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
By the time that Bob had realized this necessity for intervention he was
half a mile south of the position, in a wider stretch of the gorge. He
wheeled round, flew back at full speed through the bottle-neck, then
wheeled again at the northward end. It seemed to him that the crackling
of rifle fire was now more continuous: the Pathans had in fact taken
heart on seeing the machine soaring high above them, and were defending
themselves with renewed vigour. The chota sahib was with them! They
knew not what he could do for them, but his mere presence gave them hope
and courage.
Bob saw that in order to carry out his plan successfully he must
descend. He had had no practice in bomb dropping. No amount of
theoretical knowledge of the velocity of falling bodies under the action
of gravity, or of the curve made by a body moving under both horizontal
and vertical forces, could avail him now. There was great risk of the
aeroplane or its occupants being hit if the Kalmucks fired at them, but
he felt that he must take his chance. Swooping down, and reducing speed
at the same time, he steered so as to pass, at the height of a few
hundred feet, as exactly as possible over the heads of the party
skirmishing up the hill-side.
They were in loose order. At closer quarters Bob was now able to see
that they were taking advantage of all the cover furnished by the crags
and protuberances of the rocky slope. Steering with one hand, he called
to Fazl to give him one of the tins, which he poised in his other hand.
He still felt a shrinking from bloodshed, and instead of dropping the
bomb in the midst of the Kalmucks, he waited until he had just passed
the man nearest to the Pathans, then let it fall. In a few seconds it
struck the ground. There was a sharp report, and Fazl, looking back,
cried out that the Kalmucks were almost hidden by an immense cloud of
dust. The sound of rifle fire ceased, and a strange quiet fell upon the
gorge.
"Have they stopped?" asked Bob.
"Yes, sahib. One has gone back: they are talking among the rocks."
"They’ve got something to talk about," thought Bob.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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