Dastral of the Flying Corps
Rowland Walker
Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen
Cover art]
DASTRAL OF THE FLYING CORPS
THE GREATADVENTURESERIES
Percy F. Westerman:
THE AIRSHIP "GOLDEN HIND"TO THE FORE WITH THE TANKSTHE SECRET BATTLEPLANEWILMSHURST OF THE FRONTIER FORCE
Rowland Walker:
THE PHANTOM AIRMANDASTRAL OF THE FLYING CORPSDEVILLE McKEENE: THE EXPLOITS OF THE MYSTERY AIRMANBLAKE OF THE MERCHANT SERVICEBUCKLE OF SUBMARINE V 2OSCAR DANBY, V.C.
S.W. PARTRIDGE & CO.4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDOND, W.I.
[Frontispiece: "DOWN, DOWN WENT THE BLAZING MASS FOR A COUPLE OFTHOUSAND FEET."]
DASTRAL OF THEFLYING CORPS
BYROWLAND WALKER
AUTHOR OF "BUCKLE OF SUBMARINE V2," "THE TREASUREGALLEON," "OSCAR DANBY, V.C." ETC., ETC.
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S.W. PARTRIDGE & Co.4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.I.
MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN_First Published 1917__Frequently reprinted_
To THE PILOTS, OBSERVERS AND AIR-MECHANICS OF THE ROYAL FLYING CORPS, THIS STORY OF ADVENTURE AND PERIL IS Dedicated
PREFACE
THE GREAT WAR OF 1914 opened the floodgates of hatred between thenations which took part and this stirring story, written whenfeelings were at their highest, conveys a true impression of theattitude adopted towards our enemies. No epithet was considered toostrong for a German and whilst the narrative thus conveys the realatmosphere and conditions under which the tragic event was fought outit should be borne in mind that the animosities engendered by war arenow happily a thing of the past. Therefore, the reader, whilstenjoying to the full this thrilling tale, will do well to rememberthat old enmities have passed away and that we are now reconciled tothe Central Powers who were opposed to us.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. DASTRAL WINS HIS PILOT'S BADGE II. THE FERRY PILOT III. OVER THE GERMAN LINES IV. STRAFING THE BABY-KILLERS V. A BOMBING RAID VI. A ZEPPELIN NIGHT VII. COWDIE, THE "SPARE PART" VIII. THE RAID ON KRUPPS IX. THE GIANT WAR-PLANE X. HIMMELMAN'S LAST FIGHT XI. "BLIGHTY"
DASTRAL OF THE FLYING CORPS
CHAPTER I
DASTRAL WINS HIS PILOT'S BADGE
"One crowded hour of glorious life, Is worth an age without a name." --SCOTT.
AT the time of which I write, the smoke of battle still filled theair. The freedom of men and nations, the heritage of the ages, hungin the balance, so that even brave men were often filled with doubtand despair.
The German guns were thundering at the gates of Verdun, seeking a newpathway to Paris, for the ever-growing British army had barred thenorthern route to the capital of France and the shores of the EnglishChannel. But even the attempt to hack a way through Verdun was doomedto failure, and the first rift of blue in a clouded sky was soon toappear.
Against that glittering wall of steel, where the heroic sons ofFrance lined the trenches against the tyrant, hundreds of thousandsof Prussians, Bavarians and Saxons were doomed to fall, and the bestblood of Germany was already flowing like rivers, for, though the_poilus_ during times of great pressure slowly yielded the outerforts inch by inch, yet the price which the enemy paid for theiradvance was far too dear.
The future hung heavy with fate, and the civilised world looked onamazed, as the western armies, locked in the grip of death, swayed toand fro. The earth trembled with the shock of battle, and the veryair vibrated with the whir-r-r of the fierce birds of prey, thewonderful product of the new age. Land and sea did not suffice as indays gone by, for in the heavens the struggle for freedom must alsobe fought. And many great men were beginning to say that the sidewhich gained the mastery of the air, would also gain the mastery ofEurope and the world.
In no country was this recognised more than in England, and at earlydawn even remote villages were often stirred, and the inhabitantsthrilled by the advent of the whirring 'planes and air-scouts, whosedaring pilots were preparing to wrest the mastery of the air from theenemy.
The most daring of our English youths left the public schools anduniversities, and strained every nerve, risking death a hundredtimes, to gain the coveted brevet of a pilot's "wings" in the RoyalFlying Corps.
So it happened that, during one fine morning in the early summer of1916, a group of men, some of them wearing on the left breast oftheir service tunics the afore-mentioned brevet, were watching ayoung pilot undergoing his final test in the air before gaining hiswings. The place where this occurred was over an aerodrome, somewherenear London.
"Phew! there he goes again. Just look at that spiral!" cried one ofthe onlookers.
"Ha! Now he's going to loop; watch him!" exclaimed another.
The daring aviator, who was flying a new two-seater fighting machinewith a twelve-cylindered engine, capable of giving over fourteenhundred revolutions a minute, seemed perfectly oblivious of thedanger he was in, as seen by those below, for he careered throughspace at a speed varying from eighty to nearly one hundred and twentymiles an hour, and performed the most amazing spirals, twists, andgymnastic gyrations imaginable.
The people below, even the pilots, watched him with bated breath, andsometimes with thumping hearts. They felt somehow that he wasoverdoing it, and sooner or later he would crash to earth and certaindeath Several times even the experts, who were there to judge him,and award him the coveted brevet, felt sure that the youth had lostcontrol of the 'plane, for she swerved so suddenly, and banked soswiftly, as she came round, that one of them exclaimed:--
"Good heavens, he's going to crash!"
"Phew! Just look there, he's met an air-pocket, and it's all overwith the young devil," shouted a civilian, evidently a representativeof the New Air Board.
But, strange to say, all their prophecies were wrong, for, recoveringhimself, the daring young flyer, Dastral as he was called, had themachine under perfect control, and was just as easy and comfortableup there at three thousand feet--and far happier--than if he had beenin an arm-chair in the officers' mess at the aerodrome.
"There's a nose dive for you!" cried the major who commanded theSquadron at the aerodrome, and who had done more than any one toencourage the lad, and bring him out. As he spoke, the youth wasspeeding to earth in a thrilling nose-dive which must have been atthe rate of anything approaching a hundred and fifty miles an hour.
For an instant it seemed as if the prediction of one of the gloomyprophets would now be fulfilled and the aviator would crash; but no,after a dive of a thousand feet Dastral, as cool as a cucumber,jammed over the controls, flattened out for a few seconds, loopedthree times in succession, then spiralling and banking with wonderfuland mathematical precision, shut off the engine, and volplaned downto the ground, touching the earth lightly at the rate of some fiftymiles an hour, taxied across the level turf, and brought up withinten yards of the astonished spectators.
"Humph! He's won his wings, major," exclaimed one of the small crowd.
"So he has," cried another. "He knows all the tricks of the air."
"Yes," exclaimed a third; "if he keeps on like that, he will prove amatch for Himmelman himself, some day, should he ever chance to meetwith him."
Now Himmelman was the crack German flyer--the Air-Fiend of thewestern front--the man who had made the German Flying Corps what itwas, and had earned for it the great traditions it had already won.
A moment later, the youth leapt lightly from the cockpit, gave hishand to his observer to help him down, and, stepping lightly up tohis Commanding Officer, saluted smartly.
"Capital, Dastral! You shall have your wings to-morrow. If anybodyhas ever won them you
have," exclaimed the major, grasping the lad'shand, and greeting him warmly.
"Thank you, sir. It's very kind of you to say so," replied Dastral.
"Not at all. You've won them yourself, my boy, and I congratulateyou. But, I say, you played the very devil up there. There are veryfew of our fellows who can do those monkey-tricks without crashing.It's a mercy you're alive, boy."
"Oh, it was only an extra turn or two, sir, just for the spectators.But, Jock, here, sir, my observer, is he all right for his brevetalso?"
"Yes, he shall be gazetted and granted an observer's wing. I will getthem through orders at once."
Once more Dastral thanked his chief, and, followed by Jock Fisker,his chum, who had entered the air service with him, and who wasdestined to accompany him through many an exciting air duel in thefuture, they returned to the machine, which was already being keenlyexamined by a group of the privileged onlookers, before theair-mechanics returned it to the shed.
Shortly afterwards, as Dastral and Jock were preparing to leave theaerodrome, the major came by, and, seeing that the young pilot wantedto speak to him, he said:--
"Well, what is it, Dastral?"
"Sir, now that I have gained my wings, I should like to be postedoverseas as soon as possible, so as to join some active squadron withthe Expeditionary Force in France. Would it be possible for you topush my request forward?"
"Humph! Rather early yet, isn't it, my boy?"
"Perhaps it is rather early, sir," replied the youth, blushing like agirl as he faced the C.O. "But I should like to take part in anair-fight before the scrapping finishes."
"We've a long way to go yet, Dastral, before it is finished. Still,as you are so keen, I will see what I can do. But it will take atleast another fortnight to get the thing through. At any rate I willcommunicate with Wing Headquarters, and through them with the WarOffice. Perhaps General Henderson will accede to your request," addedthe major, for he well understood the lad's eagerness. He had felt ithimself, and had already seen a good deal of that air-fighting ofwhich the youth spoke, as the ribbons below his wings indicated, forhe was the winner of the D.S.O. and also the Military Cross.
"Thank you, sir," and the pilot saluted again, but cast a sidelongglance at Jock, who stood a few paces away, and was already frettingin his soul lest Dastral should be sent away without him.
The major caught the glance and understood, for he turned sharplyround after a few steps, and said:--
"And Jock, what about him?" smiling blandly at the lads.
"He is of age, sir, he can speak for himself," replied Dastral. "ButI should like him to go overseas with me. We have done most of ourtraining together, and we thoroughly understand each other, and Iknow that he's just dying to go with me, sir."
"Is that so, Jock?" asked the major, looking at the Scotch laddie,who had scarcely finished his course at Glasgow University when thewar called him from his studies.
"Oh, yes, sir, I'd give all I possess to go overseas with Dastral."And the youth's eyes shone with joy at the very possibility of theevent coming off, for he had feared that they were now to beseparated.
"Very well. Don't expect too much, but possess your souls in patiencefor another fortnight or so. Goodbye!"
"Good-bye, sir!" and once more after the customary salute, the youthswent their way, wondering how soon they would be in France, withinsound of the guns.
For the next fortnight they were busy every day at the aerodrome,trying new machines, testing, carrying out imaginary reconnaissancesover the German lines, bombing raids, studying war maps and plans,night flying and a score of other things that would prove useful whenthey found themselves in France.
One morning, about two weeks later, a telegram was delivered toDastral at his rooms. It came from the War Office, and ran asfollows:--
"Second Lieutenant Dastral and his observer to proceed overseasforthwith, on one of the new fighting 'planes, and to report hisarrival at -- Squadron, British Expeditionary Force, France."
After the customary interview with the C.O., it was arranged thatearly next morning the two aviators were to make their first attemptat flying the Channel.
