CHAPTER XVII
DISABLED
IT was indeed well that the battleplane was already flying "down thewind." Locking the wings, and trimming them at the furthermost limitof the bent actuating rod, Blake made the comforting discovery thatthe planes were in the best possible position for a prolonged glide.Aided by the following gale, the velocity of which was not far shortof seventy miles an hour, the battleplane ought to cover a distanceof from fifty to sixty miles before alighting. In that case he hopedto effect a landing in the bleak and sparsely-populated districtdrained by the sluggish River Warthe.
Nursing the volplaning craft with the utmost care, Desmond Blake wasgetting every possible foot of space out of the involuntary glide.Perfectly calm and collected he bade Athol find a particular sectionof the map of Prussia and Posen and fix it in the celluloid holder infront of him.
Dick, having shut down the motors, since they were no longer ofservice, clambered into his seat, and made good use of hisbinoculars; while Sergeant O'Rafferty deliberately fixed a time fuseunder the row of crank-cases so that in the likely event of thepresence of German troops, the battleplane would never fall intotheir hands except as a twisted and tangled mass of metal.
Fortunately the clouds of smoke issuing from the burning buildingshad prevented the Huns from observing the result of their chanceshot; and now the battleplane was at frequent intervals hidden in themasses of scudding clouds.
Apart from that there was little in her favour, for it was now twohours before midday. The twilight that had afforded protection on theoccasion of the raid upon the Zeppelin sheds at Olhelt was deniedher.
The manometer now registered a thousand feet. No longer the cloudsafforded protection. The country had the aspect of being fiat, andalmost destitute of trees; nor were there any signs of humanhabitation. On the distant eastern horizon could be discerned thesmoking chimneys of a manufacturing town. To prolong the flight muchfurther would be literally throwing away the chances that the airmenalready held.
"We'll descend here," announced Blake, turning the battleplane headto wind. "Stand by to jump for it if the wind threatens to capsizeher on landing."
The warning was necessary, for, owing to the jamming of the wingmechanism, the wings could not be folded immediately upon contactwith the ground. The now rigid expanse of planes would have towithstand the full force of the gale, and everything depended uponthe angle of inclination--whether it was sufficiently small to enablethe weight of the machine to pin it to the ground.
Down planed the mechanical bird at a tremendous rate. Although itcleft the air at nearly seventy miles an hour its progress over theground and against the wind was practically nil. In point of fact thebattleplane was dropping vertically earthwards at a rate of fifteenfeet per second.
Quickly the almost uniform motion gave place to a series of erraticjerks. The falling machine was in the influence of the rebound of thewind from the irregular surface of the ground. The motion remindedthe lads of a small boat encountering the "wash" of a huge steamer.
With a double bump the battleplane struck the ground, reared untilher landing-wheels were three feet in the air, and bumped again. Thenrocking violently she showed every inclination to capsize, untilAthol and the sergeant, sliding to terra firma at the risk of lifeand limb, clung tenaciously to the partly-tilted wings.
"Good men!" shouted Blake encouragingly, as he depressed the aerilonsto counteract as much as possible the lifting tendency of the windupon the wings. "A spanner there, Dick: shift those two nuts as sharpas you can."
Dick swarmed over the side, and clinging with one arm and both feetto one of the vibrating trellis girders, set desperately to work onthe nuts and bolts securing the bent rod to the underside of the leftwing. With the removal of the metal bar the wings were folded, andfor the time being all danger of the battleplane being overturned bythe gale was at an end.
"No signs of our friends the enemy," said Blake, standing erect uponthe deck of the fuselage and sweeping the treeless plain with hisbinoculars. "There's a small village about three miles away. I cansee the church spire and the roofs of the houses; the place lies in ahollow. Beyond that there are no signs of human habitation."
"Don't you think, sir," asked Sergeant O'Rafferty, "that if we pushedthe machine a couple of hundred yards in that direction there wouldbe more shelter in that dip in the ground? It's not deep enough tohide the battleplane entirely, but it may help things a bit."
"Certainly, sergeant," agreed Blake. "Every little helps, and we'llbe less exposed to the wind in the hollow."
It was a strenuous task pushing the machine dead in the eye of thewind, but on gaining the spot that the sergeant had pointed out, theairmen found that there was almost complete shelter from the fullforce of the gale, while the highest part of the crippled machineshowed only a couple of feet above the high ground surrounding thenatural hollow.
Heavy rain was now falling. The stranded aviators faced thediscomfort with rising spirits, for they knew that should thedownpour continue the ground would quickly become a quagmire, andthat the rain would keep the villagers within doors. Nevertheless allprecautions were taken against surprises, since it was quite possiblethat workers in the fields had noticed the battleplane's descent, andhad set off to warn the military.
Enveloped in their weather-proof coats, Athol and Sergeant O'Raffertymounted guard, taking care to avoid the sky-line. From theirrespective posts they could command a vast tract of the neighbouringcountryside, so that, unless the battleplane was stalked by practicalscouts the danger of a surprise was completely obviated.
Meanwhile Blake and Dick were hard at work removing the bent rod.Upon examination the metal showed no sign of fracture, but it wasessential that it should be straightened before the wing-mechanismcould again be operated.
"We've a tough job here, Dick," observed the inventor as he gazedupon his damaged handiwork. "Now, if we were at home or at the flyingground it would be a simple matter. A forge and a blacksmith's anvilwould enable us to rectify the injury in less than an hour."
In vain they applied pressure to the bent rod. They jumped on it,battered it with the heaviest spanners they possessed. The toughmetal sturdily refused to respond to the treatment. For the firsttime since Dick had made Desmond Blake's acquaintance the inventorshowed signs of despair.
"I have an idea!" suddenly exclaimed Dick. "It may work; it may not.In either case there can't be much harm done."
"Well, what is it?" enquired Blake hopefully. He had already goodcause to appreciate the intelligence of his young assistant, and aray of hope flashed across his mind at the lad's words.
"Suppose I take the rod into the village and get them to straightenit out," began Dick.
Blake frowned. He was on the point of telling the lad not to beidiotic, when Dick, reading his thoughts, hastened to explain.
"I can speak German well," he continued. "You see, I was three yearsat school in Mecklenburg--jolly rotten time I had, too!" he remarkedin parenthesis. "In this great coat and flying helmet I don't supposethe simple villagers would guess that I was anything but a Hunaviator. I could try the Kopenick hoax over again. You see, we arebound to be captured if we can't get the job done, so it's all thesame in the long run."
"There may be soldiers quartered in the village," objected Blake.
"Hardly likely," said Dick. "It is not on a railway line, andconsequently troops are not likely to be stationed there. There mightbe some of the Landwehr or Landsturm. If so, they are Prussians. Bypassing myself off as a Saxon or a Badener I think that would accountfor my slight difference in accent."
"I'll go with you," said Athol.
"No, you don't," objected Dick with a laugh. "This is my show. Youhad your time the other day. If I pull it off all right, well andgood; if not, well, we'll most likely have the pleasure of oneanother's society in a German prison camp."
"Very well, carry on," said Blake cordially. "And jolly good luck toyou."
The already torrential rain was in itse
lf an excuse for Dick to wearhis aviator's coat buttoned tightly from his neck downwards, whilehis padded helmet pulled down over his face left little of hisfeatures exposed. As a precautionary measure he carried his revolverin its holster conspicuously displayed outside his coat.
Shouldering the bent bar, which, although remarkably tough, weighedless than seven pounds, Dick bade his comrades "au revoir," and setoff on his three-mile tramp to the village.
It was slow progress. There was no beaten path. The coarse grass-landwas ankle-deep in tenacious mud. The rain blotted out everythingbeyond a distance of two hundred yards. Not only was there the riskof missing the little hamlet, but the more serious danger of losingtouch with the stranded battleplane, which at a distance of a hundredyards was an almost inconspicuous "hump" in the midst of a monotonousterrain devoid of anything in the nature of "bearings."
Trudging with his back to the gale Dick held on doggedly. Unless thewind veered or backed he could be fairly certain of his direction.With a change of wind, coupled with the fact that the sun wascompletely overcast, there would be no means of finding his way.
Before he had covered a mile and a half the lad encountered the firstinhabitant of that dreary district. An old peasant, his bent formenveloped in a tattered cloak, was tending swine. Dick made no effortto avoid him. This man's attitude towards him might be taken as aspecimen of the reception he would be likely to receive in thevillage. On approaching, the peasant regarded the flying officer withthe undisguised curiosity that dwellers in rural districts invariablybestow upon strangers; until, realising that the newcomer was one ofthe military "caste," the old fellow bared his head, standing stockstill in the downpour until Dick, who curtly acknowledged the act ofhomage, had walked past.
A little further on the lad struck a lane, so deep in slime that itwas of no use as a means of progression. Worn several feet below thesurface of the adjoining ground it resembled a stagnant ditch ofliquid mud. However, guessing that it must lead to the village, Dickstruggled gamely on, keeping to the slightly firmer ground by theside of the primitive by-way.
In another quarter of an hour he descried the misty outlines of thelittle village looming up through the mirk.
With a quickening pulse the lad pressed on, and gained the outskirtsof the straggling hamlet. The road, even in the village, was littlebetter than the quagmire without. At first there were no signs ofhuman beings. A few ducks revelled in the slush and rain. A gaunt pigwallowed in the mud, nosing amidst the garbage in search of food.Peat-reeking smoke was issuing from some of the chimneys, and, beatendown by the rain, was driving over the saturated ground in eddyingwisps.
Dick hastened onwards in the direction of the church, the onlybuilding with a pretence of importance in the squalid village. At thesame time he kept his eyes and ears on the alert in the hope offinding some sort of a place where he could get the important workcarried out. There was almost a total absence of shops in thisparticular quarter. Commercial intercourse, if any, must be carriedon in a very meagre fashion, he argued.
Presently the lad's quick ear distinguished the clang of ablacksmith's hammer--not the quick, merry ring that characterises thesmith's activity in Merry England, but the slow, listless hammeringof a toiler whose heart is not in his work.
Guided by the sounds Dick turned down a narrow street until he cameto a low stone and plaster building, through the two glazelesswindows of which bluish smoke was issuing. Over the open door was asign, setting forth that Johannes Müller was a skilled worker iniron-work, especially in connection with agricultural implements.
Striding pompously to the door as well as the slippery nature of theground permitted, Dick entered the low smithy. Within were two men,neither of whom, owing to the hiss of the bellows-fanned flames, hadheard him approach. The elder of the twain was a short, thick-set manin a grey shirt open at the neck, a pair of trousers reaching but afew inches below his knees, a pair of rusty boots and a paper cap.His hairy chest and gnarled arms betokened great strength, althoughhis lower limbs were ill-developed, and seemed scarcely able tosupport the weight of his body. His features were coarse and brutal,the sinister effect being heightened by his soot-stained face andyellow protruding eyes. He had just set aside a light hammer and wasresting upon the heavy "striker," while his assistant coaxed a massof iron into a state of white heat.
The second man's features were hard to judge, for the lower part ofhis gaunt face was hidden by a bushy, unkempt beard of a light browncolour. His clothing consisted of a ragged shirt and trousers; histoes, innocent of socks, peeped through rents in an odd pair of bootsthat in England would look out of place anywhere except on a rubbishheap. His movements were listless and dejected, and as, for the firsttime, he caught sight of Dick, he shot a glance of mingled hatred andcontempt. He made no attempt to attract the smith's attention to thenew-comer, and it was not until the young officer stamped imperiouslyupon the cobbled stone floor that the old fellow was aware of thepresence of his uniformed visitor.
The conscript habits of by-gone years were still latent in thesmith's mind. Dropping his hammer, he brought his heels together,drew himself up as far as his bent frame would allow, and salutedsmartly in the Prussian style.
"I want this straightened out instantly, smith," said Dick, returningthe salute. "It is work of imperial importance."
"Certainly, herr leutnant," replied the man, relieving Dick of hisburden. "A part of one of our incomparable flying machines? Anaccident has taken place?"
"Yes," replied Dick, then, realising that he would have to accountfor the fact that an officer had to perform the menial work ofbringing the rod to the smithy, he added, "and my sergeant has brokenhis leg--the idiot.... So I must needs fetch and carry. ...And not asingle peasant did I meet to relieve me of this weight. The mud andrain, too, are vile."
"There are few men left here," said the smith. "We are even obligedto----. But how is this to go, herr leutnant? Are the two slottedends to remain in line or across each other, so?"
He traced a rough diagram upon a board by means of a piece of chalk,at the same time signing to his assistant to get to work with thebellows.
The man, his face working with anger, merely folded his arms. Againthe smith motioned to him. Dick began to think the assistant was deafand dumb, or, perhaps, of weak intellect.
Still meeting with refusal the smith grasped a round bar of iron. Theother, stepping back to the wall snatched up a formidable pair oftongs.
"Hanged if I do a stroke of work to the job!" exclaimed the man inunmistakable English. "Let the Bosche do a bit. It will do him good.Nothin' doing here, old sport."