CHAPTER XXV
THE BOMBING EXPEDITION
OFF Zeebrugge once more. In the pale grey dawn of a November morningyet another strafing operation was about to take place. The Huns,who had converted the peaceful little Belgian fishing port into ahornets' nest, were to be allowed no rest.
Approaching the coast, the undulating dunes of which were justvisible against the pale light of the eastern sky, were eightmonitors, their powerful guns cocked up at a grotesque angle inreadiness to open fire at a six-mile range. At a considerabledistance astern were the seaplane-carriers "Hippodrome," "Arena" and"Cursus," while in a far-flung line ahead, astern and abeam, werethe swarm of destroyers and patrol boats whose mission it was topromptly "scotch" any U-boat that, more daring than the rest of thecowardly crew, might attempt to let loose a torpedo at the convertedliners. Already the Hun had learnt the lesson that it was almost amatter of impossibility to sink a monitor by torpedo, even thoughthe weapons were "set" to run only a few feet beneath the surface.Coupled with the knowledge of the fact that it was "unhealthy" to beanywhere in the vicinity of craft flying the White Ensign, whenthere were others proudly displaying the Red Ensign and which werepractically incapable of defence, the U-boats took good care to givethe bombarding flotilla a wide berth.
Already the "Arena" and "Cursus" had dispatched their complement ofseaplanes for the purpose of registering the result of the monitors'fire, but up to the present the airmen on board the "Hippodrome" hadreceived no orders to board their respective "buses" and hie them tothe scene of action.
"They've opened the ball," exclaimed Kirkwood, as the monitor on theleft of the line let fly with her 14-inch gun.
"An obvious performance," remarked Fuller. "Unless one were bothblind and deaf. More to the point: why are we being held in reserve,I wonder?"
"Dunno," added another flying-officer. "In the case of you threefellows there might be a plausible explanation. You've been so jollykeen on getting away from the ship that the skipper won't give youanother chance. By Jove! That was a good one!"
Somewhere in the vicinity of Zeebrugge a dense cloud of black smokehad been hurled hundreds of feet into the air. One of the Britishshells had found a particularly satisfying target, for either apetrol depot or an ammunition "dump" had been sent sky-high, with,possibly, a few hundred Huns to boot.
Yet no sound of the explosion could be heard, for the monitors' gunsoutvoiced that. The coast-defence craft were letting fly as quicklyas the hydraulic loaders performed their task, and the gigantic yetdocile weapons could be trained upon the practically invisibleobjective.
It was by no means a one-sided action. From cunningly concealedshore batteries, that seemed to multiply with hydra-headedpersistence, German shells hurtled through the air, for the mostpart ricochetting harmlessly. A few, however, "got home." Onemonitor, listing badly to starboard, was already crawling slowly outof range. Another had been set on fire, but, the conflagration beingquickly subdued, she "carried on" with calm and awful deliberation.
It had been one of the tenets of war that armoured ships were morethan a match for shore batteries. The mobility of the former and theknowledge of the fixed position of the latter accounted for thetheory--a theory that had been justified by the bombardment ofAlexandria. But in the greatest war that the world has yet seen thisidea received a rude shock. The skill with which huge guns can beloaded, ranged and trained upon a moving target rather more thanequalised matters. Thus the old forts on the Dardanelles werequickly reduced to a heap of ruins by the guns of the "QueenElizabeth," but this did not prevent the Turks bringing heavierordnance to bear upon the Allied squadrons as they attempted in vainto force the historic Straits.
But there has been yet another swing of the pendulum. In anengagement betwixt ships and forts there was a deciding factor--thecommand of the air. Provided airmen from the attacking squadroncould assist by observing the hits of the naval guns and by droppingquantities of powerful explosives on the hostile batteries theadvantage would rest with those who held command of the sea. Nor wasmere observing and bomb-dropping on defended positions sufficient.It was necessary to harass the enemy's lines of communication andprevent reserves of men and ammunition being rushed up to the coast.
"Ten to one we're down for a 'stunt,'" hazarded Barcroft. "That'swhy we are cooling our heels here. Ah! I thought so," he added, asthe airmen were summoned to receive instructions preparatory to aflight.
A quarter of an hour later Billy Barcroft felt like dancing ahornpipe on the quarter-deck. He had been given a task after his ownheart--to bomb the German hangars at Lierre, a town about six orseven miles south-east of the fortress of Antwerp and a distance ofeighty miles, as the crow flies, from the position taken up by theseaplane carriers. To Fuller was deputed the business of wreckingthe important railway station of Aerschot, while the other pilotswere likewise given definite instructions to drop their cargoes ofexplosives on specified places of military importance. The airmenwere enjoined to avoid as far as possible encounters with hostilemachines on the outward journey, the importance of reaching theirrespective objectives being paramount to the excitement of aerialduels with Hun flying men.
"We'll be within sight of one another most of the time, Barcroft,old man," said Fuller, as he signed to his observer to take hisplace in the machine. "Now, Gregory, all ready?"
Fuller's companion, a sparely-built sub-lieutenant, whose long,hooked nose and obliquely placed eyes gave him the appearance of abird, nodded assent.
"Well, good luck!" shouted Barcroft.
The words were drowned by the roar of the engine, but the lieutenantinstinctively realised their meaning. With a cheery wave of hisgauntletted hand he started on his long flight.
Thirty-seconds later Barcroft got away, with Kirkwood as hisobserver. There had been a slight rivalry between Billy and Fulleras to who should take the A.P., for the lieutenant had regarded thelatter as his own right-hand man since the night of the encounterwith the Zeppelins, while Barcroft claimed priority. The matter hadbeen decided by the spin of a coin, with the result that the A.P.was now on his way to Lierre with Barcroft.
High above the bombarding monitors flew the powerfully enginedseaplane, now nearly half a mile in the wake of Fuller's "bus." Atregular intervals astern came the rest of the aerial raiders, allrocking slightly in the disturbed air caused by the concussion ofthe heavy guns.
Ten minutes were sufficient to bring Barcroft's machine over theBelgian coast. Acting upon previous instructions he maintained analtitude of eleven thousand feet, at which height it was practicallyinvisible from the shore, across which clouds of smoke and dust wereslowly drifting as the British shells burst with devastating effectupon the Huns' positions.
No Archibalds greeted the raiders; neither Fokkers nor Aviatiksappeared to bar their way. For the present the flight was nothingmore than an exhilarating joy-ride.
Once Kirkwood turned his head to watch the following seaplanes. Onlyone was in sight. The rest had already turned off for theirrespective objectives, and even that one was beginning to plane downtowards a broad canal on which were dozens of loaded barges, theircargoes consisting of heavy gun ammunition destined for thebatteries of Zeebrugge and Ostend.
For the present the A.P.'s task was practically a sinecure. Therewas no necessity to use the wireless instrument: two hundred feet oftrail ing aerial wire is apt to be in the way during bomb-droppingoperations; besides, the raiding seaplane, not having to registerfor the guns of the fleet, could refrain from reporting progressuntil her return to her parent ship. So having made sure as far aspossible that the bomb dropping gear was in working order this time,and having fitted a tray of ammunition to the Lewis gun in order tobe ready for use in case of emergencies, Kirkwood leant over theside of the fuselage and contemplated the country beneath; thefeatures of which as seen from the air he knew better by this timethan any of his native land.
From Ghent Barcroft followed the course of the River Scheldt untilthe town of Antwerp appeared in sight. At this p
oint Fuller wasobserved to be turning away to the right. Both seaplanes wereapproaching their respective objectives.
"Bestir yourself, you lazy bounder!" shouted Billy through the voicetube. "There's something ahead. Looks like a balloon. Get yourglasses and see what it is."
"It is a balloon," declared Kirkwood after a brief inspection. "Acaptive one."
"And right over the Lierre hangars," thought the pilot. "What for?There's nothing to observe from a belligerent point of view, unlessthe bounders are expecting us. It may be that the balloon is in usefor instructional purposes. If so, I'll give the young pups coldfeet, by Jove!"
"They've spotted us," announced the A.P. "They've begun to haul thething down."
"Then they are too late," added Barcroft grimly. "Gun all right?Stand by to give 'em a tray."
Tilting the ailerons the pilot swooped down towards the unwieldy,tethered gas-bag. As he did so mushrooms of white smoke burst intoview all around the descending seaplane. The German anti-aircraftguns were firing upon the British raiders.
Barcroft held steadily on his course. He was quite used to shrapnelby this time. He knew, too, that soon the Hun gunners would have tocease fire for fear of hitting their own captive balloon.
Already the German officers in the car of the balloon realised thatit was impossible for the gas-bag to be hauled down in time. Threeof them leapt into space. The fourth remained, grasping the edge ofthe basket-work and staring terror-stricken at the approachingseaplane.
In spite of the tax upon his mental energies Barcroft watched thedescent of the three. For nearly two hundred feet they dropped likestone, then they were hidden from his view by three umbrella-likeobjects. Before taking their desperate leap the Germans had providedthemselves with parachutes.
Apparently there was not one left for the remaining Hun. Suspendedbetwixt earth and sky he realised the horror of his position, until,seized by a forlorn resolve, he clambered over the side of the carand began to swarm down the wire rope that held it in captivity.
It was hopeless from the first. In spite of the protection affordedby the leather gloves. The metal wire cut into his palms like hotiron. Before the luckless German had lowered himself fifty feet hisgrip relaxed. Like an arrow he crashed to the ground, a thousandfeet below.
"Don't fire!" ordered the flight-sub, realising that if merelyperforated by small-calibre bullets the gas-bag would fallharmlessly to earth. "Stand by to drop a plum--now."
The A.P. jerked the releasing lever. As he did so Barcroft set theseaplane to climb steeply. Ten seconds later the bomb hit theballoon fairly in the centre of its convex upper surface. The nextinstant there was a vivid flash, followed by a crash that wasaudible above the roar of the seaplane's engine. Sideslipping themachine dropped almost vertically. Not until she had passed throughthe outlying portion of the dense cloud of smoke from the destroyedballoon did the pilot regain control.
A hurried glance showed that the flaming wreckage of his victim wasplunging earthwards, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. It wasfalling upon the triple line of sheds in which German aeroplaneswere stored.
Like a swarm of ants the air mechanics scattered right and left toavoid--in many cases ineffectually--the gigantic falling firebrand.If Barcroft had any qualms concerning the fearful havoc he was aboutto create upon the throng of human beings he showed none. Heremembered those bombs dropped upon the defenceless civil populationof Barborough.
"Let 'em have it hot!" he shouted.
At that comparatively low altitude there was little chance ofmissing the expansive target. The ground was literally starred withdiverging jets of flame. The burning sheds collapsed like packs ofcards, the debris bursting into a series of fires. In half a minutethe hangars ceased to exist save as a funeral pyre to the mechanicalbirds that would never again soar through the air.
A severed tension wire, one end of which cut Billy smartly on thehead despite the protection afforded by his airman's padded helmet,reminded the flight-sub that again the Archibalds were having a chipin. The planes, too, were ripped in several places, while jaggedholes through the sides of the fuselage marked the accuracy of theshrapnel. It was, indeed, a marvel that either pilot or observerescaped injury.
Barcroft heaved a sigh of relief as the seaplane drew away from theshell-infested zone. In the heat of the bombing business his bloodwas tingling through his veins; he was excited almost to the pointof recklessness; the risk of being "winged" by a bursting projectilehardly troubled him. But once clear of the scene of action herealised what a tight corner he had been in, and, although allimmediate danger was at an end, he let the motors "all out" indesperate haste to gain a safe altitude.
He found himself comparing the recent situation to a cat and dogencounter. So long as the feline faced the dog the latter generallycontents itself by barking and making "demonstration in force"; butdirectly the cat turns tail it tears away at full speed, its soleanxiety being to get away from its assailant for which, up to acertain point, it had shown contemptuous bravery.
The flight-sub's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Kirkwoodshouting through the voice-tube.
"There's Fuller a couple of miles on our left," announced the A.P."What's more, he's tackling three Hun machines."
Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S.: A Story of the Great War Page 25
