Air Stories — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

BREECHES OF DISCIPLINE ried on, lustily shouting that bit about ‘‘Any Time’s Kissing Time’’ from ‘*Chu Chin Chow,’’ a show which he had witnessed for the fourth time during his last leave. He had just reached the ‘* A’? somewhere up in the treble on which he usually cracked, when he was startled by an echoing rattle behind him which he recognised only too well. With his mouth still open on the unfortunate ‘‘A,’’ he flung the ’plane on to a wing-tip instinctively, and slithered downwards. Turning, he was just in time to see a Roland bearing down upon him, and to slip aside as orange flashes flickered at its twin Spandau muzzles. He corkscrewed up- wards, all thoughts of ‘‘Chu Chin Chow ’’ and breakfast gone from his mind, and intent only on downing the Roland which had attacked him _ so unexpectedly far inside the British lines. For a while, neither pilot seemed to gain any advantage over the other until, with a swift turn which took his opponent unawares, Nobby Clarke got in a short burst. Whether it did any harm or not he was unable to judge, but the German pilot dived steeply, banked over in the opposite direction to that which Nobby had expected, and an instant later had zoomed upwards and got on to his tail. Then began the most strenuous single- handed duel Nobby ever remembered to have taken part in. A first-class pilot and a deadly shot with a machine-gun, he was quick to recognise that in this adversary he had met one who knew as much about the game as he did himself —perhaps, he decided hurriedly as he skidded in the nick of time to avoid a well-directed burst, a shade more. A moment later he smelled some- thing burning, and if there was one thing Nobby really feared, it was fire in the air. He had seen much of it during the time he had been in France and he had brought down more than one ‘* flamer ’’ himself, but he had always felt his hair crinkle on the back of his neck when he had been responsible for them. Nor did it seem to make much difference whether it were one of the Flight or one of the ‘‘Others’’ who was brought down. He always felt sick and faint at the sight. It was, therefore, with considerable apprehension that he sniffed the tainted atmosphere, wondering where the smell could come from. His engine was run- ning perfectly ; there was no petrol from a punctured tank or broken feed- line on the floor; nor, indeed, did it smell like fire caused by petrol. Then he noticed that his opponent was no longer using him as a target ; in fact, to his enormous surprise, he saw him manceuvre his machine close alongside and make energetic gestures towards the tail of the British plane. Mightily puzzled, Nobby managed to crane his head round, and his heart missed two or three beats as he saw, from the outer corner of his left-hand goggle, that a little plume of smoke was slipping rudderwards in the propeller wash. CHAPTER II Fire in the Air ITH a quick glance at his alti- meter, Nobby Clarke tugged at his belt. Calculating shrewdly, he closed the throttle a trifle as he slipped the pin from his belt. Squirming and struggling, he at last managed to turn round in his seat, leaving the ’plane to its own devices. Wrenching and tearing, he succeeded in forcing his head and shoulders between the cross-bracing wires behind his seat ; a feat he was never afterwards able either to explain or duplicate, despite many attempts. ' Stretched at full length, with his feet outside the cockpit, he found a little flame licking along the top longeron and just beyond his reach. He tore off his flying-cap and beat at it madly, shattering his goggles. Then he began to cough as the smoke changed direc- tion and blew into his face. Choking and half-blinded, he realised that the ’plane must be slipping down tail-first, hence the changed direction of the 163 smoke. He wondered dully how far he was still above the ground, but this COmMICMOOlkS.Com