Читать книгу The Fighting Scouts - Edgar Wallace - Страница 5

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WHEN the Grand Duke of Friesruhe, son of a Most Exalted and Princely House, heir to Wilhelm XXVI of Friesruhe, beloved nephew of a Kaiser and a Czar and Colonel of the Third Regiment of the Prussian Guard, expressed his august desire to become a flying officer, permission was immediately given and instructions were issued to the Commander of the Sixty-fourth Corps District (wherein the Duke was stationed) that his Serene Highness was to be allowed to enroll himself a member of the Flying Service, might be photographed in the uniform, might indeed accompany a considerably experienced and trustworthy expert on a ground trial, providing (a) the weather were propitious, (b) the reliability of the machine had been thoroughly tested, (c) staff photographers were present, but that he must not be allowed to fly.

Whereupon the Grand Duke of Friesruhe, who was quite a nice youth, lay low, mastered the technique of the airplane with great assiduity, and on a certain day which was not propitious in the matter of weather, and in a borrowed machine which was notoriously unreliable, climbed to twelve thousand feet alone and unaided in the full view of a pallid staff, which alternately prayed and swore. In the language of court circles it was an “escapade” and the matter did not become serious until the Duke insisted upon becoming a real pilot, whereupon he was summoned to Grand Headquarters and was lectured on obedience by the Most All Highest and Then Some.

He listened to the lecture in silence, standing rigidly at attention, and went back to his principality. Within three days the socialistic Arbeiter-Zeitung published in his city began a violent agitation for Peace at Almost Any Price, and since the Grand Duke was known to be behind the Friesruhe Arbeiter-Zeitung, and the succession to the throne was secure, Grand Headquarters reversed its decision, gave him full authority to break his neck and requested that the Arbeiter-Zeitung should be subjected to Preventive Censorship.

So the Duke went joyously to the front, and the Arbeiter-Zeitung explained that what it really craved for was a Peace with Annexations and Very Large Indemnities.

That is the true story of how Colonel, the Grand Duke of Friesruhe came to be an air fighter and eventually leader of what was known on the British, French and American fronts as “The Duke’s Museum.”

It differed from the recognized circuses in this respect: It consisted of two flights of five machines each, and those machines were more or less freakish. All the new types of airplane that ever came to the German army were first tried out by the Museum—and in the most freakish of all it was certain that the Duke himself would be found. The Duke was the first to fly a Fokker, the first to handle a Gotha; he was the very father-in-law of the Friedrichshafen, and the comparatively successful and the comparatively useless types he handled were legion.

The cry of, “Here’s the blinkin’ Museum comin’!” was sufficient to empty the dugouts and bring even battalion headquarters recklessly into the open to watch twelve “machines—assorted,” twelve different types of different speed and varying military values, come staggering across the sky—aerial infants learning to walk.

They were protected. High above drove the jealous scouts, buzzing like bees and relatively as large.

Many and fierce were the battles fought and many were the specimens from the Museum that crashed behind the German lines. But the Duke remained, and presently, on some fine day, our scouts would see him at the head of a straggling line of new and even more eccentric machines.

This new interest had come during the absence in England of Second Lieutenant Tam of the Scouts, and his first acquaintance with the Museum was when, returning from a reconnaissance, he barged into the ragged formation and was greeted (from the ground) by a protective barrage of “flaming onions”—the onion being a highly inflammable rocket which it is unpleasant to meet. He did not stop to investigate, having certain photographic plates which needed urgent development.

“’Twas no’ a sense of duty that brought me oot a’ ma coorse,” reported Tam to his chief as they sat in the mess that night. “’Twas no’ the quickenin’ pulse of ma fichtin’ ancestors—’twas the instinct that makes a wee boy push his way into the crood that surroun’s a lad in a fit. Mon! but A’m keen on gettin’ a squaint at the Airchduke.”

“Grand Duke,” corrected Blackie; “Archdukes are Austrian.”

“’Tis the same, Major Blackie, sir,” said Tam calmly; “Airchdukes are the grandest dukes in Austria—A’m studyin’ the subject of dukes the noo. There’s a bonnie book just come to me frae ma—frae a friend o’ mine” (he never spoke, save in this cautious fashion, of the pretty and vivacious little American girl he had married, and who was now living in Devonshire and watching with apprehension every messenger-boy who carried a telgram); “’tis a wonderful book an’ must have cost twa dollars.”

“Eight shillings,” corrected the youthful “ace” Bagley.

“Twa dollars, ma friend,” said Tam, “an’ less than eight shillin’s, for the currency of ma adopted country is fine an’ healthy. Well, noo, why do you interrupt me? This book is aboot war in the days before flyin’ machines. They were gay times. When a commander led his flight o’er the enemy’s line, he just cranked up his one-seated chairger, filled his petrol-tank wi’ beer and whusky—accordin’ to whether he was a squire mechanic or a knight obsairver—took a good grip of a ten-foot joystick an’ said to his wee page—‘Contact—let her rip, Alec;’ an’ off he’d zoom across the wairld, not carin’ whether it snowed. An’ when he met a Hun he’d ficht and ficht till he crashed him an’ cut off his heid. Then by rights all the golden airmor of the Hun was his. Or, if he just brought him doon oot of control, he’d put him in a cage an’ say, ‘Yon feller’s ma pairsonal property—his relations can buy him back for ten thousand rose-nobles.’”

“You could buy the earth and Paris if you held your prisoners to ransom, Tam,” said Blackie.

“A’m no’ so sure,” said Tam, shaking his head; “’tis only the men-at-airms an’ the young squires A’ve pinched, wi’ an occasional baron—but barons are nothin’ in Gairmany. Every Hun A’ve brought doon so far A’ve called ‘Baron,’ an’ the only mistake A’ve made was when A ought to have said ‘Coont’ or ‘Prince.’ There are more barons in Gairmany than there are second loots in the British Army—they’re as plentiful as Very lights on a strafe night. Suppose A held a baron to ransom, an’ suppose A got through a letter to his family Slosh or Schloss, sayin’—’Dear Sair or Madame: A have found a baron bearin’ your name an’ address. Kindly send ransom for same in strictest confidence.’ What d’ye think A’d get? A ten-cent postal stamp?”

“Get the Duke, Tam, and earn promotion,” said Blackie, “he smokes the finest cigars of any man in Germany and his pockets are usually filled with them.”

“He’s a deid mon!” said Tam.

But a grand duke takes a lot of killing.

Tam, patrolling from Gx. 971. A. to Tm. 141 Q (you will search in vain for this hideous disguise of the limits of the Saarville district), came into contact with a flying formation which he at first identified as von Bissing’s circus, usually to be found in this region. Closer inspection, however, revealed the fact that the formation was made up of “job lots” and Tam disappeared into the base of a cumulus and circled through the thick mist to pass the time which must elapse before the Museum came within fighting distance. It had been heading his way and so also had the overhead escort—five famous air-fighters formed the guard of honor.

Tam skimmed lower and lower until only the thinnest veil of mist separated him from the Grand Ducal Squadron. He judged them to be fifteen hundred feet beneath when he dived straight into the center of the formation.

Airplanes do not emit a startled squeal or roll up the whites of their eyes or shriek for help, but they have a way of illustrating emotion. They scattered and dived, some to the east, some to the north—all except, one, a new Alto-Albatross that pushed its nose up to meet the droning fury.

It was to this machine that Tam directed his attention. He passed the Albatross in a flash, something snapped behind him and a wire stay dangled loosely. He looped back to secure some of the height he had lost, but the Duke was quicker and had maneuvered for the attacking position. Tam banked over, loosing his gun and sensed the hit he made. He came again to the attack, half-circled his enemy, now enveloped in smoke, let fly another fusillade and dropped steeply for earth. Tam did not look up to discover what the German escort was doing. He knew. He dropped because he calculated that at that moment five angry machines, piloted by most redoubtable fighters were driving for him.

He fell for the cover which the flying British Archie gives to airmen in distress, but the five fell with him, for the machine of a Most Exalted Person was smoking and burning in mid-air, and each and every one of the five would be held accountable for any change in the succession to the throne of Friesruhe.

THE Seventy-ninth Patrolling Flight of the United States Army witnessed these deeds from afar off and consumed with morbid curiosity came down from their lofty plane to investigate—and the chase ended.

It was the flight commander who reported, subsequently, that the Duke’s machine had made a good landing.

“A’m hopin’ the Duke was no’ burned,” said Tam, “that would be an awfu’ waste o’ good seegairs.”

The Duke was no’ burned. His incomparable Museum and Exhibiton of Mechanical Marvels and Magical Air-Conquering Apparatus paraded the Ypres front that same week with the greatest eclat, but this time (according to the report of the Umpty-ninth Squadron R.F.C. supported by the veracious “gulls” of the Royal Naval Air Service) the number of the escort was such that they darkened the sky.

The commander of the Umpty-first complained bitterly that he had lost three machines because of “this infernal obstruction” in the skies.

His machines had been good-natured bombers which were homewardly plodding their weary way, after dropping about three tons of high explosives on Roulers railway station, when they had fallen in with the Museum and its board of trustees, and three pedigreed Page machines were sorely stricken and now lay somewhere in Flanders.

Then one day, a message came through to four fighting squadrons.

“This Museum business is getting on the nerves of G.H.Q.,” said Blackie to his assistant.

“What’s wrong, sir?” asked that youth.

“The Museum is to be found and smudged out—its aerodrome is to be bombed at every opportunity and the Duke must be crushed.”

Lieutenant Baxter whistled. “That’s not like G.H.Q.,” he said, “that black-hand stuff. What has the poor old Duke been doing?”

Blackie shook his head. “God knows,” he said, “but it is something fierce to stir up G.H.Q.—the American and French squadrons have had the same instructions.”

He opened a steel safe and took out from a drawer which he unlocked, a long yellow envelope which had been heavily sealed. From this he extracted a slip of paper on which were written about eight lines of handwriting.

“Send Tam to me,” he said.

Tam was in the middle of a long composition designed for his “friend,” embellished at unexpected intervals with those poems which only Tam could write. He hastily locked away his letter and hurried across to the orderly room.

“Shut the door, Tam,” said Blackie—and when this was done—”what I tell you now is in absolute confidence. To-morrow we start sending out to find the Duke and he is to be brought down, if possible, within our lines. If that is not feasible, he must be crashed, and by crashed I mean his machine must be destroyed. You will tell your flight no more than this, that if necessary, you must engineer a collision in mid-air—in fact, ram him.”

“Aye, sir,” said Tam, gravely nodding.

“I don’t know why this order has come out, but it is a very special and confidential instruction. These measures are not to be put into movement until”—he consulted the paper again—“‘twelve o’clock noon on the eighteenth’—that’s to-morrow.”

Tam saluted and departed.

“What do you make of it, sir?” asked Baxter.

“I hardly know,” replied Blackie slowly; “but from what some of the Huns we have captured say I rather fancy we have been underrating the Duke. He is one of the best, boldest and most inventive flyers in the German service. He has tried out every good machine they have had, and has made them practicable for general service. I rather fancy the big escort is more to protect him in his experiments than to save his blue blood from spilling. Remember, all his flights are carried out under war conditions.”

“But what are the rest of the Museum?” asked Baxter.

“That apparently is camouflage to hide the fact that the machine that is being tried out is the one which the Duke is flying—you remember we used to do the same thing when poor Hall was alive. Hall perfected the Wingate Stabilizer at twelve thousand feet under Archie fire; he improved our bomb sights while actually circling over Treves. I rather suspect that the Duke is a genius of a similar order.”

AT twelve o’clock the next day, punctually to the second, the Museum came into sight to the east of St. Quentin. It consisted of ten machines flying in V-shape formation, and as usual no one machine was like another. At the apex of the V was a monoplane with an unusually long nacelle, an unusually long and remarkably narrow wing spread.

The observers, through their telescopes, reported that there was nothing more remarkable than the fact that the monoplane, in spite of its high engine power, did not lose place but maintained its position even though its companions were obviously more antiquated “buses,” but most remarkable of all was the report which came through Lieutenant Gordon T. Simms, an observer of the U..S. Air Service, an extract from whose report may be quoted:

“Until engaged by enemy patrols, I had an uninterrupted view of the enemy formation, which was led by a large monoplane resembling in appearance the old Antoinette, which acted as leader. At a distance of a mile or more I saw the Antoinette machine slow until it almost stopped, the remainder of the formation passing on until ten seconds later the formation had advanced leaving the Antoinette well in the rear. It had the appearance of being almost stationary for half a minute, at the end of which time it went forward again at great speed, and took its place at the head of the formation. In the position from which I observed this, it was impossible that I could be the victim of an optical illusion.”

Air experts are equally emphatic that it is impossible that an airplane can stand still without losing height. The man who invented such a machine or a pilot who could employ mechanism to produce that result would very nearly solve the last problem of aviation.

At three o’clock in the afternoon, the Museum was seen following the line of the Scarpe in a southwesterly direction, escorted by twenty battle-planes in two formations of ten. The escort was attacked by the 904th, the 623d and the 612th squadrons of the British, and by the 120th and 121st flights of the U. S. Air Services, and by de Mouleys’ famous squadron of “aces”; and the battle which raged in the air has come to be historic. Fourteen German airplanes were crashed or driven down out of control and three British and one French. But in the course of the fighting the Museum got away. Again the report came through that the Antoinette had distinctly slowed her pace until she was almost at a standstill.

Following this, three British bombing squadrons raided the aerodrome where the Museum was known to reside, and dropped particularly powerful bombs upon the underground hangars—ignoring the inviting array of matchwood sheds which the Germans had erected to draw the fire of raiders.

On the twenty-first, the Museum, with the inevitable Antoinette at its head, but this time made up of much faster machines, came over the British lines and was attacked by the defensive squadrons, four of the Museum dying the death before their guardians could come to their assistance.

Again the Antoinette escaped, and bitter were the words which came humming along the wire which connected G.H.Q. with the squadrons concerned. There was a great ringing of telephone bells, and secret discussions in locked offices where eminent officers consulted in Hindustani, to the intense annoyance of the military exchange.

At eight o’clock, Blackie walked into Tam’s quarters, locked the door behind him, took from his pocket a map and a large-caliber pistol of unfamiliar pattern.

Without any preliminary he began:

“The Antoinette is at the Gisors aerodrome—the experimental aerodrome to the north,” he said. “We are not taking any chance with a bombing squadron. The hangar is certain to be underground. Here is a signal pistol we took from one of the Museum machines that crashed. It is loaded with a cartridge which shows a red and green light. That is the landing signal for this particular aerodrome.”

Tam waited.

“G.H.Q. has heard about you and they want you to make a landing. You will probably be shot if you are caught. Here you are,” he spread the map and laid his finger upon a green patch; “that is a fairly level plain about two hundred yards from the aerodrome. Land there and get into the hangar as well as you can. You will destroy the machine.”

“And they will make anither,” said Tam.

Blackie shook his head.

“It will take them nine months to make another like it,” he said. “I have seen the Director of Intelligence. He tells me that this Antoinette is being perfected in the air, and, that the Duke is the only man that can fly it so far. You may not be able to get back to your machine,” he went on, “but you must take the risk. Only use the landing light if they get an Archie barrage on you.”

He shook hands and walked abruptly away. He was sending his best man to his death, and. anything he might say, now, would be feeble and inadequate. Tam looked at the map and looked at the pistol, opened his desk and took out the letter which he had just finished writing.

He added this P.S.:

“I’ll be awa’ to make a call on another aerodrome. Tam.”

TO the north of Gisors is a small aerodrome consisting of about half a dozen flimsy huts and three underground hangars which are approached by broad sloping runways. The hangars themselves are protected by nine feet of sandbagging and so elaborately camouflaged that it would be impossible to detect from the air either the runway or the bulge of earth which corresponded to the roof of the underground chambers.

In one of these were three men, two of them officers, one an old and spectacled mechanic in field-gray. The hangar was brilliantly illuminated with ground, roof and wall lights, so that there was not one bit of the long and dainty machine which stood in the center of the hangar that was not flooded with light.

THE younger of the officers and, if the truth be told, the least distinguished was, contrary to all regulations, smoking a long thin cigar and eyeing the machine with knitted brows. The second of the officers, an older man and one of higher rank, was shaking his head in admiration.

“Your Highness has performed a miracle,” he said; “this will rank as one of the greatest mechanical discoveries of the war.”

It was the younger man’s turn to shake his head. “Not yet, von Grosser,” he said sharply; “you are premature. Perhaps in a month we may reduce the thing to a formula. At present I am making new discoveries every day.”

He walked slowly around the machine. There was nothing extraordinary in its appearance save that, in addition to the tractor screw in front, it carried a small propeller behind the driver’s seat, a propeller which was fitted at a curious angle.

“Von Missen is very anxious to make a flight in her,” said the older officer. “I think he has recently arrived. I saw his landing lights a few moments ago.”

“Von Missen is a fool,” said his Highness, “and he would be a dead fool if he essayed it. Three times she has failed, for some reason I can not understand. But I shall get it right,” he nodded; “yes, I shall get it right. If—”

“If?” repeated von Grosser.

“If the people over there,” he jerked his head to the west, “don’t get me.”

Von Grosser laughed. “Your Highness may be assured that that will never happen,” he said; “they have tried and failed. They have bombed every aerodrome between here and St. Quentin. Why,” he shrugged, “I do not know.”

“Because they know, my friend, that if they get me, this machine—”

He was looking at Colonel von Grosser as he spoke. The Colonel was facing the narrow entrance which admitted into the hangar when the great sliding doors were closed and he saw the other’s eyebrows rise and a comical look of incredulity and annoyance dawn upon his face.

“What—”

“Hands up, all of ye!”

A figure stood in the doorway, his face half hidden by the mica goggles he still wore, puffed and padded from head to foot in a soiled yellow leather jacket.

“Come oot o’ that,” said Tam, “come oot, uncle!” He waved the frightened mechanic to the far wall, “which of ye is the Airchduke?” he demanded.

The younger man laughed. “I am the Grand Duke of Friesruhe,” he said; “if I am the person you are seeking?”

“And is that yer fine machine?” said Tam.

“That’s my fine—”

Something cracked from Tam’s left hand, a blazing ball of fire leapt toward the machine, filling the hangar with a pungent and disagreeable odor. The ball struck one of the wings, which burst into a blaze.

“Thairmite,” said Tam, “don’t try to put it oot.”

Von Grosser, paralyzed by the apparition, suddenly came to life. His hand dropped to the holster at his belt, but before he could draw his weapon Tam shot him down. The Duke had been quicker. Two bullets from his automatic went through the leather jacket of the airman before Tam’s pistol could swing round and cover him.

The machine was now blazing furiously. The room was an inferno. Tam beckoned first the Duke and then the mechanic toward the little door and he himself dragged the wounded man to the safety of the little passage.

Tam led the way up the steep incline to the open air. Suddenly he turned, and with a lightning blow felled the mechanic. Then he gripped the Duke by the arm and started at a jog-trot across the aerodrome.

Dense volumes of smoke were pouring through the interstices. The alarm had already been given and the shouts of command came to them through the darkness.

“Where are you going?” said the Duke suddenly and stopped dead.

“A’m going back to ma wee bed,” said Tam, “and ye’re comin’ wi’ me.”

“Then you’ll take me dead,” said the Duke in German and leaped at his captor.

An arm like a bar of steel flung him backward.

“By God, you shall suffer for this!” said the breathless young man.

“Oh, aye,” said Tam, “d’ ye no’ ken me?”

“I don’t want to ken you, damn you,” stormed the Duke in English.

By this time they had passed through the fence wires which Tam had cut. The Scotsman was making his way with confident step toward the plain where his machine awaited him.

“A’m Tam,” he said complacently; “d’ye na’ ken Tam? A’m Tam, the Scoot. Noo, Duke, over yon’ there’s a bonnie machine wi’ a nice comfortable seat for an obsairver. Will ye be my obsairver back to the British fines?”

The Duke thought a moment. “Under the circumstances, I think I will,” he said.

HALF-WAY back, and what time all the telegraph wires leading into Germany were in a condition bordering on hysteria, and while search-lights swept the skies and Archie barrages worked double time, Tam leaned over and tapped the silent figure in the observer’s seat upon the shoulder.

The Duke adjusted the speaking-tube and listened.

“Hand over yeer seegairs,” said Tam, remembering at this, the eleventh hour, that something was due to him.