The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west Frontier

by Herbert Strang

"I hope you won't be bothered with them any more," said Bob as he got into his seat.

He took his bearings. The aeroplane was facing down-stream. He would have to rise many hundreds of feet before it would be safe to turn.

"They may fire at you and hit you before you're out of range," said Lawrence.

"I must take my chance. Of course they'll see me against the sky if they look up; but it will take them a few seconds at any rate to collect themselves, and I shall be going so fast that I fancy they won't hit me if they try. Here: take your rifle and cartridges. You'll keep strict watch? Look for me in the morning. So long!"

He started the engine: Lawrence stood clear, and the aeroplane darted forward obliquely towards the river. In a second or two it was completely lost to sight, so dense had the darkness become. But in a few seconds more it could be seen like a shadow against the sky, a quarter of a mile down the river and several hundred feet above. There were faint shouts in the distance. The enemy's attention must have been attracted, first by the hum, then by the sight of the strange machine as it soared higher and higher. But there was no sound of firing, and Lawrence breathed freely when he knew that his brother had escaped this first danger. A few minutes later he saw the aeroplane at a great height, sailing rapidly towards the mine.

On running off, Bob adjusted his elevator for the steepest possible ascent in a direct line; the gorge was too narrow to allow of a spiral ascent. He felt that he was starting on a race with the darkness. He had never attempted a flight by night in these regions, and he hoped by rising high to use the last radiance of sunset in shaping his course. Within about half an hour he should arrive at the mine. But he was a good deal more concerned than he had allowed Lawrence to see, at the problem which would face him at the end of his flight. The situation of the mine would be revealed by the camp fires of the labourers on the right bank, and the lights about the various outhouses on the left. But there were no lights on the landing platform beyond, and this, together with all the lower part of the gorge, was already blotted out by the darkness. It would be impossible, however gently he should glide down, to hit the exact position of the platform; and to attempt a landing at random would be madness.

Bob felt much worried as he flew on in the fading light, with an immense black abyss beneath him. The approach of the aeroplane would certainly be heard at the mine, but probably no one would be quick-witted enough to understand his difficulty. It might never occur to them that the darkness would render a landing impossible. Bob suspected that not even Ditta Lal, B.A. of Calcutta University though he was, would be alive to the position. Puzzle as he might, he could not hit upon any solution of the problem, and at length ceased to think about it, hoping that chance or some lucky inspiration, some circumstance that he had not taken into account, would point the way in due time.

The night was calm and windless, and the engine worked well, so that his mind was not harassed by any anxiety about the aeroplane. His body was less comfortable. The air was bitterly cold; he had put on his thick wadded coat and gloves, but his hands were numbed, and more than once he rubbed his nose to prevent it from freezing. He was glad to think that his journey was to be a short one. A little more than half an hour after he started, he discerned the lights of the settlement far away twinkling like glowworms at the bottom of a ditch. He waited a few minutes to make sure of his bearings, then began a gradual descent, looking about him warily as he sank lower in order to avoid grazing a jutting crag where the gorge narrowed. The lights became more distinct: he was able to separate those on his left, in the miners' quarters, from those on the right, in the dwelling houses and the quarters of the garrison. Presently he could just distinguish, in the diffused glow, the river flowing between, and he steered directly for this, so as to pass over the drawbridge. Having shut off the engine for the descent, his approach had probably escaped notice hitherto; but he started it again as soon as he came within thirty or forty feet of the bridge; the sound was immediately heard, and within a minute the whole settlement was aroused. The miners poured from their huts; all the Sikhs of the garrison turned out; the servants left their outhouses, talking shrilly; and even the Babu, who, as he often did, had retired to rest at sundown, was wakened by the noise, and rolling out of bed, threw on a warm dressing-gown of European cut, and toddled out to welcome his master and tender any advice that the occasion seemed to call for.

Meanwhile Bob had flown past, utterly bewildered, and not a little alarmed. He knew the gorge well, but never having before made a trip through it by night, he was in a state of nervous terror lest he should lose his bearings and come to grief. The darkness was intense, redeemed from solid black only by a very faint reflection from the water. It was quite impossible to see the landing platform as he sped past, but when he arrived at the first spot at which turning was possible, he had a dim hope that, flying in the opposite direction, he might be able to see the platform in the diffused light of the camp-fires, in spite of the bend of the gorge. But in this he was disappointed. Not only were most of the lights intercepted by the bulging cliff, but all of them, being below its level, gave no illumination at all for the surface on which the descent must be made.

Bob flew back again, over the bridge, and into the blackness beyond. The men cheered enthusiastically as he passed; even the Kalmucks, though they supposed that Nurla Bai had been caught, were moved to a certain admiration. Bob got no comfort from the cheers. His hands were so numb that he could scarcely control his levers, and he had the frightful feeling that he must continue to sail up and down indefinitely, like a swallow that has strayed into a church, and flies swiftly back and forth until it becomes dizzy and dashes itself against the wall. He had to go nearly seven miles before he durst turn again. On coming to the bridge, he shouted at the top of his voice, asking that some one would take a light to the platform. But his words were unheard amid the din, and the crowd on the banks, taking his cry for a greeting, responded with even louder cheers.