Air Stories, April 1936 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

AIR STORIES Tony Steele, after a swift survey of the uncompromising shell-scarred ter- rain rushing up to meet them, came to the same conclusion. ‘“Put her down in the crater,’’ he yelled in Blaney’s ear. ‘‘ If you pancake on the water we may land softly enough to prevent that blasted Cooper from exploding.’’ Blaney nodded, his chubby face strained and anxious. He went down in a flat glide until he felt the controls grow soggy, then as he floated over the crater’s ridge, he loosened the clip of his safety-belt, ready for the moment when they would hit. The depth of that devil’s bowl sur- prised him. The upper lip of the mud- logged slope was’ now above the top plane of the Bristol, yet the black waters were still several feet beneath the broken undercarriage. The sombre pit com- pletely enveloped them. When the wheels touched, the A.S.I. was flickering round the thirties, but the heavy Rolls jerked the nose down, and the tail came up with a whoosh. With a mighty splash the Bristol somer- saulted. Tony Steele was slung clear, but Blaney, trapped in the cockpit, was less fortunate, and found himself struggling in a cage of struts and wires, which held him down beneath the putrid waters. His lungs were choking, as, in a frenzy of desperation, he struggled to kick himself free. Then a dark shadow loomed through the waters to the accompaniment of vigorous splashings. Blaney felt hands gripping his shoulders, and after that his thoughts were somewhat disjointed. Vaguely he felt himself slithering past the fuselage wall, and then his head rose above the water, and he was drawing in deep gasps of reviving air. When Blaney regained something approaching clarity of thought, he saw Tony Steele bending over him, where he lay half submerged with his back against the oozing mud of the crater wall. ‘* All right, old chap? ’’ Steele said anxiously. ‘‘I thought you were a goner when I couldn’t get a good grip on you until that third dive.’’ 378 Blaney spat mud from his mouth. ‘‘ Thanks, old son,’’ he gasped. ‘“ Hell’s bells ! and what do we do now, my fellow mudlark ?P ”’ ‘If you know of a better ’ole .. .’’ mused Tony. Blaney shook his head to clear his buzzing brain. | ‘* At least that darned Cooper didn’t explode. If we lie doggo until dark we stand a chance of finding our way back to the lines.’’ He spoke with considerably more confidence than he felt, and all the time he was waiting with tensed nerves for the whine of shells that would herald Jerry’s customary bombardment of a crashed machine. The O.Pip’s could scarcely have failed to spot their enforced descent. Yet everything was oddly still. It was as if they had wandered into some cul-de-sac of war. where, with the certainty of their being unable to escape, the Boche was leaving them to their fate. Blaney gazed gloomily at the upturned wheels of the Bristol jutting up through the water. His muzzy brain was incap- able of working out the cause and effect of it all; the stolen ten minutes in bed that had resulted in his taking-off with a sluggish engine, the consequent breaking of the undercarriage, and the wedging of the Cooper in the broken spar that had necessitated their inglorious landing in the Wytschaete crater. It had all worked out almost like an axiom in Euclid. But Euclid wasn’t Blaney’s strong point. He was only familiar with the ribald jest of the mess, that a straight line was the shortest distance between two—pints ! UDDENLY Blaney felt Tony grip his arm and, with an intensity that hurt, jerk him down behind the mud-logged ruin of an A.W. fuselage that lay half buried where it had crashed into the oozing crater bank. Blaney gave vent to a spluttering oath as he sprawled on the stenching mud. ‘‘ What the devil .. .”’ He saw no necessity for taking cover. GOMIGIOO SJ (Cl Q)