Air Stories, April 1936 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

AIR STORIES sloping walls into the apex, whence they fell in showers whenever the canvas was shaken. For a week the men laboured erecting wooden huts for the squadron office, the armourers’ hut, and the headquarters’ workshop. A keen system of honest thieving was instituted, whereby the material for each hut was used for the construction of its neighbour. On the day that the armourers’ hut was completed, it was irreparably wrecked by a machine which landed on its roof. The pilot was unhurt, but that fact did not serve to abate the armament officer’s fury. CHAPTER VII The Last Show VERY day when he was over the lines, Warton searched the sky and the earth for an opportunity to distinguish himself, but he was determined that his flight should not participate in the danger. The routine and humorous incidents of life on the ground amused him, yet, at the back of his mind, there remained, strong and persistent, the desire for another decoration. Instead of the offensive patrols which had formerly been allotted to ‘‘ Vic ’’ Squadron, they were now required to escort bombing raids, carried out by a large number of machines from a low altitude. The usual objective of these raids was a German aerodrome. Operat- ing in conjunction with the bombers and escort, there was always a large number of single-seaters, which descended to within a few hundred feet of the ground and used their machine-guns to supplement the effect of the bombs. Warton enjoyed these raids, for the Germans always attacked in large forma- tions, and afforded the escort unusual chances for aerial manceuvres. The conclusion of each raid presented the same aspect, a conflicting mass of British and German machines that fought round each other like gnats in a sun- beam, from fourteen thousand feet down to the ground. Warton, with his forma- tion of five machines close behind him, was master in a mixed fight of this description, able to go where he pleased, and do what he pleased, for the Germans, while flying together in swarms, always fought as individuals. It was in the course of a raid on Soulée aerodrome, where the Germans kept their big night-fliers, that Warton’s opportunity came to him. Dusk was closing in, and the machines were gathering together in their formations for the journey home. In the east, a few persistent Huns were making half- hearted attacks on stragglers, but the majority had already dived away and disappeared. Warton’s attention was caught by a white light fired from a small single-seater flying just in front and below him. From the signal of distress, he judged that the scout pilot was having trouble with his engine, and was asking for an escort to protect him from marauders. He _ gathered his formation about him and crept up to within a few yards of the scout, whose pilot waved a hand at him to signify that it was impossible for him to glide back over the lines. Then Warton realised that they were twenty-five miles inside enemy territory, and that with only five thousand feet of height there was no alternative for the scout pilot but to land and give himself up as a prisoner of war. Warton looked at the slowly revolving propeller of the distressed machine, at the western horizon, and then at the ground below him. It was good, open country, and apparently suitable for landing. Impul- sively he throttled the engine back, and turned to shout at Lastor: ‘‘I say! Shall we go down and give this fellow a lift home P ”’ ‘‘ Right—e—oh !”’ returned Lastor, without a trace of excitement. ‘Fire a green light, then,’’ Warton continued. ‘‘ Gibson can take the rest home.’’ When the report of the pistol rang out, and the green light curved hissing up into the air, Warton knew himself to be committed to the adventure. Unwinkingly he watched the light, as it fell starlike towards the earth ; then 324 GOMIGIOO SJ (Cl Q)