Air Stories — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

LINE-SHOOTER His observer, Billy Rowley, was busy with charts, maps and courses. The first track took them to a position close to the Belgian coast, then up near the Dutch three-mile limit to the Terschelling lightvessel, very close to the German coast. The weather became steadily worse as they flew, and soon they were forced down to within five hundred feet of the water. Big ships, tramps with Swedish colours painted on their sides and sleek English destroyers, seemed to loom up out of the mist, pass underneath, and then were lost in the greyness astern. ‘‘A waste of time,’’ muttered Symes. ‘‘If we did spot something, I don’t suppose we could do anything about it. Bet the visibility isn’t much more’n two miles.’’ Suddenly a lightvessel sprang into view. ‘‘The Terschelling !’’ shouted Billy from forr’ard. ‘‘ You can alter course due West now.”’ —** Right,’’ Symes waved his hand, and the big boat turned ninety degrees into the teeth of the westerly gale. For two hours Symes struggled with the controls. ‘‘ There must be a kink somewhere in the hull,’’ were his thoughts, as he applied pressure to his starboard rudder-bar to overcome a persistent tendency to yaw. Nothing appeared in the dull, grey- green view that spread out before him, not even a small ship. The engines throbbed with dull monotonous beat. Presently his mind began to wander away from his duty of spotting submarines. For a minute he was back in the ward- room of H.M.S. ‘‘ Maidstone ’’—then in Submarine No. : ‘‘__F-65. That’s it,’’ he said aloud. ‘‘ Sinbad and Submarine E-65.”’ Then he remembered Sinbad’s words about torpedoes not being able to run in high seas—and that subs. would seek sheltered waters in a gale. At that moment Billy Rowley stood up in the front cockpit. ‘‘ We ought to sight the English coast in about fifteen minutes,’’ he shouted. ‘¢ Then we steer South for home.’’ ‘* Right,’’ Symes replied with a growl. He was fed up with the North Sea. In due course, England loomed up, looking grey, green and damp. ‘* Steer South,’’ shouted the observer, but Symes drove straight on towards the shore. Quickly he dropped to nearly two hundred feet and started to hop over headlands, skim small bays and dive into small gullies, but always keeping a good look-out in these sheltered waters. He had just remembered that the east coast of England was a lee shore during this westerly gale. ‘* What’s the game, Buddy > ”» shouted the Canadian. ‘‘ This old kite ain’t fit for hedge-hopping.’’ Symes smiled ; he was enjoying him- self after that long grind over the North Sea. | Then, suddenly, he spotted a sub- marine. It was just over in the next bay; there was only the headland between them. ‘‘One of ours,’’ shouted Billy. Sinbad’s—look, her number is 65.’’ Symes decided to give Sinbad a shock. He stuffed his nose down till the air speed showed 150 knots. The headland hid his view of the submarine as he lost altitude, and he seemed to drive straight for the cliffs. Quickly he pulled the stick back, and the huge flying-boat climbed steeply, like the uphill thrill of a switch- back after a long, sharp descent. The aircraft pulled over the neck of land by a few feet. Then without warning Symes shut his engine off and, in full view of the submarine, glided down to land—a matter of two hundred feet. The huge flying-boat touched the water gracefully, less than three hundred yards from the submarine. ‘‘ Holy smoke ! ’’ shouted Billy. a Fritz—U-65.’’ ‘* Old ‘* It’s YMES released his controls as the machine stopped and slewed gently to the gusty breeze. For a second he stared at the fully-blown submarine. There was no doubt about it. Her num- ber was U-65—Sinbad’s was E-65. 185 EO DOO) (©