World War, 1914-1918 -- Aerial operations -- Juvenile fiction
"There is," he said presently, "a little farther away. Beyond the wood
the ground rises: it’s the nearest thing to a hill these parts can show.
Then it dips into a wide grassy hollow. That’s your place. I’ll get
old Lumineau to show three small lights there to-morrow night at eleven.
In the hollow they won’t be seen by the Huns: besides, I’ll get him to
mask them except from the sky."
"That’s capital. Well, if I don’t turn up by eleven or soon after
you’ll know that either I have been winged on the way or that the
Brigadier has turned down our little entertainment. In that case, you
must do the best you can on your own."
"Right, old man. What I’m most afraid of is that you won’t get away
safely. There’s no strafing to-night, and the Huns are bound to hear
your engine. You’ll make more noise going up."
"But it’s dark: there’s no moon; and I shall be well up before they spot
me."
"Let’s hope so."
"What’s the time?"
"Ten minutes to nine. Better wait till midnight. Take a nap."
"I will. Wake me when the time comes."
Burton was one of those lucky mortals who can sleep anywhere at any
time. In a few minutes he was sleeping soundly. At midnight Hedley
roused him.
"Time’s up," he said. "The rain has stopped, and the sky’s clear:
there’s just enough starlight to show you the way. I’m sending
Stanbridge and a squad to replace your wheel, carry the machine out and
see you off. I’d better keep on the _qui vive_ here, I think."
"Good-bye, then--till to-morrow."
Following the men, Burton stole out of the cave and crept with extreme
caution into the wood. The neighbourhood was quiet; the only sound was
the booming of guns far away. The wheel was replaced; the ’plane was
quickly dragged or lifted to the open hollow about a quarter of a mile
away. Burton spent a few anxious minutes in looking over the engine by
the light of his electric torch; then he strapped himself into his seat,
and ordered Stanbridge to whirl the propeller while the other men clung
to the rear of the machine.
"Race back like mad when I’m off," he said. "’Ware Huns!"
The engine began to roar.
"Stand clear!" he said.
The machine rolled off along the grass, gathering momentum; the tail
lifted; the wheels rose clear; and she skimmed the grass like a huge
bird. In a few seconds Burton was slanting upward on the first round of
his spiral course.
Ten minutes later a party of German infantry, some fully clothed, others
in various stages of deshabille, rushed breathlessly over the rise into
the now deserted hollow.
"I am sure," said one of them, "the first sound came from somewhere
about here. Then an aeroplane rose like a big black bird above the
trees. I gave the alarm the moment I heard the engine."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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