Air Stories, April 1936 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

AIR STORIES ‘“We’ve got to lie doggo until its dark,’? Blaney decided, ‘‘then we’ll try to get into that tunnel. If we can bag a Fokker we might get away— somehow—or, again, we might not! But it’s worth taking a shot at, now we are here.”’ CHAPTER Ii Victims of the Sky Trap HILE Blaney and Steele lay chilled and cramped in the water- logged culvert, waiting restlessly for darkness to descend, they had a grim demonstration of the efficiency of the crater trap upon which they had stumbled. It was not long before they knew why the camouflage panel had been lifted like a massive Venetian blind, and why the Fokkers engines were ticking over. Blaney glanced anxiously skywards, as the characteristic hissing whine of an R.E.8 drifted to his ears. Some two thousand feet above the crater an art. obs. Harry Tate was cruising to and fro, obviously directing a shoot. At periodical intervals the distant rumble of gunfire rose above the throb of the 140 air-cooled Raf. engine. “‘“Strewth ! they’ll get that poor devil,’’? Steele muttered huskily. An ominous rumble came from the vault, and the concrete walls threw back strident echoes as two Fokkers, in line ahead formation, came hurtling down the launching slope. Their tails lifted before the pilots had opened out, and the powerful fighters had gained flying speed before the terminating ridge of the runway slid away from their racing wheels. It was a tricky manceuvre, but the German pilots were obviously skilled at the game. They zoomed up over the crater’s rim with the precision of robots. With a feeling of nausea, the hidden Britishers watched the trap closing, and saw the Fokkers swing apart as they converged on their unwitting quarry. Suddenly aware of his peril, the R.E.8 pilot kicked the two-seater into a vertical bank. Flame rippled from the observer’s cockpit, and then the crackle of the Lewis was drowned by the scream of four Spandaus belching lead. Blaney groaned as he saw the R.E. Stagger. The tail assembly melted into flaming débris before that devastating fire of converging guns. The doomed R.E.’s nose whipped down as it plunged past the circling Fokkers. Blaney looked away, his face tense, flinching as he heard a ghastly crash, a dull explosion ... and then silence. Crash Crater had claimed another victim. “‘God !’’ he gritted, ‘‘ we’ve got to stop this rotten business.’’ Tony gave a low hiss of warning, and jerked the irate Blaney back into the protective shadows of the culvert. The Fokkers were circling to land. The Germans _ side-slipped skilfully, coming in low over the crater’s edge and perched on the concrete runway with a perfectly judged three-point landing. The watchers saw grey-green figures running forward to hold the fighters’ wings. Then with a rasp of pulleys the camouflage panel rolled down into place. ‘‘ Here endeth the first lesson,’’ mut- tered Steele. ‘‘Do you reckon you could fly one of those Fokkers out of that sewer, old scout ? ”’ Blaney’s jaw hardened. “Til do my damndest. catch .your Fokker, as Mrs. would say.’’ But first Beeton HEY waited restlessly for the light to fade. Their limbs were cramped and chilled. Slowly the glow of sunset dimmed, and the shadows deepened across the crater. They had abandoned any hope of getting away by clambering out of the crater. The oozing mud of those preci- pitous slopes would make rapid progress impossible. It was a hundred to one chance that they would not be spotted. They must stake everything on the hope of bagging one of the Fokkers and pulling off an aerial get-away. At last Blaney touched Tony’s shoulder, 380 AMICLOOO@ GE QO) SJ (Cl QO)