"The cunning searchlights haunt the midnight skies,
Where chains of emerald balls of fire rise,
To mingle with the spark of bursting shells--
High in the darkness where the bomber dwells!
We know the meaning of the sudden glare
Of dazzling light which blossoms in the air:
For us the green and scarlet rockets blaze
And whisper urgent secrets through the haze."
--_The Night Raid._
From the aerodrome at Dunkerque five Short night-bombing machines were
operating. These were large single-engined machines with a very long
stretch of wings, and, apart from the Handley-Pages, were the biggest
machines in use on the Western Front, and carried the heaviest weight of
bombs.
While the Handley-Pages were getting ready, these Short machines, with
their ten wonderfully skilled pilots and gunlayers, slipped off
unostentatiously into the dark to Bruges and Zeebrugge, night after
night, and would come back to the dark aerodrome and land quietly, about
two and a half hours afterwards, with their bomb racks empty.
We would crowd round curiously, eager to learn what was to face us when
we started raiding on the bigger machines.
The airmen said little as they removed their helmets and coats, or drank
coffee in preparation for another raid the same night.
"Bruges is getting a bit hot. Good many flaming onions to-night. Seem to
be more searchlights!" was the kind of comment made.
These airmen continued their raids, a little disdainful of the fuss and
excitement about the Handley-Pages. They realised that they were doing
the job, and that four bombs dropped are better than fourteen about to
be dropped.
When the larger machines were ready to go, it was decided that they
should operate from another aerodrome near the coast in order that our
own aerodrome might be left clear for the Shorts.
I was not allowed to go on the first raid, as my pilot's machine was not
in action, so I drove down to the aerodrome at dusk to act as an
assistant ground officer. The machines were ready in a corner, and were
to proceed to Ostend.
Night fell. The engines roared. One after the other the machines swept
up and blotted out the stars in their passage. The noise of the engines
died away, and the uneasy night was left undisturbed.
I climbed over the sand-dunes on to the beach, and stood looking
north-east towards the lines. Far away I could see many a sign of the
restless activity of the war-time night. Flash succeeded flash on the
horizon, some dull and red, some brilliant and white. Here and there I
could see the faint, almost invisible, arm of a searchlight waving
evilly across the sky. Then I would see very slowly, very deliberately,
a row of "green balls," like a string of luminous jade beads, rise up
from the ground and climb up, up, up, into the darkness, begin to bend
over like a tall overburdened flower, and vanish one by one. Another
string would follow them, apparently on an irregular curve. Though fully
twenty-five miles away, they had all the hard glitter of jewels, and
were very luminous and beautiful.
As I stood watching this strange alluring sight, there were two
deafening unexpected reports behind me--the most vicious urgent noises I
have ever heard. I flung myself flat on the sand, face downwards, arms
thrown out. Report after report followed, each one drawing nearer to me.
I began to dig, in my desire to be as little higher than the ground as
possible. I wished that I were a razor-shell. I felt convinced that the
next bomb would be on my back. At last the succession of awful crashes
stopped. I lay still, my mouth dry with fear, waiting for the fall of a
"hang-up"--the most unreliable bomb of all.
However, no more explosions shook the ground, and the noise of the
French anti-aircraft batteries broke the silence of the night instead. I
stood up and ran to the aerodrome, stumbling across the sand-dunes and
the tufts of dry grass. In the gloom on my right I could see the black
columns of smoke which tower above the ground, recording the position of
the explosions.
When I reached a deep ditch, I waited a little. I did not want to cross
the flat expanse of the aerodrome without feeling sure that the danger
was all over. I had the same lingering desire to remain near safety that
you feel when playing "musical chairs" and you are near a vacant seat.
I saw a French marine, with the fear of death in his face, coming
towards me. He had probably been in the ditch. (Lucky fellow!)
"What was it? Did you hear?" he said. "Not nice, was it?"
He was evidently delighted to see somebody. He wanted the moral support
of a companion--another terrified human being. I felt the same, and was
glad to see him. He looked so terrified that it made me feel I must not
appear to be in the same condition.