TRICKED
"Mornin', Blake," remarked the Wing Commander. "Feel like an out-and-home flight? Thought so. Well, give a glance at this map."
Three weeks had elapsed since the secret battleplane had worsted the two Fokkers—three weeks of strenuous activity. The battleplane bore many honourable scars, souvenirs of aerial combats. But as yet her rôle had been a purely defensive one; she had never gone over the German trenches, hostile anti-aircraft had not as yet sent their shrapnel shells bursting all around her. Already the Huns had learnt of the presence of a super-powerful aircraft of unique design, and with feelings akin to dismay they realised that risky as it had been to fly over the British lines it was no longer practicable anywhere within the radius of action of the mysterious mechanical bird.
"Look here," continued the Wing Commander, placing a long, slender finger on the unfolded map that lay on the trestle table, "that's Olhelt, a village or rather hamlet not far from Hasselt, and within ten miles of the Netherland Frontier.
"We've received information that the Bosches have a secret Zeppelin base there, and that their new airships that are to be employed solely for raids over England are finally tested there before passing to active service. The place is strongly protected by Archibalds, and there are a dozen planes constantly on duty. Now, I want you to make a reconnaissance. If possible, bomb the Zeppelins to blazes. Would you prefer to undertake the job alone or shall I send a supporting squadron of swift battleplanes?"
"We'll tackle it alone, sir, I think," replied Blake. "Our silent motors are a decided factor in our favour, which would be thrown away if we were accompanied by any biplanes."
"So I thought, but I felt that I ought to give you the option," rejoined the Wing Commander. "Now, there is another point. We have a Belgian officer here, a man furnished with the highest credentials from the Belgian headquarters. He's a Limburger, and knows the district around Olhelt remarkably well. His name, let me see,"—the officer referred to a docket—"yes, his name is Etienne Fauvart, a lieutenant of the 21st Regiment of the Line. This man, for patriotic and personal motives—it was he who first reported the Zeppelin base; had the information from a relative living near Hasselt—wishes particularly to take part in the raid. According to his story he has a heavy account to settle with the Bosches near his home. It occurred to me that he might be useful for pointing out the various landmarks. From all accounts the place is rather puzzling for a strange airman to find."
"Whether he is to come with us or otherwise is for you to decide, sir," said Blake.
"Personally I am inclined to favour the suggestion," continued the Wing Commander. "Since you are so good as to leave the matter in my hands, I think you'd better take Lieutenant Fauvart. I'll have him brought in."
He touched a bell. An orderly appeared in the doorway.