by Mark Hodder
THE SIXTH CHAPTER
A Thrilling Flight—Brought Down.
“HELLO, ROKEBY! HELLO, there!”
The lusty hail, ringing from one side, floated to Tinker’s ears above the “chug-chug” of the motor-bicycle on which he was spinning along a road that was on the flank of the British lines.
“I say, Rokeby! Come here!”
The lad dismounted from his machine, and put it against a tree; and then, having squeezed through a gap in a hedge, he hastened across a field towards a small aeroplane by which half a dozen khaki-clad figures were standing. Five of them were privates, and the sixth, the lad recognised as he drew near, was Lieutenant Drake.
“I thought that was you, Rokeby,” he said. “I haven’t seen you for two or three days. What have you been doing?”
“Hospital work and despatch carrying,” Tinker replied.
“Well, I’ve got a job that is more to my taste. I used to be a flyer at Hendon, so they have given me this aeroplane. It belongs to a member of the Royal Flying Corps who was killed the other day with his mate.”
“You are in luck, sir. I envy you.”
“I am going to make a reconnaissance over the enemy’s lines. Would you like to come with me?”
“My word, wouldn’t I? But dare you take me?”
“Yes, if you have nothing else to do.”
“I haven’t, sir. I have just delivered a despatch at the rear, and I’m off duty.”
“That’s all right, then. I will be ready shortly. But there will be some risk about it.”
“I sha’n’t mind that,” vowed the lad.
“You may change your tune when Archibald pops at us,” laughed Lieutenant Drake. “That is the name our chaps have given to one of the special guns that the Germans have ready for air-craft. I had a taste of him when I was up yesterday, and it was jolly unpleasant, I can tell you. Archibald is no joke.”
“Were you in danger, sir?”
“Yes, for a time. But wait and see, Rokeby.”
Tinker’s eyes glistened. He had the greatest admiration for the plucky men of the Royal Flying Corps, and he was elated by the opportunity that had now been offered to him. He was not in the least afraid, though he knew that there would be considerable risk. The young officer examined the machine, and gave some instructions to his companions, then turned to the lad.
“By the way,” he said, “what about that chap you were so chummy with in the field-hospital the night you and I were working there together? How is he getting on?”
“Finely,” Tinker answered, his cheeks flushing as he spoke. “He will be discharged to-morrow.”
“Somebody told me that he was Sexton Blake, the famous detective. I wonder if it is true?”
“Yes, that’s quite right.”
“How the deuce did you happen to know him, Rokeby?”
“He—he is a friend of my guv’nor,” was the faltering reply.
“Oh, I see,” murmured Lieutenant Drake, not noticing the lad’s confusion. “Your guv’nor must be a pretty big pot, I should imagine. Come, jump up,” he added. “We are ready to start now.”
He mounted to the seat, Tinker following him, and they adjusted the straps. The engine was set in motion, as the aeroplane, released by the soldiers, slid along the ground, and rose from it as gracefully as a bird. It was a neat little machine, designed for scouting, with a speed capacity of more than ninety miles an hour. Up and up it went, soaring into the blue sky.
“I’m the pilot,” said the young officer, “and you are the observer.”
“I am afraid I am not much good at that,” Tinker answered.
“You needn’t be. I’ll keep my eyes open and watch for any new position that the enemy may have taken.”
“How far are we going, sir?”
“I don’t know, Rokeby. It will depend on circumstances.”
The lad was too interested to talk. It was not his first flight, by any means, but it was the first chance he had had of viewing the field of war from a flying-machine. He looked down enraptured, thrilled to the heart, without a trace of giddiness. There was no fighting to-day. The armies were resting after a prolonged struggle. The British lines were passed over, and then came the German lines, with glimpses of white tents, and moving figures, and batteries of guns. Here was a village, and there a farmhouse. The aeroplane swept steadily on for nine or ten miles, until at length it ran into a bank of clouds that muffled it like a grey blanket.
“My word, how cold it is!” said Tinker. “Not much fun about this.”
“We have had enough of it,” Lieutenant Drake replied, as he glanced at the instrument-board. “We will turn back now.”
“You seem to be worried, sir. Nothing wrong, is there?”
“We are rather too low for safety. That’s all, Rokeby.”
“Then why not go higher?”
“Because we might lose our bearings amongst the clouds. We’ll have to drop a little, and chance it.”
The course of the machine was reversed, and presently it emerged at a lower altitude from the rolling vapours. And soon afterwards, when it had gone for two or three hundred yards, there was a muffled roar, followed by a spluttering report.
“They are firing at us!” exclaimed the lad, as he saw a puff of white smoke beneath him.
“That’s Archibald,” declared Lieutenant Drake. “I know the sound of him. They must have shifted the iron devil to a new position.”
“They haven’t got the range, sir, luckily for us.”
“They may get it yet. That first shot was only a feeler.”
A regular bombardment had begun. Other pieces of artillery of the same type as the familiar Archibald were belching forth shrapnel, which are shells that scatter around bullets when they explode. The young flying-men were in imminent peril, for the German gunners fired at them with better aim, and more rapidly, as they strove to mount out of harm’s way. Shells burst close below them, and off to the right and left, spurting a rain of lead.
“By Jove, this is getting a bit hot!” said Tinker. “Look at the bullet-holes in the planes!”
“That was a narrow escape for me!” gasped the young officer, as the instrument-board dissolved in fragments. “Confound those chaps! They are learning to shoot! Don’t be frightened, though.”
“I’m not, sir. I’m afraid it is all up with us, though. They can’t keep on missing, at this rate.”
“We’ll give them the slip, Rokeby. See if we don’t.”
The fusillade increased, and the shells kept pace with the rising aeroplane, as many as eight of them exploding around it at one time. The pellets that they scattered hummed like angry bees. One of the instruments was struck and shattered, and finally, when a safe height had almost been reached, a bullet perforated the tank, and the petrol gushed out in a cascade.
“That’s done it!” cried Lieutenant Drake. “They’ve crippled us!”
“What are we to do?” asked the lad, in a tone of dismay.
“There is only one thing for it. We shall have to go down.”
“Into the midst of the Germans, sir?”
“Perhaps not, Rokeby. There is no hope of our getting clear of the enemy’s lines, but we can travel for some distance yet, and we may be able to land at some spot where we will have a chance to escape.”
The guns had been left behind, and they were silent now. The aeroplane slid on, at a rapid pace, while it gradually descended. It fluttered and dipped, swerved this way and that, like a wounded bird that can scarcely keep on the wing. At length a brisk, crackling noise was heard.
“They are German infantry,” said Tinker, as he looked down. “They are firing from the trenches.”
“That’s all right,” Lieutenant Drake replied, in a tone of contempt. “They can’t hit us with their rifles.”
At least a thousand shots were fired, and without effect. The volleying slackened, and ceased, and presently Tinker, who was still gazing into space, announced that the country immediately in fr
ont appeared to be free of the enemy.
“I hope it is,” said the young officer, “for we can’t go much farther. Only so we don’t have a smash.”
“There is a field ahead, beyond those woods,” the lad answered. “Can you land there?”
“I think so. I’ll have a try!”
“I doubt if you can do it, sir.”
“I’ll bet you I can, Rokeby. It will be out of the frying-pan into the fire, though, for I can see Uhlans on that hill a mile in front. We are still well within the German lines.”
It was a gloomy prospect. Tinker watched with keen anxiety, and his companion set his teeth hard as he clung to the steering-wheel. The exhausted aeroplane glided on and on, with erratic movements, and it seemed at first that it must come to grief against the belt of timber. But it skimmed over the tops of the trees, dipped lower and lower, and at length fluttered lightly to earth in the middle of a field of trampled, uncut corn. The passengers loosed their straps and climbed down, and they had no more than done so when a company of German infantry burst from the strip of woods to the rear, where they had been hidden.
“By heavens, look at that!” exclaimed the lad. “Nearly a hundred of them! We must run for it!”
“Hold on!” bade Lieutenant Drake. “Let’s give them a dose of lead first!”
Both were armed with revolvers. They aimed and fired, discharging a rapid volley that dropped three of the enemy; and then they swung round, and took to their heels, running as fast as they could towards another and larger tract of woods that was a couple of hundred yards beyond them. A hail of bullets whistled by them, but they were not touched. They dashed on through the tangled grain, with the clamour of the pursuing soldiers ringing in their ears, and dived safely into the green cover, where they bore to one side. For half a mile they continued their flight, winding amongst trees and undergrowth; and then they stopped, breathless and exhausted, and crawled into a thick copse of bushes. They were safe for the present. They lay here in concealment for nearly an hour, hearing occasionally the shouting of the Germans who were searching for them at a distance. And when all was quiet they crept from hiding and rose on their cramped limbs. The sun was low on the horizon, and the air was turning chill.
“Hard luck, isn’t it?” muttered the young officer.
“It is the sort of thing one must expect, sir,” replied Tinker. “That doesn’t make it any easier, though. What a pity we had to abandon the aeroplane!”
“I am glad it is no worse. We have our freedom, and we may be able to get back to our own lines.”
“I am afraid there isn’t much chance of it, sir. The enemy will be on the alert for us.”
“And we will be on the alert for them, Rokeby. I have a general sense of my bearings, and the darkness will be to our advantage. I believe we can slip through.”
“I hope so. My guv’nor will be awfully worried if I don’t get back to-night.”
“Your guv’nor will be worried? What the deuce do you mean?”
“I—I was thinking of something else,” stammered the lad.
“I thought you didn’t know what you were talking about,” said Lieutenant Drake, laughing as he spoke. “Come along!” he added. “We go this way.”
It was a miserable ending to their daring flight. They set off with lagging steps, in low spirits, depressed by the fear that they would fall into the hands of the Germans, and be held in captivity until the war should be over. They knew that they were in a trap from which it would be extremely difficult to escape.
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER
The End of the Supply Chain.
THE YOUNG OFFICER may have had his bearings at the start, but he did not have them long. When night fell he and Tinker were still wandering in the woods, which were of much greater extent than they had supposed them to be, and it was not until a couple of hours later that they emerged on the edge of a grassy embankment, below which was a railway line. This signified nothing to them. They were utterly at fault. They might have been guided by the moon or by stars, but there was no moon, and the sky was overcast with heavy clouds.
“Where now, sir?” asked the lad.
“I’ll be hanged if I know!” replied Lieutenant Drake, shrugging his shoulders. “We are tied up in a knot.”
“It strikes me we have got to the rear of the enemy’s position.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if we had. But what’s that, Rokeby? Do you hear?”
“Yes, sir. It sounds like a train.”
Tinker was right. There was a rumbling noise in the distance, and presently there appeared to the left, from round a curve, a glaring ball of fire. The fugitives stepped back into deep shadow, and watched the train as it rolled slowly by them. Two German soldiers were driving the engine. Next to that were a dozen trucks, loaded high above their tops, and covered with tarpaulins, and then came a dozen more trucks, with an armed soldier perched on the top of each. The last one stopped opposite to Lieutenant Drake and his companion, and they were on the point of retreating into the woods again, when a most daring scheme occurred to Tinker.
“It must be a convoy of supplies for the troops,” he said.
“That’s what it is, of course,” the young officer assented. “I wish we could destroy the stuff, as compensation for our lost aeroplane.”
“That’s just what I’ve been thinking of doing, sir.”
“The two of us? Don’t be stupid, Rokeby.”
“I am in earnest. It can be done, and without much risk.”
“I should like to know how.”
“I will tell you, sir.”
And in a few words the lad explained what he had in mind to Lieutenant Drake, who listened with keen interest.
“My word, that’s a ripping idea!” he declared. “You deserve a commission for suggesting it. What a blow it will be! There won’t be much risk, as you say, and we can escape afterwards by jumping off.”
“Shall we do it, then?” asked Tinker.
“Rather! I shouldn’t dream of missing such a chance. But will we have time, Rokeby?”
“We won’t if we stand here talking. Come along, sir! We must be jolly quick about it.”
Rapidly and noiselessly they followed the verge of the embankment, keeping to the shadow of the front of the train. Then they crept down the slope, and darted along the line to the engine. The driver and stoker were armed with rifles, but they got no chance to use them. As the one made a grab for his weapon Tinker’s revolver cracked at him, and he pitched forwards to the ground like a log, with a bullet in his heart. The next instant the other man fell dead, shot by Lieutenant Drake, who dragged the quivering body from the footplate, and swung up himself. The lad at once mounted to his side, and snatched the throttle. And when he had thrown it partly open, putting on considerable pressure of steam, he bade his companion take it.
“Keep your hand on it,” he said. “That’s all, sir. I’ll do the rest—it won’t take me long.”
“Be careful,” urged the young officer. “Don’t let those other chaps pot you.”
The engine had jumped like a thing of life, and was gathering speed with every second. The daring feat had been accomplished in almost less time than it takes to tell, and the soldiers on the trucks at the rear had not yet recovered from the surprise caused by the revolver shots, and by the sudden start as Tinker climbed over the coal tender and down to the narrow platform of the truck that was next to it. Having raised the tarpaulin, and disclosed to view a number of wooden cases that were packed in layers of straw, he whipped a matchbox from his pocket. In a trice he had scraped a vesta and ignited the straw. And then, chuckling with delight, he hastily clambered back over the tender and rejoined his companion on the footplate.
“All right, sir!” he exclaimed. “I’ve done it, and you’ll see some fireworks that will beat the Crystal Palace show. And now to raise the wind,” he added, as he seized the throttle and opened it wide. “Here goes for rush and tear, risk or no risk!”
The lad’s shrew
d calculations were verified. As the speed increased so did the fleet, humming rush of air, and the flames, fanned by this furious draft, spread with amazing celerity, leaping from truck to truck, and devouring the contents as if they had been in a furnace. Slanting tongues of fire writhed high in the air, sending up columns of smoke spangled with sparks, and above the strident roaring could be faintly heard the horrified clamour of the German soldiers as the scorching wave of heat compelled them to jump for their lives. They plunged right and left from the trucks, to be killed or maimed. It was not likely that a single one could have escaped uninjured.
“My word, you have done it!” declared Lieutenant Drake. “It’s grand, Rokeby! What a clever head you’ve got!”
“Thank you, sir!” Tinker replied. “It wasn’t a bad idea, was it?”
“But where are we going to?”
“I don’t know any more than you do. We’ll slow up presently and slip off, before we run into danger.”
It was grand indeed, the spectacle of the laden goods waggons blazing to destruction amidst a crimson glare that made the surrounding country as light as day. On and on thundered the engine, rocking and swaying on the metals, with the train flaming behind it like the tale of a gigantic meteor. For a couple of miles woods and fields flashed by in a dizzy blur, and at length, as a curve was rounded, an encampment of German infantry appeared on open ground to one side.
“Duck your head, sir!” cried the lad.
The soldiers shouted, and ran to and fro, and discharged their rifles. But not a bullet touched the daring young Britishers. They safely passed the zone of peril, and travelled on like the wind for another mile, shut in by woods again.
“We have had about enough of this,” said Lieutenant Drake. “Don’t you think so? Suppose we—”
His voice was drowned by a tremendous explosion that shook the earth, and nearly flung the engine off the metals. There was a blinding, dazzling glare. Trees and boulders were rent asunder, and a shower of debris pattered like hailstones.
“What the deuce was that?” gasped the young officer. “By Jove, only half of the train is left!”
