Air Stories, November 1937 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

AIR STORIES With his heart in his mouth, Nobby straightened up. He waved his friends to turn about again as he followed the rest of the patrol homewards. But he was quite honestly and unashamedly shaking as he finally clambered out on the home aerodrome, while running mechanics came to take over his machine. CHAPTER II Menace of the Raiders AJOR NOBBY shot one glance at his white-faced rear-gunner who had just eased himself to the ground. ‘“*T couldn’t help it, sir !’’ panted the gunner. ‘‘It was a mercy I’d left off shootin’—but that gun seems to be fixed- up so that it will only turn to the right. I couldn’t stop it ? Major Clarke breathed deeply, and steadily. ‘‘ All right, Bates,’’ he managed with difficulty. ‘‘I understand. Now get along and get your lunch, and be ready for the afternoon patrol.’’ ‘Will we—will we be taking this machine, sir?’’ asked Bates, un- certainly. Major Clarke shook his head. ‘¢ It might come about,’’ he said in a tense tone, ‘‘ that this machine was the only one available. If that happens, friend Bates, I shall get one of the transport lorries, fix it up to a kite- balloon, and take the damned thing off, armed with bows and arrows. But I shall not take this machine ! ”’ _ His voice dropped so that he seemed to be talking to himself. ‘‘But,’’ he continued, ‘‘ I’m going to take a certain inventor apart from ordinary men, to some quiet place, and there I am_ going to take him apart. I’m going to collect up all his inventions and ram them down his throat! I’m going to soak him in petrol and put a match to him! I’m going to = Major Clarke fell silent, and as he _ stalked off to the anteroom he gave himself up to ingenious thoughts which would have done credit to an acolyte of the Holy Inquisition. But the inventive Edison’s star of good 388 fortune was evidently shining brightly that day, for, before Nobby got anywhere near the mess building, an orderly came running from the direction of the Squad- ron Office. In the manner of his kind, he came to a halt, leaning forward at what seemed to be an angle of forty-five degrees, and saluted with the effect of a tuning fork. 3 ‘* Beg pardon, sir,’’ said the orderly, ‘‘but the General’s ’ere, and sends ’is compliments, and would be glad of a word with you.’’ ‘‘ The General ? ’’ echoed Nobby, stop- ping dead in his tracks. Generals were not in the habit of paying visits to line- aerodromes, except for one reason. That reason was trouble. If there was trouble, if anyone was due to go on the carpet, the squadron commander always had to do a little carpet-treading himself, first. That is known as Army discipline. ‘‘It only needed this!’’ breathed Nobby. ‘‘ Oh, what a day ! Here am I, off my head with worry because I haven’t a decent second-in-command _ since Philipson crashed. Then I narrowly miss getting shot to pieces in a flying science museum which does everything except make ice cream. And now Headquarters have to start some sort of strafe hs He pulled undone his flying suit, hopped out of it awkwardly as he walked, and handed it to the mechanic who was respectfully trailing him. Then, straightening his tie, Major Nobby Clarke entered the Squadron Office, came to attention smartly because he was wearing no cap, and prepared for the worst. OUNGING at a desk and tapping upon it meditatively with a short riding-crop, was a stout gentleman whose uniform was gorgeous with red tabs. ‘Ah, Clarke,’’ said the General. ‘‘ Thought you’d be back before this.’’ Nobby very nearly announced that he was lucky to be back at all. But he checked himself, smiled with sickly sweetness, and moved forward to open a cigarette-box on the desk and push it forward hospitably. ‘“‘We were a bit delayed on the morning patrol, sir,’’ he said. ‘‘ A Hun COnmicbookxs.coOm