While the "Golden Hind" was struggling towards the shores of Western
Australia, Count Karl von Sinzig in Z64 was flying almost due south from
Samarang, in the island of Java.
He, too, had had a taste of the cyclone, which had extended over the
whole of the Arabian Sea and had been severely felt as far north as the
Persian-Turkestan frontier.
Practically helpless in the grip of the furious blast, Z64 had been
driven far off her course. Passing high over the mountainous districts
of Thibet, the German airship, unseen and unheard, finally encountered a
stiff northerly wind when approaching the China Sea in the neighbourhood
of Hanoi. Already the start von Sinzig had obtained over his British
rival was wiped out. The long detour he had been obliged to take
represented twelve hours' flight under normal conditions, and since he
knew of Fosterdyke's progress by the expedient of picking up the "Golden
Hind's" wireless message, he realised that the latter had made good her
belated departure.
At Samarang, Z64 took in fresh hydrogen and petrol. Von Sinzig reported
his arrival to the representatives of the International Air Board, and
stated his intention of proceeding via New Guinea, New Caledonia, and
Norfolk Island to New Zealand, where he would be able to fulfil one of
the conditions that required the competitors to touch at a spot within
one degree of the nadir to their starting-point.
But von Sinzig had no intention of carrying out his declared programme.
Directly he was well clear of Samarang, he shaped a course due south in
order to pick up the prevailing westerly wind south of Australia on
which Fosterdyke counted also. A stiff northerly wind over the Sunda
Sea helped the German to attain his object, and on the evening that the
"Golden Hind" drifted to south of Fremantle, Z64 was skirting the coast
of West Australia, in the neighbourhood of Geographe Bay.
Von Sinzig was in a bad state of mind. He knew by means of a code
message from Barcelona that one of his agents had made an attempt to
delay the "Golden Hind's" departure. What had actually taken place he
knew not. All he did know was the galling fact that the attempt had
been unsuccessful, and that by this time his rival was practically level
with him.
"Hans," he exclaimed, calling one of his subordinates, formerly an
Unter-Leutnant in the German Flying Service and before that a Mercantile
Marine officer.
Hans Leutter clicked his heels and stood to attention.
"You know Fremantle?" enquired the count, brusquely.
"Fairly well, mein Herr," was the reply. "I've called there perhaps a
dozen times in cargo boats. The last time was in January, 1914."
"There was, of course, no aerodrome there then?"
"Assuredly no, sir."
"According to my information it is on the right bank of the Swan River
and a couple of kilometres to the east of the town. It ought to be
easily found."
Hans Leutter agreed that to locate it ought to be a simple matter.
"Then we'll do so, little Hans," exclaimed the count, grimly. "We might
even make the Englishman Fosterdyke a little present anonymously, of
course."
The ex-Unter-Leutnant grinned.
"You wish me to take the Albatross for an airing then?" he said.
"Ach, no," replied von Sinzig. "If our Albatross were invisible and
noiseless, it would be different. We'll use the observation basket.
Overhaul the mechanism carefully, because you, little Hans, are going to
use it."
Hans Leutter saluted and went for'ard. He was not at all keen on being
told off for observation work, but his innate sense of discipline made
him accept the duty without outward signs of resentment. Somehow he
didn't relish the idea of being lowered from the Zeppelin and allowed to
dangle at the end of two or three thousand feet of fine wire.
Shortly before midnight the look-out on Z64 picked up the harbour and
town lights of Fremantle. It was now a fairly calm night. At five
thousand feet was a stratum of light clouds, sufficient to obscure the
starlight. The climatic conditions for von Sinzig's plans were exactly
what he wanted.
When the German airship was dead to windward of the town her motors were
switched off and she was allowed to drift in and out of the lower edge
of the bank of clouds.
From her foremost nacelle a circular basket, fitted with a vertical vane
to prevent it from turning round and round like a gigantic meat-jack,
was hanging. In the basket, with a couple of small incendiary bombs for
company, was Hans Leutter. In order to keep in touch with the captain
of Z64 Hans was provided with a wireless telephone.
"All ready," announced the observer. "Lower away."
The well-oiled mechanism ran smoothly and noiselessly until a sudden
check in the downward journey told Hans that the observation basket had
reached the limit of its cable. From where he dangled--nearly
two-thirds of a mile below the airship--Z64 was quite invisible. It was
therefore safe to assume that the good people of Fremantle were likewise
not in a position to see the huge gas-bag five thousand feet overhead,
while the insignificant observation basket, although only a thousand
feet or so up, was too minute to be spotted against the blurred
starlight.
On the other hand, Hans Leutter could command a fairly comprehensive
view of the town beneath him. The tranquil waters of the Swan River
enabled him to fix his position, for even on the darkest night a river
can readily be seen by an aerial observer. The navigation lamps of the
aerodrome almost misled him. At first he mistook them for the railway
station; but when he discovered his mistake he asked himself why the
aerial signalling lamps were still being exhibited. According to the
latest wireless messages picked up by Z64, the "Golden Hind" ought by
this time to be berthed in the hangar. But, perhaps, he argued, the
officials in their demonstrations of welcome had forgotten to switch the
lights off.
"This reminds me of London in 1916," thought Hans. "London in those
good old days when our Zeppelins came and went almost without let or
hindrance. Now, my beauty, you and I must part."
He raised the bomb and poised it on the edge of the basket. In his
excitement he had completely forgotten his fears at being suspended by a
steel rope almost the same gauge as a piano-wire.
The incendiary bomb was quite a small affair, but none the less
efficacious. In order to guard against identification should any of the
metal parts be found, the vanes were stamped with the British Government
marks, which showed that von Sinzig, with characteristic Teutonic
thoroughness, had taken the precaution of covering his tracks. The
British Air Ministry and the Australian Commonwealth Government could
appraise responsibility later--by that time Z64 would be thousands of
miles away.
Allowing for the slight breeze, Hans Leutter telephoned for the Zeppelin
to steer ten degrees to the nor'ard. Slowly Z64 carried out the
instructions, and seesawing gently the observation basket moved in a
slightly different direction from its previous line of drift until the
crucial moment arrived.
Hans Leutter released the bomb. For three seconds the observer could
follow its downward passage; then it vanished into the darkness. Five
seconds later the missile hit its objective.
There was no need for a second bomb. The airship shed was blazing
fiercely.
The Hun in the basket spoke into the telephone.
"Direct hit," he reported. "Haul me up."
Z64 had once more stopped her motors and was rising rapidly above the
bank of clouds. At the same time a motor winch was winding in the
cable, and Hans Leutter's rate of progress as the basket whirred through
the air brought back all his fears concerning his hazardous position.
What if there were a flaw in the wire? It was ex-Government stuff, he
recalled--material that might have been left lying in a neglected
condition for months before von Sinzig acquired it for its present
purpose. And supposing the wire slipped off the drum and got nipped in
the cogs of the winch? A score of thoughts of a similar nature flashed
across the observer's mind. He broke into a gentle perspiration. He
trembled violently as a mental vision of himself hurtling through space
gripped him in all its hideousness.
But the wire held. Hans Leutter was assisted into the nacelle, where he
promptly fainted. By that time Z64 was several miles away from
Fremantle, but a dull red glare on the horizon unmistakably indicated
the extent of the conflagration.
Throughout the night Z64 flew at an altitude of not less than fifteen
thousand feet. Dawn found her far to the south'ard of the Great
Australian Bight.
Von Sinzig had good cause for keeping out of the beaten steamer tracks;
nor did he intend to pass within a hundred miles of the southern part of
Tasmania. He counted upon arriving at Napier, New Zealand, at daybreak
on the day following, and until then he meant to be most careful not to
be reported by any vessel.
The commander of Z64 had just sat down to breakfast when one of the crew
entered his cabin.
"Pardon, Herr Offizier," said the man, apologetically, "but the
observation basket is missing."
"What do you mean?" demanded von Sinzig.
"We secured it after Herr Leutter had finished with it, Herr Kapitan,"
explained the man. "I myself saw that the four bottle-screws were
turned up tightly. Kaspar Graus, who had been told to remove the
remaining petrol bomb, came and reported that the basket was no longer
there. The metal clips were still attached to the bottle-screws. It
would appear that these were torn from the basket itself."
Count Karl von Sinzig left his breakfast untasted and hurried along the
catwalk to the gondola from which the observation basket was hung. His
informant's news was only too true. Unaccountably the basket had been
wrenched from its securing apparatus.
"It is of little consequence," he declared. "We would not have required
it again, and, since it will not float, it is at the bottom of the sea
by this time. Perhaps it is as well, in case we are inspected by
inquisitive officials at our next alighting place."
It was an unlucky day for Z64. About noon two of her motors developed
trouble simultaneously. Three hours elapsed before the sweating
mechanics were able to get the recalcitrant engines in running order
again, and during that period the Zeppelin had perforce to slow down
considerably. Consequently, it was half an hour after sunrise when Z64
sighted the Three Kings Island to the north-west of Cape Maria van
Diemen. Here she altered course, so as ostensibly to appear as if she
had been flying straight from New Caledonia, and, skirting the west
coast of New Zealand, headed for Napier, where, by the consent of the
New Zealand Government, von Sinzig was permitted to land and thus carry
out one of the conditions of the contest.
"We'll fly inland when we sight Auckland," decided the count. "No,
don't take her up any higher. There is now no need for concealment.
Let these New Zealanders see and comment upon the fact that their
islands are not beyond reach of a good German airship."
And so, flaunting her prowess in the rapidly-growing daylight, Z64
approached the town of Auckland. The Zeppelin was within ten miles of
the place when one of the crew shouted the disconcerting information
that there was an airship on the starboard bow, travelling east by
north.
Rapping out a furious oath, von Sinzig snatched up a pair of binoculars.
He had never before set eyes on the "Golden Hind," although the British
airship had passed almost immediately above him within a few minutes of
Z64 leaving her Spanish base, but instinctively he realised that this
was his greatest rival, Sir Reginald Fosterdyke's creation.
"Gott in Himmel!" shouted von Sinzig. "Leutter, you numbskull, you made
a hideous mess of things last night! Look--the 'Golden Hind'!"