Chapter XXXVII: "the Great Strafe"

THE sight was an unfamiliar one. Many a' time had Barcroft seen a British battleship from above, but never before one of the firstclass units of the Kaiser's navy. This one was a two-masted, three-funnelled vessel, the peculiar shape of the "smoke stacks" proclaiming her to be one of the "Deutschland" Class--built thirteen years previously, and carrying as her principal armament four 11-inch guns. She was not under her own steam. Tugs were lashed alongside, a third towing ahead. She had a decided list to starboard and appeared to be slightly down by the head.

"She's been hammered a bit," thought Billy. "We'll do our level best to shake her up a lot more. Pity she's not one of the 'Hindenburg' type, but half a loaf is better than no bread, so here goes."

As a matter of fact the battleship had been knocked about a week previously, owing to having bumped against one of the drifting German mines. Brought with difficulty into the outer roadstead, she was being repaired as secretly as possible in order to return to Kiel for completion of refit. The disaster having been concealed, at least officially, from the German populace, it had been considered necessary to keep the injured vessel off Heligoland rather than take her through the Imperial Canal in her nondescript state.

The British naval air raid upon Cuxhaven had completely upset this arrangement. News of the impending attack had been wirelessed, as Barcroft had surmised, from the U-boat that had been driven off by the seaplanes' escort, and, not knowing what the raiders' objective actually was, the Germans had hastily sent the crippled battleship from the roadstead in the hope that she might lie safely in the Kiel Canal before the aerial bombardment took place.

All three tugs were blowing off steam vigorously. The hiss of the escaping vapour had prevented the Huns from hearing the noisy British seaplane's approach, and now at an altitude of five thousand feet Barcroft had the huge target at his mercy. It was, however, necessary to descend considerably. There must be no risk of missing the slowly-moving battleship.

Descending in short right-handed spirals the pilot brought his craft within five hundred feet of his enemy. A bugle-blast, followed by the appearance of swarms of sailors as they rushed to man the light quick-firers, announced that the impending danger had been sighted. At all events, it was not to be a one-sided engagement, for almost simultaneously two anti-aircraft guns, mounted on the battleship's for'ard turret, came into action.

Both shells passed so close to the seaplane that the pilot distinctly felt the "windage" of the projectiles, The frail aircraft reeled in the blast of the displaced air, but fortunately the time-fuses of the shells were not set accurately. The missiles burst over eight hundred feet above their target.

Deftly Kirkwood released a couple of bombs. Both found their objective, one striking the fo'c'sle between the steam capstan and the for'ard turret, the other slightly in the wake of the bridge and chart-house, completely wrecking both. In a few seconds the whole of the fore-part of the battleship was hidden by a dense cloud of smoke.

"Not so dusty," thought Billy as he manoeuvred to enable the observer to drop another couple of "plums." As he did so a shell burst almost underneath the seaplane, ripping a dozen holes in the wings and severing a strut like a match-stick.

Out of the enveloping mushroom-shaped cloud of white smoke the seaplane staggered. For the moment Billy fancied that she was out of control and on the point of making a fatal nose-spin.

"Let's hope, then, that she'll drop fairly on top of that strafed hooker," was the thought that flashed across his mind.

But no; grandly the gallant little seaplane recovered herself. A touch of the pilot's feet upon the rudder-bar showed that she was capable of being steered, while apparently the controls were still in order.

Billy gave a quick glance over his shoulder. To his relief he found Kirkwood cool and imperturbable at his post, awaiting the opportune moment to release another pair of powerful bombs.

One burst aft, utterly knocking out the crew of the anti-aircraft gun that had so nearly strafed their attackers; the other, missing the warship's deck, landed fairly and squarely upon the tug lashed to the starboard side.

The little vessel, totally ripped up amidships, sank amid the roar of escaping steam, but still secured by fore and aft "springs"--wire hawsers stout enough to withstand the strain--she acted as a tremendous drag upon the huge bulk of the battleship.

In vain the latter attempted to check her tendency to swing to starboard by liberal use of the helm. The other tugs, still straining at their task, only made matters worse, until finally the towing craft, unable to check the side strain on her hawser, slewed completely round, and in this position was rammed by the steel prow of the battleship.

By this time Billy had manoeuvred for a third attack. So great was the confusion on the German's decks--most of the men who had survived the explosion bolting from their dubious cover that the seaplane was no longer subjected to a peppering from the Archibalds.

For years naval architects had been increasing the strength of a battleship's side-armour, while the thickness of the "protected" deck, considered only liable to glancing hits, was kept at about three inches of steel. The present war quickly found the defects of insufficient deck armour. Enormous shells, fired at a range of eighteen thousand yards, fell almost vertically upon the decks of battleships during the Jutland fight, while the menace from bombs dropped from hostile aircraft was only beginning to be realised.

Slowing down Barcroft again approached his quarry. This time Kirkwood released three of the high-explosive missiles. Two, fairly close together, by the after 11-inch gun turret, completed the business.

With a rush and a roar, indescribably appalling in its titanic power, the battleship's after magazine exploded. The seaplane, whirled like a feather in a hurricane, was enveloped in a cloud of black smoke tinged with flames and mingled with flying fragments from the disintegrated ship. In utter darkness Billy found himself on the underside of the overturned machine. Only the resisting strength of his broad securing strap saved him from being hurled downward like a stone.

Almost rendered senseless by the asphyxiating fumes, thrown about as far as the "give" of the strap permitted, his head shaken like a pea in a box, Barcroft was only dimly conscious that the job had been done almost too well. In spite of the danger of his hazardous position he was filled with a sense of elation. The seaplane had scored heavily, and for the present nothing else mattered. Deafened by the thunderous explosion, unable to see a hand's length in front of his face, he was at a loss to ascertain whether the motor was still running or whether the seaplane was engaging in a final tail-spin.

Mechanically he grasped the joy-stick. The seaplane was then looping the loop for the third consecutive time. Something--what it was he was unable to ascertain--hit the fuselage with a resounding crash. The lightly-built fabric trembled under the impact. It seemed as if the body of the machine had been ripped asunder.

At nearly a hundred miles an hour the seaplane cleared the edge of the drifting smoke. She was then "on an even keel," but about to nose-dive towards the surface of the sea, barely a couple of hundred feet below.

The sudden transition to the light of day recalled Billy to a sense of his responsibilities. The engine was working, although he heard only a very subdued buzz. Something had to be done to avoid the impending violent impact with the waves.

Billy did it--how, he could never remember, but, as in a dream, he regained control of the badly-shaken craft and began to climb resolutely from the scene of his exploit.

A hasty glance at the planes revealed the unpleasant fact that huge rents were visible in the fabric. It seemed marvellous how the greatly-reduced wing-surface could impart sufficient lifting power to the machine; yet, with a disconcerting wobble she held her own against the attraction of gravity.

He turned his head, half expecting to find that Kirkwood was no longer his companion, but to his unbounded satisfaction he saw the A.P. still in his seat. Not only that, but Bobby was grinning with intense glee at the successful issue of the encounter between the giant and the pigmy. His face was as black as a sweep's and streaked with blood, his flying helmet had vanished, leaving his scorched hair rippling in the furious breeze.

Picking up the voice-tube the irrepressible observer shouted something to his companion. Only a strange rumble reached Barcroft's ear. He had been rendered absolutely deaf by the concussion.

Pulling his diary from his pocket Kirkwood scribbled a few words and handed his paper to the pilot.

"How's that?" read Billy. "Fritz got it in the neck that time. That's a great strafe." Billy held the voice-tube to his mouth in order to reply, but no sound came from his lips. Like a blow from a sledge-hammer the awful truth came home to him. He was deaf and speechless.