CHAPTER XII
SERGEANT O'RAFFERTY'S LUCKY BOMB
CAPTAIN DESMOND BLAKE had hit the mark when he described thesoi-disant Belgian lieutenant as a star. Subsequent enquiriesrevealed the fact that the real lieutenant Etienne Fauvart had beencaptured by the Germans in an affair of outposts near Dixmude. Armedwith the papers found in the prisoner's possession and clad in aBelgian uniform a German staff officer had so successfullyimpersonated Lieutenant Fauvart that he had deceived the Britishstaff officers. With the express purpose of luring the secretbattleplane he had offered his services, and had made a truestatement as to the position of the German Zeppelin sheds. Thereinlay the secret of his ruse, for the British Intelligence Divisionalready had some knowledge of the Zeppelin base, and finding that thesupposed Belgian officer's description tallied with their reports,their suspicions, if any existed, were disarmed. If on the other handthe spy had indicated a Zeppelin station that had an existence onlyin his imagination he knew that he ran a grave risk of having hisinformation challenged and himself arrested, court-martialled andshot.
Confident in his belief that the British secret battleplane would berendered incapable of getting within effective distance of theZeppelin sheds of Olhelt, he did not hesitate to indicate their exactposition.
Once he succeeded in getting taken as one of the battleplane's crewhe had no difficulty in compelling the machine to make a forcedlanding. Taking advantage of the excuse to fetch his coat, he had,during Dick's temporary absence, contrived to spray the high tensionwire with a powerful corrosive. The wire, it must be explained, ledfrom the magneto in a single length, afterwards branching into anumber of subsidiary wires to the respective sparking plugs of thecylinders. By spraying the electric current conductor between thejunction and the magneto the whole of the firing was put out ofaction simultaneously, after the acid had taken time to eat throughthe guttapercha insulating cover.
When Dick discovered the failure, but was unable at the time toascertain the cause, he fortunately removed the high tension wiresand replaced them with a spare set, which Blake, with commendableforethought, had made in case of emergency.
It will now be necessary to follow Athol Hawke's movements from thetime when he followed the unsuspected spy into the wood.
Keeping close to the supposed Fauvart's heels the lad moved rapidlyand cautiously, carefully avoiding treading upon dry twigs thatlittered the ground.
At intervals the lieutenant turned to reassure himself that theBritish airman was following, making signs to him to keep close.Proceeding thus they covered about two hundred yards, when suddenlythe spy turned and grappled Athol by throwing both arms round thelad's body and pinning his arms to his sides. At the same time Atholsaw numbers of German troops emerging from behind the trees.
Like a flash of lightning the lad realised that Fauvart was a spy.With a sudden wrench he freed his right arm, and drew his revolver,and fired at his captor. Only by adroitly ducking his head didFauvart escape the bullet. As it was his forehead and hair weresinged by the blast from the muzzle.
With a muttered curse the spy hurled the lad violently against thetrunk of a tree, at the same time ordering some of the soldiers tosecure the prisoner. Since Athol's shot had given the alarm, thequestion of an effective surprise no longer held good. Led by theofficer in Belgian uniform the Germans, who had quite prepared forthe contingency, rushed through the wood towards the Britishbattleplane.
Bruised and shaken by his fall, Athol found himself roughly pulledupon his feet. With a burly Prussian on either side and a sergeantfollowing, holding a revolver--Athol's own--against the prisoner'shead, the lad was forced onwards, further and further away from hiscomrades.
Then came the sharp reports of a dozen rifle-shots followed by thewell-known sound of the battleplane's motors running "all out," andthe angry shouts of the foiled Huns.
Soon Athol and his guards were overtaken by the soldiers who hadhoped to capture the British aircraft. Knowing the German languagetolerably well, the lad overheard their conversation, although thedisappointed mien of the Huns would have been sufficient to tell himthat their efforts had been foiled.
To the accompaniment of the firing of the anti-aircraft guns Atholwas hurried along. Presently the party arrived at another clearing.Here the Huns halted, looking skywards to see if the battleplane wasstill in sight. Athol followed their example.
What they saw did not help the Huns' good temper, for even as theywatched they saw the battleplane loop the loop in the misty twilight,shedding several dark forms as she did so. Two of the bodies of theluckless Germans fell with a sickening crash within fifty yards oftheir watching comrades, while to Athol's intense satisfaction,notwithstanding the horror of the scene, he saw the Belgian-uniformedspy dashed to the ground almost at the feet of the men he had sotreacherously summoned to seize the secret battleplane.
"Himmel!" ejaculated one of the Prussians. "They'll be dropping bombson us soon. Let us hasten."
Still gripping their prisoner the men hurried off into the depths ofthe woods, where under the trees it was hardly possible to see one'shand before one's face. Stumbling over exposed roots, cannoning intotree trunks, the Huns continued their way. Athol overheard one ofthem say that the Zeppelin sheds were not a safe place for them, andthat they had better make off in a different direction until theEnglish aircraft had disappeared.
Even as he spoke a lurid flash threw a vivid glare over the sky, thegleam even penetrating the thick foliage. The crash that followedshook the ground, and sent a shower of leaves and twigs whirling fromthe trees. The Huns broke into a run, still retaining their hold upontheir captive.
Another and yet another deafening detonation followed. The heavensglowered with the blood-red flames from the blazing Zeppelin sheds.Débris hurtled through the air all around the lad and his guards,although the scene of the explosion was at least half a mile away.The atmosphere reeked of the smoke of burning oil.
Presently the Huns, well-nigh breathless, came to a halt.
"It's all over now, Fritz," said one. "No more bombs have fallen. AndHerr Major would have us believe that the English airmen were nogood."
"It is all very well for Herr Major," retorted the other. "He, nodoubt, is safe in his bomb-proof cellar. I, for one, should not besorry if an English bomb blew him sky high. He makes our existence amisery. It is far worse than at----"
A dazzling flash seemed to leap from the ground almost at Athol'sfeet. He was dimly conscious of being hurled backwards, deafened bythe noise of the detonation.
For quite a minute he lay still, not daring to move, and dimlywondering whether he were yet alive. Then he opened his eyes.
Some fifty yards off a fire was burning. In the centre of a circle ofup-torn trees flames were bursting from a mass of débris, andthrowing a ruddy glare upon the surrounding scene. The flames werespreading in the direction where he lay. He tried to rise. At firsthis efforts were unavailing. Something heavy was pinning him down:that something turning out to be the unconscious form of one of hisguards. The other, huddled against an uprooted tree, was groaningdismally.
A sharp, burning pain on his right leg just above the knee warnedAthol forcibly of his peril. An ember from the conflagration hadsettled on the limb and had burnt through his uniform trousers.Giving a tremendous heave the lad freed himself of his encumbranceand rose unsteadily to his feet.
"I'll have to drag those beggars out of it," he muttered, as hecontemplated the helpless forms of his former captors. "They'll beburnt to cinders if I don't."
Suiting the action to the words he seized one of the Huns under theshoulders. It was as much as he could do, strong as he was, to dragthe sixteen stone of listless humanity even a few yards.
Suddenly he became aware that men were hurrying through the wood. Forthe first time the realisation that there was a possibility of escapeflashed across his mind. Pausing only to recover his revolver andammunition he withdrew, intent upon putting a safe distance betweenhim and the approaching Huns before comi
ng to any definite plan of abid for safety.
"Jolly near shave," he soliloquised. "I reckon Desmond Blake didn'tknow how close that last bomb came to blowing me sky-high."
He had yet to learn that Sergeant O'Rafferty's awkwardness had beeninstrumental in freeing him, temporarily at least, from the clutchesof the Huns.