THE RAIDER'S RETURN
SIEGFRIED VON EITELWURMER opened his eyes. His first thoughts were
those of curious wonderment. It seemed remarkable, almost
disappointing, that he found himself still alive.
More, he was still on board the airship, but his surroundings were
different. The intense darkness had given place to light--not
artificial luminosity of electric agency but the welcome light of
day. His quarters had been changed. During his period of
unconsciousness he had been taken along the narrow cat-walk (perhaps
it was well for him that he had no recollection of that perilous
passage along the V-shaped gangway) and had been placed in the
centre gondola.
This move had been made at Ober-leutnant von Loringhoven's orders.
During the nerve-racking journey over the sea-frontier of England
the Hun commander had given scant thought to the comfort of his
guest, but with immediate prospects of a safe return, he had
recalled the advisability of giving the Kaiser's emissary those
honours that his position albeit a despised civil one demanded.
"Are you feeling better now?" enquired von Loringhoven.
The spy sat up and passed a hand over his forehead.
"Where are we now?" he asked, ignoring the ober-leutnant's question.
"In sight of German soil," was the reply. "Yonder can be discerned
our incomparable island fortress of Heligoland. No, we do not
descend there, nor at Tondern or Borkum. Unfortunately that
dare-devil of an Englishman has done us some damage, so we go on to
the repairing sheds at Kyritz--they, fortunately, are beyond reach
of hostile aircraft. At least, so I hope, but there is no telling
what these English seaplanes will do next."
With von Loringhoven's reassurances bringing comfort to his tortured
mind the spy's mercurial spirits rose. Yet not without a shudder he
recalled his last conscious moment in the horrors of the pitch-black
cramped interior of the after gondola.
"Himmel!" he exclaimed. "That was a nightmare. I little thought to
be alive, and now I am tempted to shout 'Hoch! Hoch!' at the top of
my voice."
"The bracing upper air," commented the ober-leutnant. "It is superb
for raising one's spirits. Yes, it was an anxious time. I admit it.
For the moment I thought that the cursed seaplane was going to hurl
herself straight through the envelope. It is a thing that these mad
Englishmen would do. I know them."
Von Eitelwurmer nodded in silent accord.
"But," continued the commander, "it was otherwise. Possibly our fire
distracted the pilot, or he may have changed his mind at the last
moment. Yet it was so close that I doubt whether there was anything
to spare between the tip of one of his planes and the underside of
the rear gondola. To me, looking aft, it seemed the narrowest shave
possible. However, she missed us, and I immediately gave orders for
the motors to be restarted. Heaven be praised, we never saw that
seaplane again."
"And the damage?" enquired von Eitelwurmer.
"Not enough to prevent us continuing the voyage," replied von
Loringhoven. "Two of the after ballonets are perforated too badly to
be patched. A couple of my men succeeded in plugging the holes with
the special preparation we use in such contingencies. You will
observe that this floor inclines considerably in spite of the
redistribution of ballast. We are down by the stern. Well, what is
it?" he asked curtly as Unter-leutnant Klick entered the
compartment.
"A wireless has just been received, sir," replied Klick, saluting
his superior. "It appears that two of our airships have failed to
return."
"_Donner wetter!_ Two out of twelve!" exclaimed von Loringhoven
furiously. "This is serious. But it might have been worse," he
muttered in an undertone, as he glanced at the drooping end of the
large envelope.
The spy went to one of the windows. The air was still sharp but mild
in comparison to the piercing cold of the night. Already the sun was
well above the horizon. Two thousand feet or less beneath the
airship--for on approaching land the Zeppelin had descended
considerably--could be discerned with remarkable clearness the green
grass and red sandstone of the island of Heligoland with a strand of
white sand adjoining one face of the cliffs. A short distance beyond
was the flat, semi-artificial island of Sandinsel, with its
batteries, concealed when viewed from the sea, standing
conspicuously against the dunes.
Still further away were the flat, receding shores bordering the
estuary of the Elbe, but vainly the spy looked for any signs of the
vaunted High Seas Fleet. Even the well protected triangular expanse
of water was desolate of shipping, save for a few small craft
engaged either in laying additional mines or conveying stores to the
island fortress.
At that height the varying depths of the sea could be noted owing to
the changing colour of the water--not that that fact interested von
Eitelwurmer in the slightest. He was a landsman out and out. He was
content to leave the difficult task of wresting the trident from
Britannia's grasp to others. The matter did not concern him. He
specialised in the arts and intrigues of espionage.
Von Loringhoven was cast in a different mould. Although his present
energies were centred upon the air service he was at heart a seaman.
He, too, was examining the expanse of sea, but with the skill of a
practised navigator.
"Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to a small, indistinct object from
which emanated two ever-diverging lines of ruffled water. "Do you
know what that is? Here, take these binoculars and look. Now,
perhaps, you see what I mean?"
The spy brought the glasses to bear.
"A fish, I suppose," he remarked.
"A fish of sorts," added the ober-leutnant. "One's sense of
proportion is deceived at this height. It is an unterseeboot. I do
not fancy it is ours, otherwise why should she keep submerged when
close to our territorial water?"
He lifted the receiver of the telephone.
"Wireless cabin. Report to the commandant of Heligoland that there
is a submarine in the south channel. Ask if it is one of our
unterseebooten."
In a few minutes came the reply.
"No German submarine operating sub merged off the fortress. Can you
attack?"
"No, I cannot," declared von Loringhoven bluntly, directing his
remarks to his companion. "She's a British submarine. Those fellows
nose their way everywhere. She, evidently, is inside the outer
minefield. And they want me, crippled as this airship is, to attack.
It is unreasonable; besides, the wind is increasing in strength and
we have yet to make a landing."
So, giving by wireless the bearings of the daring submarine, von
Loringhoven "carried on" in the knowledge that the dangers of this
flight were by no means over. Already the wind was blowing with a
velocity of thirty miles an hour--a rate that would make landing a
difficult matter--and, what is more, its strength was hourly
increasing.
At ten in the morning the Zeppelin came in sight of the sheds at
Kyritz, a town in the province of Brandenburg and roughly sixty
miles north-west of Berlin. This was the base for airships that had
sustained damage likely to take a considerable time to repair. The
German authorities, profiting by the lessons of the British air
raids on Friedrichshaven and other Zeppelin stations within range of
aeroplanes operating either from the sea or from the hostile
frontiers, had taken the precaution to remove the repair depots well
inland. In such places as Borkum there were Zeppelins in commission
ready for making flights to the British Isles, but at the first
intimation of a raid upon the airship sheds the mammoth gas-bags
would fly inland until the danger was past. In the case of a
Zeppelin undergoing extensive repairs such a course would be
impossible; hence the establishment of the base at Kyritz.
Turning head to wind the crippled Zeppelin descended slowly and
cautiously towards a field surrounding the three large sheds. The
sheds themselves were marvels of scientific ingenuity. For one thing
they were easily collapsible. By means of mechanical appliances the
roof could be parted lengthways and each section allowed to fold
against the walls. The walls could then be lowered until the whole
structure lay flat on the ground. The fabric, composed of steel
sheeting on girders of the same material, was covered with stucco
that strongly resembled the surrounding ground. Viewed from a height
there would be great difficulty in distinguishing between the
collapsible sheds and the adjoining land. The buildings, of course,
could only be lowered when not tenanted by airships, but such was
the deliberate thoroughness of the Huns that they had to provide for
this contingency in the possible yet improbable event of a British
aircraft raid.
Another feature of the sheds was the fact that each was built upon a
gigantic turn-table, so as to enable the openings to turn away from
the prevailing wind and thus facilitate landing operations; while by
a system of disc signals the commander of the returning Zeppelin was
informed of the direction and strength of the breeze.
Yet, in spite of these precautions, the landing operations were
fraught with danger, especially in the present case.
As the crippled airship approached the shed, ropes were lowered from
bow and stern. These were seized by swarms of trained air-mechanics,
and as gently as possible the huge envelope was brought upon an even
keel. All the while the propellers kept revolving in order to enable
her to counteract the force of the head wind.
Then other ropes were lowered from the 'midship portion of the
Zeppelin while simultaneously gas was exhausted from some of the
ballonets to neutralise her buoyancy.
All that seemingly remained was to shut off the motors and drag the
mammoth into its lair.
Suddenly a strong gust of wind, eddying past the shed, struck the
bow of the Zeppelin. The men holding the bow ropes were thrown in a
struggling heap of humanity upon the grass. In an instant the whole
of the for'ard portion of the Zeppelin reared itself in the air. The
aluminium longitudinal girders were not proof against the unequal
strain, and with incredible rapidity the frail fabric buckled.
"Jump!" shouted von Loringhoven, his voice barely audible above the
excited yells of the men and the rending of metal.
Setting the example the commander dropped from the cat-walk,
followed by Unter-leutnant Klick and most of the crew. A few,
imprisoned in the foremost gondola, were crushed under the ruins of
the girders.
For a moment the spy hesitated to follow the example of his
companions in peril. Taking his courage in his hands, he lowered
himself over the latticed sides of the gangway. There he hung until
half stupefied by the fumes of the escaping hydrogen; then, relaxing
his hold he dropped, landing in a most undignified manner upon the
equally ruffled von Loringhoven as he crawled from under the
wreckage.
In five minutes nothing remained of the raider but a mass of gaunt
and twisted girders from which fluttered the remains of the envelope
in the grip of the now howling wind.
Two hours later, Siegfried von Eitelwurmer found himself in the
presence of the Director of Aeronautical Intelligence in the
official quarters of the Air Department--a pretentious building in
the Wilhelmstrasse at Berlin.
With him were Ober-leutnant von Loringhoven and half a dozen
commanders of the Zeppelin Squadron that had just carried out the
raid over the British Isles. The task of reporting upon the raid was
about to commence. Already the British communique had been received,
and it was now considered advisable to issue a statement for the
benefit of the German people.
The only person not present was Otto von Lohr, the commander of the
air squadron, and until he put in an appearance the business could
not be started.
A telephone bell rang. A uniformed secretary took up the receiver.
"Yes, Herr Schneider, he is here," he replied. "I will inform him of
your request."
Replacing the instrument the secretary crossed the room and
addressed the spy.
"Herr Kapitan-leutnant Schneider wishes to see you, Herr von
Eitelwurmer," he announced obsequiously.
"Very good," replied the spy. "Inform me when the conference
begins."
Kapitan-leutnant Schneider, the German Naval Censor-in-Chief, was a
bald-headed, loose-lipped man of past middle age. He looked, and
was, a typical Prussian, subserviently polite to his superiors and
pointedly arrogant to those who were not. Von Eitelwurmer belonged
to the former category, for although not of the military caste, he
enjoyed the confidence of the Emperor. That in itself was sufficient
to cause Kapitan-leutnant Schneider to squirm like an eel. It was
his way of showing his pleasure at his visitor's presence.
"I wish to ask you, von Eitelwurmer," he remarked after the
preliminary courtesies were exchanged, "concerning the effect of our
reports--my work, you understand--upon the English people. You,
living as an Englishman, ought to be in a position to inform me."
"My private opinion, or my official one?" enquired the spy bluntly.
The Censor shut one eye solemnly.
"Your private opinion," he said.
"The German communiques seem to be a source of amusement to the
English," began von Eitelwurmer in the same bold tone, for not being
under the kapitan-leutnant's jurisdiction and having an old
grievance against him he could afford to "rub it in." "In fact, the
censorship in both countries is one of the chief weapons of their
antagonists. In England bad news that we already know of is
suppressed, and consequently all sorts of disquieting rumours get
around. The same holds good in the Fatherland. It is like sitting
upon the safety valve of a boiler: sooner or later----"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Schneider. "But as far as we Germans are
concerned it matters little. If the people grow restive, if their
hunger--and hunger amongst the lower classes is acute--goads them to
attempted violence the danger ends there. Unlike the English we have
organised the nation. Every man, woman and child realises his or her
duty is to obey, otherwise we might see the business of Louvain
enacted upon German soil."
"The English are of a different temperament," remarked the spy.
"Reverses do not seem to damp their spirits. They have a firm faith
that in spite of blunders everything will come out right for them at
the finish. It is the fatalism based upon centuries of history. Why
their government does not take them into its confidence puzzles me."
The Censor shrugged his shoulders.
"I do not believe in governments of that description," he said.
"Give me our all powerful machinery--the War Council. No government
yet won a war, but many a government has lost one. Now tell me----"
A discreet tap upon the door interrupted the official's words.
"Enter!" he bellowed.
A messenger crept stealthily into the room. By his manner it seemed
evident that he expected to have a book hurled at his head. It was
one of the kapitan-leutnant's usual _plaisanteries_, but on this
occasion von Eitelwurmer acted as a moral shield.
The Censor took the proffered paper, read it and burst into a roar
of laughter.
"Wait a moment, Herr von Eitelwurmer," he said when his mirth had
subsided. "The conference won't start for some time. There's a
fellow wanting an audience--an author, curse him! I'll let the press
and their parasites depending upon it know that there is a
censorship. This fellow wrote a book: _With von Scheer off Jutland_
he called it. Since we must do something to justify our existence I
smashed it. The fellow had no influence, so what matters? And now, I
suppose, he's kicking. Send him in, you thick-headed numbskull; send
him in."
The author of the banned book entered the room. He was of short
stature, being barely five feet two in height, inclined to
corpulence, and very white-faced. His heavy, bristling, up-turned
moustache contrasted incongruously with his small beady eyes that
peered through a large pair of spectacles of enormous magnifying
powers.
For quite two minutes Kapitan-leutnant Schneider hurled a torrent of
abuse at the head of his caller, punctuating every sentence with
furious oaths. Yet, somewhat to the Censor's surprise, the little
man showed no signs of quailing under the onslaught.
"Might I ask what there is in the book to which you take exception?"
he asked.
"The whole of it," thundered the despot.
"Could not certain portions be revised?"
"No; I object to it in its entirety."
"Then, since the story is based upon Admiral von Scheer's report you
object to the official dispatch?"
For a moment the Press Censor was taken aback. It never entered into
his head that this meek and mild man could or would put a poser like
this.
"No; I won't say that," replied Schneider. "But either you are a
perverter of the truth or you know too much. The work has had the
highest Admiralty consideration, and, as you ought to know,
censorship has only one object in view, namely, the public interest.
If you are ordered to say that black is white you must say it. You
haven't, and you must abide by the consequences."
"One moment," interposed the still unruffled man. "Can you give me
one solitary instance of what you object to in the book?"
The kapitan-leutnant puckered his shaggy eyebrows.
"No, I cannot," he replied, with considerable mildness. "I have
forgotten all about it."
"And that is what you term the highest Admiralty consideration,"
added the author cuttingly. "Very good; I will not trouble you
further at present, except to show you this: a commendation from no
less a personage than Admiral von Tirpitz."
"Himmel!" gasped the astonished official. "Why did you not tell me
this before?"
"Because I had not the chance," replied the caller gathering up his
papers. "Good afternoon."
"You are perhaps sorry I waited?" remarked von Eitelwurmer, when the
two were again alone.
Schneider frowned.
"If the fool had only made out that we had won a great victory all
would have been well," he replied. "The Press and its
satellites----"
"The Conference has started, Herr von Eitelwurmer," announced the
secretary. "I could not inform you before as the Kapitan-leutnant
was engaged."
The spy returned to the council-room. Seated at a long table were
the Zeppelin commanders. As each made his report the statement was
taken down by an official shorthand writer, while the aviators were
subjected to a stiff examination by the Director of Intelligence.
Some were most emphatic in their statements. They knew exactly where
they had been; others were not so sure, but believed that they had
been to such and such a town; others, somewhat indiscreetly but
honestly, confessed that they had lost their bearings. All were
agreed, however, that the Yorkshire towns of Brigborough and
Broadbeck had been missed by the raiding aircraft.
"It seems pretty certain that the geography of the English
authorities is at fault," commented the Director. "They report that
our Zeppelins visited a North Midland county--that referred to your
part of the business, von Loringhoven; I always thought that
Lancashire was one of the six northern counties of England: let us
hope that some day it will be one of a German dependency. However,
we'll issue a report that our airships bombed Brigborough and
Broadbeck. Then these English will think that you do not know where
you have been, and that is exactly what we want them to think. Now,
von Papen, draw up a suitable report for home consumption. In these
strenuous times we must satisfy the public demands. It will keep the
common people quiet for a time, and, if they _do_ find out, there
may then be something good to detract their attention."
The spy smiled grimly. He recalled a saying quoted by a German
officer to his captor: "We Germans can never be gentlemen--you
English will always be fools." The first part held good, but as for
the second, his residence in Great Britain had taught him that
behind the apathy of the British nation there was Something--a
Something that, when aroused, would form more than a match for the
cunning and brutality of his fellow countrymen. Reluctantly he had
to admit that.
"Why do you smile?" asked the Director, fixing von Eitelwurmer with
his eye.
"I was thinking," replied the spy. "Thinking of how I can get back
to England. My good work there is not yet completed."
"Those twenty thousand marks, hein?" enquired the president, and the
rest of the assembly laughed uproariously at the director's jest.