Air Stories, April 1936 — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

WINGED WARRIORS field with fire from his front gun. Lastor, standing serenely up behind him, was still firing incendiary ammunition at the gas-bag. Unable to bear the strain any longer, and having used every cartridge in the belt, Warton turned west at one thousand feet and zigzagged away. Lastor banged him on the right shoulder, and he was surprised at the sudden acute pain he experienced as he turned round. But the sight that met his eyes made him forget the pain, for instead of the hideous bean-shaped balloon, a cone of scarlet flame, trailing volumes of dense black smoke, was falling to the earth. Warton watched it until it struck the ground and lay smouldering fitfully at the foot of some trees ; then he sighed gently and smiled as his eyes met Lastor’s. ITH the exception of a few random shots, they were not worried on their way back to the lines. Having reached British territory, Warton relaxed the tense watch he had hitherto main- tained, and became promptly aware of a numbness that reached from his shoulder-blade upwards. He tried to raise his arm, but was stopped by a stabbing pain that made him catch his breath. The inside of his sleeve, also, was warm and wet, and his vest was clinging to his back, which burned as though it were red hot. He glanced at his watch ; nine o’clock. It occurred to him that his father, at that moment, was just settling down to his morning paper and breakfast. For no reason, the thought appeared particularly funny. He threw back his head with a laugh, but the laugh was turned into a very different ejaculation as the movement stretched the wound in his shoulder. For a few seconds every visible object seemed to swing rapidly round his head, and the sky was scarlet instead of blue. The thought that he was going to faint sobered him considerably, and he stared fixedly ahead at the distant aerodrome, unconsciously singing to himself. When he had landed and stopped the engine, he clambered hastily out, missed his footing on the plane, and lurched heavily against the bracing wires, where he stood, swaying and chuckling with merriment. Then he noticed that Lastor was being helped down from his seat by two mechanics. ‘Got a bullet in the heel,’’ explained Lastor cheerfully, hopping towards him on one foot. The battered and bullet- riddled Bristol, Lastor’s comic move- ments, the anxious faces of the mechanics, all combined in Warton’s eyes to form a picture of inexpressible humour. ‘‘What! You hit too !’’ he shouted at Lastor between his bursts of laughter. ‘* So glad ! ”’ Then darkness broke like a surf over his head, and he pitched forward into the arms of his flight-sergeant. It was but a brief fainting spell. He came to, to find himself lying on the blankets in the squadron office, while the Major supported his head and endeavoured to pour some brandy down his throat. Lastor was sitting on a chair in the corner, having his left foot bandaged by the medical orderly. ‘How are you feeling, old man !’”’ said the Major. ‘‘A bit better, eh? That’s fine ! Now we’ll send you and Lastor down to the clearing station, and I expect you’ll go home.”’ ‘But I don’t want to go home! ”’ Warton burst out fretfully. ‘‘I want to come back. Can’t you arrange for me to come back P ’”’ ‘“Oh, yes, I expect so,’’ the Major answered soothingly. ‘‘ Now, don’t you worry. It was a jolly good show of yours. Here’s your batman. Tell him what things you want to take with you, and dictate your report to Astley here.’’ So Warton lay back and haltingly gave an account of the morning’s events. With a little assistance, he walked to the tender, where he sat grinning rather foolishly at Lastor. Every member of the squadron in turn looked in to say a few words, but it was not until the tender had started to move down the road that Warton remembered that he had not seen Savage. ‘‘ Hi, stop! Stop !’’ he yelled, bang- ing the driver on the head with his left arm. The Major came running up. 315 INOO SJ (Cl Q)