Air Stories, April 1936 — page 24: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AIR STORIES steady on !’’ protested Savage, ‘‘ you’ll damage my sword arm for life if you go on like that, Warts! Now, what are we going to drink? How about some Veuve Clicquot ? ’’ Although Savage’s decoration had pleased them both immensely, the end of their leave still acted as a drag upon their spirits, and silences were frequent. ‘Tt is my firm conviction,’’ Savage announced, nibbling an olive, ‘‘ that you have both fallen in love. Oh, my poor young friends. ‘Croyez moi j’ai passé par la!’ The same thing hap- pened to me on leave. Only she wore pins in her waistband, so I left her for ever. Are you both going to have sole meuniére >? ’’ Warton blushed guiltily, and turned the conversation on to flying topics. They left Boulogne shortly after ten, and, on arriving at the aerodrome, went straight to bed without having entered the mess, whence issued the usual sounds of singing and scuffling. HE next morning they reported to the Major and to Fories, both of whom inquired whether they had had a good leave ; unpacked their kit; took a machine up and flew round the aero- drome a few times ; then settled down to the old routine of squadron life. On the evening patrol they crossed the lines by the Forest of Nieppe, and flew towards Lille. The ground below shone gold and green in the sun, and the sea to the north shone blue and green. It was very like the afternoon before they had gone on leave. Warton found himself wondering what the Hun who had attacked them on that occasion was doing, and whether he were still alive. Then he wondered how his observer was feeling, and looked round. Lastor was slowly swinging the gun with his left hand, and screening his eyes with his right to gaze into the sun. Standing up in his seat for a moment to look over the centre-section, Warton saw some black specks far away in the east. Instinct told him that they were Huns, also that they were approaching. He felt curiously cold and fretful as he fired an unnecessarily long burst from his gun to warm it up; then absurdly angry with the Huns for existing at all. As Fories skilfully manceuvred so as to get the sun behind him, Warton found himself swearing under his breath and banging his fist restlessly against his knee. It was clear that the enemy had not seen them, for they came unhesitatingly on in a straggling forma- tion that promised but little chance of defence. So blind and careless did they appear, that Warton scented a trap, and searched every quarter of the sky for a high-flying German escort. To the east there was not another machine to be seen, but some distance behind and _ below solitary British artillery machine. That explained the Germans’ preoccupation ; they were too absorbed in stalking their defenceless prey to notice Fories’ close- packed formation that had at its back the dazzling mist round the sun.. Then the enemy formation split up, two machines remaining behind and climbing steeply, the other six spreading out fanwise to surround the artillery machine and engage the pilot’s atten- tion, while the two who had gained height should dive upon him. Warton chuckled when he saw this manceuvre. ‘‘Truly,’?’ he thought, ‘‘the Lord is delivering them into our hands! ”’ Fories, with the judgment born of long experience, led his com- panions down to within five hundred feet of the two topmost Huns. Then he dived. One of them burst into flames with a violence akin to that of an explo- sion. In a flash, the other turned and dived east across the nose of Warton’s machine. Warton followed, with his eyes glued to the Aldis sight, his fingers slowly tightening on the gun lever. A little delicate play on the rudder-bar to steady his machine, and the German scout appeared as a stationary sil- houette in the centre of the ring. Warton bit his lip as his gun burst into chatter- ing fury, and the stinging smell of oil and cordite filled his nostrils. His fire took immediate effect, for the stricken machine reared up on its tail like a 310 them owas as COnniclooo SJ (Cl QO)