Wings over England

  _Chapter_ XXIV Searchers of the Sea

  Next morning the squadron commander received a strange request. YoungLord Applegate walked into his quarters, saluted, then said:

  “Commander, I wish to ask for a transfer.”

  “A transfer?” The Commander sat forward in his chair. “Why? You aredoing magnificently. Only yesterday—”

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Applegate broke in, “that has no bearing onthe case. I ask for a transfer to the bomber service that patrols thesea. I was trained for that work, had a full year’s training. Thatshould be enough.”

  “But you are a born fighter.”

  “Perhaps,” the young Lord admitted. “And perhaps too one may fight witha twin-motored bomber.”

  “There’s seldom an opportunity on sea patrol.”

  “We will make an opportunity. My men, Ramsey, Barnes and The Lark, wishto go with me. Old Jock, from Ramsey Farm, a gunner, first-class, wholost a leg in Flanders, will join us.”

  “I still don’t see—”

  “Commander,” the young Lord’s face was tense with emotion, “with me thisis a personal matter. You’ve heard of the sinking of the Queen Bess?”The Commander nodded.

  “Cherry Ramsey was on that ship. You know her, I’m sure.”

  “I have met her. A charming girl. She was doing a grand piece of work.Was she lost?”

  “Her name is not on the list of those rescued. But it is believed,” theyoung Lord’s voice rang with hope, “that one life-boat, not swamped bythe storm, remains unreported.

  “If I am granted a transfer to the Sea Patrol I shall ask that we beallowed to patrol that portion of the air over the Atlantic beneathwhich the Queen Bess was fired upon and sunk.”

  “I see.” The commander’s face was thoughtful.

  “That is not all.” The lines on the young Lord’s brow deepened. “I shallask that we be allowed to carry two five-hundred pound bombs and becommissioned to search for the merciless sea raider that sank thatshipload of children. It is still at large.”

  The commander nodded. “She attacked a convoy last night. Gave nowarning. Sank three ships, then was away.”

  For a moment the commander sat staring at the wall. “It’s veryirregular,” he murmured.

  “This is an irregular war, not fought by rules. Fought by men. Thank Godfor that!” The young Lord’s chin was up.

  “All right. I’ll see what I can do.” The commander stood up. “Report tome here at noon.”

  The young Lord saluted, then marched away.

  An hour later he was engaged in a heated argument with his good friend,Alice. “But, Alice!” his voice rose. “It’s impossible! A woman on asea-patrol bomber! Suppose we catch up with that ruthless pirate.”

  “All right.” Alice stood up sturdy and tall. “Suppose we do?”

  “It won’t be a one-sided fight. That raider carries anti-aircraft guns.Death may be waiting at those crossroads of the sea.”

  “Death.” Alice’s voice was low. “In this war not just young men aregiving their lives for the land they love. Men and women and childrenare. It’s everybody’s war.

  “Harm!” (She seldom used that name of other days. In her soul waswritten traditional homage to nobility.) “It is Cherry who is out thereon those black waters. Our Cherry! Peggy and Tillie are with her. Awoman’s eyes are always sharper than a man’s. Always when we werechildren it was my eyes, not yours, that saw the lark soaring skyward orthe finches hiding in the hedges. Harman, let me go!”

  “But the farm, Alice?” The young Lord was weakening.

  “Surely you can spare Jeff Weeks and his wife for a few days to lookafter this farm.”

  “A few days? Yes. But suppose it is forever?” The young Lord’s voice waslow. “Alice, more important than our search for Cherry, much as we alllove her, is to be our hunt for the sea-raider. And if we find it therewill be no quarter! It shall be that ship or our plane. Such is war.”

  “If it is to be forever?” There was a smile on the girl’s lips. “We diebut once. The farm will not matter. Let me go!”

  The young Lord threw up his hands. “I surrender,” he whispered hoarsely.

  And so it happened that, when the transfer had been granted and theyoung Lord had been put in command of a sea-scouting bomber, one of thefastest in the service, and when it sailed away into the blue, itcarried not five but six men. One of these “men” had short, bobbed hair,and as he stood by the one-legged, gray-haired rear gunner, he lookedremarkably like a girl.

  At dawn, in a bomber that made their little Spitfires seem like gulls,the young warriors rose high in air, far above the clouds, to zoom away.

  When land was lost from sight the young Lord studied his compass and hischart, set a course south by west to at last drop down close to the sea.

  After that, hour after hour, with eyes that burned from watching andhearts that ached with longing, they studied the dark surface of thenever-ending sea.

  Twice they came upon British ship convoys and dipped low to greet them.Once they thought they saw a life-boat and hope ran high. But, as theydropped low, the supposed boat submerged.

  “Whale or a submarine?” the young Lord barked into his receiver.

  “Whale,” was old Jock’s instant response. So they soared on.

  It was only after their gasoline supply began running low that they atlast rose into the blue to go zooming to a landing field in the north ofScotland.

  There, after darkness had fallen, Alice slipped away to a little hotelwhere no questions were asked. When, however, she told what she dared oftheir mission, she was accorded the hospitality due a queen and in themorning not a cent would her hostess accept.

  “It’s our own war,” said the good lady, “and may the good Lord blessyou.”

  The second day was more than half gone. The girl’s eyes were red withwatching when she called in her phone, “I—I hear the sound of firing.”

  Every headset was removed.

  “Not a sound but the motors. Not a sound,” was the report.

  “Climb. Then shut off your motors,” Alice insisted.

  It was done, and from the west to their listening ears came the roar ofheavy guns.

  “Prepare for action,” the young Lord barked. “See that the bombs are intheir place. Make all fast.

  “And,” he added softly, “say a prayer.”

  Their ship was fast. Smoke loomed on the horizon. Ships, a large convoy,took form. A minor sea-battle was in progress. Doughty captains offreighters were pitting their small guns against the heavy ones of araider.

  They were rapidly approaching the scene when with a joyous battle crythe Lark sang out, “Man! Oh, man! They’ve spotted us. Look! There theygo! Running at full speed.”

  “We’re after them.” The young Lord’s lips were drawn into a straightline.

  Old Jock was at the bomb controls, Dave and Brand at the one-poundcannons, the Lark at the radio.

  They climbed a thousand feet, three, five, then twenty thousand feet.They were all but above the fleeing raider now. Dave tried to imaginethe wild commotion and the frenzied preparation on board that raider atthat moment. Just what the young Lord meant to do, he knew. Life anddeath hung in the balance.

  As for the young Lord, his brow suddenly wrinkled. He had caught aglimpse of two specks against the sky.

  “Here,” he called to Alice. “Have a look through the glass. Off to theright! Enemy or friend? Tell me—Quick!”

  One look and she told him. “Enemy! Twin motor interceptors. Two ofthem.”

  “Good! We’ll show them how it’s done.”

  Ten seconds later he barked, “All set for a power dive!”

  The big ship’s nose pointed toward the sea. Far below the raider seemeda speck. As it grew in size it could be seen to zig-zag this way, thenthat.

  “All or nothing,” had been the young Lord’s order. “When I give thesignal release both bombs.”

&nbs
p; As Dave watched it seemed they could not win. Yet the young Lord had akeen mind. He had been well trained.

  To the roar of the motor and the screaming of the plunging plane wasadded the burst of anti-aircraft fire. Death rode the air.

  And then Dave realized that the instant had come. Fascinated, he watcheda bomb glide from its place, then another. A second later there was alurch as the plane began coming out of its dive.

  To Dave, the time of waiting, only a few seconds, seemed endless. Thencame a boom, followed almost at once by a second. And then a roar fargreater than the others. There was a push that lifted them high, thenall but dropped them into the sea.

  “Right on the nose!” The Lark roared from his tail gunner’s position.“Blew up their magazine. Raider, whose captain has a heart of stone, hasmet its end.”

  “We’ll let those Nazi planes get what satisfaction they can out ofthat,” said the young Lord in a surprisingly quiet tone of voice. “We’lljust hop over and do what we can for that convoy.

  “But stay in your places. Man your guns,” he warned. “Those planes mayattack. If they do, give ’em all you’ve got!”

  The enemy planes did not attack. Perhaps they had seen quite enough.

  Thankful to be alive, the young Lord and his men flew to the rescue ofthose British seamen whose ships of the convoy had been sunk. Neverbefore had Alice been so close to war as now. Helping these cold seamen,some of them frightfully wounded, from the water into the wings and intothe cabin of their plane, then to the ships that had escaped the raider,she realized for the first time what it was costing these men to keepher native land fed, defended and free.

  When their two hours of rescue work were over and they were prepared totake to the air once again, she was shocked to find that in her work forothers she had quite forgotten her bright-eyed sister who must at thismoment be drifting on this very sea or sleeping far beneath its waves.

  It all came back to her like a sudden shock of pain as they rose abovethe sea.

  Another hour of futile search, then the big ship pointed her nose towardthe home base.

  “Orders,” the little Lord explained, “just came in on the radio. Thenews of our good stroke has reached London. We are to come in forreassignment.”

  “Reassignment!” Alice stared but said never a word.