Air Stories, April 1936 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

THE WASP STINGS umphantly, as she was helped out of her chair. A burst of bullets sprayed the yacht. Most of them passed harmlessly over ; a few ripped into the hull. The noise was like the cracking of a thousand stockwhips. ‘““Take cover !’’ ordered the loud- speaker. Then a bullet struck it. ‘‘ Grr «sc be ee OS ee grr = a Con tinued, and fell silent. Lord Maymyo was _ triumphant. ‘‘ Damned lot of foolery ! ”’ His wife was by his side. ‘‘ Look ! Cecil,’’ she said as the torpedo fell away. ‘‘ That aeroplane has dropped something.’’ Those who have not heard a torpedo explode at close quarters can have no conception of what it means. It is impossible to describe that devastating concussion, that blast of sound which then shattered the peaceful day. The yacht shuddered from stem to stern, and was already listing heavily when a wall of water which had been hurled into the air by the explosion thundered down upon the deck. But for the fine naval discipline that was displayed and the fact that a destroyer was already bearing down to the rescue, the death-roll must have been heavy. Pat was still miles away when the yacht was struck. Too far off, indeed, to be able to see the Wasp. He did, however, see that wall of water which was flung skywards, although he did not immediately grasp its significance. He wiped his goggles and pushed the throttle a notch farther forward. Such was his speed, that two minutes later, he was able to make out the details of the disaster. The Admiralty yacht had been torpedoed, and was sinking rapidly, surrounded by some of the finest fighting ships of the Fleet. A destroyer, he noted, was already steaming at full speed to the rescue. Fortunately, the water was both calm and warm, for there was neither time nor opportunity to launch boats. overhead, the doomed ‘‘ Witch ’’ lifted her bows and slid quietly from view, as though anxious not to make any fuss about it. Just as the Nimrod flashed > N the excitement of the moment, Pat had completely forgotten to switch ‘on his receiver. Hurriedly he rectified the error, and immediately was nearly deafened by a blast of sound. ‘* ¢ Uproarious ’ calling,’’ screamed his headphones. ‘‘‘Uproarious’ calling, calling Flying Officer Spalding.’’ Pat gave the routine reply. ‘‘The wireless-controlled aeroplane . .’ went on the ’phones. ‘* Wireless, my hat ! ’’ muttered Pat. ‘; ... has made off on a south- westerly course, flying straight. You are to follow and destroy it. The mag- netic bearing will be given you in two minutes’ time. - The wireless-controlled aeroplane .. .’’ repeated the ’phones. Already Pat was in a vertical bank, and he pulled his ’plane round and straightened up on his new course. Forgotten was the scene below. This was the sort of job he had dreamed about, but which he had never dared hope would come his way. He might have lived a hundred years, he thought, without such an opportunity. England seems a very small island when one is travelling at some 220 m.p.h. In a very short time Pat was well down Channel and some miles from land. Dartmoor frowned to the north. Ply- mouth must be nestling somewhere at its base. ‘‘Mount Batten Station calling,’’ said the ’phones. ‘‘ Thanks,’’ said Pat to himself, ‘‘I was just thinking about you,’’ and then acknowledged the call. ‘‘The wireless-controlled aeroplane ...’ went on Mount Batten, ‘‘... has been sighted by one of our flying-boats . still keeping to its course. The flying-boat has been ordered to join in the pursuit. I will repeat that. .. .’’ ‘‘ Don’t bother,’’ thought Pat. Then he saw the flying-boat, cruising along at a modest 100 m.p.h. With its tail cocked high, it reminded him of a swan paddling along with its brood. He waved to the crew as he shot past. The flying-boat was out of sight astern when Pat spotted the Wasp. The latter had its nose well down, and was diving in the direction of a white- 357 cConnicoool<