The Secret Battleplane

by Percy F. Westerman

CHAPTER XVI

À BERLIN

Having, through Athol's instrumentality, recovered the battleplane's plans, Desmond Blake resolved to run no more risks in that direction. In spite of the most stringent precautions German spies were found to be active behind the British lines. Confidential documents disappeared almost under the noses of the authorities. So, rather than run a chance of having the plans stolen a second time, he destroyed them.

"The details of one battleplane may be kept a secret, with reasonable care," he remarked. "With a dozen in the making the odds are against it, and since the authorities have told me pretty plainly that I am of more use here than superintending the construction of other machines at home, I am content. I have an idea that they've a pretty stiff job for us to tackle before very long."

Blake's surmise was correct, for a few days later he was ordered to report himself at the Staff Office.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, taking Athol and Dick aside. "We're going to put the wind up the Bosches this time. Half a dozen of our fastest machines are detailed to make a raid—guess where?"

The lads hazarded the names of several places, but without success.

"Berlin," declared Blake. "Our people have been keen on the idea for a long time, but the authorities at home have, for some unearthly reason, deprecated the idea. Sickly sentimentality I call it. They shrink from reprisals, although they know perfectly well that that is the only way to bring the Hun to his senses. Events prove it. He was the first to use gas shells; now he squirms and whines when we give him a dose of his own poison. He gloated over the torpedoing of our merchant ships, and squeals out piffling protests to neutrals when our submarines tackle his trading vessels in the Baltic. The German papers were full of bombastic rejoicing over the Zeppelin visits to our undefended towns; the Kaiser weeps copious crocodile tears when the Allied airmen knock his beloved Karlsruhe about a bit. I'd go a jolly sight farther than the precept laid down in the old Mosaic Law. 'An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth.' By Jove! Three British shells for every German one, and a ton of high explosive for every kilogramme of T.N.T."

"When do we start?" asked Dick eagerly.

"At three to-morrow morning," replied Blake.

"It's blowing half a gale from the west'ard," said Athol, "and the glass is falling rapidly. It's all right for the outward journey, but we'll have a job to get back. Not that I am at all anxious about the battleplane's capabilities," he hastened to add.

"There will be no coming back," declared Blake. "At least, not at present. We've been waiting for this westerly gale. With it the squadron ought to do at least a hundred and sixty over the ground. When we arrive over the German capital, by turning head to wind we can keep almost stationary over any part we choose until all the machines have dropped their bombs. Strict orders have been issued to avoid hitting, as far as possible, the residential parts of the city. Then, after that particular business is completed the machines are to resume the westerly, or north-westerly course, and alight on Russian soil, somewhere in the neighbourhood of Riga."

"And then?" asked Dick.

"Make ourselves useful until we get a fair wind back," replied Blake. "But be careful," he added, "not to mention this business to anyone. Even after the raid no communication will be made; the official bulletins will ignore it. And, I fancy, the Germans won't care to admit it, since they've boasted time after time that Berlin is absolutely immune from air attacks. We'll see how far their boast holds good."

For the rest of the day preparations for the long flight were diligently carried out. Blake and Dick overhauled the motors, oiled and tested the wing-operating mechanism, and carefully examined the controls lest any of the wires had developed designs of chafing. The petrol tanks were replenished under Dick's supervision, while in addition twenty cans of spirit were taken on board. Ammunition and stores were also placed in readiness for the flight, Athol and Sergeant O'Rafferty being responsible for the quantity and the correct weight, since a lot depended upon the flying trim of the mechanical bird.

Similar scenes of activity were witnessed in other parts of the aerodrome, while the individual units of the squadron detailed for the raid were being prepared for the most extensive aerial operation of the war. By nine o'clock everything was in readiness. The airmen retired for a well-earned and necessary rest, while sentries were posted at the door of each hangar to prevent any possibility of the machines being tampered with.

At two in the morning the pilots repaired to the Wing Commander's quarters to receive final instructions. The machines were to proceed in two columns, each biplane starting at two minute intervals, the columns to be roughly three miles apart. Blake's battleplane was to act as covering escort, flying at three thousand feet above the others. No attention had to be paid to hostile aircraft unless unavoidable. If the enemy should attack, half the squadron, assisted by the secret battleplane, was to engage, while the rest pushed on towards their objective.

As soon as the German capital was sighted, a wireless message was to be sent to the British headquarters; and then, and only then, was the Russian General Staff to be informed of the projected visit of the raiding aircraft.

Punctually at the appointed time the first of the biplanes left the aerodrome, followed at stated intervals by the rest. In spite of the howling wind the ascents were carried out without a hitch.

The secret battleplane was the last to leave. Almost silently as compared with her consorts she rose evenly and swiftly from the ground, and headed off in the direction the others had taken.

In the pale morning light the far-flung double line of British machines could hardly be distinguished against the angry red glow on the eastern horizon, although in the upper regions the deep bass hum of their exhausts could be distinctly heard.

As they neared the lines of opposing trenches three or four Fokkers rose with the evident intention of intercepting the raiding machines; but thinking better of it, they volplaned earthwards.

At length, far above the storm-driven clouds that hid every detail of the country from their sight, the raiders pursued an even and uninterrupted flight, piloted on a compass course by the flight commander in the leading biplane of the right column. With the wind almost dead aft navigation was a fairly simple matter. There was no need to trouble about "side-drifts." All that had to be done was to fly continuously in a straight line until it was judged that the machines were approaching their objective and then descend below the clouds and verify their position by reference to a map and a recognition of conspicuous landmarks.

The "maps" had been especially supplied for the raiding airmen's use by the French government, and were the result of careful aeronautical observation work in pre-war days. In a strict sense they could not be called maps, as they consisted of an elaborate series of enlarged photographic views taken from an altitude of about eight hundred metres, and embraced practically every mile of country between the Franco-German frontier and the environs of Berlin. Their compilation was the direct result of the memorable visit of a Zeppelin to Nancy, where, owing to an accident the gas-bag had been compelled to come to earth. An examination proved conclusively that the airship had been taking aerial reconnaissance of the French fortresses. The French government did not protest: it merely retaliated by making the series of photographic maps that were in the present struggle to play such an important part.

At a quarter to five the leading biplane of the right column began a volplane, the rest of the machines following its example. It was a test in order to verify their position.

For full five minutes each was lost to sight of the other as the air-squadron dipped swiftly through the dense, rain-laden clouds. While it lasted the ordeal was a nerve-racking one, for not only was there the danger of collision in the event of any of the biplanes swinging out of position, but the air was filled with "pockets"—partial vacuum of insufficient density to offer resistance to the planes—into which the airmen fell like stones until the machines "picked up" in the buoyant air beyond. Vicious and erratic currents and eddies, too, added to the pilots' difficulties, while in the midst of the layer of clouds it was almost as dark as midnight.

As the battleplane emerged from the underside of the clouds the lads could discern an extensive town through which flowed a broad river. Viewed from the height of seven thousand feet the town, with the numerous railways radiating from it, resembled a gigantic spider lurking in the centre of its web.

Already the leading biplanes were far beyond the maze of buildings, so it was evident that the city was not Berlin.

Blake noticed the look of enquiry on Athol's face.

"Magdeburg," he announced laconically. "Know the place well. We're fairly on the right road now—Brandenburg, Potsdam and then Berlin. Another quarter of an hour."

Up into the clouds climbed the raiding aircraft. The now furious gale was completely in their favour, for it was impossible for the Germans to send aloft any of their numerous captive balloons that formed a part of the aerial defences of the capital. The wind was beginning to rend the bank of clouds. Brilliant shafts of sunshine shot through the rifts. Over the ground the shadows chased each other with a speed that gave the aviators a knowledge of the strength of the gale.

Blake, holding the steering wheel, spoke hardly a word. His whole attention seemed to be centred upon the task of "keeping station" with the rest of the squadron. His left hand was almost continuously upon the timing lever of the motors, checking the speed of the battleplane whenever, as frequently happened, she showed a tendency to overhaul the biplanes.

Far below lay an extensive and irregularly shaped lake with at least two considerable towns on its banks. Surrounding the lake was a dense forest, of which a large part had been but recently cleared, for newly-felled trees were plentifully in evidence.

"Potsdam," announced Blake. "If we imitated the methods of the Kultured Huns we should drop a few bombs on Kaiser Wilhelm's palace. That lake is the Havel. They've cleared a lot of the Spandau and Potsdam forests, I see. Not that they are hard up for timber. I suppose it is chiefly for wheat growing, in anticipation of the day when the German frontiers are most considerably restricted. But stand by—the leading machines are turning head to wind."

The attack had been magnificently planned. One division of the biplanes had flown over the southern environs of Berlin; the other over the northern; now both were turning inwards and just holding their own against the wind. They had the city at their mercy.

Before the utterly surprised artillerymen manning the anti-aircraft guns were fully aware of the presence of the British raiders, powerful bombs were hurtling through the air, each missile aimed with deliberate intent upon a specified objective and not dropped haphazard under cover of darkness as in the case of the Zeppelin raids over England. The railway stations and other public buildings of military importance were carefully singled out by the airmen, in spite of the now furious but erratic fire of the German guns, particular attention being given to the official buildings in the Wilhelmstrasse, not omitting No. 13—the headquarters of the Imperial Admiralty.

It was by no means a one-sided engagement, for shrapnel shells were bursting heavily all around the British machines. As far as Athol and Dick were concerned they rather welcomed the warm attentions of the enemy. It was far better to run a fighting risk than to hover deliberately over a defenceless town and hail projectiles upon a populace unable to raise a little finger in self-protection.

Already fierce fires were raging in a dozen different quarters of the German capital. The air trembled with the terrific detonations of exploding bombs. The dense columns of smoke, beaten almost flat with the strong wind, prevented the airmen from making definite and accurate observations of the result of their work, but on the other hand the vapour hid the attacking aircraft from the artillerymen. Nevertheless two British biplanes were hit. One, taking fire, streamed earthwards, leaving a trail of smoke and flame in its wake. The other, its engine disabled, contrived to land in Thiergarten, where the pilot and observer were made prisoners.

The secret battleplane had dropped her last bomb and was preparing to resume her north-eastward flight when a shell burst almost immediately above her. A hail of bullets rattled against her proofed sides. One ripped a hole through Blake's airman's helmet, fortunately without doing further injury. The wings were perforated in fifty places, although the damage had little effect upon the speed of the machine. The battleplane literally reeled with the concussion, recovered herself, and then began to wobble alarmingly in spite of the efforts on the part of the pilot to keep her on a straight course.

One of the actuating rods of the left wing, bent by the violent impact of the base of the shell, was thrown out of action. Sooner or later the machine would be obliged to descend upon hostile soil, almost in the very centre of the German Empire.