The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west FrontierStrang, Herbert
General
The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west Frontier
Strang, Herbert
Adventure stories; Airplanes -- Juvenile fiction; British -- India -- Juvenile fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Juvenile fiction
The boys felt overwhelmed by this climax to their embarrassments. There
was no certainty that they could reach the nearest British post before
the tide of invasion had begun to flow. The way might already be blocked
by hordes of tribesmen gathering strength for their swoop upon the
Punjab--an adventure which, utterly absurd as it seemed, and foredoomed
to disaster, would work havoc on the frontier until it was crushed by
the might of the Imperial power. They saw themselves shut up as in a
trap between the 20,000 men on the north, and the innumerable host which
the scent of plunder would attract to the Afghans’ banner.
"We shall have to stick it now, in any case," said Bob to Lawrence.
"Khansaman, take Ganda Singh to Gur Buksh: he will find him quarters.
Then go to bed. I will ring for you if I want you."
When the two men were gone, Bob threw himself into a chair.
"Light up," he said. "There’ll be no more sleep for us to-night."
"What a brick the Major is!" said Lawrence. "Poor old chap! He won’t
cave in without giving those blackguards something to remember, but if
things are as bad as Ganda Singh says it’s all up with him. Nothing on
earth will induce him to leave his men, or he might make a bolt for it.
I wonder if it was too late for him to send for help?"
"There’s not much doubt of it. A man couldn’t get away quietly enough
on horseback with the tower surrounded, and it would take him four or
five days to foot it. Then they’d have to get together an expeditionary
force, and if they’ve got wind of what’s on, they would hesitate to send
out a small light-marching force that might be smothered. These
political officers are always taking their lives in their hands. The
Major’s a good sort. I wish to goodness something could be done for
him."
"I say! I’ve a notion. What about the aeroplane?"
"How do you mean?"
"Fly to help him. A few of those bombs of yours would work wonders."
"That’s all very well, I dare say a little dynamite would set the
besiegers flying in panic; but to bring the Major away is quite another
matter. He’s in a hill-tower, and if it’s like those we saw
occasionally as we came north it’ll be perched in the worst possible
place for the machine to alight."
"We can find that out from Ganda Singh."
"But there’s another thing. Suppose it is possible to come down, will
there be time to get the Major out and take him on board before the
enemy come back? Their panic won’t last long when they find they can
only be hit from the air."
"It will take some time to discover that, but I foresee the worst
difficulty. That’s the sowars. As I said, he won’t leave them,
especially as some are wounded. And the biggest cowards in
creation--and the Afghans are not cowards--would recover their courage
and their wits long before you could fly to and fro with the sowars as
passengers."
"And they’d smash the machine too. It would be an easy target most of
the time. I’m afraid it’s no go."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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