THE RAID ON KRUPPS
IT was a dark night, some two or three hours before dawn, when
Air-Mechanic Pearson, one of the outer sentries at the aerodrome near
Contalmaison, thought he heard the whirr of propellers somewhere in
the dark skies above.
For a few seconds he peered up into the gloomy heavens, trying to
locate the sound, for he was very much puzzled, and could not account
for the sound on such a night.
"They can't be aeroplanes returning from over the lines," he told
himself, "or we should have had notice to light the flares. It will
be a sheer impossibility to land without a crash on a dark night like
this."
Again he listened, and he thought the droning sound settled down into
the throb of engines. He was anxious, however, not to call out the
guard on a false alarm, for he had once been severely reprimanded for
so doing.
"They cannot be hostile 'planes attempting an early morning raid; it
is far too thick. It would be like a nigger trying to find a black
cat in a dark cellar," he muttered.
A quarter of a minute later, however, he thought he had discovered
the real cause, for the throbbing of aerial engines could now be
distinctly heard.
"It's a Zeppelin!" he exclaimed. "They're going to find the aerodrome
with their search-light, and bomb the place, then make off before our
machines can get up," and he instantly yelled out at the top of his
voice, "Turn out, guard!"
The alarm was caught up, passed on to the next sentry, who repeated
it, and the next moment, after turning out the main guard, the
sergeant came running up, and asked:
"What's the matter, Pearson?"
"Zeppelin approaching from the eastward, sergeant!" replied the
air-mechanic.
"Zeppelin, man! What the deuce do you mean? Where is it?"
"Up there, sergeant. I can hear it quite plainly now."
"By Jove, so can I!"
The next moment the sergeant was back in the guard-room. From thence
he dashed into the orderly-room, and knocked at the inner door, where
the orderly officer for the night was on duty.
"Come in," cried the officer in answer to the knocking. Then, as the
sergeant, all puffed with his exertion, entered and saluted, he said:
"What's the matter, sergeant?"
"Zeppelin approaching from over the German lines, sir. Hadn't we
better 'phone to the anti-aircraft guns, and the searchlights to pick
up the raider before he bombs the place?" for to the sergeant's mind,
visions of falling bombs and terrific explosions were present.
"Zeppelin?" laughed the orderly officer.
"Yes, sir. I can hear the engines as plainly as possible outside."
"No, you're mistaken. It's the 'Gertie' returning. She's been out on
secret service work behind the German lines. I've been expecting her
for a couple of hours. Not a word of this to the men, now. I am
expecting a secret service man back before dawn, and the 'Gertie's'
been to fetch him. Picked him up at some secret place in the dark,
far behind the enemy's lines."
Now, the "Gertie" was a baby-airship detailed for special service,
and not the least important part of her work was the secret
journeying to and fro, across the German lines, to quiet rural
places, where, in the dark, she dropped messages, carrier pigeons,
etc., and occasionally brought back some daring member of the British
Secret Service, who had been collecting information behind the
enemy's lines.
By this time the orderly officer was out on the aerodrome, and the
squads of air-mechanics were being roused by the orderly sergeant.
Suddenly there came a cry from one of the guard.
"Airship signalling to the aerodrome, sir!"
"What signal was that?" demanded the officer.
"Two green lights and a red, sir, over there, half a mile away," came
the reply.
"That's right. It's the 'Gertie' trying to find the landing place.
Flight-sergeant, where are you?"
"Here, sir," came the answer, as the aerodrome flight-sergeant, just
roused by the alarm, rushed up, without putties or tunic on.
"Light the usual flares at the landing-place, and give the Brigade
colours as well."
"Yes, sir."
And the next instant he had disappeared into the darkness again to
hurry up the air-mechanics and to light the flares. The "Gertie" had
very nearly found her mark, having over-shot it but half a mile or so
in the pitchy darkness, which was a very creditable performance.
As soon as the flares were lighted, her engines, which had been shut
off, were heard again, as she gradually came nearer and nearer,
until, when right overhead, she began to descend slowly.
"There she comes! This way, lads!" cried the stentorian voice of
Snorty, whose piercing eyes were amongst the first to spot the
looming mass overhead.
"Steady, there, steady!" came the next order, as the ropes and drags
were lowered, and the men made a scramble for them. And, in a very
short space of time the baby-airship was made fast, and from the
single gondola, in which five men were cooped, some one leapt out,
who held in his hand a bundle of documents.
"Captain Scott, I believe, sir," said the orderly officer stepping
forward.
"Yes. Are you Lieutenant Grenfell?"
"Yes, sir." And with that the two men went off together to the
private room of the orderly officer.
The newcomer was the bearer of some important plans and sketches, to
obtain which he had risked his life every hour of the day and night
during the past three weeks. They were nothing less than detailed
plans of the great German arsenal at Krupps', for which the
Commanding Officer had been anxiously waiting. For some time
previously, the C.O. had received from the War Office, through the
General Headquarters in the field, a peremptory order, something like
the following:--
_"To the Officer Commanding,_
_"--th Squadron, Royal Flying Corps._
"It is of vital importance that the enemy's supply of munitions
should be hampered and restricted as far as possible, in view of the
offensive to be undertaken shortly. As soon, therefore, as the
necessary plans and papers reach you, you will detail one of your
best flights, under your most capable Flight-Commander, to carry out
the first raid on the enemy's main arsenal at Krupp'."
This document, signed by one of the generals commanding in the field,
had been in the hands of the Squadron-Commander for some days, and he
had been eagerly awaiting the arrival of the promised plans and
sketches. As soon, therefore, as the orderly officer received them,
he sent Brat, the despatch-rider, with his motor cycle and side car
to the C.O.'s quarters. And ten minutes later that distinguished
person was leaving the officers' quarters on his way to the
aerodrome.
Having arrived, after ten minutes' chat with the officer belonging to
the secret service, his first words were:
"Grenfell, ask Flight-Commander Dastral to come down at once."
"Yes, sir."
And on his next journey, Brat fetched Dastral down from his bunk at
the mess to join the party.
"Dastral," was the first word from the C.O. as soon as the daring
young pilot entered.
"Yes, sir," replied the Flight-Commander, saluting smartly.
"Here's something for you after your own heart."
"What is that, sir?" asked the youth, smiling.
"The promised raid on Krupps'. How would you like to undertake it
with your flight? You have often spoken about it."
"Nothing would please me better, sir."
"And the other fellows belonging to your flight, what about them?"
"They would follow me anywhere, sir!"
"Gad, I believe they would, for they all worship you. I believe
they'd follow you to 'Gulfs,' if you led them there."
Dastral laughed, and repeated his avowal, that he would be only too
pleased to start at dawn should the weather conditions prove good
enough.
"Right!" exclaimed the major. "Then, you'd better spend the next two
hours with Captain Scott here, and with your men. Get thoroughly hold
of these plans, and fix them in your mind."
So, while breakfast was laid for the Intelligence officer, Dastral
got his men together, including Mac and Jock. Afterwards the eight
men who were going into action carefully laid their plans, arranging
a code of signals and the method of attack, should they succeed in
reaching their destination. Then they went over to the sheds,
examined and tested the machines, saw them loaded up with bombs and
drums of ammunition. The guns, compasses, etc., were then shipped and
everything was ready.
Dastral looked at his watch. In an hour it would be dawn.
"We must be off, boys. We must cros the German lines before
daybreak."
"Right, sir," replied the others, "We can be ready in ten minutes."
Then, having previously breakfasted, they put on their thick leather
coats, pilots' boots and helmets, and made ready. The C.O. came down
to wish them godspeed and a safe return. The probable time of their
return was fixed, and it was arranged that an escort should meet them
on their way back to defend them from hostile aircraft, lest any of
them should be in difficulties, and unable, through damaged machines
or lack of ammunition, to fight their way home.
"Stand by! Contact, switch off!" came the order.
The propellors were swung vigorously once or twice, then, one after
another, the engines broke into their mighty song, and the machines
taxied off into the darkness across the aerodrome, and as the
joy-stick was pulled over each 'plane sprang into the air, and began
its long voyage.
"Good-bye, and good luck!" shouted the C.O. as each man taxied off,
and as a parting salute, each pilot raised his gloved hand from the
controls for an instant.
Four hundred miles, that was the distance of the double journey. Two
hundred miles of enemy territory to be traversed before they reached
their objective; then, another two hundred back again to safety; and
no chance of a landing to remedy even the slightest defect. That was
the prospect before these daring aviators, as they sallied forth on
their dangerous errand this morning about half an hour before the
first faint whisper of dawn came up out of the east.
No wonder the Commanding Officer of the Squadron, as he watched them
depart, turned to his companions and said:
"A perilous venture, isn't it, for the boys?"
"You're right, sir," replied the orderly officer. "I hope not one of
them will lose the number of his mess before nightfall."
"Ah, well. We have had some vacant chairs in the mess lately. Four
hundred miles," he was heard to remark as he turned on his heels and
went back to his room.
He was a kindly, considerate commander, for he had that rare quality
which combined firmness with kindness, and because of that he was
loved by all his men.
The adventurers crossed the German lines at seven thousand feet, and
in the darkness the enemy's searchlights failed to find them, so they
were well away for once. There was just a little doubt in Dastral's
mind about the weather conditions when he started, as the success of
the venture depended very much upon the visibility. At present,
however, the dull cloudy weather was in their favour, if only it
might clear up later.
He was therefore very pleased when, having left the enemy's lines
some thirty or forty miles behind, the first tinge of dawn lit up the
sky in front of them, showing the horizon clearly. The wind had
changed during the last hour, and, though it grew colder, it became
much brighter.
Once or twice the Flight-Commander looked round at his followers,
casting a critical eye upon the whole flight.
"Thank goodness, the engines seem to be running well. Everything
depends on them," he murmured.
His own machine was a double-seater type with the observer's car
projecting right in front of the engine, a powerful twelve-cylindered
R.A.F.
A little later Jock, speaking through the tube, shouted:
"Shots on the left, Dastral!" and he pointed to a spot far down
below, for the landscape had opened out now, and they had been
spotted for the first time.
Dastral looked down, and saw several rapid flashes, away down on the
left, where a battery of "Archies," having found them, had opened
fire.
In front of the machine which was leading the flight, Dastral saw
several black bursts of smoke, and in the centre of each burst was a
yellow glare.
"Ah, the Boches have found the range to a nicety!" yelled Dastral to
Jock. "Look out! We must dive."
Then, pulling over the controls, the hornet dipped at the head, doing
a neat little nose-dive of some five hundred feet, throwing the
enemy's range out of gear, and compelling him to readjust his sights.
As he dived, the others, with an eye always on their leader, followed
him, and the whole flight dived clean underneath a mass of curtain
fire, intended to bar their progress. So cleverly was it all done
that they all escaped without a scratch.
The Commander looked down at those batteries still spitting fire.
With not a little contempt he regarded them. They could not touch
him, for already, before they could readjust their fire, the whole
flight was out of range, for the engines were now doing well, and a
speed of a hundred and twenty miles an hour had been worked up.
At another time Dastral would like to have dived down to within five
hundred feet of those German guns, and put them out of action, but he
had other work on hand today; work which would take all his time and
skill to complete satisfactorily, and to bring his men back to
safety. Even if Himmelman himself should attack him now, he must
refuse him battle, unless compelled to fight for mere safety. His
present duty was to bomb the great arsenal at Krupps', and, as far as
possible, leave the principal buildings nothing but a heap of smoking
ruins. So he opened out the throttle of his engine to the full, and
for the first time reached one hundred and twenty-five miles an hour,
not a very bad speed when you are loaded up with heavy missiles.
They had been flying for an hour now, and had climbed higher and
higher until they were at nine thousand feet. It was bitterly cold,
and already their feet and hands were numbed. What would they be like
in another two hours?
An hour and a half passed, and shortly afterwards Jock shouted:
"The Rhine! The Rhine!"
Nor indeed was he mistaken. He had been eagerly searching for the
famous stream that runs through the German Fatherland, and of which
the Hun is so proud. And now, there it was, a little way ahead of
them, running through the landscape like a silver thread.
Soon they were over the stately river, and Dastral, knowing that the
road was as plain as a pikestaff now if the weather kept clear, no
longer heeded his compass, but, wheeling smartly to his left,
followed the stream on its way to the sea.
"What town is that?" shouted the pilot, as a vast assembly of houses
and spires came into view.
"Coblentz," replied the observer, with his finger on the waterproof
map.
"Better look out for trouble, hadn't we?"
"Yes, the Ehrenbreitstein Forts are down below; just a little way
ahead on the left. They have plenty of guns down there."
This place, called the Gibraltar of Central Europe, is a towering
fortification, overlooking the town of Coblentz, and defending the
line of the Rhine. The river runs between the fort and the town, and
the two are connected by a bridge of boats.
"Better skirt the town, else they will think we are going to attack
the place, and some of our fellows might get winged."
"Poch! They can't hit us. All their best gunners are miles away at
the front. Let's go straight on. We shall be out of their range in
five minutes."
Before they reached the town the white puffs of the 77's made a line
of smoke ahead of them, and, intermingled with this, they saw the
black cloudlets caused by the bursting of the enemy's 105 calibre
shells. In fact they were ringed with a curtain of shell fire.
Dastral gave the signal by a sudden clip of his 'plane, which was
leading.
"Ninety degrees left and dip 500 feet!"
The Flight-Commander led the way through a gap in the curtain fire,
and the rest followed, swerving rapidly to the left, then down, down
in a fearful nose-dive of hundreds of feet, before they flattened
out.
"Bravo! Well done, boys!" yelled the leader, waving his hand to the
daring men behind. For they had outclassed the Boche, and before he
could rectify his aim, the machines were out of range once more.
On the other side of the town, however, they came in for the same
treatment, but they once more evaded the enemy's fire, and soon they
left the town of Coblentz, with its Denkmal of Wilhelm der Grosse,
and the forts of Ehrenbreitstein behind them.
"Three hundred shots for nothing, Jock," shouted Dastral, who was
highly pleased with himself.
Jock did not hear, however, for the wind carried the words away, and
the observer was otherwise engaged, searching the skies with his
glasses. A moment later, however, having discovered what he was
looking for, he turned and shouted:
"One, two, three of them climbing to attack us!"
"Where are they?"
"Down below there to the left. Two yellow fat 'planes with black
crosses on them, and a white one."
Dastral looked serious for a moment, as, holding the joy-stick with
his right hand, he raised his glasses with the other and looked down,
to where, from an aerodrome just by the river, three enemy 'planes
were rising up to fight with them.
The shadow passed from the fair, young face of the chief pilot, as he
gazed upon the enemy, and a calm smile wreathed his face.
"Humph! Let the devils come. We are not afraid of them. Sorry I can't
stay to fight them, Jock. Our first business is to bomb the arsenal,
not to pick a stray quarrel with these beasts, who are asking for
trouble."
Then, opening out his engine once more to the full, he waved his hand
coolly to the enemy, and called out:
"Good-bye, Mr. Boche. Some other time, if you don't mind, but to-day
I'm busy."
His followers understood, and opened the throttles of their engines
accordingly, and, speeding on, soon left the enemy behind, for they
were slower machines, all the enemy's best fighters being on the
western front.
Again and again Dastral looked round to see that his comrades were
all right. Eagerly he looked for the red, white and blue cocarde on
the wings, and felt very happy, for there was no need to be miserable
and lonely with those brave fellows so near. Had they not sworn to
follow him to the "Gulfs," if necessary?
The chief enemy, however, so far, was the biting cold. The
thermometer was showing sixteen degrees below zero. Even with the
thick leathern coats, pilots' boots and padded helmets, it was
impossible to keep warm. The cold intruded everywhere. The thought
which consoled them, however, was this:
"We shall soon be there, now! And we shall be the first raiders to
bomb the enemy's citadel, where he manufactures his enormous supply
of shot and shell to keep the war going."
They were following the Rhine still. Every now and then they could
see long strings of barges being towed up and down the river between
Coblentz and Dusseldorf.
"Cologne!" shouted the observer, and Dastral nodded, as he looked
ahead and saw the twin spires of the wonderful cathedral, and close
beside it the ancient Rathaus.
"What a target!" shouted Jock, as the great city lay beneath them.
"Yes, but there are women and children down there, Jock, and I am not
a pirate. When we get to Essen we will begin."
"All right, old fellow. It was only a joke," came back the reply
through the speaking-tube.
They received another baptism of fire as they reached the outskirts
of the city, but, skirting round to the right, they avoided the heavy
fire of the forts at Deutz, for Dastral knew that the brutes were not
shooting badly to-day, and he was anxious not to have a single
machine crippled before his mission was completed.
"There'll be plenty of fighting soon, my boy!" called Dastral. "The
enemy will have guessed our objective by this time and they will be
preparing a reception for us."
The observer nodded, for he knew that the fires down below would be
busy, and the various German Commands would be communicating with
Essen and the arsenal at Krupps'. There was no time to lose, and so,
despite the cold, they were still doing about one hundred and twenty
miles an hour.
"Dusseldorf!" soon came from the observer's nascelle, for they had
passed Coblentz, and many other towns and villages that lay about the
slopes of the Rhine.
"See that!" shouted Jock.
Dastral again looked in the direction pointed out by his comrade, and
he beheld a great blur of smoke on the right, which blotted out the
landscape.
It was Germany's black country. Here the towns were clustered thickly
together. Elberfeld, Barmen, Essen, and to the west of the
last-mentioned town lay the mighty works of Krupps. Somewhere in that
cloud of smoke lay the object of their long flight.
The Flight-Commander pointed his machine in the direction indicated,
and the rest followed. The real fight was about to begin at last. How
would they come out of it?
They were all eager to begin, for each machine carried a couple of
the new land torpedoes, in addition to a number of twenty pound
bombs.
It was well they had arranged a proper plan of campaign, else their
labour would have been half in vain. Now, with the information which
had come to hand by the mysterious Captain Scott, they knew the exact
location of the very buildings on which they were about to
concentrate their fire.
"Now we're going to be strafed! I thought so!" cried Dastral.
"Phew! We're in for it now!" replied Jock, as the shot and shell
began to scream past them, bursting with red spurts of flame,
followed by white puffs and black clouds.
Where was the huge powder factory? They were all searching keenly for
it now, for the atmosphere was smoky, which was partly their defence,
and partly their disadvantage, making it difficult to place their
bombs correctly.
It would never do to fail now. They must go lower down and risk the
heavy fire from the "Archies."
The T.N.T. sheds, where are they? The nitro-glycerine works, and the
huge dump?
Oh, yes, there they were. Not all the smoke could hide them. Not all
the enemy's fire could stop those daring and intrepid raiders.
Dastral gave the pre-arranged signal, and each 'plane dived to the
objective for which it had been detailed.
"Boom-m-m!" went the first land torpedo.
Yes, the Flight-Commander had found the powder works. A flame of fire
shot up hundreds of feet, and the place began to burn fiercely. The
"Archies" roared louder than ever.
"Boom-m-m! Boom-m-m! Boom-m!"
The others had found their objectives too. Four huge blocks were
burning fiercely. Down below the crowds were surging out of the
doomed buildings, running hither and thither to escape those terrible
bombs which were now being dropped in a dozen places, in rapid
succession, and the still more terrible explosions which must shortly
come unless the fierce fires which were now raging could be quickly
subdued.
The utmost confusion reigned down below. The impossible had been
accomplished. Krupps', the very heart of Germany, had been bombed by
a few daring raiders.
"Donner and blitz!" people down below were shouting. "What is the
good of our great Prussian army if it cannot prevent such things?"
The raiders were off now, for all this had been done in less than
three minutes, once they had found their targets. As they made off
German aeroplanes rose to pursue them. In every direction they saw
the enemy, who had been surprised after all, in spite of the warning
he must have received.
As they made off strange electric shocks seemed to agitate the air,
and to make the machines rock wildly. Violent waves disturbed the
atmosphere. Evidently the enemy had discovered some new device of
creating air-pockets, and filling the heavens with lurid flashes of
electricity.
But the device fails. The machines pass out of danger, but alas, it
is doubtful whether two of them will ever reach the shelter of their
own lines again. Still, they are going to make the effort. Number
three and four have been badly hit, and Dastral's 'plane is torn with
bits of shrapnel.
Once or twice they look back at the flaming destruction which they
have wrought, all in the space of a few minutes. As they do so, a
mighty column of flame and black smoke rises up into the air, and a
terrific explosion takes place, which shakes the earth for fifty
miles around.
Yes, the T.N.T. works have gone up, and the two explosions which soon
follow show that something else has gone into the sky as well.
"Bravo! Krupps' has been bombed!"
Dastral gives the signal for his men to turn to the westward, and to
make with all possible speed for the shelter of their own lines.
But enemy 'planes are in rapid pursuit, and there are two lame ducks
in the flight. It means another two hours' journey, and there is no
chance for the lame ducks if they are further molested.
The leader quickly decides. He has still some fight left in him, and
so has Mac. They will escort the rest. He signals to Mac, "Take the
left flank!" and Mac understands, while he himself takes the right
flank.
Then he orders the others to go S.S.W., for they must not infringe
the neutrality of Holland by going due west. And so they proceed,
until Jock signals that two of the Huns are gaining upon them. They
are fast 'planes, and will do some damage if they are not dealt with.
At present they are still half a mile behind and a thousand feet
below them. So Dastral circles round once or twice as if to fight
with them, but only one of them accepts the challenge, and opens fire
at the Flight-Commander.
"Rap-rap-rap-rap-rap!" comes the sound of the fire, just audible
above the roar of the engines and the whir-r-r-r of the propellers.
But Dastral has the weather-gage of him, for he has a thousand feet
greater altitude. He waits a moment, circling round. Then, as the
Boche comes up, he dives at him, as though he meant to ram him, for
he knew this would unnerve the enemy more than anything else.
At the same moment he treats the Boche to three sudden bursts of fire
from his Lewis gun. It is quite enough for the enemy. He has
outdistanced his friends, and does not care to engage this air-devil
of an Englishman alone, so he swerves round, and hauls off a little,
hoping that the Britisher will be sufficient of a fool to pursue him,
but Dastral returns to his command, so that he may shepherd the lame
ducks through any further peril that may come upon them.
Again and again on that long journey back he has to turn and fight,
and often Mac accompanies him.
At length, half frozen to death, with their eyes smarting so that
they can scarcely see, one of them sights the relief squadron which
has come to meet them and escort them back to safety.
Half a squadron has come to meet them, good fighters, all fresh and
ready for any hostile aircraft that cares to take the challenge. And
so, after nearly six hours of a trying ordeal, "B" Flight returns
safely to the shelter of the aerodrome behind the British lines.