CHAPTER XXVI
A FUTILE RESCUE
WITHOUT a second's hesitation Barcroft turned the rudder-bar. Almoston the verge of sideslipping the seaplane swung round and headedstraight for the enemy aircraft.
"Something wrong with friend John," muttered the flight-sub, "or hewouldn't turn tail to half a dozen strafed Fritzes."
Everything pointed to Barcroft's surmise being correct. Fuller'sseaplane was in flight in a double sense. He had lost thesuperiority of altitude. His observer was replying to themachine-gun fire converging upon the fugitive craft from threedifferent points. A hundred feet higher and about three hundredyards astern of the British seaplane was a large, double-fuselagedbiplane. To the right and left but practically on the samehorizontal plane were two Fokkers--a tough set to be up against, butin ordinary circumstances the dauntless flight-lieutenant would nothave hesitated to engage.
Presently the British seaplane's Lewis gun barked. It was evidentthat the machine was running uncontrolled, as she was wobblingconsiderably. Barcroft was now near enough to see what had happened.There was just time for a brief glance, for his plane wasapproaching the on-coming Huns at an aggregate speed of nearly 180miles an hour.
There was no sign of Gregory, but Fuller, abandoning the joy-stick,had climbed into the observer's seat in order to work the automaticgun. This he did so successfully that within five seconds of theweapon opening fire one of the Fokkers crashed earthwards,completely out of action. Then the British gun was silent.
This was all that Barcroft could see as far as Fuller was concerned.He had devoted all his attention to the double-fuselaged craft.
While Kirkwood was letting loose a drum of ammunition from the Lewisgun Barcroft employed his usual tactics. He steered straight for hisantagonist. If the gun failed to do its work in time, and if the Hunpilot's nerves did not desert him, the result would be a rendingcrash in mid-air as the two swift-moving craft collided. Theinterlocked wreckage, a mass of flame, would drop like a firebrandto earth--a swift yet terrible death for friend and foe alike. ButBilly knew how the odds were against such a mutual catastrophe. TheHun, if he managed to avoid the stream of bullets, was not likely to"stand up" to the resistless onrush of the British seaplane.
Suddenly the double-fuselaged biplane nosedived. Only just in timedid Barcroft tilt the ailerons, for the seaplane literally scrapedthe tail of his vertically-descending foe. For nearly a thousandfeet the machine "plumbed," then like a silvery dart it flattenedout.
"Old trick, Fritz," muttered Barcroft. "Well, you've lost youraltitude advantage. I'll renew your acquaintance later."
The flight-sub knew that some minutes must elapse before thedouble-fuselaged machine could climb to renew the encounter. Duringthat interval he had time to devote his attention to the remainingFokker that, following Fuller with deadly persistence, was firingthe while but receiving no reply from the British craft.
Already Fuller was a couple of miles away. His antagonist wasgaining slightly. It seemed remarkable that with such a prodigiousoutlay of ammunition the Huns had not succeeded in strafing theirquarry.
Suddenly Fuller's seaplane dipped. Barcroft gave vent to aninvoluntary groan, but the next instant he wanted to cheer, for hischum had looped the loop two or three times and was now heading inthe opposite direction.
"I see the move," thought Barcroft. "He's luring Fritz towards us."
The two seaplanes passed one another at less than a hundred yards.Fuller raised his arm by way of greeting as they swept by. As he didso shreds of canvas flew from the lower plane, and dipping abruptlythe crippled machine dropped, lurching hideously as it did so.
Almost simultaneously the Hun pilot of the Fokker collapsed acrossthe decking of the fuselage. The machine, no longer under control,swayed through a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile, and then,tilting obliquely, began a terrific tail spin that ended in a jumbleof wreckage on the unsympathetic soil of Belgium.
"Now for the double bus," muttered Billy. "The Huns will pay dearlyfor strafing poor old John."
But the remaining aeroplane of the two had had enough, for, seeingthe British seaplane swooping down to engage upon round two, shepromptly sought safety in flight.
Pursuit, Barcroft knew, was futile. Not only was the fugitive goingin an easterly direction, which meant that had Billy held on inchase he would be lured further and further away from his floatingbase, but the Hun machine was more powerfully engined and possessedan undoubted superiority of speed.
"By Jove!" shouted the A.P. "Fuller's planing down. He's got the oldbus under control of sorts."
The flight-sub looked downwards. A small rectangular patch of greyeighteen hundred feet down confirmed the truth of Kirkwood'sstatement. The injured seaplane was volplaning in wide circles. Herpilot was about to make an involuntary landing. This, in itself, wasa highly dangerous performance, as the floats were veryunsatisfactory landingskids. It was a hundred chances to one thatthe seaplane would bump hard and collapse, pinning the pilot underthe wreckage. Even if Fuller escaped with his life or without brokenlimbs, he was confronted with the additional danger of being made aprisoner.
Without a moment's delay Barcroft switched off the ignition andcommenced a volplane. At least he would be able to discover whetherhis chum was able to make a safe landing. Beyond that--
"Good old Fuller!" almost yelled the A.P. "He's spotted a canal. Isee his move--artful bounder!"
Running in a direction approximately east and west was a longstretch of artificial water. The straightness of its course showedthat it was not a river. It was bordered on either side by a broadtow-path, which in turn was fringed by a line of poplars. With theexception of a string of barges being towed down by a small tug (andthey were nearly two miles away) the canal looked deserted.
It was for this expanse of water that Fuller was making. Providedthere was sufficient width for the extreme breadth of his wingspread and a margin to boot, there was little doubt of theexperienced flight-lieutenant's ability to make a safe descent.
"He's done it!" announced Kirkwood.
"If he has managed it there is no reason why we shouldn't," thoughtBarcroft grimly. "Stand by, old man; we'll shove down and pick himup."
The canal appeared to expand in size in order to meet the descendingseaplane. It required all the skill and nerve at the youthfulpilot's command to carry out his desperate plan. An error of a fewfeet to right or left meant irreparable damage to the frail craftand failure of his devoted efforts on behalf of his stranded friend.
With admirable judgment Billy brought his "bus" down, making a fine"landing" on the surface of the canal at a distance of less than ahundred yards from the crippled aircraft, Then, drifting gently, theseaplane brought up alongside the bank, with one of her floatsrubbing against the edge of the tow-path.
"Nip out and hold her on, old man!" exclaimed Billy.
The A.P. obeyed promptly. Fortunately this required little or noeffort, for the thick-set though leafless trees broke the force ofwhat wind there was.
Barcroft quickly followed Kirkwood to the bank. Already Fuller hadgot ashore, and was preparing to destroy his machine when, to hisutter astonishment, he had seen another seaplane skim over his headand alight at a short distance off.
Running by the path Billy approached the lieutenant.
"Come along, old man!" he said hurriedly. "There's no time to belost. We'll give you a lift in our bus back to the old 'Hippo.'"
"Thanks," replied Fuller coolly. "What's the hurry? No Huns insight. I'll do this job properly."
The odour of petrol vapour wafted to Barcroft's nostrils. Fuller hadallowed the spirit to escape from the tank, and was engaged inwrapping a piece of oil-soaked paper round a stone.
"No explosives left, I hope?" asked Billy. "None except the petrol,"replied Fuller. "That's explosive enough, I reckon, for this job.No, I dropped all my plums over Aerschot. Gregory's gone (s'pose youcan see that for yourself?); shot through the head; he gave a sortof leap--he wasn't strapped in, you
'll understand--and flopped rightover the fuselage."
"You've been strafed!" exclaimed Barcroft, for Fuller's quicksentences, coupled with the fact that he winced frequently, pointedto that.
"The child is correct," agreed the flight-lieutenant. "Machine-gunbullet clean through the left arm. It stings a bit, but nothingmuch. No, don't trouble about it now. It'll keep. Now for a blaze."
Striking a match he set light to the oiled paper and tossed theflaming missile into the fuselage of the doomed seaplane. With arush of air and a lurid flare the petrol vapour caught. In aninstant the machine was enveloped in fire.
"Good enough," declared Fuller, with an air of satisfaction. "Hardlines on the old bus, though. She was a beauty. I was just gettingused to her, too."
"Come along, old man," urged Barcroft again.
Giving a farewell glance at the burning wreckage, Fuller turnedreluctantly away and accompanied his chum to the waiting seaplane.
"We're going to pitch you out of your perch, my festive," announcedthe flight-sub addressing the observer. "Fuller's tried to stop abullet. He didn't succeed, and as a result the nickel's left a holethrough his arm. Now, all aboard. We're lucky not to have a swarm ofHuns about our ears."
Having assisted the wounded flight-lieutenant on to the float andthence into Kirkwood's seat in the fuselage Barcroft swarmed up andtook his place at the joy-stick.
Standing on the float and steadying himself by holding on to astrut, the A.P. gave a vigorous push with his foot against the canalbank. As the seaplane drifted towards the centre of the artificialwaterway he clambered nimbly to the deck of the fuselage and, lyingat full length, steadied himself by grasping the coaming surroundinghis surrendered place.
"All right?" asked Barcroft.
The motor fired smoothly. With the engine throttled down the pilottaxied cautiously for a short distance, then increasing speed andtilting the ailerons he started to climb.
At barely twenty feet from the ground a sudden and furious gust ofwind caught the seaplane fairly abeam. Quickly Billy actuated therudder-bar in order to turn the machine sufficiently to counteractthe side-drop.
It was too late. Swept bodily sideways the seaplane failed to clearthe line of poplars. The left-hand planes struck a tree-trunk andcrumpled like brown paper. The next instant the whole fabric crashedto the ground across the tow-path.
Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S.: A Story of the Great War Page 26
