Air Stories — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

FOOTLIGHT ACE ‘* Stick tight to me and you’ll be all right,’’ he said quietly. ASIL took the Camel off carefully, well aware of critical eyes watching him. It was a kind of dress rehearsal, and he did not want to put up a bad show. Rocking in the wash of Ryan’s Camel, he followed his guide over the grey desolation of Ypres and Passchendaele. From ten thousand feet, the War seemed a leisurely business. Shrapnel bursts unrolled lazy balls of black smoke with deceptive casualness. Occasional gun flashes flickered amidst the sombre land- scape. Giving his map roller an occasional twist, Basil memorised the more pro- minent landmarks, smoke-blackened ruins, shell-torn cross-roads, the wreck- age of mud-logged tanks—all the tran- sient guides which were continually in a state of flux and often disappeared in a night. Glancirig up from his map, after recording the fact that the straggling shell-torn ruins below were all that artillery and bombs had left of Menin, Basil became suddenly aware that Puggy Ryan was vigorously rocking his Camel’s wings. : Basil’s brain, not yet attuned to the swift thinking of aerial warfare, had scarcely assimilated the fact that he was being warned to high tail back home when two green Albatros D.3’s came plunging out of the evening sun like screaming hawks. Frantically he clutched at the stick, and as the Camel’s nose reared convulsively, a flaming burst from a diving Albatros missed his machine’s vitals by inches. He saw Puggy Ryan pull up vertically to escape the fire of chattering Spandaus and then, heeling over on the top of a crisp loop, fire as he dived, etching a jagged line along a black-crossed fuse- lage. Basil stared at the swiftly moving drama with an odd sense of detachment. It was as though he sat watching a perfectly rehearsed act. There was 65 rhythm and a sense of beauty in the curving machines circling as if poised ‘on invisible wires, the silver discs of their propellers reflecting lights in the evening sun. The leading Albatros turned in a fast bank and with the perfect timing that only experience can give, Puggy Ryan flashed into a tight circle, his guns deflecting on the German’s tail. <A flame of tracer rippled from the Camel’s nose, slashing the tail assembly of the Albatros into a shambles of fluttering fabric and disintegrating ribs. The Boche ’plane went down in a fast spin, and Basil let out a triumphant yell which next moment froze on his lips. Rat-tat-tat-tat—— The whip and crack. of bullets close to his head shocked him back to grim realities. His instrument-board melted before his eyes in a welter of ripped three-ply and shattered glass. Basil tore at the stick in sudden panic, and the unstable Camel reared up and fell off the top of a ragged loop. Green wings streaked across Basil’s Aldis sight and his thumbs clamped down on the gun triggers. An uncertain stream of tracer reached downwards and the Albatros’ propeller blurred and disappeared in a medley of splinters. It looked like skilful deflection on the part of the Camel pilot, but, in fact, the swerving German had heeled clean into the burst. The Albatros fell away into a steep glide eastwards and Basil drew a choking breath of relief. Beginner’s luck. Hell, but he had been scared ! He flattened out unsteadily, a cold sweat on his brow. With a shrilling of wires Puggy Ryan flew alongside. He leaned out of the cockpit of the hurtling Camel, his thumb lifted and an approving grin relaxing his rugged features. Then he waved Basil peremptorily westwards. Basil waved his hand cheerfully. He’d broken his duck. He had proved that he was not so miscast for the rdéle of a fighting airman as he had thought. If only he could forget how scared he had been. sparkling Cc Co OO