Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S Part 1

Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S.

by Percy F. Westerman.

PREFACE

THE GREAT WAR OF 1914 opened the floodgates of hatred between the nations which took part and this stirring story, written when feelings were at their highest, conveys a true impression of the att.i.tude adopted towards our enemies. No epithet was considered too strong for a German and whilst the narrative thus conveys the real atmosphere and conditions under which the tragic event was fought out it should be borne in mind that the animosities engendered by war are now happily a thing of the past, Therefore, the reader, whilst enjoying to the full this thrilling tale, will do well to remember that old enmities have pa.s.sed away and that we are now reconciled to the Central Powers who were opposed to us.

BILLY BARCROFT R.N.A.S.

CHAPTER I

"YOUR BIRD!"

Two Bells of the First Dog Watch somewhere in the North Sea.

To be a little more definite it was bordering that part of the North Sea that merges into the narrow Straits of Dover and almost within range of the German sh.o.r.e batteries of Zeebrugge.

It was mid-October. The equinoctial gales had not yet arrived to convert the placid surface of the sea into a regular turmoil of short, broken waves. Hardly a ripple ruffled the long gentle undulations. Not a cloud obscured the sky. The slanting rays of the sun played uninterruptedly upon the sloping deck of H.M. Seaplane Carrier "Hippodrome" as she forged slowly ahead, surrounded by an escort of long, lean destroyers.

Her day's work was apparently over. The operations against the Zeebrugge defences--operations of almost a daily occurrence--had been carried out according to orders. The observation "kite" balloon had been hauled down and stowed in the "Hippodrome's" after-well; her brood of seaplanes had, save one, returned from their task of "spotting" for the guns of the monitors, and everything had been made snug for the run back to her base. She awaited only the reappearance of the stray "duckling" to increase speed for home waters.

"Billy's getting properly strafed, I fancy," remarked Flight-Lieutenant John Fuller as the distant growl of innumerable "antis" reverberated in the still air. "Wonder what the deuce he's doing? When we swung about over Position 445 he was heading almost due east."

"Billy won't suffer from cold feet," rejoined his companion--"a regular glutton for work. Give him a chance for a stunt (bombing raid) and he's all there. For a mere youngster, I say, he's----"

Further remarks concerning the rashness of Billy--otherwise Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft--were postponed by the appearance of yet another member of the "Hippodrome's" flying-officers.

"Young Barcroft's just tick-tocked through," he announced. "He's on his way back. Cool cheek, by Jove! Keeping the crowd of us waiting while he's joy-riding somewhere in the direction of Berlin. Wonder how far he went?"

From where they stood, just abaft the starboard funnel-casing, the officers scanned the horizon. The "Hippodrome," like most of her sisters, had at one time been a liner, but the building up of a launching-platform for seaplanes had resulted in considerable alterations to her external and internal appearance. Amongst other things she now had two funnels abreast and far apart in place of her original foremost one, in order to give full scope to the inclined plane that extended from her bows to within a few feet of the navigation bridge--a piece of new construction perched at least 150 feet further aft than the old bridge and chart-room of pre-war days.

The clank of a steam winch and the swinging overhead of a long steel derrick announced the fact that preparations were being made to welcome home the "stray bird." Although a seaplane could be launched with ease from the sloping platform, on her return she would have to alight in the water and "taxi" alongside her parent ship. Hence the necessity for a long and powerful derrick to swing the seaplane, with its broad expanse of wings, clear of the ship's side and deposit it carefully upon deck.

"Here he comes!" exclaimed Fuller, indicating a faint object in the eastern sky.

Rapidly it resolved itself into a large biplane with triple floats in place of the three landing wheels that form a necessary adjunct to army aeroplanes. Then the polished wood propeller, glinting in the oblique rays of the sun, could be discerned as it slowed down preparatory to the seaplane commencing a thousand feet glide.

With a succession of splashes the biplane took the water, "bringing up" with admirable judgment at a distance of less than fifty yards from the starboard quarter of the parent ship.

The seaplane carried a crew of two. The pilot pushing up a pair of goggles revealed a fresh-looking, clean-cut face that gave one the impression of a public school boy. Billy Barcroft was still in his teens. He had just another month to enter into his twentieth year.

In height he was a fraction under five feet ten inches; weight--an important consideration from an airman's point of view--was "ten seven." Supple and active, he carried not an ounce of superfluous flesh. Standing up and lightly grasping a stay, he swayed naturally to the slight lift of the seaplane--the personification of that product of the Twentieth Century, the airman.

His companion, who had just completed the "winding in" of the trailing aerial, raised his head above the coaming surrounding the observer's seat. In appearance he resembled Barcroft so strongly-that the pair might have been taken for twin-brothers. But no relationship, save the ties of friendship and duty, existed betwixt Billy Barcroft and his observer, Bobby Kirkwood. The latter was an a.s.sistant Paymaster, who, deserting the ship's office for the freedom of the air, had already mastered the intricacies of "wireless" and other qualifications necessary for the responsible duties of observer.

"You've been a jolly long time, you belated bird!" shouted Fuller in mock reproof. "What's the stunt?"

"Couldn't help it," replied Barcroft with a broad grin. "If you were in my place and saw a crowd of Hun Staff officers pushing along in motor-cars wouldn't your idea of courtesy lead you to pay them a little attention? Kirkwood gave 'em a couple of plums and a whole drum. Result--a slight increase in the Hun death-rate."

Barcroft had, in fact, gone well inland over the German batteries, on a sort of informal joy-ride. From a height of 5,000 feet the observer had spotted what appeared to be a motor convoy bowling along the road between Zeebrugge and Bruges. With a daring bordering on recklessness the pilot had vol-planed down to within two hundred feet, greatly to the consternation of the grey-cloaked German Staff officers, who, leaving the shelter of their steelroofed cars, scurried with loss of dignity for the safety that was denied most of them. For with admirable precision Kirkwood had dropped two bombs fairly into the line of cars, following up the attack by firing a whole drum of ammunition from the Lewis gun into the fleeing Huns.

Deftly the flexible steel wire from the outswung derrick engaged the lifting hooks of the seaplane. The machine was just clear of the water when the order came "Avast heaving." Simultaneously a bugle blared. It was the call for Flying Officers.

Leaping into the stern sheets of a boat in attendance, Barcroft and Kirkwood were taken to the side of the "Hippodrome," where they gained the deck of the ship. Already Fuller and the rest of the airmen had gone aft. Something was literally in the air.

The signal commander held up a leaf torn from a signal pad.

"A wireless has just come through," he announced in clear deliberate tones. "A hostile plane has made a raid over parts of Kent. She is now on her way back, apparently heading for Ostend. Machines from Eastchurch have started in pursuit, but the Hun has a useful lead.

Now, gentlemen, a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse: we are between the raider and his base."

The a.s.sembly dispersed like magic, the airmen hurriedly donning leather jackets and flying helmets and giving peremptory orders to the mechanics in attendance. In less than five minutes the first of the stowed seaplanes was ready to glide down the inclined platform to take to flight.

Yet, from a starting point of view Barcroft had a decided advantage.

His seaplane was practically ready. There was enough petrol for a lengthy flight, and a good reserve of ammunition for the Lewis gun.

Bombs there were none, nor were any likely to be required for the task in hand. The chances of a hit on a small and rapidly-moving target were very remote. It was by machine-gun fire that the attack upon the returning raider was to be made.

With the motor throbbing noisily and with clouds of oil-smelling smoke pouring from her exhaust, Barcroft's seaplane taxied away from the towering side of her ungainly parent. Then, so gracefully that it was impossible to determine the exact moment when the aircraft ceased to be waterborne, the seaplane rose swiftly and steadily in the air.

Climbing in steep spirals the machine quickly rose to a height of 5,000 feet. It was enough for all practical purposes, allowing a margin of superior alt.i.tude to that of the expected Boche.

"Good enough!" shouted the flight-sub through the speaking tube.

"Aerials paid out? All ready?"

"All serene," replied Kirkwood, affixing a whole drum of ammunition to the upper side of the breech mechanism of the deadly machine gun.

"By Jove, we've all been pretty slick this time. The fifth bird has just got away."

Barcroft leant over the side of the fuselage. Seven hundred feet below and speeding away to the nor'-west were a couple of the "Hippodrome's" seaplanes. Two more, at a lower alt.i.tude but still climbing, were heading in a south-easterly direction. Thus, when the formation was complete, Barcroft's machine would be in the centre of a far-flung line thrown out to form a barrier betwixt the solitary raider and his base.

The British airmen were at an atmospheric disadvantage. Straight in their face came the rays of the setting sun, while the calm sea beneath them was one blaze of reflected light. Against that blinding glare it was almost impossible to distinguish the mere black dot in the vast aerial expanse that represented the returning hostile aviator; while on the other hand the Hun, with the sun at his back, would be able to discern with comparative ease the glint of the seaplane's wings.

The characteristic tick of the wireless brought. Kirkwood to attention. With the receiver clamped to his ear he took down the message and pa.s.sed it on to his companion.

"Our pigeon!" soliloquised Barcroft grimly. The information was to the effect that the "Hippodrome" had first sighted the approaching Hun machine by means of telescopes. The hostile craft had previously spotted two of the intercepting seaplanes, and her pilot, taking advantage of the light, decided to make a vol-plane to within a few hundred feet above the level of the sea. By so doing he was sacrificing his advantage of alt.i.tude, but there was a chance of slipping un.o.bserved under the British aircraft. Once through the far-flung cordon he hoped to rely upon superior speed and climbing powers to elude pursuit.

By this time Barcroft had "picked up" his opponent. At first sight it seemed as if the Hun were executing a nose dive. Keenly on the alert the flight-sub depressed the ailerons with a quick yet decided movement. There was no trace of jerkiness in the pilot's actions.

All were performed with that smooth dexterity and rapidity that comprised the essential qualifications of a successful airman.

At an aggregate speed of nearly two hundred miles an hour the rival aeroplanes converged. It seemed as if each pilot were bent upon ramming his opponent and sending the colliding craft to a common destruction.

Barcroft, his hands resting lightly on the "joy-stick," was keenly alert to every forthcoming move of his adversary. Already the Hun observer was letting off rounds from his machine-gun in the vain hope that some of the hail of bullets would disable the British seaplane. On his part Kirkwood "stood by," ready at the first favourable opportunity to let the Hun have a taste of the Lewis gun--and the opportunity was not yet.