Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen
GLORIES OF SEAAND AIR SERIES==============
_By__PERCY F.__WESTERMAN_
THE MYSTERY SHIP THE RIVAL SUBMARINES BILLY BARCROFT OF THE R.N.A.S. A WATCH-DOG OF THE NORTH SEA A SUB. OF THE R.N.R. THE DREADNOUGHT OF THE AIR
_Publishers_PARTRIDGELONDON
BILLY BARCROFT, R.N.A.S.
[Frontispiece: "THE FLAMING WRECKAGE WAS PLUNGING EARTHWARDS,LEAVING A FIERY TRAIL IN ITS WAKE."]
BILLY BARCROFT
R.N.A.S.
A STORY OF THE GREAT WAR
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
AUTHOR OF "A WATCH-DOG OF THE NORTH SEA" "A SUB. OF THE R.N.R." ETC. ETC.
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1
MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN_First Published December_, 1917_Reprinted_ 1928, 1929, 1930
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. "YOUR BIRD!" II. A PRICE ON HIS HEAD III. CONCERNING PETER BARCROFT IV. WHEN THE ZEPPELIN WAS OUT V. AT LADYBIRD FOLD VI. KIDNAPPED VII. THE RAID VIII. 'MIDST THE SCENE OF RED RUIN IX. BETTY X. THE SEAPLANE'S QUEST XI. THE TERRORS OF THE AIR XII. THE RAIDER'S RETURN XIII. EXIT SEAPLANE NO. 445B XIV. BUTTERFLY XV. RECALLED BY WIRE XVI. CAPTIVES IN A SUBMARINE XVII. THE MIDDLE WATCH XVIII. AN OCEAN DUEL XIX. HELD UP IN THE NORTH SEA XX. INVESTIGATIONS XXI. ON THE TRAIL XXII. THE STRUGGLE ON THE CLIFFS XXIII. ON THE ROCKS XXIV. ENTWISTLE'S DECISION XXV. THE BOMBING EXPEDITION XXVI. A FUTILE RESCUE XXVII. FUGITIVES XXVIII. TRACKED XXIX. GASSED XXX. THE BARN BY THE RIVER XXXI. THE FRONTIER XXXII. AN AVERTED CATASTROPHE XXXIII. VON EITELWURMER'S OPPORTUNITY XXXIV. KIRKWOOD'S WINDFALL XXXV. ONE CARTRIDGE LEFT XXXVI. THE ELUSIVE OBJECTIVE XXXVII. "THE GREAT STRAFE" XXXVIII. SNATCHED FROM HER PURSUERS XXXIX. AND LAST
PREFACE
THE GREAT WAR OF 1914 opened the floodgates of hatred between thenations which took part and this stirring story, written whenfeelings were at their highest, conveys a true impression of theattitude adopted towards our enemies. No epithet was considered toostrong for a German and whilst the narrative thus conveys the realatmosphere and conditions under which the tragic event was foughtout it should be borne in mind that the animosities engendered bywar are now happily a thing of the past, Therefore, the reader,whilst enjoying to the full this thrilling tale, will do well toremember that old enmities have passed away and that we are nowreconciled to the Central Powers who were opposed to us.
BILLY BARCROFT R.N.A.S.
CHAPTER I
"YOUR BIRD!"
Two Bells of the First Dog Watch somewhere in the North Sea.
To be a little more definite it was bordering that part of the NorthSea that merges into the narrow Straits of Dover and almost withinrange of the German shore batteries of Zeebrugge.
It was mid-October. The equinoctial gales had not yet arrived toconvert the placid surface of the sea into a regular turmoil ofshort, broken waves. Hardly a ripple ruffled the long gentleundulations. Not a cloud obscured the sky. The slanting rays of thesun played uninterruptedly upon the sloping deck of H.M. SeaplaneCarrier "Hippodrome" as she forged slowly ahead, surrounded by anescort of long, lean destroyers.
Her day's work was apparently over. The operations against theZeebrugge defences--operations of almost a daily occurrence--hadbeen carried out according to orders. The observation "kite" balloonhad been hauled down and stowed in the "Hippodrome's" after-well;her brood of seaplanes had, save one, returned from their task of"spotting" for the guns of the monitors, and everything had beenmade snug for the run back to her base. She awaited only thereappearance of the stray "duckling" to increase speed for homewaters.
"Billy's getting properly strafed, I fancy," remarkedFlight-Lieutenant John Fuller as the distant growl of innumerable"antis" reverberated in the still air. "Wonder what the deuce he'sdoing? When we swung about over Position 445 he was heading almostdue east."
"Billy won't suffer from cold feet," rejoined his companion--"aregular glutton for work. Give him a chance for a stunt (bombingraid) and he's all there. For a mere youngster, I say, he's----"
Further remarks concerning the rashness of Billy--otherwiseFlight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft--were postponed by the appearance ofyet another member of the "Hippodrome's" flying-officers.
"Young Barcroft's just tick-tocked through," he announced. "He's onhis way back. Cool cheek, by Jove! Keeping the crowd of us waitingwhile he's joy-riding somewhere in the direction of Berlin. Wonderhow far he went?"
From where they stood, just abaft the starboard funnel-casing, theofficers scanned the horizon. The "Hippodrome," like most of hersisters, had at one time been a liner, but the building up of alaunching-platform for seaplanes had resulted in considerablealterations to her external and internal appearance. Amongst otherthings she now had two funnels abreast and far apart in place of heroriginal foremost one, in order to give full scope to the inclinedplane that extended from her bows to within a few feet of thenavigation bridge--a piece of new construction perched at least 150feet further aft than the old bridge and chart-room of pre-war days.
The clank of a steam winch and the swinging overhead of a long steelderrick announced the fact that preparations were being made towelcome home the "stray bird." Although a seaplane could be launchedwith ease from the sloping platform, on her return she would have toalight in the water and "taxi" alongside her parent ship. Hence thenecessity for a long and powerful derrick to swing the seaplane,with its broad expanse of wings, clear of the ship's side anddeposit it carefully upon deck.
"Here he comes!" exclaimed Fuller, indicating a faint object in theeastern sky.
Rapidly it resolved itself into a large biplane with triple floatsin place of the three landing wheels that form a necessary adjunctto army aeroplanes. Then the polished wood propeller, glinting inthe oblique rays of the sun, could be discerned as it slowed downpreparatory to the seaplane commencing a thousand feet glide.
With a succession of splashes the biplane took the water, "bringingup" with admirable judgment at a distance of less than fifty yardsfrom the starboard quarter of the parent ship.
The seaplane carried a crew of two. The pilot pushing up a pair ofgoggles revealed a fresh-looking, clean-cut face that gave one theimpression of a public school boy. Billy Barcroft was still in histeens. He had just another month to enter into his twentieth year.In height he was a fraction under five feet ten inches; weight--animportant consideration from an airman's point of view--was "tenseven." Supple and active, he carried not an ounce of superfluousflesh. Standing up and lightly grasping a stay, he swayed naturallyto the slight lift of the seaplane--the personification of thatproduct of the Twentieth Century, the airman.
His companion, who had just completed the "winding in" of thetrailing aerial, raised his head above the coaming surrounding theobserver's seat. In appearance he resembled Barcroft sostrongly-that the pair might have been taken for twin-brothers. Butno relationship, save the ties of friendship and duty, existedbetwixt Billy Barcroft and his observer, Bobby Kirkwood. The latterwas an Assistant Paymaster, who, deserting the ship's office for thefreedom of the air, had already mastered the intricacies of"wireless" and other qualifications necessary for the responsibleduties of observer.
"You've been a jolly long time, you belated bird!" shouted Fuller inmock reproof. "What's the stunt?"
"Couldn't help it," replied Barcroft with a broad grin. "If you werein my place and saw a crowd of Hun Staff officers pushing along inmotor-cars wouldn't your idea of courtesy lead you to pay them ali
ttle attention? Kirkwood gave 'em a couple of plums and a wholedrum. Result--a slight increase in the Hun death-rate."
Barcroft had, in fact, gone well inland over the German batteries,on a sort of informal joy-ride. From a height of 5,000 feet theobserver had spotted what appeared to be a motor convoy bowlingalong the road between Zeebrugge and Bruges. With a daring borderingon recklessness the pilot had vol-planed down to within two hundredfeet, greatly to the consternation of the grey-cloaked German Staffofficers, who, leaving the shelter of their steelroofed cars,scurried with loss of dignity for the safety that was denied most ofthem. For with admirable precision Kirkwood had dropped two bombsfairly into the line of cars, following up the attack by firing awhole drum of ammunition from the Lewis gun into the fleeing Huns.
Deftly the flexible steel wire from the outswung derrick engaged thelifting hooks of the seaplane. The machine was just clear of thewater when the order came "Avast heaving." Simultaneously a bugleblared. It was the call for Flying Officers.
Leaping into the stern sheets of a boat in attendance, Barcroft andKirkwood were taken to the side of the "Hippodrome," where theygained the deck of the ship. Already Fuller and the rest of theairmen had gone aft. Something was literally in the air.
The signal commander held up a leaf torn from a signal pad.
"A wireless has just come through," he announced in clear deliberatetones. "A hostile plane has made a raid over parts of Kent. She isnow on her way back, apparently heading for Ostend. Machines fromEastchurch have started in pursuit, but the Hun has a useful lead.Now, gentlemen, a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse: we arebetween the raider and his base."
The assembly dispersed like magic, the airmen hurriedly donningleather jackets and flying helmets and giving peremptory orders tothe mechanics in attendance. In less than five minutes the first ofthe stowed seaplanes was ready to glide down the inclined platformto take to flight.
Yet, from a starting point of view Barcroft had a decided advantage.His seaplane was practically ready. There was enough petrol for alengthy flight, and a good reserve of ammunition for the Lewis gun.Bombs there were none, nor were any likely to be required for thetask in hand. The chances of a hit on a small and rapidly-movingtarget were very remote. It was by machine-gun fire that the attackupon the returning raider was to be made.
With the motor throbbing noisily and with clouds of oil-smellingsmoke pouring from her exhaust, Barcroft's seaplane taxied away fromthe towering side of her ungainly parent. Then, so gracefully thatit was impossible to determine the exact moment when the aircraftceased to be waterborne, the seaplane rose swiftly and steadily inthe air.
Climbing in steep spirals the machine quickly rose to a height of5,000 feet. It was enough for all practical purposes, allowing amargin of superior altitude to that of the expected Boche.
"Good enough!" shouted the flight-sub through the speaking tube."Aerials paid out? All ready?"
"All serene," replied Kirkwood, affixing a whole drum of ammunitionto the upper side of the breech mechanism of the deadly machine gun."By Jove, we've all been pretty slick this time. The fifth bird hasjust got away."
Barcroft leant over the side of the fuselage. Seven hundred feetbelow and speeding away to the nor'-west were a couple of the"Hippodrome's" seaplanes. Two more, at a lower altitude but stillclimbing, were heading in a south-easterly direction. Thus, when theformation was complete, Barcroft's machine would be in the centre ofa far-flung line thrown out to form a barrier betwixt the solitaryraider and his base.
The British airmen were at an atmospheric disadvantage. Straight intheir face came the rays of the setting sun, while the calm seabeneath them was one blaze of reflected light. Against that blindingglare it was almost impossible to distinguish the mere black dot inthe vast aerial expanse that represented the returning hostileaviator; while on the other hand the Hun, with the sun at his back,would be able to discern with comparative ease the glint of theseaplane's wings.
The characteristic tick of the wireless brought. Kirkwood toattention. With the receiver clamped to his ear he took down themessage and passed it on to his companion.
"Our pigeon!" soliloquised Barcroft grimly. The information was tothe effect that the "Hippodrome" had first sighted the approachingHun machine by means of telescopes. The hostile craft had previouslyspotted two of the intercepting seaplanes, and her pilot, takingadvantage of the light, decided to make a vol-plane to within a fewhundred feet above the level of the sea. By so doing he wassacrificing his advantage of altitude, but there was a chance ofslipping unobserved under the British aircraft. Once through thefar-flung cordon he hoped to rely upon superior speed and climbingpowers to elude pursuit.
By this time Barcroft had "picked up" his opponent. At first sightit seemed as if the Hun were executing a nose dive. Keenly on thealert the flight-sub depressed the ailerons with a quick yet decidedmovement. There was no trace of jerkiness in the pilot's actions.All were performed with that smooth dexterity and rapidity thatcomprised the essential qualifications of a successful airman.
At an aggregate speed of nearly two hundred miles an hour the rivalaeroplanes converged. It seemed as if each pilot were bent uponramming his opponent and sending the colliding craft to a commondestruction.
Barcroft, his hands resting lightly on the "joy-stick," was keenlyalert to every forthcoming move of his adversary. Already the Hunobserver was letting off rounds from his machine-gun in the vainhope that some of the hail of bullets would disable the Britishseaplane. On his part Kirkwood "stood by," ready at the firstfavourable opportunity to let the Hun have a taste of the Lewisgun--and the opportunity was not yet.
Suddenly the German monoplane straightened out, then, lifting,attempted to pass above the seaplane. Quick as a flash Barcroftgrasped the situation. Round swung the British machine, though notbefore a dozen holes had been ripped in her wings, as, bankingsteeply, she presented a vast spread of canvas to the hostilemachine-gun.
Through the turning movement of his opponent the Hun had gainednearly three hundred yards. The observer, swinging his gun aft, wasbusily engaged in fitting a new belt of ammunition.
It was now Kirkwood's chance. The hostile monoplane was still withineasy range, although momentarily her superior speed was taking herfurther and further away from her pursuer. She had broken throughthe cordon. Ahead was a straight, unimpeded run for home.
The Lewis gun began to splutter. Half--three-quarters of the drum ofammunition was expended without tangible result. The Hun observer,too, had got his machine-gun in working order and was pumping outnickel at the rate of five hundred rounds a minute.
It was a duel to the death. At that dizzy height no human beingcould fall and reach the surface of the sea alive. No cover, nosheltering trenches protected the four combatants. In the blue vaultof heaven they were compelled to kill or be killed, or even deal outcomplete and horrifying destruction to each other.
"Got him, by Jove!" shouted Kirkwood, as the Hun at the machine-gunthrew up his arms and toppled inertly across the barrel of theweapon. For perhaps ten seconds he hung thus, till the monoplane,rocking through an air-pocket, tilted violently. For a brief instantthe body trembled in the balance, then slipping sideways the deadBoche toppled over the edge of the fuselage and fell like a stonethrough space.
"Keep it up, you're on it!" yelled Barcroft, never for a momenttaking his eyes off the fugitive monoplane.
His observer heard the shout but the words were unintelligible inthe deafening rush of air Nevertheless he maintained a steady fireat the enemy machine.
To give the Hun pilot his due he made no attempt to throw up thesponge. He might have made a nose-dive, trusting to flatten out' andgain the surface of the water. The machine would have sunk like astone, but there was a faint chance of the pilot being able tounbuckle the strap that held him to the seat and make an attempt tosave himself by swimming.
The Hun did unfasten the leather strap, but for a different purpose.The monoplane, being of a self-steering type, could be
relied uponto continue her flight more or less in a straight line, without acontrolling touch on the rudderbar.
With a stealthy, cat-like movement the German made his way to theobserver's seat, and gripping the firing mechanism of the machinegun prepared to return the dangerous greetings from his pursuer.
Less than fifteen miles off--twelve minutes flight--lay the flatoutlines of the Belgian coast. Unless Fritz could be brought downrapidly the raider would win through.
Suddenly the monoplane tilted and settled down to a dizzy nose-dive.Whether a vital part had been hit or whether the uncontrollable dropwas due to faulty construction neither Barcroft nor his companionknew. For the moment the flight-sub imagined that it was a daringruse on the part of the Hun pilot, until he realised that the latterwas in the observer's seat when the catastrophe occurred.
Down plunged the vanquished monoplane, spirally, erratically. Thepilot was clinging desperately to the machine-gun. Even as the'plane dashed through space the weapon, under the pressure of theHun's hand, was aimlessly spitting out bullets.
Again the wireless ticked off a message. It was from anotherseaplane that, although far away in the original cordon, had swunground and joined in the pursuit. Kirkwood's eyes twinkled as hedeciphered the dots and dashes: "Congrats: your bird!"