Kaye's Crash
At 10 a.m. Derek Daventry started off in EG 19 on patrol. Kaye,
flying a machine of the same type, had risen five minutes earlier.
According to instructions the two airmen were to make a
reconnaissance above the important railway junction of Les Jumeaux,
where the Huns were supposed to be detraining a number of tanks for
the avowed purpose of holding up the British and French
counter-advance.
Everywhere the Huns had been held. In certain sectors their line was
cracking badly. There were evidences of a retreat on a large scale.
Demoralization was sapping their ranks like a canker, while the
morale of the Allies, never low in spite of reverses, was again on
the rise. At the same time Fritz still had a certain amount of kick
left in him. He might strive to stave off disaster by rallying the
best of his badly-shaken troops and attempt another break through, in
the hope that if the operation were successful he might be able to
effect a possible peace by negotiation.
It was therefore necessary to keep a vigilant watch upon the Germans'
back-areas, to observe any great concentration of troops or material,
and to continue harassing his lines of communication; and the only
way to do this was by means of that juvenile but virile branch of the
service, the R.A.F.
That day machines were up in hundreds. The sky seemed stiff with
biplanes and monoplanes, all bearing the distinctive red, white, and
blue circles. Each machine had a definite object in view--a set task
to perform.
On the other hand the Boche was chary of going aloft. Not a single
black-cross machine crossed our lines. Even the famous Hun circuses
kept well away from the scene, since Fritz recognized the Allied
superiority in the air, and rarely, if ever, tried conclusions with
superior numbers. Therein lies the difference. British and French
airmen are sportsmen, ready to rush in whenever an opportunity
offers, and scorning to decline a combat against heavy odds; German
flyers are almost invariably cold-blooded, scientific men who
calculate their chances deliberately before venturing to meet their
aerial foes.
Keeping Kaye's 'bus in full view, for both airmen were bound for
practically the same destination, Derek flew all out, passing over
the German lines at less than two thousand feet. Not an Archibald
greeted his appearance. Fritz was getting tired of being strafed, and
was beginning to find that it paid better to lie doggo than to invite
a few bombs or a hail of machine-gun fire from passing aeroplanes.
Steering partly by compass, and correcting his course by observation
of prominent landmarks, Derek held on. Other 'buses passed and
repassed--bombers, chasers, and reconnaissance machines--some of the
pilots waving a greeting to the squat, businesslike EG 19.
It was a bright, sunny day, although here and there dark clouds
drifted slowly across the sun. The ground beneath was honeycombed
with shell-craters, and dotted with mounds that at one time, not so
very long ago, were prosperous villages. A canal, almost dry owing to
the destruction of the locks, cut the landscape in an unswerving
straight line, while a network of railways, most of them constructed
immediately after the big German offensive, spread like a gigantic
cobweb as far as the eye could see.
There was plenty of smoke, for it was now the Huns' turn to set fire
to their own ammunition-dumps, while at frequent intervals
long-distance naval guns would drop their gigantic projectiles, that
burst in a mighty cloud of black and orange-tinted smoke.
Viewed from the air, the scene of the mighty battle was tame.
Distance hid the hideous and ghastly details, while in the pure
atmosphere the indescribable but distinctive stenches from the field
of carnage were not perceptible. If distance did not exactly lend
enchantment to the view it certainly threw a kindly veil over most of
its shortcomings.
Half an hour passed. Kaye's 'bus was still in sight. If anything,
Derek was gaining on her, but in the air five minutes' start is a
long one. The two biplanes were now practically alone, although a
flight was visible at a great distance to the south-east.
The objective, Les Jumeaux junction, was now in sight, like a
four-pointed star; for all around the converging railway lines were
sheds and huts that were not in existence three months previously.
That the spot was protected by anti-air-craft guns there could be
little doubt, while Derek could see a huge sausage-balloon being
rapidly hauled down--a sign that Fritz was aware of the approach of
British 'planes.
Suddenly Kaye swerved from his course and held on in a southerly
direction.
"Wonder what's happened to the old bean?" thought Derek. "He was
making straight for the jolly old place, and now he's wandering off
the track."
Fifteen seconds later Derek solved the mystery, for, approaching the
British biplane, was a small monoplane of unmistakably Hun
construction--one of the admitted failures of the German Air Service.
The Hun hesitated, banking and circling as if doubtful whether to
meet the British craft or to seek safety in flight, while Kaye, all
out, bore down to the attack.
"Kaye'll mop him up in a brace of shakes," declared Derek, as he too
swung round. "I'll stand by and see the scrap."
Then, seized by an inspiration, he added, "Supposing Fritz has a card
up his sleeve?"
Just then the German spun round on one wingtip and began to fly from
his antagonist. Kaye's biplane was then about four hundred yards away
from, and considerably higher than, the monoplane, and manoeuvring in
order to pump a trayful of ammunition into the other's tail.
"Juggins!" ejaculated Derek; "he's let himself into a pretty hole.
Properly tricked."
For out of a rift in the clouds, through which the brilliant sunshine
poured dazzlingly, three large Hun triplanes swooped. It was an old
trick, but Kaye looked like falling a victim to the ruse. His whole
attention centred upon the monoplane, which was merely a decoy, he
was quite ignorant of the presence of three machines that were
waiting to pounce down upon the swallower of the aerial bait.
Derek began to climb, at the same time changing direction in an
attempt to intercept the trio of Huns. Without a doubt they had
spotted him, but contemptuous of the almost insignificant EG 19 they
held on, with the evident intention of first strafing the pursuer of
the decoy, and then "mopping up" the second British machine.
Suddenly the decoy, finding that Kaye was perilously close to his
tail-plane, dived vertically. Kaye promptly followed suit, while the
triplanes, owing to their dead-weight, hesitated to imitate the
dangerous stunt.
For a good two thousand feet the Hun monoplane dropped like a
plummet, with its engine all out and a long trail of vapour from its
noisy exhaust. Then the Hun began a loop that finished him. Making
too sharp a curve, the monoplane burst two of the most important
tension-wires, and the next instant the wings folded like those of a
resting butterfly.
Kaye, finding his antagonist crashing, flattened out, and, as he did
so, became aware of the presence of the three triplanes and of his
chum flying at full speed to intercept them.
Without hesitation Kaye joined in the fray. There was no loss of
time, for the combatants were approaching an aggregate speed of well
over two hundred and twenty miles an hour.
A mutual exchange of machine-gun fire produced no visible result,
although several tracer-bullets passed perilously close to Kaye's
'bus. Then, banking steeply, the triplanes again endeavoured to
close.
It was Derek's opportunity, and he seized it. Broadside on to two of
the Huns, he let fly with his machine-gun. Down went one of the
triplanes in flames, while the second, considerably damaged, rocked
violently until the pilot succeeded in getting the machine again
under control.
Fitting a fresh drum of ammunition, Derek again manoeuvred to renew
the attack. As he swung round he saw, to his consternation, that
Kaye's 'bus was falling, while long-drawn tongues of flame showed
that his chum's machine was not only shot down, but that it was shot
down in flames.
Filled with a blind rage, and eager to avenge his comrade, Derek
dived steeply upon the triplane that had sent Kaye's 'bus on its
headlong flight.
The German machine-gunner at the after gun was pumping in lead as
fast as he could. Bullets, many of them of the tracer pattern,
whizzed and screeched past the little British machine. A tension-wire
snapped like a harp-string, one end cutting through Derek's
flying-helmet and drawing blood from his forehead. He was dimly
conscious of jagged rips in his leather coat, of rents in the planes,
and particularly of a bullet cutting a deep groove in the three-ply
decking of the fuselage. Then, just at the critical moment, the gun
jammed badly.
Desperately Derek strove to rectify the defect, the 'bus meanwhile
steering itself. Once he glanced up to see where his antagonist was.
The triplane had vanished. Struck in a vital part a few seconds
before the jamming of the British aeroplane's gun, the Hun was
falling absolutely out of control.
To change over the two automatic-guns was a matter of a few moments;
then, again fit for action, the biplane made towards the remaining
Hun. The triplane, however, had had enough. With her powerful engines
all out she incontinently fled from her much smaller antagonist.
Leaning over the side of the fuselage Derek looked earthwards. The
ground was well-wooded, and apparently flat, although the pilot knew
the deceptive aspect of undulating land when viewed from a height.
Two columns of smoke, trending towards the west, marked the spots
where the British and the Hun machines had descended in flames.
Vol-planing spirally, Derek kept a sharp look-out for signs of enemy
occupation. He saw none. No Boches sent their obnoxious
shrapnel-shells screeching through the air; no field-grey patrols
opened fire with their rifles and machine-guns upon the now
low-flying biplane. There were no signs of the civilian population.
Thirty miles behind the battle-line Derek had struck a desolate and
deserted patch of what had been, and was soon to be again, the soil
of La Belle France.
The British and German machines had crashed within four hundred yards
of each other. Which was which Daventry could not determine, for
already the huge triplane and its small antagonist were little more
than heaps of fiercely-burning debris.