim chuckle.
"The Admiralty have instructed a tank-vessel, escorted by cruisers
and destroyers, to lie off the Norwegian coast, well outside the
three mile limit. That's a pretty tangible proof that we hold the
sea."
At a rate approaching one hundred and eighty miles an hour the
battleplane was soon out of sight of land. She had at first held a
north-westerly course in order to avoid passing over Libau, then in
the possession of the Germans. Blake, although he would not have
declined another aerial fight, was anxious to traverse the Baltic
before the Huns were aware that he had left the Russian frontier.
There was work awaiting the battleplane in France--work of far more
importance than engaging individual hostile seaplanes in the
neighbourhood of the Cattegat.
Fifty minutes after leaving Riga the Swedish island of Gothland was
sighted. At this point the course was altered to the south-west,
until the island of Bornholm was discerned.
Although numerous Russian warships and patrol-boats had been sighted
at the entrance to the Gulf of Riga the Baltic was almost deserted,
except towards the Swedish shore, where several enemy merchantmen
were hugging the coast in order to avoid the studied attentions of
the British and Russian submarines. But of German warships there was
no sign.
Presently Blake's trained ear caught a disconcerting sound that was
repeated time after time with increasing frequency. Dick, sliding
from his seat, made his way to the motor-room; then, after a brief
examination, approached his chief.
"She's firing badly," said Blake gravely.
"Yes," assented Dick. "It's not the ignition this time. It's the
petrol. It is my belief that either the stuff is very inferior or
else that it has been watered. Whatever it is the rotten stuff is now
passing through the carburettors. Hitherto we've been running on the
petrol we brought with us."
"Was it strained?" asked Blake anxiously.
"I stood by and saw it done," reported Dick. "Of course some one
might have tampered with the tanks during the night. There are spies
with the Russian troops as well as there are in the French and ours,
worse luck. There she goes again," he added, as the motors faltered
badly for several strokes and then spasmodically fired again. "Ought
we to turn back?"
"I don't believe in turning back," said the inventor. "No, the sea is
calm, there are no vessels in sight. We'll volplane down, rest on the
surface and re-strain every drop of petrol on board."
Preparations were quickly made for the venturesome enterprise. The
hatchway in the floor of the fuselage, which was already shut, was
now hermetically sealed by means of wing-nuts that jammed the metal
flap hard down upon an indiarubber seating. A similar watertight
covering closed the aperture through which the bombs were dropped in
action. The exhaust, which generally led through a pipe on the
underside of the rear part of the chassis, was diverted by means of a
two-way union so that the former escaped from an outlet and
projecting well above the deck. Thus, in less than five minutes the
hull of the battleplane was made absolutely watertight and ready to
float upon the waves.
Being unprovided with floats like those fitted to naval seaplanes the
machine took the water clumsily. The sudden resistance of the girders
carrying the landing-wheels as they encountered the water, caused the
body to tilt nose downwards. With solid water well over her forepart,
the battleplane shook herself free, bobbed violently several times
and finally rocked easily upon the placid waters of the Baltic.
Leaving Athol to keep watch all remaining hands set to work. First
the contents of the carburettors were strained. Globules too heavy to
pass through the fine meshed gauze confirmed Dick's suspicions. The
petrol had been heavily "doctored" with water.
It was a lengthy and disagreeable task draining each of the tanks and
refiltering the liquid fuel. The atmosphere of the confined space
reeked of petrol fumes; the unusual motion of the hull as it pitched
and rocked to the action of the sullen waves added to the discomforts
of the highly necessary work. Sergeant O'Rafferty, almost overcome
with nausea, stuck gamely to his job, while both Dick and Desmond
Blake felt their heads whirling under the powerful influence of the
volatile gas.
Suddenly Athol perceived two pole-like objects forging slowly through
the water at a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile. Only the
feather of spray caused by the resistance of the vertical objects
betrayed their presence. They were the twin periscopes of a
submarine.
At his shout of alarm Blake and the rest of the crew left their task
and hurried to their respective flying-stations. Anxiously they
awaited developments. Was the submarine a friend or foe?
Flight, under present conditions, was impossible.
Until the whole of the petrol in the tank nearest the carburettors
was completely strained, it would be impossible to get the motors to
fire.
Quietly Athol and the sergeant fitted ammunition belts to the two
automatic guns. Although the bullets did not possess sufficient
penetrative powers to perforate the shell of a submarine the hail of
projectiles would be sufficient to prevent any attempt on the part of
the vessel's gunners from using their quick-firers--provided they
kept within range. Nor could the submarine make use of a torpedo, for
the lightness of the battleplane's draught--floating she drew but
four or six inches--offered no target to an under-water missile
unless the weapon struck the girder-work of the landing-wheels which
projected several feet underneath the surface.
Nevertheless the situation was a perplexing one. Should the submarine
prove to be German, she could either shell the battleplane from a
distance or else summon, by means of wireless, Zeppelins and
seaplanes to finish off the helpless aircraft by means of bombs.
Several long-drawn-out minutes passed. The eyes of the periscopes
were steadily fixed upon the battleplane as the invisible submarine
slowly approached. At length, apparently satisfied with her
investigations, the submerged craft housed her periscopes and made
off, leaving a tell-tale swirl upon the surface of the water.
"She's off, sir," exclaimed O'Rafferty.
"Yes, for the present," replied Blake. "She'll be at it again, I
fancy. Come on, lads, let's carry on. Another half hour will see us
straight."
Leaving Athol still on watch the rest of the crew resumed their
labours, but before they had been at work for another five or ten
minutes the submarine appeared upon the surface at a distance of
nearly two miles.
"The brutes!" ejaculated Blake. "They've spotted our automatic guns.
We'll be having some three pounder shells this way before long."
Bringing their glasses to bear upon the low-lying hull of the
submarine the airmen found that their fears were realised. The vessel
was a large _unterseeboot_ flying the Black Cross ensign of Germany.
She was lying broad-side on and forging ahead at a rate of about five
knots. The two quick-firing guns were already raised from their
respective "houses" or watertight troughs, and were being served by
their gunners.
A flash followed by a dull crack announced that the submarine had
opened the ball.
"You'll have to do better than that, old sport!" exclaimed O'Rafferty
disdainfully, as the projectile struck the water at a hundred yards
beyond the target, and ricochetting with a tremendous splash, finally
disappeared a mile and a half away.
Again and again the Huns fired, each shell approaching with uncanny
and methodical exactness nearer and nearer the crippled battleplane.
They were blazing away with plugged shell, and that fact, combined
with the evident reluctance of the submarine's crew to score a direct
hit, told the airmen pretty plainly that the Germans wished
particularly for their surrender and the capture of the battleplane
intact.
From time to time Athol and the sergeant let loose a few rounds of
ammunition, but in spite of the extreme elevation of the sights of
the automatic weapons the bullets all fell short.
Suddenly Athol ducked his head as a projectile hurtled through the
air less than ten feet above him. He could distinctly feel the
windage of the missile, while the screech was appalling. The Huns,
getting out of patience with the resistance of the British
battleplane, were trying to shell it in grim earnest.
But before another shell could be fired from the U boat, a column of
foamy water shot up a couple of hundred feet into the air. For a
brief instant the bow and stern of the submarine showed, tilted up at
different angles to the surface of the water. Then, as the muffled
roar of an explosion was borne to the ears of Blake and his
companions, their antagonist simply vanished, leaving a maelstrom of
boiling water to mark her tomb.
"Hurrah!" shouted Dick, the first of the delighted and astonished men
to find his voice. "She's gone. Wonder what's happened?"
"One of her torpedoes gone off by accident, I expect," hazarded his
chum. "It seemed like an internal explosion."
"At any rate, she's gone," observed Blake thankfully. "Now, lads,
let's get on with the business, before there are a swarm of patrol
boats on the scene. I shouldn't wonder if the noise of that explosion
were heard fifty miles away."
Leaving Athol again on watch the others continued their interrupted
labours; but before another ten minutes had elapsed came the
watcher's doleful shout:--
"Another submarine!"
The new-comer had appeared upon the surface apparently without any
preliminary investigation. At least Athol had not noticed the
periscopes until the vessel rose at a distance of a cables length
away.
She bore no number or distinguishing marks, but hardly was she awash
when the conning-tower hatchway was opened, and a seaman dressed in a
thick "fearnought" suit, appeared. Making his way aft he tugged at
the halliards of a short flag-staff, and instantly a flag was
"broken-out," fluttering proudly in the breeze.
It was the glorious White Ensign.
Others of the crew now appeared, as the submarine, forging gently
ahead like an enormous porpoise, closed with the battleplane that she
had so timely rescued. Then, slowing down, she came to a standstill
ten yards to windward of the crippled aircraft.
"Heave us a line if you have one on board," shouted a boyish-looking
lieutenant-commander, who, as he smiled displayed a set of white
teeth that contrasted vividly with his deeply bronzed complexion.
"We'll have all on board in a jiffey."
"We haven't a line," replied Blake courteously, "and we don't want to
come on board, thanks all the same. We're effecting repairs and then
we're off, I hope."
"Thought that Hun was strafing you," remarked the young officer.
"He was about to, when--I suppose you bagged him."
"We did," agreed the lieutenant-commander with pardonable pride.
"We're out of your debt now, I take it."
Blake was genuinely taken aback.
"You've a bad memory, I'm afraid," continued the skipper of the
submarine. "T'other day a Zepp was strafing us, and you strafed the
Zepp. We came to the surface in time to see you sheering off. Nasty
quarter of an hour while it lasted, by Jove! So now we're quits.
Well, what's wrong?"
The difficulty with the watered petrol was explained.
"Don't bother about the rest," said the lieutenant-commander. "We've
plenty on board. Only replenished at Cronstadt yesterday, and we
don't do much surface running. We'll soon fix you up."
In a brief space of time a delivery hose was passed from the
submarine to the battleplane, and with a prodigal generosity gallons
of petrol were pumped into the latter's tanks.
During the operation Athol was engaged in conversation with the
sub-lieutenant of the submarine, each, with pardonable pride,
maintaining that his branch of the respective services afforded the
greater excitement. While the lieutenant-commander of the submarine
paid a visit to the battleplane, Athol went on board the naval craft,
and was shown most of the wonders of the latest type of under-water
warship.
Just then the skipper of the submarine made a flying leap from the
deck of the battleplane to the platform of his own craft.
"Back with you!" he exclaimed, addressing Athol, who was in the act
of emerging through a hatchway. "Sharp as you can, unless you want a
trip with us. There's another strafing match about to commence."
High up and several miles away to the south-westward at least a dozen
black specks were visible against the cloudless sky. A fleet of
hostile seaplanes was approaching with the evident intention of
making it hot for the British submarine.
"Sure you can start?" shouted the lieutenant-commander as he slid
down the conning-tower hatchway.
Blake gave an affirmative reply, which was confirmed by the engines
being set in motion.
"S'long!" was the naval officer's farewell greeting as he slammed the
rubber-lined hatchway cover. Then, forging quickly ahead the
submarine dipped her nose and slid swiftly beneath the surface.